The Venusian Gambit (34 page)

“Negative, ma’am,” Shaila said as she piloted her V-SEV around and headed back to the beach. “I can report that one target was eliminated with a primitive spear.”

“Understood,” Diaz said. “You think they’re on our side?”

“Doubt it, ma’am. We have no comms with them. The French may have simply entered a well-defensed territory,” Shaila said. “How are Coogan and VanDerKamp?”

“Alive. Get back here.”

Shaila put her V-SEV back into a jog, and arrived at the beach to find the British RAF officer and the corporate exec on the beach, unconscious and soaked. Diaz was just opening her hatch and scrambling out, while Stephane still remained aboard his mech, his window aimed at the forest.

“General?” Shaila asked as she opened her hatch.

“Their mech shorted out,” Diaz said. “I think they hit a few cannon on their way off
Victory
, sprung a leak somewhere. They were filling up with water when I got there. Had to rip open the hatch, grab them fast and hit thrusters to get them up and out.”

Shaila hurried over, her V-SEV’s first aid kit in hand. “Electrical too?”

“Yeah, they got zapped
and
drowned,” Diaz muttered, grabbing the kit to supplement her own. “Alive, but barely. I’m hoping our resident alchemists can whip up a magic potion or something. Help me get them stabilized and chilled.”

The two officers worked fast to put their colleagues in a short-term stasis. They injected them with medications designed to slow bodily functions considerably, and then began wrapping them in a thin, chemical-laced foil. Once completely wrapped—except for a small breathing tube—a small electric charge would interact with the chemicals in the foil, cooling them down to just a few degrees above zero and stemming the worst of whatever injuries they had.

As they worked, the booms of the battle in the bay echoed across the beach. Shaila could see that one of the brigs nearest
Victory
already flew a white flag, while the second was in flames. Another English ship—she thought it might be HMS
Thunderer—
was engaged with the French 74 and seemed to have an edge, aided by
Surprise
and another English ship.

By the time Shaila and Diaz had the two fully stabilized, the battle at sea was over. A brig and the 74 had struck their colors; the rest of the French ships were ablaze. There were also flames aboard two of Weatherby’s ships, and even
Victory
was looking a little worse for wear. Meanwhile, a few hardy survivors started coming ashore, drenched and exhausted, and Diaz directed them to different parts of the beach—French toward the center, farthest away from the tree line, and English survivors to a point a good 50 meters away.

“Durand, get down here and speak French to these guys,” Diaz ordered. “Shaila, saddle up and use the sensors to keep watch.”

Shaila and Stephane passed each other on the beach, and she noted he looked drawn again. “You all right?”

He shrugged. “I get the sense that Rathemas is…happy? Somehow…yes, he’s happy. He’s fighting me less and he’s happy to be here. That seems bad to me.”

Shaila put a hand on his shoulder. “Me too. We need to tell Weatherby and the alchemists when they get here. Meantime, go help Diaz translate.”

Stephane nodded and, a few seconds later, was yelling orders at the French survivors, who looked more and more confused. Shaila couldn’t blame them, of course—two women ordering them around on a beach, backed up by metal giants, then some guy gets out and barks at you in your own language. All that after you had your ship shot up from under you? Even in this dimension, that was a weird day.

Shaila climbed up into her V-SEV and brought it online again. She felt very discomfited by Stephane’s revelation, much more so than she let on. The whole situation seemed a bit too pat, that they would come together, each bringing with them one of the two sacred alchemical objects needed to do…well, whatever they’d do. Probably not great. She wondered if Greene and Huntington would be in contact with the French—Cagliostro again, or this Berthollet guy—and whether the French were once again in contact with Althotas. She wondered what the data was that Greene and Huntington brought with them, and just what they planned to do with it. After all, they were already in overlapping dimensions. What more could they…?

A beep from Shaila’s sensor grabbed her attention, and she called up the terrain grid on her display. One of the UNKNOWN FAUNA contacts was back, at the very edge of her sensor range, deep within the jungle.

“Jain to Diaz, I have sensor contact with an unknown bogey, possibly one of the Venusians. Over.”

“How far out?” Diaz asked.

“About two klicks and closing. Sensors aren’t picking them up further out. Wonder why.”

Stephane chimed in. “If they are Venus people, they would be cold-blooded, yes? Lizards. They would mix well with the background. And they are small.”

“Good thinking. Roger that,” Shaila said. “At least we have…crap. We have a half-dozen now. Coming at us in a couple groups, to the north and south.”

“Keep me posted. Do not engage unless you see them on the beach,” Diaz ordered.

The number of contacts grew regularly and substantially in the time it took for HMS
Victory
to launch a number of boats toward the crescent-shaped beach. In the meantime, there were about fifty exhausted Frenchmen on the beach now, along with twenty English survivors, many of whom Diaz pressed into service as guards, even though they weren’t in any better shape than the French.

“I think the Admiral and his family are in the landing party,” Stephane said. “I can tell Finch is with them as well. We should’ve given them a comm.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve never been on Venus before,” Shaila groused. She had powered up the V-SEV’s laser drill which, while a huge drain on the vehicle’s power reserves, would probably cut through dozens of hostiles at a time. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be hostile.

“Stephane, grab any spare headsets from our V-SEVs,” Diaz ordered. “Let’s not make the same mistake twice.”

“We may not get a chance,” Shaila replied. “I now count three hundred bogeys, about five meters from the tree line.

“We’re surrounded.”

CHAPTER 20

January 29, 2135
May 28, 1809

W
eatherby had come ashore quite willing and ready to vent his fury upon his guests from the future, for it was that one of their metal vehicles—metal ogres, more in fact—had upon exiting off the sides of the ship severely damaged eight gun placements upon
Victory
’s larboard side and, more importantly, injured some thirty-two men, two of whom were upon death’s door.

Then he saw two of General Diaz’ people, mummified in queer metal wraps, and came to quickly understand that the targets of his wrath were themselves among the most unfortunate.

And there were, perhaps, more misfortunes.

“We are surrounded, you say?” Weatherby asked Diaz. “Could you not have signaled before….ah. Of course. You’ve not any flags.”

Diaz handed over one of the strange headpieces Weatherby had worn those many years ago on Mars. “Sorry. No flags. And we didn’t think to give you one of these before we jumped ship. I have two others. Who gets them?”

Weatherby looked over his landing party, which consisted of Anne and their two children, along with Finch, Gar’uk and several Royal Marines. Philip might have been a better option, but he was quite busy treating Diaz’ fallen comrades and the English injured on the beach. “Sadly, I fear we must give one to our Dr. Finch, simply based on prior experience. And given that we are likely well outnumbered by Venusians….”

Elizabeth stepped forward to interrupt her father. “I will take the other device,” she said. “It is for communication, is it not?”

Weatherby turned toward her with a smile but also exasperation. “My dear girl, it is not as though you may use these to communicate with the Venusians.” He then paused and turned toward Diaz. “That is correct, yes?”

“Right, but if your girl here is the expert she says she is, having her keyed in to Shaila on the sensors might not be a bad idea,” Diaz said, handing the headset to Elizabeth. “We’ll be able to tell you what we’re seeing and whether what we do from here on out has any impact, one way or the other.”

Weatherby looked over to Anne, who nodded with a small smile, while Elizabeth simply took the headset and placed it upon her head, doing her best to emulate her father’s actions in doing so. “So now what do I do?” she asked.

“I hear you, Elizabeth,” Shaila said. “I’m in one of our vehicles, the one facing the jungle. Our sensors are showing at least 300 creatures out there right now—mostly small, but a few really big ones as well.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, those would be the
sek’hatk
mounts. Large saurians used as steeds by some of the Venusian chieftains. How many ‘big ones’ do you see?”

“Screening now…we have six large targets.”

Elizabeth relayed this information to her parents. “My guess is that we have representatives from at least three different social groupings, possibly as many as six, perhaps even more, depending on whether the French have left them alone or actively mistreated them,” she said. “Even the honored Va’hak’ri are reported to have but three
sek’hatk
among their warriors.”

Anne nodded. “In our years here on Venus, we never saw more than two of these in one place. They are only for the greatest of the tribes. And given that these Venusians before us are working in concert, and not at each other’s throats…”

Weatherby finished her thought. “Yes, they likely have had a run-in with the French already, for that would certainly unite them. And they would wish to determine whether we represent another threat. Do they recognize the differences in uniforms by now, do you think?”

“If the Va’hak’ri are among them, then yes, they will have a lore-master who would likely have enough experience to tell English from French,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s been reported that the red coats of His Majesty’s soldiers are known to a number of tribes, so we may wish to bring more Marines ashore at our earliest opportunity.”

“It seems we were right to bring you along,” Weatherby said to his daughter. “Might you suggest a course of action, Miss Weatherby?”

At this Elizabeth smiled, then traded whispers with her stepmother for several moments. Weatherby knew Anne had lived on Venus for a number of years, and interacted with the Venusians—yet her focus, and that of her first husband, was on alchemy, not the culture of the lizard-creatures. Still, Anne was the most knowledgeable alchemist among them, save for Finch, and had Elizabeth’s trust besides.

“I think we have a plan,” Elizabeth said finally. “There is an introductory ritual that, while somewhat difficult, is one of utmost respect and friendship. It is called the
dul’kat
, and…”

Gar’uk suddenly let out a shrill bark unlike anything Weatherby had ever heard. “You cannot do
dul’kat
!” he said. “You will be hurt!”

Weatherby turned quickly back to his daughter. “I will not allow you to be harmed by them, Elizabeth.”

“No, Father, they will not hurt me,” she said, a slight quaver in her voice. “You see, the
dul’kat
is a greeting of immense supplication, and it is the height of rudeness to interrupt once it has begun. What I think Gar’uk takes issue with is that the supplicant must bleed onto the ground while making the introduction.”

Weatherby looked stunned. “And so you will….cut yourself?”

Anne placed her hand on Weatherby’s arm. “I will be right there with her. As soon as we are welcomed, I will stanch the bleeding and give her an elixir to build up her blood quickly.”

“Just how much blood loss are we talking here?” Diaz asked.

Elizabeth straightened up and put on a brave face indeed. “I must open an artery and let it flow until either I am welcomed or I pass out.”

“It is a test, as with many Venusian traditions. She must be seen as worthy of sacrificing herself for her purpose,” Anne added. “I promise she will not endure lasting harm. And I would add that a human, even a woman of her young years, contains a substantially higher amount of blood than even the largest, most powerful Venusian warrior.”

“I will do it,” Gar’uk said. “I will give the
dul’kat
. Elizabeth will not need to.”

At this, Elizabeth and Gar’uk entered into what appeared to be a most spirited discussion in Venusian, with Anne chiming in now and again. After several minutes, Weatherby waved Finch over to him. “Pray tell what my wife and daughter are saying to my valet,” he said quietly and with no small amount of frustration.

“Well, my Venusian is not as good as Elizabeth’s, that much is certain, but my understanding is that the primary supplicant must be of a chieftain’s bloodline—and you would qualify as that chieftain, of course,” Finch said. “Gar’uk, as it happens, is also of a chieftain’s bloodline, but as he’s not actually acting on behalf of
his
chieftain, there is some question as to whether Gar’uk would be an acceptable substitute.”

“What do you think of it all?” Weatherby asked.

“Are you trusting me now?”

Weatherby glared at him. “This is my daughter, talking of spilling her own blood on this forsaken beach for our cause. So answer the dammed question, Doctor.”

Finch’s face reddened as he cast his eyes downward. “I am sorry, Tom. I’m no expert, but it seems Elizabeth has the better chance.”

Weatherby nodded. “And I cannot go in her stead? I’m the chieftain, after all.”

“The Venusians are very precise when it comes to language. If you erred but once, you would be shot through the heart with an arrow before you realized your mistake.”

“Can you give her something for the pain of it?” Weatherby asked, a father’s plea in his voice.

“Of course, Tom,” Finch said gently. “I can accompany her and Anne if you like.”

Weatherby’s hard stare softened. “I appreciate that, perhaps more than you know. But I am her father, and as brilliant a woman as she is now, she is my little girl, Andrew. I will be at her side, along with Anne.”