The Shattering: Omnibus

by Van Allen Plexico

  Tamerlane attempted to discern if the priest was being sincere or merely playing a part, pretending—if he was part of this conspiracy or not. Meanwhile he simply glared at the men in white, his mouth firmly shut.

  The priest ordered his underlings forward, to help the two men along. “To the infirmary with them,” he commanded. “They must see the doctor at once!”

  4

  “You still think my so-called ‘conspiracy theory’ is crazy, General?” Tamerlane sent across their private Aether link. “You honestly don’t believe that someone higher-up has been trying to put us in positions to get ourselves killed?”

  “I didn’t think there were many people in the entire Empire ‘higher up’ than me, to be honest,” Nakamura replied across the link, as he sat back in the chair next to the exam table. The doctor had looked both of them over and, to his astonishment, had found no serious or permanent damage. “But I’m starting to believe the Ecclesiarchy at least thinks it’s higher up than me—than anybody. Though why they should think that, or when such a thing came to be, I have no idea.”

  Tamerlane sat up on the exam table. He swung his legs out and hopped down, feeling none the worse for the wear. He started to reply when the door slid open at the far side of the medical facility and in glided three figures—three very familiar figures—clad in jet black robes.

  “My dear General! And the Colonel! So—we meet again,” came the voice of the tall, gaunt man in front. “I must confess that I have been hoping for this opportunity—though I never dreamed it would come along so soon.” He turned to the two white-clad Ecclesiarchy soldiers who stood just inside the doorway, and waved them away. “Go, go. I would interrogate these men in private.”

  The two dark-haired Ecclesiarchy warrior-priests exchanged uncertain glances.

  “Fear not,” he added. “If there are any messes—as often occur in my work, I find—my two acolytes here are fully capable of cleaning them up. Though,” he added, leaning toward them conspiratorially, “you might want to stand by outside with wet towels, and perhaps a vacuum. And a plastic bag or two.”

  The two white-clad soldiers blanched. They looked at the two young and athletic figures in black who flanked the Inquisitor, looked at one another, then seemed simultaneously to reach a decision. They nodded and hurried out of the room. The door slid closed behind them.

  “So. General,” the tall man stated, smiling slightly, when they had departed. “How have we come to such a pass?”

  “Grand Inquisitor Stanishur,” Nakamura stated by way of greeting. “Well. I’m pleased to see you and yours survived our little adventure.”

  “Indeed,” the Inquisitor said. Then he added, “Though, fortunately, we were not possessed.”

  Tamerlane and Nakamura exchanged puzzled looks.

  “Possessed?” the General sputtered. “You think we were possessed?”

  The Inquisitor shrugged noncommittally. “That is the word going around the Ecclesiarchy. Much of the Inquisition believes it, too. Which, I would imagine, is why the two of you are here, now.”

  Nakamura darkened. “That is ridiculous!”

  This time the Inquisitor merely smiled innocuously. “Well. You did exhibit some rather…unusual… abilities during your actions on Adrianople over the past few hours,” he noted. “But you were already being…shall we say, monitored… after your long period of recovery following the expedition. There was some concern even before the events of today that something might be… Oh, what is the word I’m looking for here?” He chewed his leathery lip for a few seconds, then brightened. “Ah, yes. Incubating.”

  “Incubating?” Tamerlane blurted, shocked.

  “Preposterous,” the general barked. “There is no evidence to suggest—”

  As Tamerlane listened to Nakamura angrily defending the two of them from the Inquisitor’s veiled accusations, he realized with a start that a black rectangle had appeared in the corner of his virtual-reality vision—the view from which he operated his link to the Aether network. It looked somewhat like a stylized letter “I,” and he recognized it at once. Quickly he authorized it to connect to the private link he had set up with the general, and the unspoken voice of the Grand Inquisitor boomed over it, in their heads.

  “Gentlemen! Calm yourselves. I am not here to accuse you of anything—I merely repeat the whispers of the upper levels of the Church, for the benefit of those who are listening in. I do not necessarily subscribe to their views.”

  Nakamura’s verbal rant came to an abrupt end. “Then why are you here?” he sent back silently.

  Inquisitor Stanishur pursed his lips, then looked about the room. “They will grow suspicious if we suddenly go from loud argument to deathly silence,” he stated over the link. He motioned sharply to his disciples. One of them—the female, Delain—raised a black-gloved hand. She held a small box, and touched a stud on one side. There came a flash that caused everyone present to blink.

  “Their cameras and listening devices have been knocked offline,” the Inquisitor said aloud. “We can speak in privacy now, and for another couple of minutes. Then, of course, their soldiers will descend upon us, to find out what has happened—and what we are up to.”

  “What are we up to?” Tamerlane asked, intrigued.

  Stanishur moved around to face them more directly, his black robes fluttering behind him. The two acolytes stood to either side, hands folded in front, heads bowed.

  “I must speak candidly with you,” he began. “And I must rely on you to keep my words in confidence.”

  “These people just put us out an airlock,” Nakamura grumbled. “By contrast, Inquisitor, you look like my best friend.”

  Stanishur actually chuckled at that. “Very well.” He moved in closer to them, speaking softly. “I have heard things…seen things…in the Imperial court… that have caused me great concern. And I fear that, like the two of you, very soon I will no longer be in a position to do anything about it.”

  “You think they’re going to oust you from your position as Grand Inquisitor?” Nakamura asked. “Why?”

  “It has already happened once,” the gaunt man said, “with the Ecclesiarch. They forced poor old Zoric out almost immediately after we returned from the Above.”

  “I thought he died,” Tamerlane said, frowning.

  “Oh, he did die,” Stanishur replied. “Eventually. But his power, his office, had already been stripped away by then. Whether that alone killed him, though, or someone helped the process…” He shrugged. “But there is a definite sense that someone—someone very high up in the Empire, and very behind-the-scenes—is, shall we say, encouraging a changing of the guard at all the key positions. A new Ecclesiarch—though no one has officially been named yet… a new Grand Inquisitor, if they get their way with me—and only a quirk of the rules of the Church has prevented my ouster thus far—and, from what we’ve just seen, a new supreme military commander.”

  Nakamura reluctantly nodded. He motioned toward Tamerlane. “The Colonel here has previously suggested that something along these lines was happening, but I had no idea it was this…pervasive,” he said. “No idea so many people and institutions were involved, one way or the other.” He brought a hand to his chin and rubbed it absently, clearly very concerned.

  “Have you noticed,” the Inquisitor asked, “that you and General Beyzit of Third Legion have repeatedly been placed in harm’s way?”

  “I have noticed that, yes, definitely,” Tamerlane responded with a scowl.

  “And during those actions, General Attila and Second Legion were nowhere to be found. And meanwhile his attack dog, Iapetus, has been given free reign.”

  Tamerlane frowned. He hadn’t actually extended his thinking that far yet. “So—Attila is involved somehow? You believe he’s part of it?”

  “He is involved,” Stanishur said, “or at least favored by those who are pulling the strings. If all had gone as they clearly planned—had their intrigues come to fruition—the two of you and Gener
al Beyzit would now be dead—Agrippa too, though he likely won some temporary favor by turning the two of you in—and General Attila would be the sole military commander of the Empire.”

  Neither soldier replied to that. They didn’t like to consider that one of their own could be actively involved, or even complicit, in such a thing.

  “And Attila would be serving—who?” Stanishur added. “The Emperor?” He shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I do not know.”

  “Who else?” Nakamura asked. “Who else is there, that could be directing all of this?”

  “That is something,” Stanishur replied, “that we need to find out. Very, very quickly.”

  “How can we do that?” Nakamura asked. “What are you suggesting?”

  “We must move while I still hold my office and my authority,” the Grand Inquisitor stated, “and while the efforts against the two of you—and the attempts on your lives—remain cloaked in the appearance of ‘accidents,’ and with no official arrest orders issued.”

  One of the acolytes leaned in and whispered something to Stanishur. He frowned and nodded once. “We have been supplying the watchers of this room with false data from the time we entered,” he told the soldiers. “But now they are growing suspicious. We must hurry.”

  “You said we must move,” Nakamura said. “Move how? Where?”

  “There is a conference convening even now—a grand council, the likes of which the Empire has rarely seen since the days of its founding. We must go there. We must gain an audience with the Emperor. And we must observe those around him—those seeking to guide him in making and changing governmental and religious policy. Only then will we know how to strike—and whom to strike.”

  Nakamura considered this, then nodded. “The Colonel and I should be expected to attend something of that nature. I’m surprised I haven’t been informed of it already.”

  “You were not to be invited,” Stanishur stated. “You were to be dead by then.” He snorted a laugh. “I wasn’t invited, either. Me! The Grand Inquisitor! Not invited to a grand council! Need you any further evidence of this conspiracy?”

  Nakamura shook his head. He appeared sad—very sad—and almost deflated, Tamerlane thought. It upset him to see it, perhaps even more than the conspiracy itself.

  “Where is this council to be held?” the general asked.

  “On Ascanius.”

  “Why there? It’s pretty far out along the Fringe.”

  Stanishur shook his head. “I do not know. There is a vague religious significance to it, I am told, but no one has yet indicated a specific reason.”

  Tamerlane looked up. “If old Zoric has been ousted, just who is the new Ecclesiarch?” he asked. “You haven’t told us that yet. Is it anyone we’d know?”

  “No word as of yet,” the Inquisitor replied, looking away. “But…there are persistent rumors that the Emperor will be moving someone over from the military.”

  “The military?” Nakamura reacted with surprise. “A soldier—head of the Church?”

  “Someone who has spent a lifetime obeying the Emperor’s orders without question,” Tamerlane noted, “rather than someone who has spent a lifetime defending the faith and the Church.”

  “That—that would be an outrage,” Nakamura stated, shocked.

  “On many levels,” Tamerlane added.

  “Yes,” Stanishur agreed. “The Church and the Inquisition—reduced to mere tools in the hands of the Emperor and the political leadership.” He could only shake his head. “You begin to see now the full depths of this problem we face, I take it.”

  The two men nodded.

  “We have to get to this council, Stanishur,” Nakamura snapped. “Immediately.”

  “If it can be done, I will see it done,” the Inquisitor replied. He turned to his acolytes and whispered something. Each replied in turn.

  “Wait,” Tamerlane said, standing and moving forward. “There’s one more thing I need to know, before we jump in with both feet.”

  Stanishur turned back to him. “Yes, Colonel?”

  “I gather that we’re accused of being possessed by demons. I assume that supposedly happened during our expedition to rescue the Emperor. And certainly our newfound…abilities…might seem to lend a bit of credence to that charge.” He leaned in toward Stanishur. “Yet you, Inquisitor, seem perfectly willing to believe in us, without question, and to bring us into your confidence. I’d like to know why that is.”

  The Grand Inquisitor gazed back at him impassively for a long moment. Then the corners of his wrinkled mouth turned upward in a rictus-like smile. “A perfectly reasonable question, Colonel,” he said. He spread his hands wide. “I do not believe this newfound ability you two have manifested marks demonic possession,” he said in a quiet voice. “To the contrary, I believe it represents a gift from the gods, to the most holy of all within our empire.”

  Tamerlane smiled flatly at him. “I’m pleased to hear you say that, Inquisitor—and I appreciate the compliment—but, if I might ask, what exactly makes you feel that way, in contradiction to most of the rest of your order and the Ecclesiarchy?”

  The Grand Inquisitor considered this for a second. “Perhaps it would be better if I simply showed you,” he said. He extended his pale, cadaverous hand in their direction. He held it out, palm facing upward.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand—” Nakamura began.

  But Tamerlane got it. “Oh. Of course.” Laughing, he waited patiently.

  Puzzled, Nakamura looked from the wrinkled hand to the colonel. “Wha—?”

  Tamerlane nodded back toward the Inquisitor. “Look, sir.”

  Nakamura turned back, and there he beheld a flame—bright and strong—dancing on the Grand Inquisitor’s palm.

  5

  Arnem Agrippa tossed aside the sword and shield with which he had been practicing and strode to the far side of the room. His noble face was creased with anger and frustration

  “So we’re done?” called the dark-haired man who had been mock-fighting him for the past half-hour. “Had enough, have you? Ready to declare me the better man?” Major Selim Iksander chortled as he hung his own weapons carefully on their pegs along the wall.

  Agrippa ignored him at first, instead staring out the viewport at the wash of stars beyond.

  Iksander approached the massively-built blond man and leaned in so that he, too, could see out the port to where Agrippa was looking. He studied the starfield for a few seconds but saw nothing amiss. “Mm. Stars.” He turned to his commander. “They’re all still there, then, Colonel? None have gone missing?”

  Agrippa made a sour face, then snorted a laugh.

  “I haven’t bothered to count,” he grunted. “At least, not today. But I think it’s safe to assume so.”

  Iksander moved away, taking a towel from a nearby bench and wiping his face and neck with it. “I expected you to be in a better mood now that we’re done camping out on Adrianople.” He shook his head in disgust. “What a mess that was. But you got to hand the whole thing over to Vostok and simply fly away. So—what’s got you so distracted? If you don’t mind my asking,” he added. “Sir.”

  Agrippa shook his head. “I don’t know.” He continued to stare out at the long night. “Yes, I do.” He turned to face Iksander. “It’s the general. Nakamura. And Tamerlane.”

  “You’re unnerved by their blasphemous behavior and freakish mutant powers, are you, sir?” Iksander asked, all innocence and sincerity on the surface but with his tongue obviously well-in-cheek to those who knew him.

  Agrippa knew him. They’d served together on a dozen campaigns over the years, coming up together in Third Legion, favorites of “The Thunderbolt,” General Beyzit. Beyzit had even given Agrippa his nickname—”The Golden”—and his company its official designation, in his honor: “The Golden Phalanx.”

  “No,” the blond man replied, very serious now. He met Iksander’s level gaze. “I’m unnerved—if that’s the term you wish to use—by the fact that
I turned those two brave and accomplished soldiers in to the Ecclesiarchy.”

  “As you had to,” Iksander stated in a neutral tone.

  Agrippa merely looked at him, and eventually Iksander relented. “Yes, okay,” he said. “You turned two good soldiers in to the Holy Church—an organization neither you nor I nor anyone in The Thunderbolt’s army has ever thought much of.”

  Agrippa nodded.

  “And now you feel guilty.”

  “Obviously.”

  “So—what is to be done, then?”

  Agrippa pursed his lips and turned back to the starfield. “I don’t know,” he admitted at length. “I don’t know that there’s anything we can do—at least, not in the immediate future. We have this new assignment.”

  “As security,” Iksander practically spat. “Security! Us! The Golden Phalanx! The Kings of bloody Oblivion—sent to stand guard at a fancy committee meeting, when we should be out smashing the Riyahadi, or the Chung, or—”

  Agrippa motioned for him to settle down, and he did.

  “Let’s not get ourselves arrested for treason,” the colonel cautioned. “We will of course discharge the duties we are assigned. But—” he appended, trailing off.

  “But you won’t be passing up any opportunities to make up for what you now believe was an error in judgment,” Iksander finished for him.

  “Well said.”

  Agrippa reached down and lifted a heavy practice sword, swung it back and forth a few times, and sighted down its length.

  “So,” the big colonel concluded after a few moments, “let the Golden Phalanx—the ‘Kings of bloody Oblivion,’ as you so colorfully called us—do our jobs as security guards for whatever group is having this little meeting on Ascanius, and then—” He strode back out onto the practice mat, motioning for Iksander to join him. “—and then, when we are done, we shall see what we shall see, as concerning the general and the colonel.”

  “Works for me,” Iksander said with a shrug.

  “That was easy,” Agrippa rumbled, his blue eyes meeting those of his old friend and comrade.