The Shattering: Omnibus

by Van Allen Plexico

  “It all came to me, Hideo,” he said, his voice now soft as silk, “in a dream…”

  6

  The dream—if dream it was—had come upon Janus Rahkmanov several months earlier with the force of religious revelation. And the voice that spoke to him in it... well, the voice sounded to him like a multi-part harmony of every good and pleasing sound he had ever heard in his life. And it said:

  “With me by your side, conquer.”

  Janus’s eyes opened—or his eyes within the dream opened. He was not at all certain. Was he awake? Asleep? Some state in between?

  “What?” he whispered to the night and the darkness.

  “With me by your side, conquer,” the voice repeated, its tone warm and friendly yet filled with a distinct sense of power.

  Janus sat up and looked around, almost frantic at the thought of someone sneaking into his royal bedchamber. Despite the pleasing tone of the voice, its mere presence was more than enough to set his heart racing and cold sweat beading on his forehead.

  “Lisbeth?” he whispered frantically, knowing full well that his wife, the Imperial consort, had not spoken the words. Indeed, as he looked and felt to either side of him in their huge bed, he knew he would find no sign of her, and he did not.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice louder now. “I can’t see you.”

  “I am not here. I am… elsewhere. You must open the way for me.”

  Janus frowned. As Emperor of Anatolia, one of the four great kingdoms of mankind, he was not accustomed to being told what to do, or to being denied instant gratification of his desires.

  “Where are you, then?” he managed after a few seconds of consternation.

  Another pause, and then the voice came again, full and masculine yet somehow incredibly alluring.

  “A heartbeat away. A universe away from your tiny corner of reality.”

  Janus tried to comprehend this and failed.

  “I—I don’t understand,” he muttered, as much to himself as to the strange, disembodied presence that had dared to invade his bedroom and disturb his slumber. “A universe away...? What realm is there beyond this one? My empire has expanded into the most remote reaches of this sector of the galaxy. All is known that can be known.”

  The voice laughed—softly, but with enough of a mocking tone to nearly enrage the Emperor.

  “Foolish man. Your empire floats as a bubble on a pond and you believe you comprehend the ocean.”

  This Janus quickly understood, and to it he took the gravest offense.

  “My empire is vast and mighty,” he growled into the darkness. “Largest of the four realms of mankind. How dare you—”

  “Would that you ceased your arrogant objections and simply listened,” the voice interjected, growing harsh now, “you would find yourself on the path to true power, true knowledge, true mastery of your kind.” It paused, and then repeated, “All of your kind.”

  Janus blinked, processing this. What the voice was offering certainly sounded attractive: Nothing less than the conquest of the other three rival empires—of all of humanity, if he understood it correctly. Then he frowned.

  “My kind, you say? Are you not of my kind, then? What are you?”

  “I am beyond your understanding, but I come to you with this opportunity, this offer. I will not ask again.”

  Anger, resentment and defiance all flared to brighter life within Janus’s heart and mind. And yet, having served in his role as Emperor for more than a dozen years already, and despite all natural inclination to the contrary, he had managed to learn a bit of subtlety, guile and diplomacy along the way. Calming himself, he nodded solemnly.

  “Very well. You wish for me to open a way for you. How do I do this?”

  “You possess an object of incalculable value.”

  “I am the emperor—I possess many objects of such value.

  “The value is not in wealth but in power. It is a bauble to you. But it is vital to me. Give it to me and all you desire will be yours. A dominion greater than this miserable collection of planets you presently rule.”

  Janus’s resentment at such talk had already faded and been forgotten. For a reason he could not fully comprehend, he now found the words utterly believable and compelling. He was nearly breathless when he managed to ask, “This bauble—what is it, exactly?”

  “The sword.”

  “Sword?”

  “You know of what I speak.”

  Janus was taken aback. “You desire the Sword of Baranak? One of the crown jewels of my empire? How could that help you—”

  “Have it brought to the appointed place at the appointed hour. You will know. When the time is right, it must be handed over.”

  “But—but neither the Imperial Council nor the Senate would allow anyone—not even me—to remove the Sword of Baranak from the place where it is kept—much less give it away. It is one of the most important artifacts in all of human history!”

  “You are the emperor. It is your destiny to unify the galaxy under your rule. You will not allow a minor technicality such as that to deter you. You will find a way.”

  Janus struggled to follow the words. “Yes,” he said after a few moments. “Very well.”

  “One thing more: You must not be present when it is handed over. Be certain you are far away.”

  “What? But—”

  “There is nothing more to say, O man. Follow my instructions and all will be as I have described.”

  “I—alright. When should I do this?”

  “You will know. Beyond all doubt, you will know.” A pause. “They will try to prevent you from coming. Those who claim to love you best. They will warn you of the dangers. Ignore them. You are the ruler of this empire, and soon the master of all mankind. Power beyond your wildest imaginings awaits you. Let no one deny you what is rightfully yours. Let nothing stand in your way.”

  “Yes,” answered Janus IV. “Yes—it will be as you say.”

  Silence.

  “Are you there?”

  Silence.

  Janus brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed. When he moved them away, he realized he was sitting up in bed. His wife, the royal consort Lisbeth Salome Rahkmanov, lay beside him, sleeping soundly. The bedchamber was otherwise empty. The sun was just beginning to creep over the edge of the marble balcony railing. Silence reigned.

  “Yes,” he whispered to the fading dream that he knew had been no dream at all. “Yes—it will be as you say. The power must be mine. Nothing will stand in my way.”

  7

  “A…dream, Majesty?” Nakamura asked, and it was obvious to Tamerlane that he was doing his absolute best to prevent his astonishment, his incredulity, from showing on his face. Tamerlane hoped it wasn’t quite so obvious to the Emperor.

  Still smiling, the Emperor nodded.

  “It was a holy vision, General,” the Ecclesiarch interjected, leaning in. “Just as his ancestors received, centuries ago, when they first built this empire from the ruins of the Great War of the Alliance.”

  The Emperor turned away before Nakamura could react further—an act that might well have saved the general’s life, since he was not being terribly successful at projecting a poker face.

  Nakamura glanced back at Tamerlane, blanching. The colonel understood very well. Here was the most powerful and important individual in the Empire—the man it was his job to protect, above all others—and he was about to risk his life at the behest of a mere dream!

  As the Emperor and his hangers-on moved across the room, Tamerlane drew near. Nakamura leaned in close to him, his expression reflecting more indecision and doubt than it likely ever had in his life, and he whispered almost frantically, “Ezekial—what do I do?”

  “What can you do, General?” Tamerlane shrugged. “You have to let him go.”

  “But—”

  “You have no choice.”

  Nakamura frowned at this. “But—”

  “If you object to him again, he’s likely to react in a
way none of us would like. He could demote you, dismiss you altogether…” Tamerlane’s eyes moved from the general’s stricken face to the Emperor, now standing near the portal machinery. “You know how he can get. What he’s capable of. And that wouldn’t do any of us any good.”

  Nakamura nodded slowly, resignedly. Then, “Well—it would do Attila or Beyzit some good,” he corrected his colonel, “assuming one of them was promoted into my spot.”

  At the mere mention of the other two generals, Tamerlane groaned. Each of them commanded a mighty army within the empire—the Second and Third, respectively—but both reported within the chain of command to Nakamura. Neither was particularly well-liked or well-regarded within the Imperial military.

  “Don’t even joke about that idea, General,” Tamerlane said. He looked back to Nakamura then. “What is this all about? Why would he go to such trouble to have me steal the sword and throw it through the portal on NM-156, only to go and fetch it back himself? To make himself a hero to the masses? He’s already the Emperor—what more does he need? And—if he simply wants to be known as the Emperor who retrieved Baranak’s Sword after it was taken—why all the business with the Above, in the first place?”

  Nakamura merely shook his head. “I don’t know, Ezekial,” he said. “I simply don’t know.” He breathed deeply in and out several times, as if steeling himself for a bold leap. “But, whether I anger him or not, it is my duty to find out.”

  Before Tamerlane could object, or even reply, Nakamura turned and walked away, stalking over toward the Emperor and the scientists surrounding him.

  Working his way alongside the little group of technicians gathered around one section of the machinery, he stood silently for a few seconds, listening and absorbing the conversation. Then he leaned in. “If I may ask,” he said to the lead tech, “how exactly will this work? What will this equipment actually do?”

  The lab-coated man blinked as he realized that everyone—including the Emperor—was looking at him. He quickly straightened and replied, as if reciting the words from a text, “This machine will open a passageway from our universe into a heretofore-unexplored region of the Above.”

  “Tell him why we’re doing it here, on this ship, at this specific location,” the Emperor urged, grinning as he looked from Nakamura to the lead tech.

  “For safety, I assume,” the general stated.

  “Safety?” The Emperor scoffed. “That scarcely entered into it. This is all perfectly safe—is it not?” he asked the technician expectantly.

  “We believe it is entirely safe, yes, your majesty,” the tech replied, sweat trailing down the side of his face. “The doorway is being opened here mainly because here is the only place it can be opened.”

  Nakamura shook his head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “He means,” the Emperor interjected, moving to stand directly in front of the general, “that this planetary system—this one location in all the galaxy, that we have found thus far—is the only spot where the wall separating our universe from the target location in the Above is thin enough that, with the proper machinery, we can simply punch a hole and step through. That would be this machinery, of course,” he added, gesturing toward the wall of equipment and the black rectangle nearby.

  “Ah,” Nakamura said, nodding slowly. “I see.” He paused, as if thinking carefully, and then went to the question he’d held in mind all along. “And—as the commander of your military forces, and chief among your protectors, I feel it is my duty to ask this—what sort of menaces might one expect to find, on the other side of this doorway?”

  No one spoke for several seconds. Then, “We…cannot be entirely certain,” the lead technician began.

  The Emperor cut him off. “Menaces?” He regarded Nakamura with surprise and no small degree of scorn. “It’s not as if we are traveling into the Below, where the demons dwell. We will be venturing into the Above, Hideo. The Above! That’s where we believe the Sword rests, awaiting us. There are no menaces there—only wonders!”

  The lead tech frowned. “Well, your majesty, we of course believe that to be true, but—”

  “What dangers could there possibly be?” the Emperor snapped. “The Above is Heaven itself! Home to Those Who Remain!”

  “It was home to Vorthan,” one of the technicians muttered, saying aloud the very thing that Nakamura and Tamerlane and virtually everyone else in the group was thinking.

  The Emperor glared at the young man, thunderclouds gathering about his brows. The technician grew deathly pale and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. For several seconds no one spoke, and few even breathed. The entire chamber was utterly silent. Then the Emperor turned to the Ecclesiarch and nodded once.

  “Vorthan,” the Ecclesiarch hissed, “was an aberration. The serpent in the garden. And he was cast down for his crimes, long ago. Utterly annihilated.” He made a gesture of warding with one hand. “Even now, the Emperor’s forces act to destroy the last remaining cells of his vile cult, out among the fringe worlds.”

  Still no one else said a word, or even dared to move. The poor young technician seemed to be melting into the deck, both from embarrassment and out of a desire to escape. The towering, imposing figures of the Emperor’s Guard in their glittering armor were extremely obvious in their presence, their swords and quad-rifles an obvious threat. For another long second, no one breathed.

  Then the Emperor turned away from the young man and faced the lead technician.

  “How soon until we are ready to proceed?”

  Everyone in the group exhaled—though very quietly.

  “Only a few more moments, Majesty.”

  The Emperor nodded. “Good. The Ecclesiarch and I are quite anxious to be on our way.”

  “He’s going, too?” Nakamura whispered to no one, even as the technicians scrambled to prepare for an extra traveler.

  The Emperor moved through the crowd and past them, stopping only when he was directly in front of the rectangular doorway. There he stood, hands on hips, gazing up at it, a look of serene happiness on his face.

  Tamerlane approached the general again, speaking softly. “Well then,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Now I’m wondering if we brought enough soldiers.”

  Nakamura didn’t reply. Instead he flashed a quick series of silent signals via the Aether to his red-clad troops across the big room, instructing them on precisely where to stand and how to react to several different potential eventualities. Meanwhile, the elite Emperor’s Guard warriors in their multi-colored crystal armor took up positions on either side of the portal machinery. Lastly, a team of some dozen figures in sealed yellow environment suits entered the chamber. One carried a pair of extra suits, neatly folded, and approached the Emperor with them.

  “Majesty,” the man said, bowing, as he held one of the suits—a pale yellow one—out before him.

  The Emperor took his suit and handed it to Nakamura. The general in turn handed it to Tamerlane. “Ezekial,” he said quietly, “assist the Emperor into his environment suit.”

  Tamerlane nodded once, sharply. Then he motioned to a pair of his own men and they stepped up, saluting. Together the three of them helped the Emperor into his suit. At the same time, the techs were getting the Ecclesiarch suited up in a blue version.

  A few moments later, the Emperor of Anatolia had been transformed into a trans-dimensional explorer, his clear faceplate fogging slightly as he breathed. He gave a thumbs-up that his in-helmet indicator lights were all green and everything felt fine. Then he activated the comm link.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, eagerness quite evident in his voice as it boomed over the room’s speakers, “I believe I am quite ready to lead this little expedition into the heavenly realms.”

  The crowd of scientists in their own suits started forward.

  The administrator swallowed, after some small amount of difficulty in doing so, and leaned in close to General Nakamura. “For the sake of Those Who Remain,” she whispered
sharply, “at least make sure someone else is standing in front of him as he passes through! We have no idea what to expect on the other side.”

  Nakamura nodded.

  “Wait!” said the Emperor, and everyone froze.

  The lead tech rushed forward, hoping against hope that his liege lord had changed his mind. Alas, no.

  “My Guard will be accompanying me,” he informed the man. “And the Ecclesiarch, of course. No one else. This is to be a divine mission—a holy crusade. I will have nothing that sullies or detracts from that. Scientific inquiry can come afterward.”

  The administrator and other officials looked around at one another, but by this time their resistance had entirely crumbled and they simply nodded.

  Gesturing toward his own protective suit, the Emperor stated, “My Guard will need whatever of this equipment is necessary to survive in the Above, as well.”

  The techs looked the eight members of the Guard over quickly but carefully, studying their organic crystal armor. They conferred for a few moments and then the leader addressed the Emperor.

  “Their armor should be suitable for that environment, sire. They will, however, need shield generators and tethers…”

  At the lead tech’s direction, the Emperor and his elite Guard attached small silver disks to their belts. The disks generated an additional layer of protection, projecting a defensive aura—an electromagnetic field of considerable strength—around each individual that would serve to ward off harmful particles and rays. No one had any idea what sorts of dangers they might encounter on the other side of the portal, but the technicians felt confident that—if he insisted on going through first, as he did—those two defenses would be enough to prevent the Emperor from coming to harm.

  They could not have been more wrong.

  Thin wires were run out from massive spools mounted on the opposite bulkhead, and the ends were attached to the belts of each member of the party. Though extremely flexible, the lines were nearly an eighth of an inch thick—but they needn’t have been so large; given the tensile strength of the composite material they were composed of, they could have been thinner than a single thread and remained just as strong. The fear, of course, was that at such a narrow size, they might actually slice through the torsos or extremities of members of the group. Thus they were manufactured to the diameter of very small ropes.