Prophets

city.

From the segment of the city he saw, he’d guess population at around a hundred thousand. The city itself was laid out in a radial design around a park that surrounded a tower that loomed three times higher than any other building in the city.

Size and placement, more than architecture, made him think of a cathedral in a medieval European city.

The other thing he noted was there was no visible damage. The only outward sign that they might be in the midst of some sort of conflict was the fact the streets seemed almost empty.

The craft hovered, and after more indecipherable radio traffic, it descended. As soon as the machine rocked back on its landing gear, a soldier stepped up and drew the massive side door open, letting in wind and the painful whine of the transport’s fans as they powered down. One of the men stood in front of the three of them. Mallory didn’t need to see the man’s face behind the visor to know they weren’t supposed to move.

Behind their guard, the rest of the soldiers disembarked from the aircraft. From the small view Mallory had of the LZ, he could see that those soldiers were filing out to join a cordon around the whole landing area. A last soldier joined the medic in lifting Brody’s stretcher. The pair carried Brody out of the aircraft.

Dorner stood up. “We need to go with him!”

The last guard turned his weapon so its barrel was pointed at Dorner’s abdomen. Mallory took her arm and pulled her back to her seat. “He’s getting medical attention. There’s nothing you can do.”

She yanked her arm away. “Keep your hands off me.” However, she remained seated.

“Someone’s coming,” Pak said.

Mallory leaned a little to the side so they could see past their guardsman. There was someone coming though the cordon. The man wasn’t in uniform. Instead, he wore a white collarless shirt and black pants under a white topcoat that hung near to the ground and trailed behind him like a cape. The man was bald and was old enough that his age had become completely indeterminate. Somewhere over seventy years standard.

There was no hair on his head, and his brow and scalp were marked by a series of tattoos, each roughly about ten centimeters square. All were abstract designs, self-contained, and each apparently unique. He walked up to the doorway and said, “You’re dismissed.”

Their guard came to attention, turned to the newcomer, nodded, and marched out of the aircraft. The newcomer pulled himself up into the aircraft and faced the three of them.

“What have you done with Dr. Brody?” Dorner said.

“The injured man? He’s being tended to.”

“We need to see—” Dorner began.

The man cut her off with a gesture. “Please, some courtesy. This is my planet, at least for the moment. And you are trespassing.”

“Our ship suffered a catastrophic failure,” Mallory said. “We were coming here for help.”

“And the other ships?”

“Other ships?” Dorner and Pak exclaimed at the same time.

“I have at least one hundred fifty spacecraft confirmed, before they took out our satellites.” He looked at each of them in turn. “You are going to tell me their intentions.”

One hundred fifty ships?

Mosasa had said that the Caliphate would be massing whole fleets. They were here? Now?

“Why is the Confederacy here?” The man repeated.

“Not the Confederacy,” Mallory said. “The Confederacy doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Who, then? Who did you bring here?”

“I think those ships are from the Eridani Caliphate. They are going to want to stake a claim on this section of space.”