Prophets

Hussein shook his head. The Sword’s fleet was deploying between them and the planet, almost as if they intended to repel the Voice’s approach. The Voice and its fleet was still over half a million klicks; the Sword had tached in to within five thousand.

“Give me a secure transmission to the Sword,” Hussein said.

“Yes, sir,” responded Captain Rasheed.

Admiral Hussein straightened himself and stepped over to the square that marked the focus of the holo cameras. When the comm tech told him he was live, he spoke to the Sword.

“This is Admiral Hussein on the Prophet’s Voice. In the name of the Eridani Caliphate, the Prophet, and our God, respond and declare your intentions.”

A few seconds later, the comm tech responded, “We have a transmission back, sirs.”

“Put it on the main screen,” Admiral Hussein ordered.

The holo showing the Sword silhouetted against the blue-white horizon of the planet changed to show Hussein’s opposite number, Admiral Bitar.

“Greetings, Admiral Hussein, I trust this day finds you well.”

Hussein nodded slightly. “To what exactly do we owe the pleasure of your presence, Admiral Bitar?”

There was enough space between them that there was a noticeable lag before Bitar’s answer. “I am sorry, this all may seem a bit rude of me. As I told you earlier, we are about to embark upon a new age. I am simply ensuring that everything goes as planned.”

“Admiral, I know of no plans involving the Prophet’s Sword contacting this planet.”

After two seconds of waiting, Bitar laughed. “Forgive me, Muhammad. I wasn’t talking about the Caliphate’s plans.”

Hussein stared at Bitar’s image, shocked. Even though he suspected something odd on the basis of the prior transmission, he had not expected a bald-faced admission of treason. He gestured to the comm officer to mute the outbound transmission and turned toward Captain Rasheed.

“Immediate orders to the whole fleet. Treat any ship with a transponder signature from the Sword as a potentially hostile enemy vessel.”

“Admiral?”

“Do it.”

“Admiral Hussein,” Bitar said on the holo, “are you still receiving me?”

Hussein gestured to have his transmission come back on-line. “Yes, I am. Exactly whose plans are you referring to?”

“The natives of Xi Virginis, of course.”

“There is no Xi Virginis,” Hussein said. “Not anymore. There are no ‘colonists who have discovered a means to harness all the energy produced by the star.’ ”

“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