Heirs of Empire

“But what if He has turned His favor from us?” Parta blathered, and Corada snorted.

“If He has, would His Voice give us Warning?” he demanded, and Parta blinked. “You see? I know it’s never happened before, but the Writ says no man can know when the Trial may come. Put your trust in God where it belongs, man!”

“I—” Parta cut himself off and gasped in a breath like a drowning man’s, then nodded sharply. “Yes, Corada. Yes. You’re right. It’s just—”

“Just that it’s scared the tripes out of you,” Corada grunted, then gave a lopsided grin. “Well, don’t think it hasn’t done the same for me!”

“Thank you, Corada,” Vroxhan said gratefully, making a mental promise never to tease the old man again. “Your faith and courage are an inspiration to us.” He swept his bishops’ eyes once more, and nodded. “Come, Brothers. Join me in a brief prayer of rededication before we answer the Voice’s call.”

Vroxhan had never vested in such unseemly haste, but neither had he ever faced a moment like this. For thousands upon thousands of years God had warded His faithful from the demons whose very touch was death to body and soul. Not in recorded history had He allowed the enemies of all life whose vile trickery had cast Man from the starry splendor of God’s Heaven to earth to approach so near as to rouse the Voice to Warning, but Vroxhan reminded himself of Corada’s words. God had not abandoned His people; the Voice’s Warning was proof of that.

He jerked the golden buttons closed, suppressing a habitual stab of a

His bishops waited, clad as he in their tight-fitting vestments, as he walked to his place at the center of the huge chamber and felt a wash of familiar awe as the night sky rose above him. The dark sphere of midnight enveloped him, blotting out the polished, trophy-hung walls with the glory of God’s own stars, but awe was replaced by dread as he looked up and saw the scarlet sigil of the demons rising slowly in the eastern sky.

The sight chilled his blood, for it burned still and bright, the color of fresh blood and not the pulsing yellow flicker of Fire Test, Plot Test, or System Check. But he squared his shoulders, reminding himself he was God’s servant. He marched to the altar, and the inhuman beauty of the Voice’s unhurried, inflectionless speech rolled over him, calm and reassuring in its eternal, unchanging majesty.

“Warning,” it said in the Holy Tongue, every word sweet and pure as silver, “passive system detection warning. Hostiles approach.” The Voice continued, speaking words not even the high priest knew as it invoked God’s protection, and he felt a shiver of religious ecstasy. Then it returned to words he recognized, even though he did not fully understand them. “Contact in five-eight-point-three-seven minutes,” it said, and fell silent. After a moment it began again, repeating the Warning, and Vroxhan knelt to press his bearded lips reverently to the glowing God Lights of the high altar with a silent prayer that God might overlook his manifest unworthiness for the task which had come to him. Then he rose, and sang the sacred words of benediction.

“Arm systems,” he sang, and a brazen clangor rolled through the Sanctum, but this time no one showed fear. This they had heard before, every year of their religious lives, at the Feast of Fire Test. Yet this time was different, for this time its familiar, martial fury summoned them to battle in God’s holy cause.

The challenge of God’s Horn faded, and the Voice spoke once more.

“Armed,” it said sweetly. “Hostiles within engagement parameters.”

Amber circles sprang into the starry heavens, entrapping the crimson glare of the demons, ringing it in the adamantine rejection of God’s wrath, and Vroxhan felt himself tremble as the ultimate moment of his life rushed to meet him. He was no longer afraid—no longer even abashed, for God had raised him up. He was God’s vessel, filled with God’s power to meet this time of Trial, and his eyes gleamed with a hundred reflected stars as he turned to his fellows. He raised his arms and watched them draw strength from his own exaltation. Other arms rose, returning his blessing, committing themselves to the power and the glory of God while the demons’ red glare washed down over their faces and vestments.

“Be not afraid, my brothers!” Vroxhan cried in a great voice. “The time of Trial is upon us, but trust in God, that your souls may be exalted by His glory and the demons may be confounded, for the power is His forever!”

“Forever!” The answering roar battered him, and there was no fear in it, either. He turned back to the high altar, lifting his eyes defiantly to the demon light, rejecting it and the evil for which it stood, and his powerful, rolling voice rose in the sonorous music of the ancient Canticle of Deliverance.

“Initiate engagement procedure!”

Chapter Fifteen

“Coming into range of another one,” Harriet a

Sean felt—and shared—her stress. They were finally close enough for Israel’s sca

“I’m on it, Harry,” Sandy reported from Tactical. Her active sca

“Radona, Radona,” Tamman muttered, ru

“That,” Sean said quietly, “is the best news I’ve had in the last twenty-one months. People, it looks like we’re going to make it after all.”

“Yes, I—” Sandy began, then broke off with a gasp. “Sean, that thing’s live!”

“What?” Sean stared across at her, and she nodded vigorously.

“I’m getting standby level power readings from at least two Khilark Gamma fusion plants—maybe three.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sean muttered. He twisted back around to glare at the bland light floating in Harriet’s sighting ring. “She’d need hydrogen tankers, maintenance services, a resource base … She can’t be live!”

“Try telling that to my sca

“But I still don’t see how—”

“Sean,” Harriet cut him off, “I’m getting more installations. Look.”

Scores of sighting rings blossomed as her instruments came in range of the new targets, and Sean blinked.

“Sandy?”

“I’m working them, Sean.” Sandy’s voice was absent as she communed with her systems. “Okay, these—” three of Harriet’s amber rings turned green “—look like your ‘resource base.’ They’re processing modules, but they’re not Battle Fleet designs, either. They might be modified civil facilities.” She paused, then continued flatly. “And they’re live, too.”