MASHHAD, ISLAMIC STATE
Only four years, he thought, four years after the war and already the world is once again immersed in chaos. He sipped his tea languidly, enjoying his time off duty. An AK-88 Laserisk rested heavily over his shoulder, his lone defense against both the wild and the American forces.
"Abou Hassan!" A man jumped into the tent, causing the startled Abou to drop his tea on the green cloth floor. "It is your turn for duty," said the man breathlessly.
"Is there something out there?"
"No. I just got cold."
The men laughed quietly, but both could tell that the other was nervous. Nobody knew when something might jump out through the mountain pass. It was the unspoken fear of the whole camp.
Hassan threw on his fur coat, and began to trudge heavily outside. "Allah be with you," said the guard. But his voice was not heard by Hassan, who quickly seemed to disappear into the pitch black void.
Once he found a comfortable spot to sit, Abou began to go over the recent political movement since the wars end. Politics had been his passion since he was in high school. He probably would have continued his interest at a higher learning level, had it not been for the Jihad. Besides, nothing ever really happened. The most exciting event was a crash of a spaceship into the mountains a few days ago. Other than that, it was only the battle between man and his fears.
Once Voinas destruction had been broadcast through CNN, the world reverted back to the days before the encounter. Within forty eight hours of the victory, the United Earth government was nullified, and the documents were hidden in a safe in some undisclosed location. McPhereson and dErlon left the spotlight, and continued their former lives: dErlon bought an estate in France, while McPhereson settled quietly in Barcelona.
Then, thought Hassan grimly, it began to get interesting. Once all former pacts and governments had been reinstated, the Islamic war against Israel was rekindled. But this time, Islamic fundamentalists had seen the power of a unified government, and decided to aim at an seemingly outlandish goal: a unified Islamic state.
But within two years, they did: thirteen nations, stretching from Eastern Africa to Afghanistan, agreed to be part of Kohebakaars plan for "a single, unified Islamic state." The world had been shaken up, and suddenly the times looked dark for the West.
Then, on the first anniversary of the Islamic State, Gen. Mohammed Qazif declared that the Great Jihad had been unfolded, and that the time had come for Islam to take the world. Every nation bordering the Islamic State found itself at war with a mighty force.
It had been seven months since that bold declaration, and the intensity that once fueled the war has died down. Many troops had run away, and the Islamic Jihad Coalition (IJC) was searching frantically for an omen to raise their troops morale.
Good luck, thought Hassan sarcastically. An omen. Ha! They might as well try to single-handedly destroy the Western world. I wouldnt be to surprised if that wasnt mentioned in Kohebakaars original plan.
He heard rumbling to the east. Probably a storm, he thought. Not good.
But the rumbling continued, increasing in loudness each time. Now Hassan afraid, for his fears had won over him.
Then, from the shadows, a figure so dark, so grotesque, appeared through the mountain pass. Hassan prepared to fire, but he was silenced by the creatures booming voice.
"Marhaba." Greetings. But what was this thing, that spoke with such a definitive power?
"I am a messenger of Allah. I have come to bring the people out of the waste, into paradise."
Hassan couldve fainted. In most cases, he wouldve thought that it was Kareef pulling a prank on him. But this was just too strange, too unreal to be manmade. He was speaking...to an angel.
"The people have done all they can on earth," it continued, "and they must move onwards in the jihad."
It paused, as though catching its breath.
"You must move forward into space. Many of the former Voinian worlds are uninhabited, and are open for expansion. This is where Allah commands you to go."
Hassan bowed, and suddenly realized his task. He was a prophet, just like Mohammed. He must go and tell the people, tell them the news from Allah...
NORFOLK, VIRGINIA
"Read this, Jack." Two agents of the CIA sat watching football in the lounge. Jack Winthrop, an agent generally deployed in China, moved slowly to the table at which Harry Smith sat.
"A soldier of the IJC declared today that a messenger of Allah has commanded the IJC to launch a mission into space, and to begin colonizing other worlds. The IJC says it is quite apparent that this soldier tells the truth, and plans to follow through in his plan.
"Are you kidding me?" said Winthrop, choking in laughter. "They mustve been really desperate for some inspiration. Messenger from Allah!" The men laughed so hard that tears streamed down their cheeks.
A LAUNCH SITE NEAR HERAT, ISLAMIC STATE
Although the cold wind and snow bit at him in the northern mountains, Hassan could not help but to sweat as he fidgeted in the lobby. He looked down at his spacesuit and smiled. In just a few weeks, an admiral! What more, admiral of the entire IJC fleet! Although the fleet had not yet been formed, he was certain that Allah would ensure it would be a point of power in the Jihad.
Or would He? This was what Hassan had been fretting about since he reported his sighting to the palace. Perhaps it had only been a rebel, roaming around and looking to pull a prank; or worse, a Western spy. But did it matter? The IJC seemed thrilled beyond comprehension when he reported the sighting, but did not once question his credibility.
As he considered these thoughts, the comm link blared overhead: "Crew of the Hamraa I, you are cleared to board. Repeat, the Hamraa I is cleared for boarding."
They marched like drones into the shuttle, for they had been frozen in fear. What would stop the orbiting UE ships from destroying instantaneously? What foolhardy trap had they marched into now?
Once they entered the ship, however, all their fears were put aside. For resting on a carpet in the cargo hold was the acclaimed messenger himself. He was clothed in golden robes, and, despite his contorted face, he wore an air of heavenly power.
"Greetings, followers of Allah. Today we embark on a voyage, a voyage that will secure the success of the jihad. Allah will bless you on this voyage, and ensure its success. I have summoned a commander to pilot your ship, as I must report back to Paradise. Allah be with you."
The lights went out and back, allowing the spirit to escape. The soldiers did not notice in their euphoria, and stood dumbly, staring with blank smiles at the place where spirit once rested. Nor did they notice as the launched off, sending the 427 passengers into space forever.
LUNICUS BASE, LUNA
The impotent UE commanders and scouts sat around a 3" TV, watching a football game for the first time in most of their lifetimes. It was one of their happiest moments: the Voinians were gone, and it was time to enjoy the lives that they once took for granted.
Around the base, it looked like a party the day after. The carpet was covered in Coke stains, and empty bags of chips lay upon the computers. Makeshift dart boards had been put up across the whole station, and already they had cycled through four different full-scale seasons. The UE troops had fallen into a state of tiredness, and were anxiously waiting to go home.
A buzzer sounded from the tracking room, a few yards away. "Ythink we oughta go check it, commander?"
Commander Jackson, an old, gruff man sat in comprehension. "Why not," he said finally, "just for old times sake. Ripler, take it away."
Ripler, a tracker who was recruited just two years before the wars end, got up disagreeably, and went into the room. He shut the door, and the rest of the soldiers continued in watching the game.
It was only a few minutes later when Ripler came out, visibly shaken. "Whats wrong, Ripler?" asked Jackson tiredly.
"Commander," he said in a shaky voice, "I think theres something that you should see." In exasperation, the commander hoisted up with a grunt, and walked away, grumbling something the sounded "newbies."
Once he was in the room, Ripler set to work, drawing up a picture from the archives. "Sir, what do you believe that is?" asked Ripler.
The commander stumbled back in shock. A Voinian was sitting in the cargo hold, covered in gold. The Voinians were dead, he thought in horror, theyve only receded.
The soldiers stared in shock as their commander huffed and puffed his way back to the mass of troops. "Gentlemen, I have a message of urgency. A Voinian has been detected in trading shuttle #4972182 F. This is obvious proof that the Voinian race is still in existence. I will send a call to NATO immediately. Meanwhile, prepare yourselves for another war."
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 01-22-2002).)
Can we look forward to a bit more character development as the story progresses?