The Shattering: Omnibus

by Van Allen Plexico

  The soldiers murmured to one another at this news. Elaro and Arani exchanged surprised glances.

  “Is our objective still the same, General?” Arani asked.

  Tamerlane smiled. “Oh, indeed.” He spoke louder, for the benefit of all. “Colonel, you and your troops will be doing the Empire a tremendous service today. As most of you know, all of the legions are tied down, either defending the Inner Worlds or battling invaders along our borders. Meanwhile another danger—a different danger—has been growing from within, like a cancer, taking advantage of our forces’ preoccupation with those other enemies to work its insidious harm upon the very heart of the Imperium.”

  Elaro smiled at this. Tamerlane had been generous in his description of why the other legions were tied down; he suspected that, in private, the man wouldn’t have been nearly as generous toward Iapetus and the Second.

  “Governor Rameses of Ahknaton has been plotting—and is now carrying out—dire treachery,” Tamerlane went on. “In our Empire’s moment of greatest crisis, when we should all be pulling together behind our rightful ruler, the Taiko, Rameses gives us only treason and rebellion. He has refused my entreaties to send his Sand Kings legion to the aid of the Empire. And we believe he is only days—or hours—away from attempting to depose the Taiko himself.”

  The strike team’s grumbling grew louder and angrier. Elaro nodded in appreciation at the skill with which Tamerlane manipulated their emotions and played on their loyalties.

  “And so your mission is clear and straightforward,” he concluded. “You will step through this portal and out into the palace of Rameses, on Ahknaton. You will depose him as ruler of that planet, capture him—and, if need be, kill him. Deadly force is most assuredly authorized. One way or another, his treason ends today.”

  Tamerlane stood straight and still for a moment, gazing out at the troops of the Nizam Legion—the secret army he had been assembling ever since the Taiko had begun to grow erratic and Iapetus and Rameses had begun to assert their rebellious natures to their full extent. Sister Delain stood motionless at his side, like some three-dimensional shadow. “Men and women of the Nizam Legion,” he cried, “Are you ready?”

  A shout went up. It was loud, but not terribly enthusiastic.

  “I asked you if you were ready,” Tamerlane called.

  The shout was much louder this time, and much more enthusiastic.

  Tamerlane nodded, looked at Arani and smiled. “You may begin your mission, Colonel,” he said. “May the gods be with you all.”

  Arani saluted and Tamerlane returned it. The general then looked up, his eyes momentarily locking with those of Elaro. Tamerlane hesitated, a slight frown creasing his brow, as though he somehow recognized the big man, or perhaps simply sensed something about him. Elaro quickly smiled a hard, flat smile and saluted. Tamerlane hesitated a second longer, then returned the salute and gestured toward Teluria

  The red-robed woman stepped forward. She reached up and threw back her hood. Her hair was black as night and her eyes flared brightly, as if refracting some internal light source. She raised one hand and the portal opening behind her shifted colors dramatically, lightning flaring around it again.

  Elaro involuntarily moved back a step, bringing up one hand before his eyes in reaction to the bright flashes. He watched the woman, wondering who she really was and what she was doing. He assumed she possessed some measure of the power of the gods—the Power, as it were—and was currently changing the location that the other end of the portal reached, from wherever she and Tamerlane had come from, to where he and his team were about to go. Presumably to Ahknaton itself.

  The strange woman moved up behind Tamerlane and Delain and whispered something. The general nodded and motioned in turn to Arani. Elaro couldn’t help but note a slight smile that played about Teluria’s mouth. He didn’t know why, but he found it made him extremely nervous.

  Then everything happened very quickly.

  “Form up!” shouted Arani. “Two columns!”

  The Nizam strike team, to their credit, didn’t hesitate, didn’t question their leaders. Alas, if only they had.

  “Weapons at the ready. Go!”

  As Tamerlane and the two robed women stood to one side, watching, the troops formed twin columns and marched quick-time into the gaping mouth of the portal. Arani walked through in between the columns, at the rear, and Elaro strode just behind her.

  The rift in spacetime swallowed them up, hurled them across the galaxy, and spat them out—directly into the murderous line of fire of a thousand guns, all blasting away at them.

  13

  Deep within the Heliopolis complex, the vizier Zahir made his way back into the royal throne room, returning from another session of “prayer” during which he’d received more orders from his true master.

  Much of the session—he flattered himself by thinking of it as an actual “conversation,” implying some form of give and take—had consisted of the master impressing upon Zahir the danger and the opportunity that had arrived with this stage of their operation. Tamerlane was falling into their hands even now, and handing over his last army as he fell. If everything went as planned, soon the last of the armies of the Empire would collapse and its government—a government unnaturally prolonged by the unexpected rise of the Taiko—would fall into ruin, only to rise anew shortly thereafter in the hands of the young princess— by then the Empress— who would in turn be the slave of the master and his loyal servant, Zahir.

  It was all happening just as the master had said it would, so long ago when he had whispered to Zahir through countless layers of the Below and the Above, calling him back into his service and laying out his vision for the future—a future in this, the mortal universe.

  Before that it had been centuries, if not millennia, since he had last heard the master’s voice. Over the ages of time Zahir found his memory growing dim in spots, with certain events and individuals blurring together with other, similar ones from other times and places. He could clearly recall, however, the Revolt in Heaven, when Lucian had sought to overthrow the great golden god Baranak and his clique, who had at that time more or less ruled the Golden City. That was back when the City was a bustling, well-populated center of highest civilization, and not the ghost town it had been ever since the time of the murders and the fall of Baranak. Zahir had favored Lucian’s cause back then, and had thrown in with him briefly. But then the master had approached him and quietly warned, with great assurance, that the Revolt would end badly for Lucian and anyone on his side. Luckily for Zahir, he had found the master’s arguments... persuasive.

  Zahir caught himself and paused. Something about that thought puzzled Zahir for a moment, and he blinked, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it or why it should bother him, and so finally he shook his head, forgetting about it.

  And so when the day of Lucian’s Revolt dawned in the City, Zahir had been many layers of reality away, carrying out the first set of orders of his then-new master. He had served him ever since, loyally and well. All of which made Zahir feel somehow strange when he thought back to the just-ended session. Session? No, he reminded himself—conversation.

  Because something about what his master had just said nagged at him. There had been his standard admonishment to Zahir: “Remember. We do not control. We —that is, I,” the voice had amended, “and through me, you—persuade. We persuade each of them along lines they are already contemplating, no matter how privately.”

  Of course Zahir understood that. Only the master truly possessed the power—the Power!—to control the minds of mortal men and women. Zahir’s talents lay in other areas. But by channeling a fraction of his might through the Aether, the master could bestow a weaker but similar ability upon his servants. Thus Zahir now possessed the limited power of persuasion, and he used it in the service of he who had granted it to him.

  That was all well and good, and so far Rameses and the others on Ahknaton seemed to be perfectly willing to obey most, if not a
ll, of his “suggestions.” But then the master had said something else; something that planted a seed of doubt, of suspicion, of concern within Zahir’s mind.

  His analogy in discussing the situation had been a game of chess—an analogy he often used. This time, however, he had suggested that not only pawns would be sacrificed in the name of ultimate victory. Some of the more powerful pieces would also be swept off the board before checkmate was achieved.

  This troubled Zahir deeply. He knew full well that he was not a king nor—gender aside—a queen, nor even a bishop, but he liked to believe he was at least a knight in his master’s service.

  And in chess, when powerful pieces were lost, knights were often the first of them to go.

  Would the master truly sacrifice him in the name of winning the larger game?

  Zahir feared he knew the answer to that question, and knew it all too well.

  Barely paying attention to his surroundings, he emerged from the hidden side-corridor and swept out into the throne room. With all these thoughts racing through his mind and his master’s final words still ringing in his ears, he at first didn’t hear Rameses calling to him from the basin where he stood, coruscating rivulets of energy washing over him.

  “What’s the matter with you?” the governor of Ahknaton demanded after his vizier failed to respond. Rameses stepped forward, almost out of the bowl, cables stretching out behind him from where they were attached to his arms and legs. His eyelids and lips spasmed from the waves of current running through him, making it difficult for him to speak. “Zahir!”

  The vizier remained oblivious to his surroundings, all of his attention directed inward. “They are coming,” he murmured. “The master in his wisdom has arranged it on the other end, to draw all the armies together and eliminate them all at once. But...surely he does not intend to eliminate his most faithful servants at the same time..?” He shook his head. “No. But, still, we must prepare, just to be certain.” And if the plan did call for the removal of Zahir from the board, the master might just find the script had been slightly rewritten when it came time to act out that phase. No, if the coming storm bearing down on Ahknaton was as great as he feared, he resolved to meet it with an equal storm of his own.

  “What’s that you’re saying?” Rameses called, frowning, growing irritated. “I can’t hear you. Speak up!”

  The vizier blinked and looked up from his musings. Seeing Rameses, the flesh of his face appearing to flow in almost liquid fashion for an instant, brought him back to himself. He hurried over. “Sire,” he said, bowing obsequiously, “I have reason to believe you are in grave danger.”

  “What?” Rameses glared at his hollow-eyed advisor. “Danger? Here? How is that possible?”

  “I believe it is very possible,” Zahir replied. “An enemy approaches. An enemy that can harm you. Even here.”

  Rameses scoffed. He gestured at the ranks of Sand Kings in their gleaming golden plate armor, lining both sides of the long entryway. “I am protected by the finest soldiers in creation—and to reach even them, an enemy would first have to approach Ahknaton from space, where he would be met with the devastating power of hundreds of high-orbit weapons platforms and surface-to-air beam and missile installations.” He laughed. “I am quite safe here, my friend.”

  “Not if they approach Ahknaton from some other avenue than space, sire.”

  Rameses simply stared back at him, uncomprehending. “Other than...space? But...” A second passed, and another. “You... you mean from the Above? Or the Below?” Slowly he frowned. “Are you suggesting I could face an attack... from...one of... them?” He staggered back a step. “How—how would you know something like that?”

  “I have access to certain...sources, sire.”

  “Sources? What exactly does that mean?”

  “Perhaps, sire,” Zahir said by way of reply, and exerting the smallest fraction of the Power, “you should don your armor.”

  Rameses looked at him blankly, and then his complexion ashed over. Nodding, he pulled at the cables connecting him to the basin and the equipment that sat beside it, yanking them loose. Then, as the waves of energy flowing around and over him subsided somewhat, he climbed out of the basin, even as two Sand Kings hurried forward, one of them bearing the crimson cube. Kneeling, the soldier offered it to the governor, who accepted it and held it up.

  “You recall how to—?”

  “Of course,” Rameses snapped. He clutched the cube closely to his breast and closed his eyes. Bright crimson light flared. An instant later, the seamless armor covered him entirely.

  “And now let us get you to a safer location,” Zahir was saying, tugging at the Governor’s metal-covered arm.

  “Wait,” Rameses said, pulling away. “The girl.” He turned and pointed across to the other side of the basin, where the little blonde child lay unmoving on her golden bier, tendrils of energy reaching out almost tentatively to brush against her and through her. “What about the girl?”

  Zahir waved a hand vaguely in the air. “She and Colonel Belisarius will be tended to directly, sire—never fear.” He reached out to clutch at the Governor’s arm again. “But our first priority must be removing you to safety.”

  Rameses frowned at the slender vizier, seemed about to object, then almost reluctantly nodded. “Very well.”

  “You should also have the Sand Kings go to high alert,” Zahir suggested. “If you’d prefer, I can issue the orders myself...”

  “No! That is my task, and I am doing so now!” Rameses had his eyes closed, clearly tapping into the local Aether network. He opened his eyes a moment later and faced Zahir directly. “Do your precious sources tell you where the enemy will strike first—where on this planet they will arrive?”

  “Unfortunately not, sire,” the vizier replied. “But I fear that even this royal chamber is not safe. That is why I wish to move you—immediately—to a more defensible location.”

  “Yes, yes—fine,” Rameses growled. Encased in the unimaginably advanced armor, only his face was revealed, and he scowled at his advisor. Zahir was relieved to see that the physical distortions had subsided now that he was no longer receiving the “treatments” in the basin.

  Zahir gestured and two of his hulking servants hurried forward, taking up bodyguard positions on either side of the governor. Half a dozen elite Sand Kings soldiers joined them, energy spears charged and held ready at their sides. Together the entourage hustled Rameses out of the throne room, leaving only Zahir, the other two muscular servants, and another dozen Sand Kings behind, along with the now seemingly comatose bodies of Colonel Belisarius and the Princess Marens lying prone on their catafalques.

  Zahir strode across the now nearly empty throne room. He made his way around the broad basin that was serving as a miniature representation of the great Fountain of the Golden City, gazing as he went upon its blazing, glorious radiance. On the other side of it, he stood between the two catatonic figures—one large and powerfully built, the other small and delicate—and stared down at them, stroking his smooth chin all the while. For nearly five minutes he did that, as his minions looked on, waiting and pondering all the while, unable to decide how best to proceed. Dare he begin the final process now, before the vessels were truly ready for the transference? Dare he wait longer, and perhaps lose everything? Then the sounds of battle came to him through the walls and windows of the inner palace, rousing him to action. Instantly a new set of alarms began to sound and lights flashed throughout the throne room.

  “That’s it,” he muttered to himself. “No more delays. The time has come.”

  At his barked command the two bald servants hurried forward and dragged sets of heavy, insulated cables across the floor, positioning them between the two prone bodies. One hurried to fasten the near ends to the two catafalques while the other hurled the far ends over the side of the basin.

  The tasks completed, the two servants stood at attention and waited. Zahir ignored them and took a position between the two bodies
. Raising both his arms in dramatic, conductor fashion, he brought the lightning down out of the empty air. Forks of energy played across the colonel and the princess.

  “Awaken,” he called from bloodless lips. “Arise from your slumber within the human soldier!”

  The lightning continued to play across both bodies a few seconds longer. Then a dim, red luminosity seemed to erupt right out of the body of Belisarius. Seeing this, Zahir grinned and moved back to the foot of the colonel’s catafalque. Now he could just discern another shape, another entity, becoming visible, its form somehow superimposed over him. It was a horrible, horrific form. As the vizier watched, the shape enlarged even as it remained ephemeral.

  “Welcome into this universe, oh demon lord!” Zahir crowed. As the lightning crackled down in waves, in sheets, he stood there, seemingly oblivious, and at last gestured toward little Marens where she lay. “A new host body has been made ready,” he shouted in ecstatic glee. “The future Empress of Mankind awaits you!”

  14

  The sounds of firing came to Tamerlane very clearly and distinctly as the last of his Nizam strike force troops disappeared into the portal. He frowned. So soon? They had opened fire the instant they were through? That didn’t seem right.

  “Betrayal,” cried Teluria. “The Sand Kings were lying in wait for your forces, General. You have been betrayed!”

  “What?” The sheer shock of the woman’s words—the incomprehensibility of what she was saying—caused Tamerlane to hesitate for an instant.

  Teluria had raised her left hand and was beginning to make the gesture that he recognized as the one that would close and dissolve the portal. He reached out and grasped her wrist, yanking her hand down.

  She whirled on him, glaring, teeth bared. He ignored her display and barked, “Stop! What are you doing?”

  “I am sealing the breach,” the woman in red replied angrily, “before the armies of Rameses force themselves back the other way, and attack us here!”