The Blade of Shattered Hope

His other hand was occupied, gripping a makeshift handle on the end of a thick rope, which dangled away behind him to its other end, tied loosely around the neck of a woman. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t have her running away, either. Her long, black hair was matted against her face and head, and her clothes were soaked with sweat, but she kept Frazier’s pace, never uttering a word of complaint.

Yes, she was a criminal, but she was also an Alterant of Mistress Jane. She looked just like her except for the long mane of hair. But it was the same face, the same—

Frazier faltered in his steps, almost tripping over a big root. He’d forgotten—just for the barest of moments—that his boss no longer had the beauty and grace that had distinguished her for so many years. She’d yet to show him her face, but he’d seen enough—just her hands were enough—to know that the Higginbottom kid had done something truly horrific to her body. The poor woman Frazier dragged along behind him was a goddess compared to Mistress Jane now.

The thought saddened and angered him in equal parts, and when they rounded a massively thick oak tree, he accidentally jerked on the rope. The Alterant yelped behind him and stumbled to the ground, gurgling out a choke as the noose tightened. Frazier quickly got her back on her feet and apologized, though he knew it was empty and cold. He kept thinking of her as his boss, and he had to stop it.

On they went, hiking their way through the hot, wilted, miserable forest.

Frazier was exhausted. The only other person in the Realities to whom he’d dare entrust this assignment was Mistress Jane herself, and she obviously couldn’t do it. If two Alterants met face to face, bad things happened. Reginald Chu had discovered that little gem of information himself, and now he was stuck in some place Frazier hoped he’d never see. The Nonex. What a stupid name.

It wasn’t just the humidity and the heat that had Frazier so tired. It was more the fact that he had to do the same thing twelve times—taking each Alterant to the exact same location in each of their respective Realities, leaving them chained and secure, but with enough food and water to survive until the plans were complete. He’d already finished with ten; two more to go. But only a handful of Realities had GPS equipment in the air, so most of the time he had to use maps and human guides to find the latitude and longitude coordinates. It was a real pain in the bahoonkas.

This world had the satellites and the technology, for which he was extremely grateful. Having a group of jabbering guides and a backpack full of maps didn’t sound like something he could handle right now, trudging through the dense, suffocating woods. The Blade component strapped across his shoulders was plenty heavy enough, and sweat poured down his body in streams. He looked at his GPS navigation watch—the one he’d, um, taken for free from a poor sucker back in Carson City, the closest patch of civilization to this wretched place. They were close to the destination now.

Frazier squeezed his way through a clump of thin, gangly trees into a wide patch of vegetation. His spirits lifted slightly. Maybe they were past the thickest part of the forest. Kicking and pounding down with his foot, he pushed his way through the thick, clinging growth, leading the Alterant and moving ever closer toward the exact latitude and longitude of the Blade location. By the time he saw another grove of gigantic trees looming up ahead, his watch beeped, once, long and loud.

They’d reached the fifty-foot radius point.

If he hadn’t had a prisoner behind him, tied and bound to him and watching his every move, he would have dropped to his knees and howled at the sky in delirious joy. Of the now eleven times he’d made this journey, this one had been the most difficult. It was the heat; it had to be the heat. He felt utter dread knowing he still had one more Reality ahead of him. But, for now, he allowed himself some elation, at least a little. Even if he did keep it on the inside.

“We’re here,” he said, making sure he didn’t allow the relief to trickle into his voice. “I need a minute to set up. Don’t try anything. Or, um, I’ll have to, um, kill you.” Of course, not in a million years would he do that—the Blade operation was way too important, and it couldn’t happen if even one of the Alterants died—but she didn’t know that.

“Where’s here?” the woman asked, her voice hoarse and scratchy. “Why won’t you tell me anything?”

“Because you don’t need to know.” Frazier walked a little way farther until they were in the rough middle of the designated area. He let go of the rope, giving the prisoner the evil eye as he did so, knowing she’d get the message. He swung the Blade component off his shoulders, unhooked the leather straps, and let it thump to the ground in front of him.

“I’ve dealt with people a lot worse than you,” she said in a raw whisper.

Frazier barely heard her. He was down on his knees, studying the Blade. Or, more accurately, a part of the Blade. One of thirteen parts, it was a beautiful piece of work. Made of the blackest stone—a substance that did not even exist in any Reality, at least not naturally—it had no measurable shape or dimensions. Twisty, curvy, and slightly elongated, it was like a beautiful, abstract sculpture, with dozens of thin strands connecting two bulky end pieces, all of it harder and stronger than the toughest metal or stone. And blacker than the deepest, starless night.

Jane had made this. She’d created it. He’d begged her to explain how she’d done it, explain what the material was, explain the science behind it. But she always refused, saying it was on such a deep and complex level he’d never understand. A lot of it, she finally told him, came about purely on instinct, a result of her digging through the wonders of quantum physics and spacetime. But on several occasions, when she otherwise seemed asleep or lost in thought, he’d heard her whisper two words:

Dark matter.

He was sure of it. She’d said dark matter. Whether or not it had anything to do with the Blade, he couldn’t be sure. He certainly had no idea if what lay in front of him now was made of dark matter or contained it somehow. But his gut told him that his boss had stumbled upon a discovery that would alter the Realities forever if she ever chose to share it with her fellow scientists. But that, he knew, would never happen.

Dark matter.

He shivered, and feeling the chill in the brutal heat ripped him out of his wandering thoughts. He snapped his head up to look at the Alterant, who stood quietly, everything from her face to her hands to her clothes seeming to wilt toward the ground, a display of misery. He felt truly sorry for her, and knew it was because of how much she looked like Mistress Jane.