Templum Veneris

by Jeremy L. Jones

  The man’s mouth hung open and he blinked his eyes; the expression of a man who realized that he has lost control of the situation. “Yes… there are many surrounding all of Cytherea…”

  “Contact them too. Round up as many fighters as you can. Tell them that we are ready to begin a full invasion.”

  “Invasion?” One of the other men on stage breathed the word as if it were the most shocking profanity ever spoken aloud.

  “Exactly. If Alexandre is correct, then your ally is building up to it anyway. We are just moving faster than intended.”

  “Why should we listen to you?” snapped Alexandre, glaring down at Viekko. “If this person intends to force us to fight their war, why do we let them?”

  Viekko motioned to the three young men. “Because if we move now, we can fight this war on your terms and attack in a way that nobody will be ready for. Make contact with your ally and the surrounding villages. I will bring back proof that my motivation is pure and my plan is sound.”

  Viekko started limping away from the stage toward the exit.

  “What kind of proof?” called the man with the parchment.

  Viekko stopped at the exit of the Sala and looked back. “The kind that can win a war.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Corporate Bombardment lasted for a full week. In that time, the newly formed Corporation military dropped more explosives on Brazilian cities than were used in both the World Wars and every war since combined.

  Records from that time become sparse as untold millions perished in the flames. Even Diana Adriana seemed to have gone silent except for a few tantalizing details that seemed to indicate that she had not given up hope for her people yet.

  -From The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe

  The Sala Gran was once again packed with soldiers in the middle of their seemingly hourly drinking parties as Celia and Isra walked through the grand wooden doors. Both turned an eye to the Rainha’s throne at the head of the room. It was conspicuously empty, and Isra felt its effect in the mood of the soldiers, which was quieter and lacked the unrestrained festive feeling that Isra had sensed before, like some spark had been removed from every single man. They still ate, drank and told stories. They still sparred in between tables and caroused with women of various houses, but it was all muted somehow. It was as if everyone knew that they would not live to see another party like this one.

  As Celia and Isra approached the tables, a Cytherean woman ran up to them and bowed. “Rainha Isabel has formed an emergency Conselho. You and Isra are required to attend as soon as possible.”

  Celia thanked the woman saying they would be along immediately. As she walked away, Celia closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Isra took her by the shoulders. “Celia, look at me.”

  She opened her eyes, and Isra could feel an intense paralyzing fear along with a stomach-churning sickness that went along with a betrayal of this magnitude.

  Isra continued. “What you do, you do to save Cytherea.” Celia nodded, and Isra added, “Repeat that.”

  Celia took another deep breath. “What I do, I do to save Cytherea.”

  Isra smiled. “That is good. Remember, we go along with what the Rainha wants. We tell her that her war is coming.”

  “What if…” Celia started saying, then she glanced over at one of the oculto serving food. Isra followed her gaze and got a glimpse of a fused eye and a scar along the side of the face.

  “Stay with me,” said Isra, focusing her attention back to her. “This is dangerous. But we must be brave and never forget why we are doing this.”

  Celia nodded, “For Cytherea.”

  Isra nodded back at her. “Good. We should go.”

  She let Celia lead the way through the twisting corridors into the interior where two soldiers stood guard at the doors that led into the Conselho chambers. The audience side of the hall was almost completely empty. There was only the Rainha and her council of Elder women who watched them like hawks waiting to ambush their prey. Isra kept her eyes lowered but stole a glance or two at the Rainha. Sitting on the silver throne in the beam of sunlight, she was impossible to read. She might as well have been one of the statues in the garden.

  Celia and Isra both knelt in front of the hearth with their heads bowed and waited. The Elder women sitting on either side of Isabel whispered back and forth in a way that felt unusual. Their fear and anxiety made the air seem thin, and each breath took more effort. But, when she looked up at the Rainha, there was nothing except a cool, almost comforting, calm.

  When the Cytherean leader finally spoke, her voice echoed around the room like the voice of all the ancient gods that ever existed on Venus or Earth. “Our soldiers went to apprehend Althea. They were not successful.”

  Isra made sure to keep her own voice calm and level so that she would be as hard to read as Isabel was to her. “Apologies, Rainha. Althea is cunning and resourceful. I will see to her personally.”

  “And what of Cronus?” Isabel added.

  “Gone,” Isra replied as automatically as she could. “Fled somewhere within the city. Possibly beyond the walls. He was not with Joana when we arrived.”

  The Rainha smiled slightly and breathed out in the slightest of laughs. “Cronus vanishes, Althea fights off my soldiers, and Viekko Spade is alive.”

  No matter how hard she tried, Isra couldn’t keep a small amount of relief out of her voice. “Alive? Viekko? How…how do you know this?”

  Isabel’s face hardened into an icy glare. “Do not come before me and act surprised by this. You think I do not see? You think me a mere child who will believe whatever I am shown?”

  Isra collected herself quickly before she responded. “Rainha Isabel, I mean no disrespect. I am as shocked…”

  “Rainha Isabel!” cried Celia, collapsing into a kowtow position. “Forgive me. I have been deceived!”

  Isra kept her eyes fixed on the Rainha, but it took all her conscious will to keep her expression from revealing her fear.

  Isabel gave her subject a warm smile and gestured with her hand. “Rise my loyal servant. Tell me of what you speak.”

  Celia glanced over at Isra. Even though she didn’t return the look, she could feel the sadness and regret on her face and knew what was coming next before she spoke. “Isra did not contact Earth. Instead, she convinced me to turn my back on you and my beloved city of Cytherea. She let her man escape and refused to call her people. She convinced me to come back and lie to you. To say that it had all gone as you asked and, when the time was right, release her so she could return to her ship and leave you with nothing. Forgive me, Rainha. Please…”

  Celia dropped back to prostrate herself before the Rainha but, once again, Isabel raised her hand. “Rise. For, you have done well. You alerted me to the treachery of these Earth people before it was too late.”

  Celia lifted her head. “But… the war with Earth.”

  The Rainha rose from her throne. “Do not fear. Even as we speak the man, Viekko Spade, forms an army of Corsario to march against our forces. We need not wait for the armies of Earth to arrive. A most glorious battle begins right now. One that will bring a new age of honor and triumph to Cytherea. Come to me, friend.”

  Celia rose and slowly walked around the hearth, still keeping her eyes lowered. The Rainha took her hands and held them within hers. “My most loyal servant, do you trust me?”

  Celia nodded. “Of course, my Rainha.”

  “Do you love Cytherea?”

  “With all my heart.”

  Isabel released her hands and lifted one of hers with her elbow bent and ninety degrees. Celia knelt before her ruler and Isabel touched her head.

  “Honra e Forca. Now, stand with me,” said Isabel. A wave of relief washed across Celia’s body. She got to her feet and took a position next to Isabel’s throne. Isabel turned her attention to Isra. “Now… what to do with the treacherous people of Earth.”

  The Rainha walke
d around the flaming hearth and approached from the right, but Isra kept her eyes focused on the space in front of the throne. “As a prisoner of war, you should know that I am afforded certain treatment by the laws of Earth. Breaking these laws would result in certain punitive arrangements when the war—”

  “Stand and face me,” commanded the Rainha.

  Isra stood. Isabel’s eyes were cold and razor sharp. Then she moved so fast that Isra barely realized she threw a punch until Isra fell to the ground with her hand covering her bleeding nose.

  Before Isra could compose herself, the Rainha was on top of her. One hand held her by the throat while the other, balled into a fist, continued to pummel her face. “Do you think I am weak?” Isabel punched again, stars exploded in Isra’s head. “Do you think I am so easily manipulated?” She struck again, this time Isra’s mouth filled with blood. “Do you think I am fat and stupid, that I cannot fight when I need to fight?”

  Isabel punched her one more time, and Isra heard her nose crunch and felt her head bounce against the stone floor. She inhaled deeply and coughed up blood in an attempt to get a full breath of air.

  Then, again, out of nowhere, she felt a sharp blow to her chest as the Rainha kicked her. “Perhaps on Earth, your rulers are mere facades of strength; symbols that your people cower before, but who could not withstand a strong wind. But I am not that ruler. My power comes from strength. The power of Cytherea comes from strength!” Isabel bellowed, then paused for a moment and said, “Stand up.”

  Her whole body shook, she was certain her nose was broken and one eye threatened to swell shut. Still, Isra she got to her feet. In her early career in the Ministry, she had received basic combat instruction. Enough to escape a potentially dangerous situation but nothing close to competing with the Rainha’s strength or speed. Still, she didn’t see any other choice right now other than to face the woman on her own terms. She put up her hands and prepared herself for the next assault.

  Isabel circled Isra, her white gown gracefully flowing behind her, but she didn’t raise her hands or drop into a fighting stance. She looked more likely to give a speech than engage in hand-to-hand combat.

  When she was in range, Isra threw a right jab which Isabel batted away as if it were nothing. Isra tried again. This time Isabel grabbed her arm and, through a complicated maneuver that involved a punch to the gut and a knee to the jaw, threw her to her knees with her right arm hyper-extended behind her.

  Isra cried out as Isabel lifted her wrist a fraction of an inch causing excruciating pain. “I think it is time you understand. Guarda! Bring an iron.”

  The head of the Human Reconnection Project watched helpless as one the soldiers put on a glove and retrieved one of the iron rods sitting in the basin. She struggled as panic rushed through her body, but she was forced back down as, once again, Isabel manipulated her arm in a way that caused her debilitating pain.

  “Now you see.” Isabel calmly held her arm while a soldier approached with the glowing red rod. “I rule Cytherea because I am Cytherea. And Cytherea is me.”

  Isra tried to pull herself out of Isabel grasp again, but there was no way to do it. Even if she broke her own arm, she would not be able to pull it from Isabel’s hold.

  “To separate us would kill us both. Myself and Cytherea,” Isabel continued. “I am the strongest, the most ruthless and the most unyielding. That is why I rule. That is why Cytherea needs me.”

  The soldier was close now, and he brought the glowing red tip of the rod so near her face that she could feel the heat start to burn her skin.

  “And if I need to, I will burn this world and yours to ashes to ensure that the glory of Cytherea continues for all time after this moment.” There was a pause before Isabel said to the soldier, “Do it.”

  The moment was blessedly short. The only thing Isra heard was her own horrific scream echoing through the chamber before the world went dark and she passed out from the pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  In one of the last times we hear from the Lady of Fire directly, she sounds nothing like the woman we heard inspiring her people during the American war. She was sixty-four at that point, but her voice sounded like she had aged twice that. And yet, there is something kind and hopeful in her words when she talks to her people:

  “Come to Brasilia. Take only what you can carry. Leave the unimportant aspects of the wretched world.

  “Come to Brasilia. If you have family wounded, ask that a friend end their suffering. For it is better to die by the hand of Brazilian then by the Corporate cowards that even now invade our shores.

  “Come to Brasilia. If you can make the trip. If you cannot, give aid to those that will try. Put yourself in the path of those that would harm them.”

  -From The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe

  Viekko heard the whine of the engines warming up as he approached the shuttle. Isra must have gotten word about the slight misunderstanding between him and the Cytherean soldiers, and they were getting ready to leave. He was just thankful he got to the shuttle before they lifted off. He held his chest, still bare except for the bandages tied across it, and limped toward the spacecraft, hoping that Isra wasn’t there or was otherwise occupied. She was the type who would take a little thing like sabotaging her entire mission personally, and he didn’t feel up to one of her tirades again.

  He tried the switch to open the cargo bay door only to find it locked. Clearly, there were people inside; the Captain wouldn’t leave the engines on if there wasn’t. The ship was large but not terribly sound-proof, and he remembered how the walls seemed to carry every cough, snore, and curse to every corner of the shuttle. So he started beating and kicking the metal door with all the strength he had left in him. It was a racket that should be painfully audible to everyone on board.

  Captain Colton’s voice came through a loudspeaker mounted to the exterior of the ship. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Viekko.”

  “Viekko? Viekko Spade! We thought you might be dead, friend. Is it really you out there? How are you feeling?”

  “I feel like I’ve been beaten with buzzard guts and dragged through Hell backward. Let me in!”

  The engines powered down, and Viekko slumped against the side of the door still clutching his chest. The cargo bay door eventually slid up, and Viekko looked at the Captain standing just inside.

  “I see my weapons made it back to the ship all right then,” said Viekko sourly.

  “No offense meant, friend,” said Captain Colton, holding Viekko’s own gun on him. “Things have gotten complicated here. I don’t want to take chances.”

  Viekko, hearing someone running on the catwalks above, glanced up and saw Althea coming down the metal stairway. She took one look at him and ran the rest of the way down. “Jayzus, Viekko. What happened?”

  “Wardrobe malfunction. Mind if I…” a wave of dizziness rushed through him, and he lost his balance. He must have blacked out for a moment, as the next thing he knew Althea and Captain Colton were helping him lie down on the floor of the cargo hold.

  “Go upstairs and fetch my medical bag,” said Althea, urgently.

  Colton got up and ran to the spiral staircase that led to the upper decks. Althea touched the dirty, blood-stained rags that covered his chest. Viekko winced, and Althea pulled her hand away. “Who did this?”

  “I had some trouble with the medical regulator durin’ a fight with the Cythereans. Karaasan thing stopped workin’. Then exploded.”

  “The Cythereans?” said Althea with disbelief. “How did you even survive?”

  Viekko groaned, “Well the medical regulator helped. It put out a shock that charged a few of their batteries. The rest didn’t take to the explosion none.”

  “Was the bandage your doing?” Althea looked down at the white linen wrapped around his torso.

  “That would be the Corsario. They ain’t terrible folk once you get to know them.”

  Colton returne
d with Althea’s black medical bag. She reached inside and pulled out a needle and syringe. “I’m going to put you out. You’ll not want to be awake for this.”

  As she screwed the needle onto the top of the syringe, Viekko gently grabbed her by the wrist and shook his head. “Just patch me up enough to go back out there.”

  Althea almost dropped the needle in disbelief, and it was several seconds before she could even speak. “Are you… mental? Go back out? You can barely…”

  Viekko sighed and let his head fall back. “Just do it.”