Chapter 6 - The Realm of Collectivity
Withers entered the Realm of Collectivity in amongst a large crowd of people. A man was giving a speech in the fashion of an American Presidential oration.
Hot vibrations emitted from the Oracle when he looked at the “President”. He was a Shadow Lord. Centurions, the “Vice-President” and the “Secretary” stood behind him. Unlike the suit-and-tie custom of Earth, Udicians wore high collars with neck bands in their chosen colours.
“Varlia is a proud unified nation, seen as world leaders because of our ideals, which have become the ideals of many other nations. With our current financial downturn, we have taken a more hands-on approach to world issues. If there’s trouble abroad, we are there to pull them out.”
Withers realised that this Shadow Lord was speaking in a way that could have fooled him if he didn’t have the Oracle.
“You know about the Sylonian threat. Recently, the Sylonians have made coordinated attacks on every nation in Udicia. They’ve killed many world leaders in attempts to destabilise the global economy.”
The crowd was shocked. The President remained silent while they absorbed the news.
“Should we stand by and watch while these aggressors take away our way of life?”
He was silent again. Withers saw that the crowd was being swayed by this misconception.
“No, we will not! We won’t! I, Nep Zelv, the leader of this great nation, cannot stand by and do nothing. Neither can the Tyronian Empire, for that matter.
That’s why this government and our allies, on this day, have decided...”
Suddenly, for a spit second a large mandala appeared behind the President. Then he vanished.
***
“What do you mean, you didn’t see anyone take the President?” snapped Meln over a chunky hand-held radio. “You were right behind him! I don’t believe this!”
Meln, aged thirty-nine Udician years, which were a little shorter than Earth’s, was originally from Sylonia, before he was assigned to Varlia. He wore a dark cloak, bell-shaped cuffs and long boots over his trousers. A holstered energy-bolt pistol protruded from his right hip.
“I’m telling you, he just vanished, sir,” said Remm.
Remm, thirty-three, wore a tan shirt with a brown vest and long dark-brown boots halfway to his knees and carried an energy-bolt pistol inside his vest.
“Sir, sir!” crackled a voice over the comm-link. “We’ve spotted the President in bushland near the Delf precinct.”
The voice belonged to Cal. Twenty-nine years of age, he wore a white shirt with a few frills, black trousers with long boots to his knees and carried a large energy-bolt rifle over his shoulder.
“How’s that possible?” Meln asked. “You’re three kilometres away. He only went missing a couple of minutes ago.”
“Well, he’s here standing on a chariot alongside the suspect.”
***
“You won’t get away with this!” raged the President. “’ll see you rot in prison, along with all the other terrorists we’ve brought to justice!”
Withers could see this Shadow Lord was blinded to his own being. He was just a puppet of the Shadow Master.
“Sit down,” ordered Withers, watching the approaching chariots.
“They’ll kill you on sight!” said the President. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Withers ignored him. A sniper attempted to fire at Withers, but Withers neutralised the weapon with his attention. Other officers also tried, but with the same result.
Frustrated, the President roared, “Kill him!”
At that moment a large mandala appeared. So Withers slipped the chariot, along with the stunned President, through the mandala.
***
Meln stared at the place where Withers and the President had disappeared. So it was true: the President did vanish before Agent Remm’s eyes.
“I told you, sir,” said Remm, as if he’d read his mind.
“Quick! Follow them through,” ordered Meln. “This portal, or whatever it is, may still be active.”
Remm signalled for the other agents to follow the commander’s chariot. They all went through, and the countryside transformed before their eyes.
“Commander,” said Cal over the radio, “I recognise this place from a mission a few years ago. This is Tyrone.”
***
Jere Bourne was at the speech, too, and for a moment he recognised the man who had taken the Varlian President. It was Captain Withers.
Bourne was wearing the Western style clothing of the Varlians, with long leather boots over his trousers, a frilly light-green shirt with bell-shaped cuffs, and a vest.
He knew the Keepers were to make contact with the local Gurus and give them strength during these difficult times. He also knew from the knowledge of his sixteen-petalled ring that he had the powers to displace a Shadow Lord – or his Centurion, for that matter.
Bourne wasn’t one to miss out on an opportunity. He couldn’t be. He was the chief engineer from the Centauri, and it had been a very gruelling task to keep that baby flying through space.
So, when he saw a shrewd Vice-President taking advantage of the disappearance of his leader, by reassuringly shaking the hands of the people, Bourne made sure he was in the position to receive it. The second the Vice President touched Bourne’s right hand, the Vice-President completely vanished!
***
“So what now?” the President asked. “Do you plan to deliver my dead body to the Tyronian dictator, Gylith?”
They were approaching the Tyronian Imperial Palace. Withers had stopped the chariot and was looking at it with a poker face.
“I thought of that,” said Withers, “but I’ve decided to let you go.”
“Let me go?” said the President baffled. He immediately jumped from the chariot and ran towards the palace gates. “Guards! Guards! Shoot this terrorist!”
Withers shook his head. The President’s voice was the only real threat to this transformation; he was a coward.
Withers opened a mandala and stepped through. It was time he spoke to the Sylonians.