S. Swann - Prophets

“Ah. Adam said you would recover him.”

Hussein shook his head. “Who?”

“Tjaele Mosasa.”

Hussein stared at the holo, speechless. There was no way Bitar could know about Mosasa.

Bitar’s eyes seemed to deaden, and all the humor drained from his voice. “Now, Muhammad, I will warn you to not attempt landfall on this planet. If you interfere with what is about to happen, you and your fleet will be destroyed so thoroughly that not even your mass will remain.”

“Do not threaten me, Admiral Bitar.”

“I do not threaten you, and I will not touch you or your ships. Accept what is about to happen, embrace it. You will be offered something wonderful, and you cannot reject it or turn it aside.”

The comm officer gestured, and the comm channel was muted.

Hussein turned on the man, “What are you doing?”

“Sir, we just detected a nuclear blast on the surface, in the ten-megaton range.”

“We aren’t going to let Bitar level a defenseless planet.” Admiral Hussein gestured to unmute the signal. “Admiral Bitar, I am relieving you of your command. I order you to stand down and surrender.”

“I can’t do that.”

He gestured to cut the outbound transmission and whipped around to face Captain Rasheed.“Engage the Sword ’s fleet.”

“Sir?”

“Now!”

“Yes, sir!”

Klaxons sounded and lights began flashing. Around Bitar’s image, tactical displays began coming up showing the relative positions of the Voice ’s fleet and the Sword ’s. On the screen, Bitar had turned to face something offscreen, and his face registered surprise.

The tactical holos showed the Voice ’s attack ships taking inhuman Gs to get into range of Bitar’s fleet. Hussein smiled grimly. The Sword ’s fleet was deployed to cordon the planet, but it left the ships themselves thinly spread, allowing Hussein’s own ships to mass three on one at the edges of Bitar’s formation.

Admiral Bitar turned to face Hussein. “You are making a mistake.”

Even though he was no longer transmitting, Hussein answered, “You made the mistake, firing on a planet of the Eridani Caliphate.”

On the tactical screens, the red arcs of missiles began tracing between the fleets.

God help us, Hussein thought.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Götterdämmerung

The past is always waiting.

—The Cynic’s Book of Wisdom

The urge to destroy is a creative urge.

—MIKHAIL A. BAKUNIN (1814-1876)

Date: 2526.6.4 (Standard) 600,000 km from Salmagundi-HD 101534

Bill floated, alone, in his artificial environment, the water inside his pressurized bubble comfortably mimicking the temperature and pressure of the inhabitable layer of ocean back home. The water around him resonated with sonic feedback from the sensors built around the robotic toroid on which his globe rested. The signals were abstract, but the combination of Bill’s training and his complex Paralian brain allowed him to reinterpret the signals as he received them. Human scientists called what he did a high-order visualization.

Bill did not think the term accurate, since his mental image of the data bore little analog to his other senses. It didn’t map to the vibrations he felt, the shapes he could sense through sounding the area before him, the chemicals he tasted in the water he breathed, or the textures of the material he touched. In his mind the data became something like all of those, and none of those. He could sense/feel/taste the cargo bay around him in every frequency his sensors could detect. Even beyond, through the grate, he had a mental model of the stars in the vacuum beyond his small space, the planet growing large in the distance, and of the vessels moving about between here and there.

He idly allowed his attention to follow those ships, the most dynamic element in the slice of the universe he could perceive.

Even though he was disappointed in how the Eclipse had failed, his desire for novelty had overwhelmed the disappointment. He had never thought he would ever come into contact with something like the Prophet’s Voice. He had now been able to see a human ship that surpassed Paralian engineering efforts. He had already found the joy of discovering a half dozen potential solutions that fit the model of the Voice ’s drive configuration, mass ratio, and an empirical estimate of its capabilities. None of the possible solutions was provable without some mechanical aid, but the idea that one might be was worth the effort he had taken to explore beyond his home and the crippling effects of staying immobile in this globe. Returning with these experiences would make up for the fact he might never be able to swim with his fathers again.

Bill took notice of the ship’s motion beyond the Voice .

Acceleration paths increased in magnitude, and vectors grew to point at the planet. Bill told the sensors to concentrate their entire battery of observational equipment out into the space between the Voice and the still-growing planet.

The hard data points that were the mass concentrations of the Voice ’s fleet of attack ships had split into four clusters, focusing on four equally-spaced points in orbit around the planet. Bill saw other points, spread thinly about the planet, belatedly twisting their own acceleration vectors to meet the incoming fleets.

Across Bill’s mental landscape of mass, acceleration, and velocity, discharges of electromagnetic energy began to blossom. The points of mass around the planet, now clearly a similar fleet serving a ship with a profile matching that of the Voice , were erupting into diffuse clouds of radiance, mass spreading with the glow of energy.

I am witnessing a war.

Bill concentrated on the feedback from his sensors, trying to etch every detail into his prodigious memory. What he saw was unique in the history of his species. They had known of war from trading information with humans, but no Paralian had direct experience of it.

The battle had begun with two orderly formations, the fourfold clusters of the Voice ’s fleet and the diffuse net of matching ships in orbit around the planet. As soon as a few ships vanished into radiant clouds, both formations disintegrated. The Voice ’s ships descended en masse on smaller concentrations of opposing vessels like a horde of bloodfish feasting on a competing school, cannibalistic and soon indistinguishable from their prey. Soon the planet was orbited by clusters of mass and energy as ship after ship made the phase change from solid to plasma.

He had concentrated so hard on the data from the immediate vicinity of the planet that he did not pay any attention to masses vectoring toward the Voice itself until he felt the whole ship vibrate around him, briefly distorting the sounding he received from his sensors.

Bill widened his attention to encompass a quartet of ships with intense and violent acceleration vectors tearing by the skin of the Voice . He had barely realized they were there when the lead ship absorbed something that knocked it tumbling, flinging bits of itself in every direction.

Every direction, including Bill’s.

Bill ordered his robot to grab hold of anchor rings in the floor as a massive part of the ship’s drive section plowed through the safety grate and blew into Bill’s cargo hold with enough energy to briefly black out all Bill’s sensors.

For several seconds, all Bill could perceive was the vibration of his environment, his entire universe limited to the water that ended a meter in front of him.

The first thing to come back on-line was the robot’s diagnostic system. Everything seemed unharmed except for some IR sensors and one of the robot’s manipulator arms. The arm gave no feedback whatsoever.