The Venusian Gambit (38 page)

With that, the two of them stood staring at each other, both trembling and engulfed in anger and sorrow and remorse. Finally, Weatherby spoke once more, managing his words carefully. “I apologize, my Lady,” he replied. “We must do our duty to England, and to Mankind, and it falls upon me to decide. And so I have. Please, if you will, assist Finch with his preparations. We will have need of your talents if we are to succeed.”

Quite unable to face his wife any further, Weatherby nodded and turned, walking briskly back down the beach where the marine commanders awaited him. He did not care to look back, for he was certain the look upon Anne’s face would wreck him as surely as any Void storm.

“How’s the admiral holding up?” Diaz asked as the remaining crew of the
Hadfield
huddled on the beach.

Shaila turned to follow Diaz’ gaze and saw Weatherby and Anne in what seemed to be an argument. “Honestly? Stressed out of his mind. He’s keeping it together, but it’s not been easy.”

“His daughter and step-son are with hundreds of Venusians with spears, his wife is about to go into battle with him—I wouldn’t expect him to be happy,” Stephane said. “And really, we don’t even know if we’ll find anything we need at these memory vaults.”

Diaz paused and looked down at the sandy beach. “I gotta say, I’m not exactly thrilled about this. Yeah, we helped out the English because we got good facial-recognition on Weatherby. That was my call, and I think it was the right one at the time. We had an ally under duress, and rules of engagement are clear on that one. But this battle? I have some doubts. This is a straight-up battle of the Napoleonic Wars, and even though the French supposedly have zombies or whatever, it’s still human against human for the most part. I like Weatherby, and in most cases I’d definitely consider him an allied commander. But for this, not sure we should be in the mix.”

“What’s the alternative, then?” Shaila asked. “We could try to find Greene and Huntington on our own, but tracking them in this jungle is pretty close to impossible. And really, the whole idea is to get to the Venusian memory vault. If that’s what’s going to stop Althotas, and the French are resisting it, then they’re aiding and abetting an alien power. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“These are my countrymen, and I have no wish to hurt them, but I find myself agreeing with Shay here,” Stephane said. “We have the Emerald Tablet as well, and if we aren’t there when they reach the Vault, then they may not be able to stop Althotas—and get Rathemas out of my head.”

“And if Althotas needs the tablet to win, we could end up giving it to him on a silver platter,” Diaz sighed. “We don’t even know if the French are defending a key objective or just some goddamn ammo depot.”

Stephane shook his head. “I can’t say how I know this, but I feel like Rathemas
wants
us to get to the memory vault. There’s something there he needs.”

“So we shouldn’t go?” Shaila asked.

“No, I don’t mean that,” Stephane said. “He wants to go there, but he also seems nervous about us going. So maybe getting there is both a good idea and bad? I think it depends on what we do there, whether we win or not. Either way, if this is how he gets out of me, then I’m really very OK with it.”

Diaz gave him a little smile. “Fair point. And if he gets out of you, maybe we get a chance to put a laser through his skull.”

“I’d like that quite a lot,” Stephane agreed.

With a sigh, Diaz straightened up. “OK, decision time. Jain, keep the Tablet in your V-SEV. Security of the object is top priority. If your V-SEV is compromised or damaged, sit tight and wait for Durand or I to come get you. Now, I know we went to bat for Weatherby out in space, but knowing just how much we’re in the dark here, I’m not real excited about engaging enemy combatants directly. We’re not here to re-fight the Napoleonic Wars. So we’ll head for the vault, but we will not, repeat
not
, engage French personnel.”

“Roger that,” Shaila said. “But do zombies count?”

The general raised an eyebrow at this and thought it out for a few moments before replying. “Maybe not. Anne told me they’re really dead, animated by…well, magic, I guess. So if the French have zombies with them, they’re fair game. But until we have proof that the main body of French troops are complicit in whatever Althotas is up to, hands off the living French guys.”

“
Très bon
, General,” Stephane said with a smile. “Thank you for that.”

Diaz clapped him on the shoulder. “No worries. One final thing about our friends here. I’m hoping Admiral Weatherby isn’t going to get all Captain Ahab on this quest, but he’s looking pretty stressed. If he goes off, we may need to withdraw and find our own answers. I know he’s a good guy, but he’s an
allied
commander, not actually on our team. If I feel we need to pull out, we will.

“And as for Finch, if this book starts to make him squirrelly, we may have to put him down. We clear on that?”

Shaila nodded. It seemed Finch was keeping it together, but with all the mystical bullshit flying around, it seemed prudent to have a fallback in place.

Stephane, though, looked troubled. “And if I start acting ‘squirrelly,’ General? Do you put me down too?”

Diaz held up her datapad. “You still got your collar on, Durand. If Rathemas acts up, you’ll be out cold in seconds. Now, get your V-SEVs warmed up. Jain, I’ll need you to work on a hack to get the most out of our lasers once we engage. Dismissed.”

Shaila and Stephane headed to their V-SEVs. “You’re doing good,” she told him. “We won’t have to zap you.”

He gave her a sad smile. “So far, so good. But please, knock me out if he comes through. I don’t want to experience that again.”

She stopped him and gave him a short but passionate kiss. “You got this. I won’t need to. Now…saddle up. We may have some zombies to fry.”

CHAPTER 23

January 30, 2135
May 29, 1809

A
nd so it comes to this
, Weatherby thought as he looked across the shaded glen toward the French lines.

They were in a vale, one with a fine clearing therein, though a portion of that was swamp and muck. A brook provided the water for the bog, which drained off behind Weatherby and away from the trail that brought his men there. There were trees and vines surrounding the clearing, radiant in their riot of colors—blues, reds, yellows and at least a score of different greens.

And like a sickly cancer, an infection upon the very face of life, the blue coats and grey flesh of the
Corps Éternel
stood out among the greenery of the Venusian fauna. There were living men among them, of course, notable for their nervous movement and shouts filled with bravado, whereas their expired fellows remained both silent and stock-still.

Soldiers without fear
, Weatherby thought.
To think we shall face such an unthinking, horrific enemy as that
. And according to his advance scouts, there were at least two thousand such abominations within the French ranks, with a hundred more living officers among them and some twenty cannon.

He took a moment to mark this place in his memory, for there was the fear that Anne was indeed right about his motivations—he found women in general, and Anne in particular, knew more of men’s minds than men themselves. And if he was indeed wrong, and lived to make his regrets, he wished to remember well his folly amongst such natural beauty.

Weatherby then turned to survey his own men, a mere three hundred strong, and did his level best to mark their faces in his mind as well. His marines stood out with their red coats and finery, while the able seamen with them remained less conspicuous in their shipboard clothing. The eight cannon they managed to bring were well placed, and he knew
Victory
’s men could fire and reload at least triple the rate of the French artillerists. They would have to, would there be any chance of evening the odds.

The ground shook beside him as Shaila approached in her “mech,” whatever such a word meant—mechanical, certainly, though he could see no gears nor levers upon the giant skeleton encasing her. The hatch atop the metal giant opened, and he could see his counterpart therein, wearing the headset that allowed her to talk with her fellows.

“Reporting for duty, my Lord Admiral,” she said with a hint of a smile. “General Diaz and Dr. Durand have taken flanking positions on either side of your front line.”

Weatherby nodded. “Thank you, Commander. If your….mechanism…can withstand the assault, I should like you in the vanguard.”

Shaila nodded. “Aye, sir,” she replied. “I don’t think anything they have will be a problem.”

Weatherby examined the hatch as best he could, though it was a good six feet above his head. “The glass? Would that not be a problem?”

“No, sir. If it can withstand the pressure on Venus—my Venus—it can manage pretty much anything these guys throw at us. Only a direct hit would worry me.”

“Then I shall not worry, either,” Weatherby said. “Though that is probably something of an untruth.”

A young midshipman ran up. “My Lord Admiral, I—” The boy stopped to stare at Shaila’s V-SEV. “I—”

Weatherby allowed the boy several moments to take in the 12-foot-tall monstrosity before tapping him on the shoulder. “You were saying?”

“Sorry, my Lord. All report ready. The Lady Weatherby instructed me specifically to remind you to give her and Dr. Finch time to fire before your flanks advance.”

“Very well. Anything else?”

The boy looked down upon his shoes at this, his face reddening. “The lady asked me to extend other messages as well, though I dare say t’was none of my business to hear them, my Lord.”

Weatherby managed a smile, though he knew their last words upon the beach were less than ideal. As much as he wanted to know what she said, now was not the time. “I take your meaning well enough. You are discharged from that task. Stay with me in case I’ve need of a runner.”

He was interrupted by Shaila. “Admiral, looks like the French are moving. Diaz and Durand reporting it too. They’re advancing.”

Weatherby sighed. “Very well. I suggest you seal your hatches, Commander, and prepare to advance as well. Our van will be behind you.”

Shaila tossed off a casual salute. “Tell them not to get underfoot. I won’t be able to see them. Otherwise, I’ll pave the road for you.” And with that, the queer glass-and-metal hatch once again lowered over her body, leaving her sitting inside the belly of the metal giant she piloted so deftly.

“Truly amazing,” Weatherby muttered, before turning to his men and drawing his sword high. “Englishmen! These French before us hold fell secrets that will aid those left at home! Victory here saves all England! Our lands, our families, our people now rely on us! Today, we start France on its road to defeat!”

The men cheered loudly, and Weatherby saw even the most fearful faces gain new heart, even as his own heart sank. Some of those cheering would be dead soon, and at his command. He offered a silent prayer that their deaths would have meaning beyond the words he would next yell. “Now! For God and King! For England! CHARGE!”

Weatherby drew his sword and tapped the flat of the blade on Shaila’s V-SEV, and the giant metal suit immediately started striding forward, even as the first rounds of musket fire could be heard whizzing past. The admiral pointed his sword forward, and began jogging, lines of marines and sailors behind him.

For England
, he thought.
For home.

“All right, I’m on the move,” Shaila said over the comm, “and I got a bunch of guys with muskets behind me. Over.” Shaila’s HUD immediately pointed out the location of Stephane and Diaz, to her far left and right, respectively, and she could see them moving as well, identified as blue dots, with dozens of white dots behind them in neat lines. Ahead, the computer helpfully pointed out movement, though it was having a hard time properly identifying the
Corps Éternel
. It settled on another “UNKNOWN FAUNA” designation.

“Roger that,” Diaz replied. “Getting some musket fire. No damage. Powering up the laser drills now. Remember, aim only for the zombies. Kicking and stomping works, too.”

Shaila flipped a switch to fire up her own drills. “Durand, report.”

“I’m here,” he replied, sounded determined. “Ready to fight.”

I bet you are
, Shaila thought. “Roger. Don’t get carried away, honey.”

“I am perfectly calm,” Stephane protested, a hint of humor in his voice. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to this a little bit, yes?”

Shaila’s reply was cut short by her HUD readout, which saw a few of the white dots behind her winking out. “They’re taking heavy fire,” she said. “We’re starting to lose ‘em.”

“Double time,” Diaz ordered. “Get to the French lines and start cutting.”

Shaila pushed her yoke forward and felt the V-SEV respond quickly, charging across the glen and leaving the English lines behind her. It was but the work of thirty seconds to get to the first lines of kneeling French soldiers. She saw a few scatter—the living ones—while the rest still went through the rote motions of firing, reloading and firing again.

Shaila turned to her left, toward Stephane, and fired up her right drill. Looking out her starboard window, she saw the red line cut through the first two undead soldiers like butter, severing heads and arms from torsos with ease. “Lasers are effective. Repeat, lasers are effective. Let’s go.”

She once again started up, using her laser to cut through the first two rows of soldiers. Ten, twenty, thirty—they went down wordlessly, passively, continuing to fire their muskets even as their legs were cut out from under them. They didn’t move, didn’t flee.

It was creepy as hell.

“Laser power down to 30 percent,” Diaz said. “I’m shutting down to recharge. Suggest you do the same and start clobbering instead.”

“Roger that,” Shaila replied, shutting down her drills. She then turned right and waded into the French lines, swinging the V-SEV’s arms wildly so as to strike as many French soldiers as possible. A few more started running—again, the living ones, it seemed—while the
Corps Éternel
were starting to form lines for what seemed to be bayonet charges.
For all the good it will do them
.