The Venusian Gambit (40 page)

“Roger that. Coming back to your position. Let’s see if we can get you going again.”

But it wasn’t happening, even after Shaila climbed out, manually opened Stephane’s entry hatch and spent twenty minutes going through the guts of his V-SEV. It would take at least an hour to debug the computers, let alone fix whatever damage the cannon shot and the fall caused.

“So,” Weatherby said, approaching the V-SEVs after conferring with the Venusians and Diaz. “I take it cannon shot is indeed something you might’ve been worried about, Commander?”

Shaila grimaced at him. “Probably, but I think we did all right, with due respect, Admiral.”

“Quite well, and I thank you for it. You are unharmed?”

Stephane nodded, as did Shaila. “We’re fine. How bad were you hit?”

Weatherby grimaced. “We’ve but sixty men left, and only one cannon, which we shall leave behind. Your General Diaz tells me that time is of the essence. She has been in contact with your compatriots in the Void. The devices—satellites, I believe she said—have substantially accelerated their efforts to widen the portal between our worlds. We now have but hours before the world is completely consumed.”

Shaila looked around at the injured, thirsty, exhausted men under Weatherby’s command. “We’re still a ways off. Some of them won’t make it.”

Weatherby regarded them with sadness and resolve upon his face. “I’m afraid you’re right. I….wait. Can your devices pull a wagon?”

Shaila frowned. “A wagon? Really?” But then she spotted what caught Weatherby’s attention—a small cluster of wagons off at the edge of the forest, probably the supply train for the defeated French forces. “Yeah, I bet they could.”

Weatherby turned to one of his men. “Find Lady Anne. She has some experience with these matters. Tell her we need to harness those wagons to the metal giants. Go!”

It was a tall order, but with Anne and Philip overseeing the hasty renovation of the wagons—and with Elizabeth translating so that the Venusians might lend a hand—a total of four wagons were reinforced with additional wood for cover and loaded with men. There were small-arms gunports spaced out regularly, and one of the wagons was loaded with the last surviving cannon and all remaining shot—a lucky happenstance indeed. Each V-SEV could tow two of the wagons, hitched to each other, without a major loss of speed.

And Anne had made it all happen in an hour. Shaila wondered if there was some sort of alchemy that allowed the former Miss Baker to whip the troops into shape like that, but decided that she was pretty formidable on her own. Shaila figured that if Anne had been from the 22
nd
century, she might outrank Diaz.

The unusual caravan started off into the jungle once more, and Shaila thought the sight of V-SEVs towing wagons as probably the most absurd thing in the Solar System—except for the fact that the Venusian warriors had taken to climbing all over the V-SEVs, and refused to budge. So when they powered up and started moving, each V-SEV was covered in at least a dozen lizard-men.

“This can’t get any weirder,” Shaila told Stephane as they set off. With Stephane’s V-SEV down, he joined her in the jumpseat, making for cramped quarters.

“It can,” he said tiredly. “And it will. Just wait until we get to the vault.”

CHAPTER 24

January 30, 2135
May 29, 1809

I
t is exceedingly impolite to refuse a gift, and not simply amongst fellow men. Within the Venusian culture, refusing a gift is tantamount to a declaration of hostilities. The Va’hak’ri tell of great wars in ancient days, fought because gifts were refused—even inadvertently called into question as to their quality or provenance.

And so with that in mind, Weatherby rode toward the Venusian memory vault upon one of the Venusians’ queer
sek’hatk
mounts. Given its relatively small size, Weatherby had thought to decline, but it was fortunate that Elizabeth was by his side to translate, as well as to warn him of the repercussions of refusal. To the admiral’s great surprise and mild consternation, the saurian mount was surprisingly strong, much in the way of the Icelandic ponies he had read about years ago. Except, of course, that these steeds had scales and frills rather than horsehair and manes.

“Did you name him yet, Admiral?” Shaila asked in his ear, where the headset remained.

Despite his exhaustion and doubt, Weatherby smiled at the quip—and the insouciance behind it. There were times when Weatherby wondered whether Shaila Jain was actually part of a real military organization. “I’m quite hopeful, Commander, that this is a mere passing acquaintance that will absolve me of actually keeping, let alone naming, this poor creature. That said, given the odor this fine steed seems to produce, a number of monikers do come to mind—few of them complimentary.”

There was a short pause on the other end before she replied. “You’re using big words just to mess with me now, aren’t you.”

“Only because I’ve found your 22
nd
century grasp of vocabulary alarming, Miss Jain. Shall we not seek to better one another in the time we have together?” Weatherby’s smile grew broader as he said this. Throughout his long and storied career, Weatherby had noticed his propensity for good humor after an engagement. He felt it was, at times, unseemly that the natural reaction to winning a battle was joviality, especially given the heavy losses on both sides. However, it was, he found, human nature to feel awash in relief and good humor at the prospect of having survived, and contented himself in knowing that, in his experience, he was not the only one to react in such a way. Besides, with work still to be done, now was not the time to grieve for the fallen or feel his customary guilt—and the men needed to see him in good spirits.

“I don’t see how—wait.” Shaila said, interrupting herself. “Admiral, I have twenty-seven contacts ahead, roughly two kilometers—sorry 1.2 miles—ahead. There’s a clearing there as well, and some sort of large stone structure.” The woman’s voice had changed from relaxed to respectful in mere moments—a sign, surely, that something was afoot. “There’s a handful of unidentified targets, but it looks like seventeen of them are human.”

“Very well, Commander. Please pass on my request to General Diaz that you ready your vehicles for battle,” Weatherby said. “It seems like we may have arrived at the French camp. So…um…Weatherby out, I believe?”

He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Roger that, Admiral. Jain out.”

Weatherby turned to his surviving marine commander—a lieutenant by the name of Cook now, as his two superiors had perished in the battle—and ordered him to ready the men. He then had the wagons unhitched from the giant metal vehicles. One wagon had their lone remaining cannon aboard, with its muzzle pointed out the end, so Weatherby requested Diaz and Shaila to bring that wagon forward so it might provide fire support.

As this was happening, the marine commander had thoughtfully sent a scout ahead—the same midshipman Weatherby had used as a runner, as it happened. The admiral had forgotten about the lad, to his chagrin, but was quite pleased to see the mid alive after the battle.

“There’s a ruin up ahead, my Lord,” the boy said breathlessly. “It looks like a pyramid, but made of steps instead of slanted walls. There’s a clearing there too, but no huts or anything. Looks like there may have been buildings at one point, but not anymore. The French have tents set up there. They have about ten of those revenant guards, the dead ones. Some living soldiers, too, and then a handful of gentlemen all dressed up fancy. A couple of them were going in and out of the pyramid. There’s an opening at the base of it.”

Weatherby turned to Finch, who had come up to hear the report. “Doctor, does that not sound familiar?”

The alchemist nodded. “It does indeed. Rather like what we saw in ‘79, last we were here. It makes sense. I believe we saw one of their alchemists or shamans or whatever take the memories out of dead warriors then. They’re probably stored in the pyramid. That’s likely the vault.”

“Actually, uncle, I should say the vault would be
under
the pyramid,” Elizabeth corrected. “The Venusians still to this day do not have the ability to work stone on such a scale as to create pyramids. The structure is likely Martian or Saturnian in origin, and abandoned thousands of years ago. The Venusians would likely find a way to burrow under the floor inside the structure.”

“Why burrow?” Diaz asked over the comm. “Why not just use the building as is?”

Elizabeth reflexively put her hand to hear headset as she replied. “Because while the tribes can appreciate the defensibility of stone structures, they also see relics of the other Known Worlds as not trustworthy. So they would create their own spaces inside the structure—underneath most likely. The 1794 expedition to the
Ve’lak’tha
ruins near Puerto Verde found –”

“Yes, thank you, my dear,” Weatherby interrupted, prompting a blush from Elizabeth. “General Diaz, shall we plan our attack?”

“Roger that, Admiral. Seems like the main force here are zombies, with some non-combatants as well. I’d rather capture than kill. We want answers, after all.”

“Agreed, General,” Weatherby said. “What do you have in mind?”

Shaila guided her V-SEV down the rutted wagon-trail, a series of ropes in her mech’s “hand” that allowed her to tow the wagon behind. Diaz took up the rear in her own V-SEV.

“You know, Shay, there will be more
Corps Éternel
here at some point,” Stephane said from behind her. “I would imagine that they would guard other approaches to the memory vault just as well as the approach we went through.”

She smiled at this, because it was the same conversation Shaila, Diaz and Weatherby had
before
they faced off in the clearing and the Venusians saved their collective asses. “I know, honey. That’s why we gotta get in, figure this out, and get out fast before the cavalry arrives. Literally, I suppose.”

“Cut the chatter, you two,” Diaz said over the comm. “I’m detecting a lot more movement in the clearing now. They spotted us.”

It would be hard to miss us
, Shaila thought as she gave the four-meter-tall V-SEV more speed. Ahead, she could see a line of soldiers forming about thirty meters away, in the center of the clearing. Behind them, French officers and civilians were rushing around—many of them into the huge pyramid behind them.

“Pyramids,” Stephane said, humor in his voice. “Why is it always pyramids?”

“Well, they’re easy for primitive cultures to build,” Shaila noted as she tugged the cannon into position at the trail head, giving Diaz enough room to join her in front of it. “Of course, there’s always the ancient astronaut theory, and—dammit. They’ve opened fire.”

Shaila saw puffs of white smoke erupt from the muskets in front of her. A split second later, a handful of pings on the outer hull of her V-SEV indicated the French had good aim. Of course, a vehicle designed to drop from space and handle Venus’ harsh environment was a good bet against 19
th
century muskets. She looked at her readouts and confirmed that the soldiers in front of her were zombies. Only the officer with them was among the living.

“General, permission to engage,” Shaila said. “I can target the zombies and spare the officer from this angle.”

“Granted,” Diaz said.

A moment later, Shaila charged forward toward the French line, and an angry red beam shot out from the forearm of the V-SEV, slicing the
Corps Éternel
in half as they reloaded and stopped within a few centimeters of the French officer, who looked on in shocked horror.

“Targets eliminated,” Shaila reported. “Admiral Weatherby, you’re up.”

“Thank you, Commander,” he replied over the comm.

Suddenly, a swarm of red-coated marines and Venusian warriors burst out of the jungle from all sides of the clearing. Weatherby and Finch positioned themselves directly in front of the pyramid entrance, thus intercepting the most obvious line of retreat—and bagging several Frenchmen in the process.

The remaining French dropped their weapons—except for the one commanding the
Corps Éternel
that Shaila had just cut down. He was still staring at the V-SEVs.
We may need to get that poor guy some help
, Shaila thought.

To Weatherby’s great pleasure, the remaining French at the encampment were by no means patriots, at least when faced with capture, and a few discussed freely their aims and compatriots. Of course, the metal vehicles brought by Shaila and Diaz were perhaps far more persuasive in interrogation than his stern questioning.

Sadly, the news was nowhere near as accommodating as its sources. And as much as Weatherby wished to immediately enter the pyramid, he instead posted sentries at the portal so he might confer with his subordinates and allies as to the defense of their position.

“We are told that, shortly after our earlier engagement, runners warned the encampment here of the losses, and word has already been sent to reinforce this area,” Weatherby said grimly to his makeshift war council, which included his alchemists, the 22
nd
century officers and several Venusian chieftains, with Elizabeth translating. “There are at least another thousand revenants at their disposal, and may be here at any time, for they can move as fast as horses without tiring.”

This prompted croaking and chirping among the Venusians. “The chiefs wish to convey that their alliance remains with you, Father,” Elizabeth said with a wry smile. “Seeing the French use revenants, and then finding them here at their sacred site, has aggrieved them greatly.”

“Please convey my utmost gratitude as you see fit,” Weatherby said. “And we shall make the best use of them as we may. Of course, I dare say even with their courage, this small band will not be enough.”

Diaz nodded. “We got one cannon, about sixty humans and maybe three hundred Venusians at this point, plus we’re down a V-SEV. We can’t take on another thousand zombies like we did last time and expect to come out on top. We’re going to need to take up defensive positions, and we’re going to need a plan.”