The Shattering: Omnibus

by Van Allen Plexico

  Nakamura couldn’t help but smile at that. “Your point is made, Colonel,” he said. His eyes moved to the man to Iapetus’s left. “Major Barbarossa—I promote you to Colonel, and offer you the third spot on my council.”

  Surprise was evident on Berens Barbarossa’s dark face. He gathered himself and bowed his head. “Thank you, Taiko,” he said quickly. “I accept.” After a second he glanced carefully at Iapetus; the older man stared straight ahead, exhibiting no emotions whatsoever.

  “Sir,” Tamerlane said after another few seconds of silence ticked by, “If I may ask—? You have made Barbarossa a colonel—but what of the leadership of Second Legion?”

  Nakamura appeared to be considering this for a few seconds before meeting Iapetus’s eyes again. “Ioan,” he said, “your reputation for strength—for ruthlessness, as you yourself just described it—is certainly well-known,” he said. “And that is why I have saved a particular job for you. One where I believe your very nature will serve as a great asset to the Empire.”

  Iapetus actually appeared surprised at this. He sat up slightly. “Yes? Sir?”

  “I appoint you defender of the Earth,” Nakamura said.

  “What?” Iapetus was taken aback. “Earth?” He blinked.

  “Earth, and all the core planets of the Empire. You and the Second Legion will defend our homeland as First and Third Armies strike out against our many gathered enemies.”

  Iapetus was trying to process this. “Defend the home worlds? So you’re going on the attack—you and your Lords of Fire—” He repeated the name the Inquisitor had used, with only a hint of mockery. “—and I’m being left behind?”

  “Left behind to protect our billions of souls from any enemy that gets past our forces,” Nakamura replied. “You are indeed ruthless, and that is the very quality I want in the person who will direct the defense of our homes.”

  Iapetus chewed at his lower lip for a few seconds as the others all looked at him, waiting to hear what he would say. With anyone else present, the response would have been extremely predictable: “Thank you, Taiko.” But with Iapetus, no one could guess what might come next—what arguments he might marshal against his own leader.

  When he finally did speak, his answer dumbfounded most of the individuals present. Iapetus nodded to Nakamura and said, “Very well. I accept.”

  Nakamura recovered from his surprise quickly. “You are promoted to general,” he said—as if to sweeten the deal before the man could change his mind.

  Iapetus nodded once but didn’t speak.

  Nakamura hesitated, frowning, his eyes never leaving Iapetus. At last he asked, “Is everything all right, General?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Can you work with us?”

  Iapetus was taken aback. “What?”

  “Can you work with us, General? With me, with Ezekial… With those of us who have gained these powers, these abilities?” He stared intently at the man—almost through him. “Your intensely negative feelings and attitudes with regard to the gods are very well-known, Ioan. Very well-known. Now at least two of us have gained powers of a similar nature. So I ask you—can you live alongside us? Fight alongside us?”

  Iapetus appeared to be considering that thought for the very first time, as if it had never occurred to him before. For a third time in the last five minutes, he shrugged.

  “Powers? Abilities? I couldn’t care less,” he said. “Now—do I like someone who actually claims to speak for a god? Or to be one? Do I believe any of those that made that claim in the past ever were gods? No. Not hardly.” He laughed softly. “I suspect a quad-rifle blast to the skull would’ve killed them just as easily as it would anybody else. But that’s beside the point.” He shook his head. “I don’t hate people with godlike powers,” he said. “Only those who actually say they’re gods—that say they are somehow above me, better than me, for no other reason than their birth or some quirk of nature.” He looked from Nakamura to Tamerlane and back. “You’ve just set yourself up as Taiko, not god-emperor or even regular emperor. You’ve made Tamerlane a Hatamoto—a trusted advisor—not a demigod. So that all works for me.”

  Nakamura gazed back at the man for several seconds, as if trying to decide what to make of him.

  “That being said, however,” Iapetus added just when Nakamura appeared ready to change the subject, “I would like everyone here—and particularly those members of your Lords of Fire army—to understand one thing. If I’m being put in charge of protecting the inner worlds, then I plan to do everything in my power to keep them safe. Everything. That means safe from outsiders and internal threats alike.”

  “Absolutely, General,” Nakamura began, nodding.

  “And that means,” Iapetus concluded, “that I will be watching you, too. All of you.”

  “General!” exclaimed Governor Mehmet. “You tread very close to treason.”

  Iapetus slowly turned his gaze toward the governor, his expression neutral, but said nothing.

  Nakamura meanwhile was still processing Iapetus’s words. He considered what the man had said for a moment, weighing it carefully, and reached what he felt was the proper conclusion. “No, no, Governor,” he said to Mehmet a second later, as the man started to rise in anger. “The general is within his rights to speak his mind here.” He looked from Mehmet to Iapetus and nodded. “Very well, General,” he said. “I’m certain we could all benefit from your scrutiny. The scrutiny of an impartial observer with only the best interests of the Empire at heart.”

  “An observer with his own army,” Tamerlane muttered, not any happier than Mehmet.

  Nakamura’s eyes flicked to Tamerlane for an instant as this registered. Then he chose to let it go.

  The meeting ended a short while later. It had resulted in momentous changes for the Empire, and everyone there knew it. It had also resulted in a precarious new balance of power within the upper echelons of government and the military—and everyone knew that, too.

  4

  The soldiers manning the defensive outpost orbiting NR-776 would have loved many more years of life, of course. They would have likely settled for hours more existence, had they known the alternative—known their fate, as it lay before them that very instant, revealing itself to them in the hot, burning terms of a volley of high-intensity energy blasts that ripped their orbital station apart and flung the blazing debris across the sky.

  Failing days or hours, they might have contented themselves with minutes—or even seconds. For a few seconds more would have been all they would have required to notice that the fleet of spacecraft dropping out of hyper and opening fire on them were not ships of the Riyahadi Navy, nor of the Chung. Indeed, they were not human ships at all.

  They were vessels of sweeping curves and elegant arcs, made all of a gleaming substance that looked like glass but was a thousand times more resilient.

  They were vessels of the Dyonari, and they were on the warpath.

  The Dyonari, a race ancient when Man was first emerging from the jungles and grasslands of Africa.

  The Dyonari, a race of very long lifespans but virtually no reproduction.

  The Dyonari, a race that possessed technology far beyond that of humanity, and possessed great psychic gifts as well.

  Generally they kept to themselves, remaining within the boundaries established by numerous treaties with the human empires they bordered. They were not liked, and they did not like mankind. But they rarely interfered in human affairs, and that was usually enough.

  They were interfering now.

  Their ships pulverized the outpost at NR-776 in the blink of an eye, the humans aboard that station obliterated before any word of warning could be sent. Then they zoomed past, seizing the entire star system, sending down landing craft, establishing a beachhead, and evaluating their next move. On their holographic starmaps, arrows pointed inward, toward the heart of the Anatolian Empire. Toward Earth.

  The Dyonari generally kept to themselves. They were not keeping to
themselves today.

  A voice—a very persuasive voice, echoing throughout their minds, throughout their worlds—had told them of the new weakness in the major human empire. Told them that the Emperor was dead and that anarchy loomed. Told them—urged them—commanded them—to strike. To unleash their ships and their armies and their massive psychic powers upon humanity. To bring the Empire to its knees—to bring it down.

  They had listened, and now the Dyonari obeyed.

  5

  “Did you see the new uniforms Iapetus has issued to Second Legion?” Tamerlane asked as he sipped at his coffee on the observation deck of the flagship. They had dropped out of hyper only a short time earlier and were now streaking into the Sol system at just below lightspeed.

  “What? No,” Nakamura replied absently, looking from the starfield that filled the broad transparent blister over their heads to the spot where Tamerlane sat, off to his right. They both wore their dress uniforms of red and orange, accented with insignia of gleaming gold here and there. Nakamura had added a sort of sash of purple and white, indicating his new status as Taiko of the Empire. He looked down at himself, chuckled, and said, “Gaudier than this? I can’t imagine.”

  Tamerlane laughed, too. “Not gaudier, no. But they’ve ditched their traditional blue for black, to match what his own company’s always worn. And—get this—he’s added a stylized golden eye to the chest.”

  “An eye?” Nakamura frowned.

  “Always watching. Remember?”

  Nakamura groaned. He remembered the meeting on Ascanius very clearly—every moment of it—though it had happened weeks earlier.

  “He’s changed their name, too.”

  Nakamura was startled by this. “To what?”

  “They are now the Sons of Terra.”

  “Sons of Terror?” Nakamura looked at him in surprise.

  “Terra. Though I’m sure the double meaning occurred to him, too.”

  Nakamura weighed this in his mind. “That’s fine,” he said after a few seconds. “Everyone does call Legion I the Lords of Fire now.”

  “Even though, of everyone who accompanied us on that expedition, only you and I and the Inquisitor have manifested any such abilities,” Tamerlane pointed out.

  “Even though that, yes. But my point is—I suppose Iapetus is within his rights.”

  “So you’re not going to order him to change the name back?”

  Nakamura shrugged. “What harm?”

  Tamerlane snorted. “Even so…”

  Nakamura crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled heavily. “I know you don’t like him, Ezekial. But—”

  “Nobody likes him. Sir. And with reason.”

  Nakamura grimaced. “I know, I know,” he admitted at last. “Despite my best efforts… He’s going to be a problem, isn’t he?”

  Tamerlane was hunched forward, his chin in his hands. He rubbed at his face roughly to clear his thoughts—the stars passing slowly outside had nearly lulled him to sleep, even with the coffee—and sat up. “Not necessarily,” he replied. “Think of it this way: Iapetus is a gun. A very dangerous gun—a gun with its own army behind it. But still just a gun.” He raised his hand and made a pistol-shape with his fingers, pointing at himself. “Guns can go off and shoot their owners.” Then he pointed away from himself. “But, handled properly, they can also eliminate your enemies.”

  “So I simply have to handle him properly, and keep him pointed at the enemy,” Nakamura said. “Fine—but that’s much easier said than done.”

  Tamerlane shrugged. “I would just keep him occupied. Keep him busy.”

  “Now that shouldn’t be too hard,” Nakamura replied. “Our Empire is besieged from nearly every direction, thanks to the actions of our demonically-possessed former Emperor.”

  “Including from within,” Tamerlane stated. “Remember—the old Ecclesiarch, Zoric, was with the Emperor and the Guardsmen in the Below. But after returning—and while you and I were in our little comas—we are to believe he simply died.” Tamerlane shook his head. “I don’t buy that. Not for an instant.”

  “Then what—?”

  “He must have been possessed, as well,” Tamerlane explained. “He had to have been, or he would have revealed the truth about the others. But if so, he wouldn’t have just dropped dead with a demon inside him. It must have abandoned him…” He met the Taiko’s eyes, frowning. “…For another host. A preferred host.”

  Now Nakamura was frowning just as deeply.

  “The question, obviously,” Tamerlane concluded, “is—who?"

  Nakamura said nothing for a few seconds, and the question hung there, fouling the air of the room. Finally, “Stanishur is investigating,” the Taiko replied, somewhat testily. “He will bring all of the considerable might of the Holy Inquisition to bear on this question. We have to believe—we have to trust—that he will root out any demonic infiltration. Even at the highest levels of power.”

  Tamerlane only nodded.

  Nakamura looked as if he was going to say something more, but then he simply turned back to the observation blister and the vast starfield beyond.

  After a few seconds, Tamerlane stood and stretched. “We’ll be arriving at Earth in a couple of hours,” he said. “I’ll go and make certain all the preparations are moving along.”

  “We don’t need any kind of coronation ceremony, Ezekial.”

  “Maybe not,” Tamerlane said. “But there needs to be something—some kind of event—that focuses the public’s attention on you and lets them see that you are fully in charge. We have to do that. They have to see that the Empire is continuing on as before.”

  “As before?” Nakamura whispered. “I hope not.”

  Tamerlane paused at that, licked his lips, and said, “But you see—that’s the beauty of it all. Now you’re in charge—so the Empire will go the way you want it to go. Nobody else gets to set the course we follow now. Nobody but you.”

  Nakamura nodded. “Thank you, Ezekial. I will join you on the bridge shortly.”

  Tamerlane saluted and turned to exit. As he did, the door opened and three figures entered. Two were soldiers of the Lords of Fire, serving as personal guard to Nakamura. The third, situated between them, was a slender, dark-haired man clad all in black.

  Tamerlane hesitated, still standing in front of the trio, inadvertently blocking them. He looked at the man in black and turned back to Nakamura, puzzled. “Sir—”

  “It’s all right, Ezekial,” Nakamura said. “This man and I have business to discuss.”

  Tamerlane frowned. He’d seen the man before, somewhere—but the memory of it seemed to evaporate from his mind. He looked the guy up and down, hoping something would trigger a recollection, but there was nothing there—it was as if a section of his memories had been cut away.

  “Colonel—ah, pardon me, General—Tamerlane,” the man in black said to him as he stepped forward, extending a hand. “I wanted to thank you for rescuing me from the Above.”

  “The Above?” Tamerlane said, his frown deepening. “Rescuing you?”

  “Yes. I was trapped there along with our late, lamented Emperor. You and your team helped bring me back.”

  Tamerlane shook his head, now seemingly filled with cobwebs. “Ah—yes, of course,” he said. He clasped the man’s hand and shook it. “Glad we could help you.”

  There was something else that came to Tamerlane’s mind then, but it danced around the periphery of his consciousness like the gossamer strands of some almost-forgotten dream and he couldn’t quite pin it down. Something about a sword—stealing it, and seeing it thrown through a doorway of some kind, or…

  No. Gone. All gone.

  Tamerlane squeezed his eyes closed, groaning.

  “Are you well, General?” the man in black asked, a look of concern crossing his features.

  “What?” Tamerlane looked up and the pain receded. Within a couple of seconds it was entirely gone. “Yes—I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “just a headache. It’s pa
ssed.”

  “Good,” said the man in black. A second later, his mouth smiled.

  “I will join you on the bridge shortly,” Nakamura repeated, and again Tamerlane nodded and saluted. As he moved through the doorway and it began to close behind him, he couldn’t help but look back. Something was nagging at him—something very important. Something critical. But he had no idea what it could be.

  “Taiko,” the man in black was saying. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Goraddon,” Nakamura replied, reaching out to clasp his hand.

  The last shreds of memory evaporated as the door slid closed in Tamerlane’s face.

  EPILOGUE

  May I say, Governor, that you have never looked better—never appeared healthier—than you do now.”

  Governor Amon Rameses gazed down at the high priest, his expression dubious. “There is no need to flatter me, Raza. I survived. I’m fortunate to be alive at all. That is more than enough.”

  The high priest, resplendent in robes of deepest red, bowed respectfully as he backed out of Rameses’ way. The planetary governor of Ahknaton swept past him and into the main sanctuary of the Great Cathedral of Anakh. Some two dozen citizens filed in behind him—men, women, and children of all ages, come to participate in a service along with their Imperial governor. They filled in the space at the rear of the sanctuary while Rameses made his way toward the front.

  “I am sincere, Governor,” Raza said as he followed along behind Rameses and his small retinue of advisors and bodyguards. “Your countenance is one of youth and vigor. Surely the gods favor you in all things—now more than ever!”

  Rameses ignored him, used to his underlings saying whatever they felt he wanted to hear. He strode the length of the vast hall and stopped only when he reached the altar, quickly climbing the two steps that led up to it. There he stood, hands on hips, his formal red and gold robes swirling as he turned slowly to take in the beauty of the cathedral’s gothic interior, as lit by hundreds or thousands of flickering candles. Leaning on his ever-present staff with its crooked head, he studied the lush tapestries that hung from the walls on either side, filling the space between the stained glass windows. Each tapestry depicted a different figure—one of the many gods of the holy pantheon of the Empire, otherwise known as Those Who Remain. The main window directly ahead, above the altar, had been wrought into a colorful depiction of a tall, slender man in robes of red and gold—precisely the same as what Rameses now wore—with arms outstretched in welcoming. In the luminous glass image, the man was flanked by common people much like those who had entered the hall behind Rameses, and all clad in the customary, Egyptian-themed dress of this world, Ahknaton. The central figure’s eyes stared out, comprised of sparkling green gemstones set into the glass.