Prophets

Date: 2526.6.4 (Standard) 750,000 km from Salmagundi-HD 101534

Mosasa stared at the holo, where the security cameras showed the spidery form of the Jizan drawing the wreckage of the Eclipse into itself. A dozen robots, and a half dozen men in hardshell EVA suits, crawled through the wreckage by the drive section like fat white aphids invading a rotten log. The invaders connected cables, secured debris, and attached umbilicals from the Caliphate ship to what remained of the Eclipse’s power and life support . . .

And data . . .

He barely listened to Parvi as she talked to the crew of the Jizan, guiding them through the heavily modified and severely damaged systems. For all the activity, movement, the babble around him, he felt as alone as he had ever been at any point in his ersatz life. His world had shrunk from the universe to the claustrophobic prison of the Eclipse. For the first time in hundreds of years, he felt trapped inside his own skin.

He had built his identity on being aware. Unknowns were solidly delineated areas to explore, not this vast all-encompassing darkness.

The Caliphate should not be here. Not yet. Not with this kind of force. They had no political or economic impetus to launch their reclamation of the colonies out here so soon. Travel time and the limits of tach-drives made it impractical for them to take physical possession. Of course they’d come out here eventually, but only after the forces impelling the various states out here had reached a political equilibrium and they put in place the infrastructure to support the journey out here.

It should have taken years.

But the Caliphate was here, with a whole fleet of ships.

Mosasa knew his view of the future was imperfect, and the smaller the scale of the projection, the less accurate it was. But this wasn’t a simple error or a slight divergence. This was a wholesale failure to see a major shift in resources on a planetary scale.

It was enough of a failure to completely shatter his faith in his understanding of the universe. Seeing the patterns of political, social, and economic energy had been as basic to his worldview as the ability to perceive color.

He looked at his hands and had difficulty being fully convinced that they were actually there.

I am Mosasa, he thought, but I am also a machine. Can I be sure that I ever left the Luxembourg? Can I know that I’ve not just suffered a prolonged hallucinatory systems failure?

“Mosasa!”

He looked away from the holo and saw Parvi looking at him. He should be able to understand the emotion in her face, but right now he found himself unable to interpret it. “Yes?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Parvi snapped.

“What?”

“They’re ordering us onto the Jizan,” Parvi said. “That means losing contact with all our comm gear—God only knows what they’re intending to do to the planet. Our people are down there.”

“What do you want me to do?” Mosasa asked.

Parvi stared at him, and he thought he could understand her expression now. She was afraid.