The Venusian Gambit (42 page)

With Weatherby in the lead, the group proceeded quietly down the corridor. They started to hear some voices ahead, echoing off the stone walls. Finally, Weatherby put his hand up to stop the group. The room was right around the bend. The admiral extended his hand, and Finch placed a small cloth satchel in it. With a quick scan of his troops, Weatherby then hurled it around the corner. With a soft plop and a hiss, smoke started edging upward into the corridor.

“Now!” he hissed.

Shaila allowed the marines and Anne to move past her—she only had one real shot, and was mindful of Weatherby’s warning about the Tablet. She had no doubt the guys inside would love to nab it if they could. So she edged forward as the sound of cries and steel rang out from behind the curtain of white fog.

“
Arrêté! Corps, arrêté!
”

What the…?

She turned back toward Stephane, who looked equally confused as the sounds of combat ceased. The French had ordered their
Corps Éternel
to stop fighting.

Motioning for Stephane to stay put, Shaila hugged the wall of the low corridor and poked her head into the fog. It took a moment for her to find the very edge of the alchemical effect, but when she did, she saw Weatherby, Anne and the marines pointing muskets and swords at two men, while the zombie soldiers were literally frozen in mid-strike. And they were all in the middle of one of the strangest chambers Shaila had ever seen.

The room was a kind of rough tunnel extending at least forty meters out. The top of the arc was easily six meters high and wide, and the walls seemed to be of the same rough-hewn make as the hallway. But lining those walls were shelves made of sticks and logs, lashed together by what looked like vines.

And on the shelves were glowing silver orbs.

Each sphere was no larger than a baseball, but seemed to have a variable light inside it, as if a twinkling star could be seen up close. They were kept several rows deep on each shelf—and each wall was stacked with at least 30 shelves. They extended down both walls…all the way to the end of the room.

There were tens of thousands of them—perhaps more. Perhaps millions.

About six meters from the doorway was a circle on the floor made of piled stone, rising about a half-meter from the floor. Shaila could see a dull, silvery liquid inside. And on either side of it stood two men. One was tall and heavy set, with a florid, long face and swept-back grey hair. He wore the clothes of an early 19
th
century gentlemen, well embroidered and shiny where appropriate. The other was much older, clad all in black, with a wreath of white, unkempt hair around the crown of his head. His face was wide and full and heavily wrinkled, and his eyes were slightly bulbous.

Even though he had aged thirty years, Shaila would never fail to recognize Cagliostro, the man who nearly started an alien invasion of the Solar System.

Naturally, she felt pretty good about pointing her pistol at him.

“Given that the Lady Anne Weatherby is with you, I can only assume you are Admiral Lord Weatherby,” the first man said in accented English. “I pray you, lower your weapons! We have much to discuss and precious little time to do so.”

Weatherby was not in the mood to acquiesce. “And I can only assume you are Jean-Claude Berthollet, so you’ll forgive me if my weapons remain as they are, for it was your men who attacked my fleet in the Void yesterday and again, mere hours ago, in the jungles here!”

Another man stepped forward from where the
Corps Éternel
had halted. The man was tall and mostly bald, and wore the most ornate military uniform Shaila had ever seen. “Those were on my orders, my Lord Admiral, as there is a state of war between England and France,” the man said. “I am, however, open to a truce between our local forces while Dr. Berthollet explains our…situation.”

“And you are?” Weatherby demanded.

“Louis-Nicolas Davout, Duke of Auerstädt, Marshal of the Empire and servant to His Imperial Majesty, Napoleon.”

Shaila saw a look of surprise on Weatherby’s face—the Frenchman had to be a major player in the Napoleonic Wars. “The last we had heard, you were in London,” Weatherby ventured. “It is no doubt highly significant that you are here, your Grace.” He finally lowered his sword. “For the moment, we are in a state of truce, but only within this room. We will discuss the present situation, and then, if there can be no accord, you may revive your accursed soldiers and we shall see who prevails.”

Davout smirked. “A fine plan, my Lord.” The marshal then barked out several rapid orders in French, at which the zombies animated and returned to at-ease positions on either side of the doorway, a kind of macabre honor guard.

Then Shaila noticed Cagliostro staring at her, and realized she was still pointing a gun at him. Reluctantly, she lowered it—but he kept staring.

“What?” she demanded.

“You…you’re from the other realm, are you not?” Cagliostro asked in his Italian-accented English. “I saw you on Mars!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, I was there. Commander Shaila Jain. We stopped your ass from unleashing Althotas on the world. We should’ve hauled you back to our ‘realm’ and put you on trial for war crimes and attempted genocide.”

Cagliostro he turned to Berthollet. “Dear God, it is happening again, Berthollet! They are here! I warned you this was possible! They have meddled in these matters a second time and created another convergence! It is just as Althotas would have wished!”

Berthollet frowned at Shaila, then turned to Weatherby. “Before we can begin negotiations in earnest, Lord Weatherby, I should wish to know why you would take such a hazardous and irresponsible step by creating another convergence!”

At this, Anne practically lunged toward Berthollet. “You know full well that we did not do this!” she countered. “It is you who unleashed
The Book of the Dead
into the world and created these fell soldiers. And with each one you create, the space between worlds gets smaller!”

Weatherby shook his head. “Please! Wait, my love, I beg you.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off violently, but nonetheless stopped for the moment as he continued. “You’re saying that you have not created a convergence, and I swear upon my honor that we have not done so ourselves.”

“So you say, but is it true that Andrew Finch possesses
The Book of the Dead
?” Berthollet asked. “For I have seen his workings of late, and they would be nigh impossible without it.”

Finch stepped forward. “Yes, I have the book. And yes, I have used a modicum of its power, as you have,” he said, standing tall but contrite. “It is possible—though still not proven—that our use of these powers, yours and mine, may have weakened the border between worlds. We come seeking the truth of the matter.”

“Yes, yes, we’re well aware of this possibility,” Berthollet said with a dismissive wave. “But that in and of itself cannot create a convergence. It would take either the alchemical essences of the Known Worlds—which were destroyed with Althotas on Mars—or a combination of
The Book of the Dead
and the Emerald Tablet. That is why we are here, you fools. The Venusians were
there
when Althotas created those fell artifacts, and they were there when he was banished to the world between worlds.”

“Their memories of these events are here, in the memory vaults,” Cagliostro added. “We hope that these memories will give us the information we need.”

“To bring him back?” Weatherby demanded.

“God, no, Weatherby!” Davout thundered. “To shut him away forever!”

“But with you here, and the convergence in place, all he would need are the two artifacts, the book and the Tablet,” Berthollet said. “And we fear his agents could be anywhere. Indeed, they could be you!”

Shaila’s stomach dropped as Weatherby turned to her in horror. It was their worst fear confirmed.
All he needs are the book and the Tablet. And we brought them here.

Suddenly, Shaila’s headset crackled. “Diaz to Jain. Diaz to Jain. Enemy is here. Repeat, enemy is here. We got about a thousand goddamn zombies out here and we are engaging. Over.”

CHAPTER 26

January 30, 2135
May 29, 1809

D
iaz watched stoically as line after line of
Corps Éternel
soldiers marched into the clearing. They spread out like the precision drill teams she had seen in her academy days at Colorado Springs, with muskets over their shoulders and feet moving in unnervingly precise lockstep. And they moved
fast—
it was like she was watching a parade in fast-forward.

“Hold fire,” Diaz ordered. She had given Elizabeth’s headset to Philip so they could coordinate better, then rigged the comms in the other V-SEV so that she wouldn’t need one. “I want to see how these guys line up.”

And line up they did. They emerged from the jungle five abreast, then quickly formed larger lines in the clearing that spread out and pivoted toward the pyramid. There were easily fifty troops in each row, at perfect arm’s length. And they kept coming.

“Holding fire. Cannon is ready,” Philip replied. “Lookouts report several cannon coming down the trail now. Six…no, eight pieces.”

“Aw, hell. Why not, right? Jesus,” Diaz responded. “I’m going to try to disable the guns while they’re in transit. If I can’t, hold fire until the guns have stopped moving before you hit ‘em.”

“We shall concentrate fire upon the
Corps Éternel
until you tell us otherwise, Madam General,” Philip responded, “and allow our Venusian compatriots to attack at the flanks and rear.”

Diaz powered up the lasers on both V-SEVs. “Call me ‘madam’ again, Lieutenant, and I’ll beat you something fierce,” she said with a grin.

It took a moment for the young man to reply. “I certainly meant no disrespect,” he said, a touch of petulance in his voice.

“I know. Don’t worry about it. Let’s get to work. Fire when ready.”

Above Diaz’ V-SEV, a huge blast shook the foundations of the pyramid as a gout of bluish flame shot out in a wide arc across the clearing, and at least two dozen zombies went down in flames, literally. Meanwhile, Diaz targeted the first cannon she saw, rolling up toward the clearing from the trail. She took aim and fired—and found the laser was going to take a while to cut through the thick iron of the cannon.

Thankfully, it cut through the wooden wheels just fine. A second later, the artillery piece dropped through the wooden wreckage onto the ground—effectively blocking the other artillery from entering the clearing and approaching the pyramid.

“Hot damn!” Diaz whooped. “Lieutenant, I suggest you have your snipers commence firing. Elizabeth, as soon as you see the last soldiers come off the trail, signal the Venusians to attack.

“We might get out of this looking good after all,” she added.

Diaz began slicing through the enemy lines with her laser—failing to notice two small targets edging around the back of the pyramid.

Weatherby stood across from Berthollet and Davout with his arms folded. “You’ll forgive me, gentlemen, if I cannot quite believe your assertion that the presence of the Emerald Tablet and
The Book of the Dead
in this place is in error, for our own alchemists believe that these two artifacts may be used
against
Althotas with great efficacy.”

“Just as a child may use a loaded gun when placed before him,” Berthollet sneered. “Not well. And if there is a soldier there with him, who should make better use of it?”

Shaila stepped forward. “Fine, but where is he, then? If he’s not here to use the damn things, and if you guys are all excited about keeping Althotas out of our worlds, then let’s take them and get to work. Seal it up. Banish him. Whatever.”

“That is not the entirety of our mission, young lady,” Davout said. “It is, of course, imperative to ensure Althotas does not enter our realms again. But the Emperor himself has commanded that we find a method to permanently banish the Martian that does not reduce the effectiveness of the
Corps Éternel
.”

Weatherby narrowed his eyes at the French marshal. “And so you and your Emperor would risk the Known Worlds in order to keep your foul soldiers,” he said. “That cannot stand. We have the book and the Tablet, and by God, we will use them to defeat Althotas, and your creations can go to Hell where they belong!”

The two sides stared for a few long moments before Anne stepped forward and ventured an idea. “Gentlemen, perhaps we may yet come to an accord. Of course, we retain the book and the Tablet, and have no intention of surrendering them to you,” she said, walking around the room slowly, apparently deep in thought. “Of course, with this convergence occurring, I would suggest time is of the essence. Therefore, I would like to conduct my researches here in this chamber, with Dr. Finch assisting me. As might I suggest that you may continue your inquiries here as well, so long as you do not hinder ours. Should either of us find a solution, we may implement it as we see fit—again, without interference. And of course, we shall all agree that this chamber is of utmost importance to the Venusian people, and should be treated with all due care and respect.”

Davout and Berthollet looked at each other, surprise and confusion writ upon their faces, while Cagliostro seemed almost giddy at the prospect. Meanwhile, Weatherby positioned himself just in front of three of the revenants, and gave Shaila what he hoped to be a most meaningful look. To her credit, the young woman gave a slow nod of her head and slowly walked toward two others, bringing one of the marines closer with a subtle gesture.

After conferring briefly, Davout looked up and smiled. “While that is indeed a most fair-minded solution, Lady Weatherby, I am afraid we must decline. Above, our reinforcements are well on their way, and even with your fantastical vehicles, our sheer numbers may yet turn the tide. And as for this room, well…” Davout made a show of unsheathing his blade. “You are outnumbered.
Corps, attaque!
”

Utterly predictable
, Weatherby thought. With one swift motion, he drew his alchemically enhanced sword and swung in a wide arc, neatly slicing three of the revenants in half before they could move. Shaila was less fortunate, however, for her pistol shot hit her target in the jaw, rather than the forehead, and the creature began to grapple her in its clawed, shriveled hands, even as its jawbone dangled from its shattered face.