The Venusian Gambit (46 page)

“I AM FREED,” came a voice from the pool, sounding like a swarm of bees with suddenly found articulation. “I AM FREED!”

And slowly, with great purpose and dread, Althotas arose from the pool of memories, reborn unto the Known Worlds. His wide eyes sat above a wicked maw, his green, sinewy, scaly limbs pulling himself upward. First one leg, then the other, lifted out of the pool and onto the floor of the chamber with a sickening squelch. And finally he drew himself up to his full height—nine feet tall if an inch, powerfully muscled and inhumanly proportioned. His limbs were long, his torso slight, but there was no doubt as to his physical power.

Althotas scanned the room, looking down upon the Emerald Tablet and
The Book of the Dead
with a smile. “THE SEEDS OF MY AWAKENING,” he said. “WHO HAS BROUGHT THEM FORTH?”

Greene finally put his datapad down and stepped forward, taking Finch’s arm and bringing him along. “We have, Lord Althotas. I am your humble servant, while here is Rathemas, your most trusted lieutenant!” Greene said. “We hope you find pleasure in our working.”

Althotas surveyed Finch closely, even crouching down to look him in the eye. “YOU ARE UNWELL, FAVORED ONE.”

Finch nodded. “This vessel…powerful…I…my Lord…” Finch’s trembling and swaying worsened. “Help me.”

Althotas simply grinned. “THIS IS BUT A MINOR TEST. YOU CAN DEFEAT A MERE HUMAN.” He then turned toward the captives in the room. “AS FOR YOU, YOU HAVE ALL FAILED.”

Weatherby stood tall, but found he had no response, for the mere presence of the Martian warlord was the proof of his words. To his left, Weatherby heard Shaila sob.
Show strength
, he thought, but when he turned toward her, he saw her eyes boring into him, even though her face was tear-streaked. She then glanced ever so briefly to her side, where the powerful firearm lay but six or seven feet away from her and Stephane.

Strong indeed
.

“While I have breath, I will fight you, creature!” Weatherby said, emboldened. All eyes in the room now turned to him. “Your days are long past. Now is the time of Mankind, and we shall not give it up so easily!”

Greene rushed forward with a look of rage and struck Weatherby across the face. “Show some respect!” he thundered. “You’ve lost! Know when you’ve been beaten!”

Anne crouched over Weatherby, who had fallen backward under the onslaught, and he immediately saw the question in her eyes through the pain in his jaw. He nodded slightly, and she wheeled around to face Greene. “You, sir, are a monster and a coward both!” And she lashed out, catching him in the nose. A crunch was heard, and her hand came away bloody. “We shall bow before no one, Man or Martian!”

Greene raised his hand a second time, but was stopped by a metallic click at the other side of the room. He turned—and saw Shaila holding the firearm. But it was not pointed at him.

It was pointed at Althotas.

“Go back to Hell, you son of a bitch.”

She fired.

Dozens of bullets lanced into the Martian warlord, prompting an otherworldly scream of pain, like nothing short of the wail of a thousand damned souls. Where the bullets landed, splotches of yellow blood appeared on the creature.

But despite being struck by at least a score of bullets, Althotas was able to keep his feet—and turned toward Shaila with an inarticulate scream of rage.

Not enough
, Weatherby thought. And then he saw the revenant nearest him, his alchemical blade in a scabbard at his belt. Immediately, Weatherby lashed out with all his might, shoving the creature to the ground and grasping the hilt, pulling for all he was worth. The revenant clawed and punched at him in a flurry, but Weatherby managed to fall backward—with the blade in his hand.

A moment later, the revenant’s head fell to the floor.

Shaila, meanwhile, continued to pour bullets into Althotas, and while the Martian staggered, he continued to push forward toward her. Weatherby saw Greene charge, unseen by her. The admiral moved to intercept him, but was tackled by the other revenant, shoved to the floor and nearly stabbed by the creature’s bayonet—which Weatherby sliced in half before it found his heart. He shoved the revenant off him and neatly cleaved its head from its shoulders.

Weatherby turned and saw that Greene had staggered and fallen—Stephane had grasped his ankle and twisted. Finally catching a glimpse of him, Shaila briefly turned her gun in Greene’s direction. He stopped moving almost instantly.

But that allowed Althotas to get close enough to swing at Shaila, who had to fall backward to avoid the Martian’s claws—claws that were poisoned, Weatherby remembered. The admiral clambered to his feet and rushed forward.

Then Finch stepped in front of him. In his hands was
The Book of the Dead.

“Tom,” he croaked. His pallor was sickly and his hands trembling but his eyes—his eyes were his own. And they pled with his old friend. “Tom…destroy this.”

Weatherby needed no further encouragement. He brought his blade down upon the book in Finch’s hands, slicing it in twain with a single stroke.

Althotas screamed again and turned toward Weatherby. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

Finch answered for him. “What I…should’ve…done…long ago!”

He then tossed the two pieces of
The Book of the Dead
into the pool of memories—which immediately turned pitch black.

Althotas turned and tried to swipe at Finch, but was met with Weatherby’s blade. The creature’s forearm was severed midway between wrist and elbow.

“We have not failed!” Weatherby bellowed.

Then there was a loud crack from the other side of the pool, and Althotas screamed again—and even with his alien features, there was true panic writ upon his face.

Weatherby saw Anne and Stephane together, with the pieces of the Emerald Tablet at their feet. They had shattered it upon the stony floor—just as Weatherby had done so many years ago. Quickly, the two bent over and began scooping up the green, glowing shards, casting them into the pool as well. And the waters soon began glowing with the same emerald light.

The sound of gunfire rang out again, and more yellow blotches appeared on Althotas’ chest and skull. Shaila had regained her footing, and was grimly firing upon the Martian once more—until her bullets were spent, and she cast the weapon to the ground in disgust. “Now what?”

Weatherby ran forward, his blade held high. “Now we finish him!”

But Finch practically tackled him, leaving the two struggling against each other. “No, Tom!” he shouted, his voice straining. “We must…close it. The convergence.”

Weatherby struggled to disengage himself from Finch. “How?” he demanded.

Finch simply smiled and clasped Weatherby in a ferocious hug. “I will…make this right,” he said. “You are…my brother.”

Then Finch disengaged himself from his friend and dashed up to Althotas, shoving him backward with all his might—a considerable might, Weatherby saw, as he was still possessed, at least in part, by the otherworldly Rathemas.

But Finch, it seemed, had taken the upper hand.

Althotas staggered backward, tripping upon the edge of the pool. Finch pushed again, leaping upon the teetering titan and hammering him with his fists, over and over.

Althotas fell backward into the pool, taking Finch with him.

The waters surged and roiled, and all in the room could see Finch and the Martian struggling. Althotas’ clawed hands grasped vainly for the stone walls of the pool, while Finch kicked against the very same stone in order to push the warlord back into the water. Finally, Althotas clasped Finch to him as they both sank under the surface with a resounding splash. After this, the struggles grew less intense, and as the waters smoothed, they slowly returned to their dark silvery color.

Weatherby turned toward the others. “Is that…is that it, then?”

Anne smiled, but Shaila and Stephane looked upon each other with fear in their eyes, holding hands, whispering things that, Weatherby felt, he had best not hear.

But still. “What is it?” he asked.

Shaila turned and smiled, and her tear-streaked face was the most heartbreaking look Weatherby had ever seen. “If this is anything like Mars, the overlap will end pretty fast,” she said. “And the surface of Venus will kill us instantly.” She sniffled and suddenly gave him a proper salute. “An honor serving with you, my Lord Admiral.”

She then turned back to Stephane. “I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you, too.”

Then a blinding white light erupted from the pool, and all those still alive were suddenly blinded.

CHAPTER 29

May 29, 1809

G
eneral Wellesley turned his back for a moment to rally what remained of his men, but an unearthly growl prompted him to turn back—and swing wildly. Thankfully, the blade connected with the French revenant about to assault him, and the creature was dispatched quickly, though further soiling the general’s fine red coat with more blackish ichor. To his right, the brave Arkhest moved fluidly through the French lines, her robes twirling about her as she used the swords she carried to cut her way through the masses of the damned like a scythe in the fields.

But it was not enough. Wellesley’s forces were decimated by two-thirds, their retreat cut off. They were surrounded. Furthermore, Arkhest was the only Xan the general could see—all the others had quickly fallen to savage, massed assaults by the former
Corps Éternel
after they…changed. The Xan were torn limb from limb by the hordes of newly angered revenants. Wellesley was sure he would take the images—and the sounds of the Xan’s disharmonic screams—to his grave.

He also assumed he would be in his grave in short order.

“Follow me!” he cried, rallying a small group of red-clad soldiers behind him. “We must punch through their lines! For England!”

The general ran forward, his blade held high, and cried out incoherently with a growing, bubbling rage. If he were to die, it would be forward, on true English soil, with the blood of his enemies on his hands.

Suddenly, the revenants…collapsed.

As if they were puppets without their strings, the entirety of the
Corps Éternel
simply collapsed into heaps of dead flesh and soiled uniforms. Wellesley’s run became a jog, and then a walk, until he reached the first rank of the now-fallen French. He poked one with a sword, and found there was no reaction. He then sliced the head clean off. Its fellows did not seek vengeance.

Arkhest came up to his side. “It would appear the power animating them has been…removed,” the Xan battle master sang.

“Will it return?” Wellesley demanded.

“I cannot say, but if it does, it shan’t be a thing done quickly, I would think,” Arkhest replied, notes of amazement and growing joy in her voice.

Wellesley turned back to his men. “Burn them. Every last one. Send messengers to Edinburgh to report what has happened, then prepare runners to move south to report further. Should the rest of the revenants be found like this, they must be burned. Go!”

The men scurried off to procure torches and oil, and Wellesley visibly slumped as he regarded his fallen foes. “Thank God,” he whispered.

He then found himself thinking of Lord Weatherby, who insisted he would find a way to stop the revenants. Perhaps he had.

Wellesley still didn’t like the man. But he was grateful.

January 30, 2135
May 29, 1809

Maria Diaz parried a bayonet with her forearm, grasping the weapon and using the zombie’s momentum to send him crashing into the one next to him. She used the sword she had found to hack an arm off, then a head.

And she kept moving. For how long, though, she couldn’t say.

Exhausted and covered in black blood, Diaz kept moving forward toward the pyramid, step by bloody step. Every meter, it seemed, she was set upon by more goddamn zombies. They were maddened and savage as hell and wailing something completely awful, but remained untrained, at least by 22
nd
century standards. She was able to cut through them decently, though had taken a bayonet slice to the side and a few other minor wounds.

You’re not gonna make it
, she said to herself.

Shut up!
she replied.

Another three zombies came charging forward, and she adjusted her stance so that she wouldn’t be fighting on the severely sprained ankle she got a few zombies ago. She pulled out her last pistol and readied her sword.

Then a white light blasted through the top of the pyramid, blinding her.

She couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, so she waited.

Shaila opened her eyes.

Stephane still had his closed.

She looked around and saw Weatherby and Anne looking at her, their faces stricken. The bodies of zombies and people and former friends were everywhere. Finch was gone.

She turned back to Stephane. His eyes were open now.

“Alive?” he asked.

“Think so,” she replied, grinning widely. “Umm…yeah. Alive!”

Despite her injuries, Shaila pulled Stephane closer and hugged him fiercely, ignoring the pain lancing through nearly every part of her body. “You OK? Tell me you’re OK.”

He laughed. “I am sore and feel sick and I have a headache and I am completely wonderful,” he said quietly. “He’s gone.”

They hugged tighter.

“OK, OK,” Shaila finally said. “Not out of the woods yet.” She tapped her headset. “Jain to Diaz. Report.”

The general came on almost immediately. “Since when do I report to
you
?” She sounded elated. “But if you must know, all the goddamn zombies just keeled over. Every single one. Your status? Over.”

Shaila smiled. “Althotas is gone. The artifacts are both destroyed. Honestly, I thought the overlap would snap back, but it isn’t.”

Diaz suddenly became all business. “We need to get back in the V-SEVs. We don’t know how long we have.”

“Actually, we have two days,” Stephane said, smiling. He held up Greene’s datapad. “It’s still linked to the satellites and to the Virgin ship. The overlap is receding in an orderly fashion. I have no idea why, but it is.”