The Animus Gate (Book One of The Animus Trilogy)

by Thomas M. McNamara

  Nala nodded and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course, my love. When we’re here in your chambers, sometimes I forget about the rest of the world. I’ll go get my hair done, and then perhaps we can have a nice dinner this evening?”

  He groaned inwardly. “Of course, my dove, nothing would make me happier.”

  He escorted her out of his suite. Yes, he needed someone who was a little less green. The right girls were getting harder and harder to find with every passing generation.

  But you could never show your disdain for emotional entanglements. That was another rule. Never mistreat the women who have inhabited the intimate place in your life. He had made sure that every one of his concubines and mistresses had lived well for the rest of their natural lives. A woman scorned was a force to be reckoned with.

  Sure, he could see the look in their eyes as they grew old and infirm. They wanted the gel. Each and every one of them thought at one point that perhaps this time, they would be the life partner whom he would finally elevate. They would be the one.

  But Sar-Zin was not a sentimental man. It was much more satisfying to see how far these women were willing to go to earn the favor of eternal youth. The stories he could have told...

  He collected an entourage of assistants as he made his way to the bow of the ship. It began with two synth bodyguards who always stood watch outside the entrance to his suite. Then clusters of his people stood waiting for him in intervals along the corridor from his suite to the bridge. They collected behind him like a cloud of bees.

  On the Agamemnon, the corridors were wide enough to make you feel like you were groundside, so there was room for his whole team. This would ordinarily be a senseless expense out in space. If this had been a warship, the added mass alone would have been absolutely prohibited, not to mention the sheer size of the vessel’s profile. But as an absolute ruler, Sar-Zin decided how his flagship was going to be constructed. She moved like a glacier, but she was an emblem of his power.

  He would usually be in conversation with one or more of his people for the duration of this daily trek, but today they only murmured among themselves. The only thing on the docket was the portal. It cast a long shadow over anything else they could have discussed or dissected. And every decision about it had already been made. Now his people were simply witnesses to history—and to what Sar-Zin believed would be the greatest turnaround of public opinion since the activation of the Sol telegate, centuries ago.

  They came eventually to the bridge, and the Agamemnon’s was more than spacious enough to accommodate everyone. There were actually several rows of seats in the back for moments exactly like this. The cachet of being present when Sar-Zin did something momentous was often a measurable boost to one’s career.

  The view wasn’t bad, either. A massive undivided pane of transglass dominated the domed ceiling high above them, and it curved gently down to the very front of the ship. It made Sar-Zin’s war room look like a utility closet. As with the rest of the ship, the architecture here was wholly impractical, but it looked fantastic on the news feeds. There was nothing else like this view in the whole fleet.

  Admiral Petrov and the rest of the bridge crew stood at attention as soon as Sar-Zin exited the lift. They had been expecting him.

  “As you were, as you were,” said Sar-Zin absently. He sauntered over to his chair at the center of the room. Ordinarily, the captain would have this chair, but not on the Agamemnon. Here the captains stood. Sometimes they leaned against the railing. It was one of the few ways in which Sar-Zin subtly elevated himself from a chief executive to a supreme ruler. This was his chair.

  He took a seat, and an assistant brought him his usual cup of tea. He waved her off this time. “Not this time, dear, thank you.” Like concubines, personal assistants were to be treated with courtesy at all times. The closer people were to you, the more damage they could inflict if you pushed them around.

  It had taken a while for him to accept that reality, but he could at least enjoy the menagerie on Mainar IV. Many outside of his circle had thought to challenge him. There were still a few faces missing from the museum, but the Navy fleets he’d sent to Sol were likely to take care of the rest, assuming that irritating rabble wasn't vaporized altogether. He figured he could at least watch the recording of their demise once the fleet had one to send.

  “Admiral Petrov,” he said. “Good morning, madam. How are things looking so far?”

  Petrov was a tall and imposing woman, and the third generation of Petrovs to command an imperial warship. She was the first to operate the bridge of the Agamemnon. It was an achievement that earned her a regular supply of the gel. “Very well, sir, and good morning to you. Our scouts are reporting no activity in the region. The Oberon system appears to be devoid of human activity, or the activity of any other starfaring race.”

  Sar-Zin nodded. “That makes sense. If this system had been occupied, we would have known about it long ago. What can you tell me about the station?”

  “We are currently about one million kilometers away from it, sir, and the scouts have been performing deep scans all morning. Of note, it has no apparent means of ingress or egress, and it does not appear to be made of metal, plastic, glass, or any other materials that our systems recognize. The substance is some kind of crystal, and it appears to have been naturally formed.”

  “Do we have any notion of how long it’s been there?”

  “No sir, we do not.”

  “All right then, Admiral, take us in slowly, and start sending scouts through the portal to secure the other side.”

  “Aye, sir. Helmsman, all ahead one-third.”

  “One-third, aye,” said Helmsman Roe.

  “Ops,” said the admiral, “deploy squadrons four and five on route bravo kilo.”

  “Squadrons four and five, aye,” said Commander Vestra.

  For the first time in years, Sar-Zin felt the tingle of actual excitement. He hadn’t been this elated since he sent the previous leader of that bothersome “Federation” into the vats. This portal business would surely send his polling into the stratosphere, if he could fully capitalize on it.

  Sar-Zin turned and beckoned Betty Lu to his side.

  “Betty, darling, you’re positively glowing this fine morning. What’s your secret?”

  “I can’t think of any, sir, other than the joy of working with you!”

  “Oh, Betty, you’re such a charmer. Do you have the latest numbers for us?”

  “Yes sir, let me pull them up for you.” She made a few eye gestures, and her visor pulled up a projection of the latest figures. “According to the Imperial One stat tracking team, you’re already back up by ten points. If we keep on this trajectory, you may be back within your usual range in two weeks. Maybe even less.”

  “That is excellent news, Betty. Thank you so much.” He turned back to the bow of the ship. “That will be all. Actually, one more thing—fetch me some tea.”

  “Of course, sir, I’ll be right back with it.”

  He turned his attention back to the mission at hand. “Admiral, how would you get in and out of a station that had no airlocks?”

  “Well, sir, we’ve looked into such designs because of the high security they would afford, but all of our attempts to create even short-distance teleportation have continued to present hard challenges. Shall I bring in one of your physicists to give you more details?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  Betty came back with his tea, and he accepted it graciously. Turning back to the general, he said, “And what about the scans on the other side, Admiral? How are those going so far?”

  Petrov turned to Commander Vestra.

  “Nothing in the grid so far, ma’am,” said Vestra to the admiral. “I estimate it will take another 35 minutes to fully survey the sector, at our current rate.”

  Sar-Zin rubbed his chin. “How much could we speed that up if we sent all our scouts?”

  Petrov relayed the question to Vestra, and he said,
“According to my calculations—approximately 20 minutes. If the Admiral believes that would be prudent...” He carefully raised an eyebrow at Petrov.

  “I think it will be fine,” said Sar-Zin. “Send them all in. I’m sure each of them would love to add their names to the imperial history books. In fact...” He looked back at the gallery. “Betty, move this recording over to a live stream. Let the entire galaxy watch us do what they had not imagined was even possible until today.”

  It would take many hours for the signal to propagate across the empire, by way of the satellites stationed near every telegate controlled by the empire. But in due time, Sar-Zin figured that the airwaves would be crawling with pundits, celebrities, and images of roaring crowds as he led his subjects into a new era for the whole of mankind.

  The secret of his vitality had been exposed for all to see, but he thought he’d handled it well. Between this portal business and the imminent crushing of the radicals, his people would come to accept his version of events, once they saw where it was leading: with humanity leading the whole galaxy into a new and heretofore unimagined frontier.

  Betty Lu asked him via a discreet message if he would like to say a few words for the cameras. Yes, of course, he’d almost forgotten in all the excitement. What kind of presentation would this be without a bit of a speech for his subjects? And his team even had a list of talking points ready for him.

  Sar-Zin stood up, and the whole bridge crew stood in kind. “As you were,” he told them with a wave of his hand. He smoothed his hair and went back to the gallery where the cameras were waiting. Betty projected the talking points behind and above the camera so that it could look like he was addressing a large crowd.

  He found Nala among the crowd in the gallery and gave her a wink. She blushed.

  The cameraman gave him the countdown, then he began.

  “Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening, ladies and gentlemen of the empire. I am speaking to you live from the deck of my little boat, the Agamemnon. You may have heard of it. As you may know, the name is an ancient Greek word. It roughly translates to ‘steadfast’ or ‘unbowed.’ It was in fact the name of a Greek general of Old Earth. He was the man who brought the mighty Trojans to heel. He bested Achilles himself, a warrior said to have the blood of a god in his veins.

  “And like the Agamemnon of old, my friends, we are steadfast and unbowed today. Our enemies seek to spread lies about me, but we remain strong. Why do they lie, you ask? What are they afraid of? Look behind me, and behold the truth.

  “Just beyond that transglass lies the portal to another universe. Yes, you heard me correctly. The rumors are true. Take a good, long look. That’s not camera trickery, folks. That’s not fancy special effects. Have I ever lied to you? I’d like to think that I have only ever been completely honest with my subjects, unlike some other people you’ve been hearing from lately.

  “But you don’t have to take my word for it. Soon, everyone will see for themselves, because ladies and gentlemen, I am taking us through that portal. I assure you, we are making sure that it’s entirely safe. There are no googly-eyed aliens for miles around. And if there were, rest assured that they would flee in the face of a Navy like ours.

  “Together, we are going to show the radicals that they cannot stop us from achieving our true destiny—that they cannot drag us down with shameful lies or tawdry distractions. No, we will march together into a brave new future.

  “Now, I must return to my duties as the pilot of this little boat. But this stream will keep running throughout our historic expedition into the completely new territory of our empire’s future, so keep watching! I remain, as ever, your humble leader.” He bowed solemnly for the cameras and glided regally back to his command chair.

  “Admiral,” said Commander Vestra, “scouts report no activity in the sector. Your orders?”

  The admiral glanced to Sar-Zin.

  “Excellent,” said the emperor. “Most excellent. Send us in, Admiral. Every squadron in the system.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “I know what you’re going to say, Admiral. And ordinarily, I would agree. But this is an historic moment for the galaxy, and the empire...and your legacy.”

  The admiral cleared her throat, nodded, and relayed the orders.

  After all, the initial reports were that the other emperor was struggling with his own bad press. He’d apparently elected to send his entire fleet after the source of the leak. Not the best strategy. Sar-Zin added that to the list of matters he wanted to discuss with his counterpart when they had their summit. The lesser one, from the looks of it.

  But regardless of the other one’s competence, doubling the sizes of their armies and navies created a whole new landscape. Take the vast reserves of garadium in the asteroid belts of the Hatok system, for example. It could power his fleet for a decade—but the Kri had had a stranglehold on the area for nearly a century. Why, ten years could even be enough time to research better fuels for interplanetary travel, and then those turtle-faced freaks could come begging to him for once.

  Sar-Zin leaned back in his chair and smiled. Everything was falling into place. In a way, his whole life had been leading up to this day, this moment. He had proved the strongest of all humanity. The one with the stamina to keep going through one adversity after another. The one with the stomach to handle what it took.

  Countless subjects who hadn’t made the cut had been sent to the vats, where worthless criminals and troublesome agitators were converted into the lifeforce of the true patriots of the empire. His people should have been grateful to have a leader like him.

  “Please repeat,” said Vestra. “Lieutenant Sharam, come back. Sharam, do you copy?”

  “Is there a problem, Commander?” asked Petrov.

  The commander held up a hand, which Sar-Zin had never seen him do before.

  “Lieutenant Sharam, are you there?” asked Vestra. “Please respond, over.”

  Sar-Zin swallowed. His mouth was a bit dry all the sudden. This didn't feel right.

  “Flight Control,” said Vestra, “this is Ops. Authenticate my reading of squadrons 4 and 5, over...Are you sure, Control? Please re-check...Understood. Over and out.” He turned to Petrov. “Admiral, wings four and five are no longer on the board.”

  “Full reverse!” said Petrov. “Go to red alert!”

  “Action stations! Action stations!” said Vestra. “Go to red alert! This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill!”

  The colossal ship lurched violently as Helmsman Roe pushed the reverse thrusters to maximum power. Everyone in the gallery came tumbling out of their chairs.

  “Scramble the fighters!” roared Sar-Zin. “Scramble everyone!” He climbed back into his chair and fastened its seatbelt. He wasn’t quite ready to go running to an escape pod. Not in front of the cameras.

  Most of the gallery was ready, however. Less than a minute later, the bridge was nearly empty of civilians. Betty remained. Her legs were shaking, and she gripped the railing for support.

  Sar-Zin glared back at her. “Get the fuck out,” he hissed.

  She was weak. He didn’t need that spreading here.

  He turned back to the bow of the ship, and now a hundred points of light sparkled around the portal. A thousand, maybe. The lights were actually coming through the portal. There were so many. And they were all coming this way.

  “Admiral?” he asked. “Admiral, what are those? What am I seeing?”

  Petrov turned to face him. Her face was ashen.

  She cleared her throat. “Anti-matter torpedoes.”

  Petrov removed her headset and held it in front of her, inspecting it. It had been one of her proudest possessions.

  She wanted it to be the last thing she saw.

  “Well, do something!” yelled Sar-Zin. “This is the greatest ship of the greatest fleet!”

  She shook her head. “There is no counter-measure for that many warheads. Not at this proximity.”

  As Sar-Zin wa
tched, the portal station on his side of the universe was bombarded with a rain of torpedoes. It imploded seconds later, and then the portal itself blinked out of existence. But the remaining torpedoes did not. In the end, he saw nothing at all, as the blinding brilliance of cascading blast waves overpowered the ship’s optical filtering systems. The emperor died in darkness, begging for his life.

  -17-

  The imperial firepower that Admiral Stillwell had at his fingertips as his fleets entered the Sol system was as stimulating as any narcotic he’d ever tried. Today was the day that the empire would finally crush these anarchists, and he was in the driver’s seat. The Navy was already running out of promotions and medals to give him, so perhaps this one would finally vault him into the administration. Maybe even make him the next imperial security advisor.

  His recon wing had spotted a few dozen ships roaming Jupiter, including their primary target, the Pegasus. As soon as his fleet had come within range, that museum piece had made a run for the far side of the planet. Not a bad idea, if he planned to riddle it with cannon fire. But ultimately, the enemy was only delaying the inevitable.

  Stillwell strolled around the bridge of the Osiris and examined the battlefield. Unlike the Agamemnon, the command center of the capital ship of this engagement was buried deep within its confines. Instead of a massive transglass view, he studied a live holo projection of the area around Jupiter that took up most of the floorspace. It was standard operating procedure to protect the nerve center of the ship with as much hull as possible. A bridge like Sar-Zin’s was for theater.

  “Weapons, time to target,” he said.

  “Approximately ninety minutes, sir,” said Lieutenant Beacham.

  “Tactical, confirm drop pod status.”

  “All Marines stand ready to launch and board on a 90-second window, sir,” said Commander Li.