The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [14]
The defense minister did not sit down. She was growing increasingly frustrated at the turn the discussion was taking. This was a time for action, not for talk! She had to convince them.
“Again I say it. Shut down the beacons. Draw in our outer defenses. We only make ourselves more of a target the longer we—”
This time it was her turn to be interrupted. Steramad refused to be stampeded into a decision he felt was not only unnecessary but also counter to Helion philosophy.
“If we show fear—if we shut down the beacons and cower in the dark—our sister worlds will wither and starve. It falls to us to set the example, to be strong for all. For their children, as well as ours, we must stand our ground. We are Helion Prime! And we will do what we have always done: generate energy and then share it with all.”
Shouts greeted his declaration—some supportive, some questioning. Politician and defense minister, supporters and detractors, glared at one another across the chamber as the debate raged around them. Both had the best interests of their home world at heart. Neither had any idea of the nature of what was coming for them.
Cloak fluttering around him, a preoccupied Imam hurried along a street in New Mecca, one of the capital’s most famous districts. Full of atmosphere, it had been updated with modern technology that had been largely concealed behind walls and under streets to preserve the character of the area. Lost in thought, he barely noticed that the great beacons that were the hallmark of Prime were coming on line, surpassing the setting sun with their brilliance.
Rounding a corner, he came upon an information kiosk. Like scales on a snake, screens riddled the cylinder, broadcasting dozens of different news channels simultaneously. Clustered around it, concerned citizens occasionally adjusted the individual volume on the pickups they wore as they discussed what they were seeing and hearing.
“So tall it touches the clouds,” one man was saying. “And there is nothing around this thing, this ‘colossus.’ Nothing is left. They say it’s their calling card.”
The man standing next to him was dubious. “How is it possible? To accomplish so much, so quickly, and so completely? When no one even sees them coming?”
The concerns of his fellow citizens were no less troubling to Imam. As a delegate, it was his responsibility to assuage such worries. Yet how could he do so? He needed facts, hard truths. But when these showed up, a vast silence weighed in. It was more than disturbing. It was frightening. Despite what he had said earlier that evening, and had been saying for days, he had to admit that deep down, he too was frightened. It was not the implied threat of utter and complete destruction that scared him. It was not knowing anything, anything at all, about the possible source.
He was about to move on when something on one of the screens caught his eye. The briefest of updates from a minor broadcast, it showed close-up vid of a single pilot making an illegal entry into Helion Prime atmosphere. A customs craft engaged in forcing the visitor down had been damaged in the attempt. Before backup could arrive on the scene, the interloper had vanished. As no trace of the intruding ship had been found on land despite an extensive follow-up search, speculation was that the intruder too had been damaged by collision and had plunged into the sea. As to the identity of the illegal, there was as yet no firm determination. Authorities were working through records to try and identify the craft and possibly its pilot. Before being forced to break away, the pilot of the customs interceptor had obtained images of the intruder that had been effectively enhanced.
Moving closer to the screen, Imam intently studied the picture of the single human. People in the crowd, disturbed and agitated, jostled around him as each sought a different vantage point.
“‘Coming’?” one of them was saying forebodingly. “They may already be here.”
Imam could have