The pregnant woman screamed, and Althea returned her attention back to her. Her breath came in short bursts and her entire weight, at this point, was supported by the two other women of the house on either side. If they released her, she’d likely collapse. At the same time the woman’s eyes seemed focused on something in the distance; something more horrible than even her own death or the death of her infant. Althea’s mind flashed back to the pregnant woman at the fountain. Her words were still stuck in her mind. “Vao levar o meu bebe!”
They are going to take my baby.
Althea spun around to see the Rainha.
The Cytherean ruler glared back. “Bem, isso esta domorando muito…” she barked, and continued to rant at her until Althea cut her off.
“Tens de sair.” The words left her mouth almost before Althea had thought about them, a reflex more than anything else.
The Rainha’s face hardened in fury. She had obviously not been told that she had to leave very many places, least of all by the lower oculto class.
“O que voce disse…” the Rainha hissed.
The Rainha asked, “What did you say?” in a tone that indicated that Althea just challenged the power of a person who considered herself omnipotent. Althea bowed her head expecting to be ejected from the house, if not exposed for who she really or worse. The Cytherean women began speaking among themselves in frantic tones all the while the Rainha’s eyes seemed to be burning a hole in Althea’s head.
“Basta!” spat Isabel.
The room fell silent except for the woman’s panting and straining under the pain of another contraction.
The Rainha barked an order to her attendants and then to the ladies of the house who only bowed their heads. After that, the ruler spun around and breezed out of the room.
Althea breathed a sigh, but it was short-lived as she knelt down again. The two women barked orders at her to which Althea could only reply, “Sim, sim.”
Hopefully, that was the correct response.
Althea glanced up and, once again, instructed the woman to relax and push. “Calma. Empurre quando eu digo.”
The woman slowed her rapid breathing and nodded.
The woman cried out, pushed and the baby’s head emerged. Althea cradled the baby’s head and called, “Mais um empurrao.” One more push.
The woman screamed as the shoulders came out, and the rest of the baby with it. Althea stood cradling the newborn boy, and the mother fell backward into the arms of the other women completely exhausted. A couple of oculto women rushed to help. They used primitive metal clamps and a knife to cut the cord, and another came with blankets to wrap the baby.
Althea turned around to examine the infant as the others helped her through the final stage of labor. The child squirmed and cried in her arms as she searched for any sign of injury brought on by the difficult birth. Althea breathed a sigh of relief when she could find nothing. He was, for all Althea could see, a perfectly healthy baby.
The citizen women carried the now limp mother to another room in the house while Althea remained for a few moments, letting relief wash over her as she held the screaming baby. She waited for the citizen women to emerge, taking that as a sign that the mother was resting and ready to see her child. She’d barely taken a couple of steps when the Rainha, her voice still hard as obsidian, said, “Me de o bebe.”
Althea turned to see the Cytherean queen standing in the room with her entourage, again looking impatient. This time, she noted, a couple of her soldiers joined her. Althea turned to look at the other women of the house standing by the door. Their faces were mostly neutral, with just a hint of sadness. Althea turned back to the Rainha who repeated, “Me de o bebe. Agora!”
It was clear what was expected of her. Althea crossed the room and, against every impulse in her mind, handed the crying child over to the Rainha.
Without a word, she turned and left with her people. The women of the house went back to the room, presumably to care for the mother. Other oculto women arrived to remove the blocks and clean up the mess.
Althea looked around and ran to the kitchen where she found a basin of water and some crude, handmade soap. She washed her hands and arms and tried to calm herself down. That was it, that’s what the women in this city were afraid of, but she wasn’t sure why yet. The only thing Althea knew for sure was that the Rainha inspired the kind of fear that went beyond the existential. It was the kind that eroded the soul and left a person mad with desperation.
Althea splashed some water on her face and dried her hands on a linen cloth hanging nearby before she stepped back into the common area. The citizen women were still busy with the mother, and the oculto paid her no attention. Althea adjusted her hood to make sure that none of her hair peeked out and left through the front door to follow the Rainha.
****
“The global wars decimated entire cities. For a while, the purpose of the global economy was to destroy itself,” explained Isra.
Celia nodded. “So people on Earth lost their taste for war?”
Isra looked around as she thought about her answer. Celia had led her to the outskirts of the city where tightly-packed white stone buildings gave way to olive groves, fruit orchards, and golden fields where wheat, barley, or flax waved in the breeze. They passed the occasional mill or farmhouse surrounded by oculto going about their work planting, harvesting, or processing the agricultural products. They walked along a cobbled street lined with trees. This could have been any charming rural area on Earth except for the band of four soldiers that marched in lockstep behind them.
“The people of Earth still fight,” said Isra eventually. “Only now, they primarily fight by proxy.”
“Proxy…” said Celia, as if judging the sound by how her mouth moved to make it. “I do not understand that word.”
“You will rarely find Corporation marines fighting Ministry coalition forces on a field of battle. The war is fought through influence, economic dominance, covert operations and anything besides actual warfare.”
Celia walked in silence for a few meters as she thought about this. “And Cytherea? Are we a part of this… proxy? Do you wish us to fight this Corporation?”
Isra tried to find the right words that might help explain the complex political landscape on Earth. “No. It is about influence. Ideas. By sharing what we believe with you and your people, we hope to create a place where the Corporation cannot successfully operate.”
“And what do you believe?” asked Celia.
The same uneasy feeling made itself known once again. It started at the back of Isra’s neck and spread over her skin like a series of electric impulses. She swallowed, trying to hide her feelings from Celia. “Freedom. Self-determination. We at the Ministry believe that all people should be free to live, prosper and rule as they see fit, in a way that benefits them. To be able to live off the richness of their lands and the ingenuity of their people.”
“And this… Corporation… they do not believe in this?” Celia asked.
The smell was the first clue that she was walking into something horrific. It started as a light, wood smoke aroma like a bonfire or a campfire, along with something else she couldn’t identify. It was slight at first, but as Celia led the way off the paved road and down a narrow path through the trees, it became so intense that Isra had to cover her nose and mouth to avoid being sick. It smelled like rotted meat, melted plastic, and burned hair. It smelled like death and decay.
Again, Isra buried her emotions and tried to keep her face neutral. “If the Corporation comes here, they will force you to work for them. Your fields, your mines, and your people will become their property. Only a few Cythereans will ever see the benefit. Your society will become slaves.”
“I see. So we may have to fight them.”
It was subtle, but Isra couldn’t help notice the slight air of happiness in that statement. Like a general who noticed a battle turning in their favor.
“I suppose that is a possibility,” Isra con
ceded.
A few meters down the path, Isra saw the source of the smell. Fruit orchards surrounded them now, but up ahead in the distance, the rows of trees ended. She also noticed light clouds of smoke rising into the sky.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Isra, trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice.
“You ask why we fight. Why we devote our lives to military training. This is why,” said Celia, with sharpness in her voice.
A few minutes later, the lush backdrop of trees and fields changed into smoke, ash, and smoldering ruins. Rows of trees were replaced with blackened twigs sticking out of scorched Earth and farther down the path, the burned out remains of a stone building. The white, chalky rock, the standard building material of the city, was scorched black and cracked from the heat. Whatever disaster struck, caused the roof to cave in and the front wall to collapse back into the structure. Dead bodies laid in dark pools of blood cut, mangled, and eviscerated. Two oculto stood in the middle of that grim tableau, holding a nearly naked corpse by the wrists and ankles. They both glanced at Isra and the emissary as they heaved the body onto a smoldering fire and went to collect another.
“It happened not long before you landed. This farm lost everything,” said Celia.
Isra couldn’t speak at first as her mind sorted through what she saw. Finally, she said, “This… the Corsario did this?”
Celia stopped walking and looked down at a body that was clearly not Cytherean. It lacked the standard clothing or any clothing except some tattered rags around the waist. It was a man but thin, bordering on emaciated. White mud and dirt caked every inch of exposed flesh, and his face was twisted by whatever cry of pain, anger, or fear that had been his last sound.
“Yes, Corsario,” said Celia. “Savage men who steal anything they can carry and burn whatever they can’t. They rape or kill anyone who tries to stop them.”
“Where do they come from?” Isra asked, willing herself not to be sick at the sight of so much death.
“The lands beyond Modesto’s Wall. Farther down the mountain where it is too hot to grow food. They lie in wait out there and live off whatever they can steal from our city.”
The corpse held some kind of weapon like a rudimentary musket or hand cannon about as long as his arm. The barrel was a simple black metal cylinder attached to the end of a wooden lance. There was a serrated blade on the other end of the barrel, over the mouth, which extended an extra thirty centimeters. The weapon looked to Isra like a combination of two archaic proto-firearms from Earth’s ancient past.
Celia picked up the weapon. “They fight with this, lanca fogo. Fire erupts from the front and shards of metal kill, blind, or maim anything in their path. The weapon allows them to hit very hard and very fast. The damage you see around you happened before our soldiers could respond and repel them over the wall. This is the threat we must live with. Our commitment to military might keeps us from descending into chaos.”
Celia held out the weapon for Isra. It was top heavy and looked about as likely to blow up in the hand of the person holding it as to kill someone standing in front of it.
“What made Corsario attack this place?” said Isra, looking around.
“This farmer was old and weak. Corsario sense when a man is no longer able to protect the land charged to him. It is for the best. This farm will be rebuilt, and a new soldier who wishes to retire will oversee it.”
“What happened to the old man?”
“He did the honorable thing.”
Isra watched an oculto toss another victim of the battle onto the bonfire. She did not have to work too hard to imagine what ‘the honorable thing’ entailed in this culture.
“This is why Cythereans train,” continued Celia. “They train because they have to. If every man, woman and child does not commit themselves fully to the city, everyone will perish. Every time the Corsario strike, we lose something valuable. Can you imagine what would happen if we did not have the military strength that we have now?”
Isra closed her eyes. She feared that the horrible sights and smells would remain with her for a while. “How often does this happen?”
“Corsario sense weakness. They sense when Cythereans neglect their duty. They sense rot and decay of society. When they see an opportunity, they attack.” Celia turned back toward the road. “We should go. Rainha Isabel wishes for you to attend a Conselho meeting at the Sala.”
Isra examined the lanca fogo in her hand again. It was a gun; equally dangerous to its user as to their opponent and probably as accurate as a drunk with a slingshot, but still a gun on a planet where technology regressed back to Bronze Age weapons.
“Where do they get these?” asked Isra.
“Pardon?” said Celia, turning around.
“Corsario. You say they live far away from the city. They would need knowledge of metallurgy, chemistry… the gunpowder alone would take an entire city to obtain, purify, and mix the ingredients. How do they do it?”
“It is how they survive,” said the emissary, as if the answer was obvious, “and they devote their lives to it. Much as we must do in order to protect it. Now, please, Isabel does not tolerate tardiness.”
Isra dropped the weapon and glanced back at the oculto. She watched as they tossed another wiry body on the bonfire. Joining the uneasiness creeping around the edge of her mind was a sharp pinprick at the base of her neck. She knew the feeling well and relied upon it in her dealings within the Ministry. It was a sharp, raw, undeniable feeling like a sore spot on the top of her mouth that she might try to ignore but couldn’t. It was the feeling that everything she witnessed was a terrible lie.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Brazilian purges were seen as brutal and terrifying by most Brazilian citizens. But in the world beyond, they were seen as proof that governments could stand up against toxic corporate influence. In the spring of 2094 riots exploded all over the world. First in the various provinces of the African Union, the Russian Federation and Southeast Asia, but later in the Arabic Caliphates, the European Union and even in the United States. Hastily elected revolutionary governments followed Adriana’s example and started to rid their countries of the multinational corporate influence.
-From The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe
Althea followed the Rainha, her entourage and the baby through the city. She soon found herself on the same street along which Celia brought them into Cytherea a few hours ago. All the while, Althea stayed within the crowds as much as possible, leaving plenty of room between her and the Rainha. Once they neared the edge of the city, the crowds thinned, and she was forced to make her way forward by darting behind the archways that lined that street when she thought nobody was looking. Once beyond the gate, Althea hid behind boulders and rocky outcroppings to stay out of sight. Sweat poured from her face, and each breath felt like she was sucking air from the top of a furnace. She checked her EROS computer tied into her medical regulator. Her core temperature was climbing. At this rate, she would soon be in danger of heat stroke or worse.
But she continued to follow, pushed forward by intense curiosity and no small amount of delirium from the heat.
In the distance, she saw the Rainha stop at a stone slab. It could have been any number of large rocks that littered the landscape, but this one had been cut and sanded down to a table top, like a desolate altar in the middle of the most inhospitable place she’d ever been. Althea slumped next to a rock and wiped the sweat pouring off her head. She might as well wipe a waterfall dry. She took a couple of deep breaths of stifling hot air and peered over her cover.
The Rainha stood on the opposite side of the stone slab from where Althea watched and held the wailing baby in her arms; its cries were the only sound in this deathly quiet place. Althea watched as the Cytherean ruler turned the baby over and over in her hands as if inspecting every part of the child. All the while, he continued to cry. After a few minutes of this, the Rainha appeared to come to a conclusio
n and lay the child down on the stone slab.
Althea gripped the rock so hard she could feel sharp corners cutting into her skin. A part of her knew what she was seeing, but she didn’t want to believe it. And yet it all made horrifying sense.
The terrified woman back at the fountain of the Sala.
The look of terror on the face of the woman who just gave birth.
Vao levar o meu bebe.
Even the physical perfection of the Cythereans. It seemed wrong because it was wrong. There was only one way to assure that every person was perfect, strong and beautiful.
And that was infanticide.
The Rainha looked down at the child for a few moments. She might have said a few words; it was hard to tell from where Althea stood. After that, she, her advisors, and her soldiers walked away.
Templum Veneris Page 18
