An attendant tried to fuss over the Emperor’s protective gear but Janus shooed the little man away and motioned to his assembled Guard.
“We are ready,” he announced grandly, his eyes sweeping across the crowd. “No more delays. Osman! Zayid! Up here with me.” He turned to the lead tech. “Open the way!”
The beleaguered chief scientist signaled to the Emperor that all was in readiness.
The Emperor nodded back, saluted Nakamura, and turned to face the black rectangle.
Nakamura motioned for his men to move into standard defensive positions.
The two nearest of the Emperor’s Guard warriors tramped forward at their master’s call. Their heavy boots rang loudly on the deck flooring. No one present could help but stare at them; their armor dazzled the eye in spectacular fashion.
In place of the smartfabric-based protective gear worn by Nakamura’s men and the other troopers milling about the portal room, the Guard warriors were clad in bulky, intimidating Elite-class plate armor with multi-faceted, gemlike helmets. Guardsman Zayid sparkled a brilliant red from head to toe, the main components of his suit having been shaped from a single massive synthetic ruby. Likewise, Guardsman Osman’s emerald armor shaded the light all around him a vivid green.
From the moment they had first entered the chamber, Tamerlane had become aware of a low humming sound that moved just into and out of his hearing. Now it increased, subtly at first, until it was just enough to set his teeth on edge. He became convinced that he could feel the metal deck beneath his boots vibrating. At the same time, lights on the doorway-shaped black frame ahead of them began to blink on and off, faster and faster, until the entire apparatus virtually shimmered with rainbows of color. The rhythmic oscillation of the lights and the grinding sound of vibration merged until Tamerlane felt the two were one and the same—as if the room itself had come to life and he was hearing its heartbeat and feeling its pulse.
When the shimmering of the lights reached a point that the individual flashes were no longer visibly discernible and had instead achieved a sort of uniform soft glow, an order was barked from one of the technicians and controls were activated across the range of consoles spread around the room. In response, a moment later, the interior of the rectangular frame itself filled with a soft white light.
Tamerlane watched this phenomenon with particular interest and no small degree of puzzlement. The light seemed to float, in spherical form, at the center of the rectangle, with no visible source. It was as if a ball of lightning had been caught in an invisible trap and now floated there, slowly expanding, forking tendrils of energy snaking out from it occasionally to strike the frame and then vanish.
“What is that?” Tamerlane asked Belisarius, who stood next to him, leaning closer to whisper the question.
“I have no idea,” replied the major, his own eyes widening. “But I can’t say I like the Emperor being this close to it, whatever it is.”
Nakamura, his hearing acute as ever, looked back over his shoulder at them. The meaning of his expression was clear: “Shut up.”
They shut up.
The lead technician meanwhile spoke up: “Majesty,” he said, bowing, “the gateway is open.”
Indeed, the entire interior space of the black-framed doorway was now filled with a nearly blinding white light. Nakamura wasn’t thrilled with this; it meant that any menaces that might possibly emerge from—from whatever lay on the other side, wherever it was—would be extremely difficult to detect beforehand. Without thinking, his hand moved down such that his fingertips brushed across the grip of his blast pistol.
The Ecclesiarch’s own hand moved in a gesture of blessing. Then the Emperor nodded to the technician, his features forming an almost childlike excited grin. He started toward the black framework, the thin line trailing from where it was attached at his waist. The seven members of his Guard tromped along beside and behind him. He halted again only at the very threshold, turned and waved at the two hovering spheres that were recording this occasion.
“I, Janus IV, am proud to be the first man to traverse this new doorway into the Above, created by the brilliant scientists of our empire. When I return in a short time, it will be with word—and perhaps visuals, if the technology permits there—of this new realm of the heavens, and whatever we find there. Including, if all goes well, the Sword of Baranak.”
As the assemblage of technicians applauded, Nakamura leaned in toward the Emperor and whispered something. The Emperor frowned slightly but then nodded once before turning away. He stood facing the shimmering doorway, his hands on his hips as he regarded it, as the Guard waited patiently behind him.
“What was that?” whispered Tamerlane as the general moved back over to where he was standing.
“I told him that if we haven’t heard from him in an hour, I’d come looking for him.”
After seemingly contemplating the coruscating light of the doorway for several seconds, the Emperor faced the crowd of scientists and soldiers and smiled broadly. He tossed off a jaunty salute, turned back, and stepped into the white light. He vanished. An instant later, the Ecclesiarch and the seven members of the Emperor’s Guard followed him through, their crystal armor gleaming as the white light flooded around them.
Within five seconds, all nine of them had passed through and were gone.
Tamerlane put a hand on Nakamura’s back, simply to remind him that he was needed here and not to do anything crazy like go charging along after them. He didn’t truly think the general would do that, but still, it didn’t hurt to be sure.
The nine cables were slowly spooling out and, stretched taut, ran across the room to the gateway, where they vanished into the light. More of their slack played out into the portal every second, at a slow but steady rate, presumably as the Emperor and his retinue advanced into the Above.
Tamerlane laughed inwardly; Major Belisarius appeared wholly unconcerned, while Nakamura wore his stress and tension on his sleeve. He assumed he registered somewhere between those two extremes. Still, he understood the general’s concern. It wasn’t every day one’s head of state, the man you were most responsible for protecting, disappeared from the universe right in front of you—and on purpose.
Nakamura roused himself from his seeming daze and barked, “Start the clock,” and on one of the large displays to the left of the gateway frame, “00:00:01” appeared.
The general inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “And now we wait,” he said.
Tamerlane nodded.
“But only for a little while,” Nakamura added. “A very little while.”
8
“No communications. Terrific,” Tamerlane muttered. He stood just behind Nakamura where the general was seated at one of the command consoles, absorbing what little telemetry they were receiving from the other side. The Emperor and his Guard had been away now for over half an hour.
“As expected,” pointed out Major Belisarius. “The Above is an entirely different universe. Even time itself runs differently there.”
“Slower, yes,” Tamerlane said. He had never much cared for Belisarius—”the Belligerent” indeed—and didn’t feel the need to be lectured on the workings of alternate dimensions by him right now. He straightened and surveyed the big room, observing its many and diverse occupants; a remarkable collection of scientists and soldiers and government officials.
“So you can’t expect to talk with the Emperor while he’s there,” Belisarius went on, “as if he’s simply a star system away here in our universe.”
Tamerlane ignored him. When he spoke again it was to Nakamura. “Did you really tell the Emperor that you were giving him an hour before you came and got him?”
The general shrugged. “I told—” He paused, pursed his lips as he likely reconsidered that choice of words, and started over. “I asked—I politely requested—that he not be gone too terribly long, as we his loyal subjects would worry for his welfare. And I added that, had he not returned in an hour, as we measure time he
re in this dimension, we might take that as a sign that he needed reinforcements or assistance.”
Tamerlane suppressed a laugh. “Well played.”
Nakamura could only shrug in reply. Then he stood and paced away, back across the chamber to where the lead technicians were congregating. He began to question them yet again about the Emperor’s physical condition, based on the poor telemetry coming in via the cable link.
“He worries like a mother hen,” Belisarius muttered, his voice very soft, as he leaned in again.
Tamerlane started to reply but was stopped by another voice speaking out—one he hadn’t expected to hear.
“He has to. The Emperor’s safety is, ultimately, his responsibility. And we must all live up to our responsibilities.”
Tamerlane turned and saw who the speaker had been: a rough, stocky man in a dark green dress uniform, his head smooth and barren as the surface of the moon. He recognized him as Major Vostok, called “The Cold,” an officer of the Third Legion, under General Beyzit’s command. Next to him, Tamerlane recognized the tall, muscular, fair-haired Colonel Agrippa, “The Golden,” whose youthful and healthy appearance contrasted sharply with that of the rough colonel.
They were called “The Cold and the Gold,” though rarely to their faces, and they made for a remarkable contrast in their positions near the top of Legion III.
Tamerlane could see that Belisarius was considering retorting to Vostok’s remark, but the major decided instead to let it go with a gracious nod. That was probably wise.
Their presence puzzled Tamerlane. If they were part of Beyzit’s Third Legion, what were they doing here, now?
That question was answered moments later as their army’s commander himself, General Abdul-Rashid Beyzit, strode regally into the room. Not a particularly imposing man, physically, “The Thunderbolt” nonetheless carried himself with a sort of swaggering self-confidence that conveyed the impression of massive and barely-contained power. His skin was deeply tanned and his face was a web of creases, his eyes small and very dark within shadowed recesses. A dark green long coat flared around him, the gleaming lightning insignia of his Third Legion prominent.
Tamerlane found himself quite taken aback. Two generals—here? Why? Even with the Emperor himself in attendance, this seemed like extreme overkill.
If Beyzit’s presence shocked him, however, the next development nearly bowled him over. General Esteban Attila passed through the hatch just behind Beyzit, his own retinue in their dark blue Second Legion uniforms accompanying him.
Tamerlane unabashedly gawked. That was the reaction Attila “The Bold” usually provoked. A big, powerful man, he filled out his uniform in impressive fashion, muscles bulging under the blue smartcloth. His expression, legendary among the troops, was perpetually that of an attack dog.
Behind Attila was the almost equally infamous Colonel Ioan Iapetus, a man regarded more for his cruelty and intolerance than for any particular military genius. He’d won his share of battles, yes—but the stories that leaked out afterward, invariably denied by the men of Second Legion, chilled the blood. He wore not the dress blues of Legion II but his customary black—and no one seemed inclined to call him on it.
Tamerlane’s eyes flicked from Attila to Beyzit to Nakamura. He couldn’t quite fathom it. Three generals? The three top generals in the entire empire? Here, together?
And Nakamura, deep in conversation with the technicians monitoring the progress of the Emperor’s party, still hadn’t become aware of these new arrivals.
Tamerlane shook his head, bewildered. His feet were already moving him with great haste toward Nakamura. Before he could reach him, however, the general happened to look up. His eyes flickered across the suddenly much more crowded room and Tamerlane nearly laughed at his shocked expression.
So Nakamura hadn’t known, hadn’t expected these other two generals to appear. Interesting.
The three men came together near the center of the big room, and it was immediately obvious to Tamerlane as he hurried over to take his position behind his general that Nakamura was not at all pleased to have the other two men present. The conversation—a somewhat unpleasant one, in fact—had hardly begun, however, when the doorway that led into the chamber snapped open and booted feet resounded from the metal deck. Tamerlane frowned at this unexpected intrusion and looked in that direction—and thereby beheld the one element that could bring all three generals together in firm solidarity.
Before them stood three figures in jet black, broad cloaks flaring around each of them as they came to a halt directly in front of the generals, practically glaring at them in scarcely contained anger. Tamerlane recognized the three instantly and suppressed a groan. Who else would it have been? Who else would have the temerity, the gall, to behave in such a manner? To stalk right up to the three highest-ranking military men in the entire empire and glare at them as if they were misbehaving toddlers?
Nakamura moved to the forefront of the generals. He nodded his head ever so slightly to the tall, slender man who had assumed the forward position of his own group’s triangular formation. Taken together, the two groups resembled two spear tips pointed directly at each other. The latent aggression inherent in such a formation was no accident, Tamerlane knew.
“Inquisitor Stanishur,” Nakamura said by way of greeting.
“General Nakamura,” came the faint, almost inaudible response from scarcely-moving lips.
The man was pale; deathly pale and gaunt, with stringy white hair dangling from a pasty skull. His eyes lay within deep, almost black recesses. His elaborate uniform, all in black but comprised of layers of buckles and vests and straps, served at least to fill out his form somewhat.
Behind Stanishur stood two shorter and much younger-looking figures dressed in similar fashion. One of them was a woman. Nakamura’s eyes momentarily flicked over the two of them, one after the other, and Tamerlane couldn’t help but be impressed with his general’s memory for the names and faces of potentially troublesome people with whom he rarely dealt. “Inquisitors Chopra and Delain.” And his ability to lie to their faces, as he did next. “A pleasure to see you again.”
The two offered nothing by way of greeting, so Nakamura returned his attention to Stanishur, the chief. The man was already speaking.
“We have no time for pleasantries, General,” came the hissing voice from the cadaverous figure. “The Inquisition has only just learned of the Emperor’s presence here, and we have been dispatched to…persuade him… not to go through with this.”
Nakamura’s face adopted a look of disappointment and regret as he replied, “Then I’m sorry to inform you, Inquisitor, but the Emperor has already embarked on his journey.”
At this news the gaunt man’s expression at last cracked. His eyes widened to the point that Tamerlane, now standing just behind the second row of generals, could actually see them within their shadowy recesses. His mouth opened and closed once before he was able to gather himself.
“That…is most… unwelcome… news,” he managed to sputter. Then, as he regained his composure, “How in the name of the holy gods—of Those Who Remain—could you allow His Majesty to do such a thing?”
Nakamura offered the Inquisitor a slightly exaggerated puzzled look. “Allow His Majesty? Inquisitor—think what you are asking. How could we deny His Majesty…anything?”
“For his own safety, of course!” Stanishur’s voice was quite audible now, that exclamation echoing all around the big chamber and seemingly startling even his two unflappable assistants. “And in the best interests of the Empire,” he added, his voice under control again. “Those are the arguments that you should have employed, obviously.”
“Your concern for the safety of His Majesty is touching, Inquisitor. Inspiring.”
Stanishur’s pale features darkened as he leaned forward, glaring directly at Nakamura. When he spoke this time, only the general and the men immediately behind him could hear his words. “My concern, as you well know, General, i
s for the Holy Faith. For the sanctity of the Above. For its purity. I will not allow anyone in our empire—in our universe!—to besmirch it. Likewise,” he added, his voice growing even softer but even more intense, “I will not allow anyone—anyone!—from this universe to defile its sacred soil, its firmament.” He leaned in closer, such that he was nearly nose to nose with the general, and he emphasized each of the next four words he spoke with jabs of his bony finger to Nakamura’s chest: “Not. Even. The. Emperor.”
Then Stanishur’s voice grew louder again, so that everyone in the chamber could hear him. “If any harm should come to the Emperor, General Nakamura,” he barked, “know that you as the party here most responsible for his safety will bear the brunt of the blame.” He stepped back, turning slowly so that he could look and appeal to everyone in the chamber, before ending up facing the general again. “So you must retrieve him now, by any means necessary, before any harm befalls him—” His voice dropped to near-inaudibility one more time. “—or, much more importantly, any harm is done to the Above itself!”
Despite the skeletal Inquisitor’s efforts, Tamerlane, standing just behind and to one side of Nakamura, had managed to hear everything. Now anger welled up inside him. He looked to the general to see what response might be forthcoming—what Nakamura would say that would slap this haughty inquisitor down and teach him some humility.
Alas, no one there would ever know. For at that moment, a cry came from several of the technicians standing near the gateway. “The cables are retracting! They’re coming back!”
Smiles broke out among the gathering, but Tamerlane cast his gaze at the big spools and frowned. They were indeed spinning backwards now, reeling the cable back in—but at a highly accelerated rate, much too fast for a human being on the other end to be keeping up.
The Shattering: Omnibus Page 10