“Wise,” Zeno said. “Look. Is that not a sensor-cloaked shuttle?”

  On the cloudy-rimmed cavern screen, a tiny dark vessel catapulted out of a hangar bay on the Nathan Graham. The small dark vessel hardly showed up on the cavern screen, and it built up velocity with weak ion propulsion as it headed for the red dwarf star.

  “Perhaps there was a revolt aboard the Nathan Graham,” Kree said. “The rebels are aboard the smaller craft, which will fall into the star, annihilating them.”

  “Possibly,” Zeno said. “We do not know the psychology of the humans. Wouldn’t they simply space rebels into the vacuum?”

  “Perhaps this kind of death holds more terror for the rebels, and thus acts as a brake against further rebellions later.”

  “I do not subscribe to your theory,” Zeno said.

  “It is a suggestion more than a theory. I am as baffled as you are by the humans.”

  Zeno straightened and stared at Kree. “Who says I am baffled by them?”

  “I miscalculated my words. I beg forgiveness.”

  “Granted…” Zeno said shortly.

  The Sisters of Enoy continued to watch the monitor as time passed. The Nathan Graham remained at its location. The dark shuttle shut down its ion propulsion and coasted through velocity alone near the red dwarf star. The two energy entities observed the course of the shuttle. It did not plunge into the star, but skirted around it. Kree suggested the craft would use the star for a slingshot effect. That did not happen. Instead, the small, dark craft flew near the star, and then slowed by the object’s gravity as it left the other side, it headed toward the Main, the giant AI vessel eating its way through an asteroid belt.

  “I am not saying you are baffled,” Kree said. “But the craft’s actions baffle me. Why skirt the star? Why not head directly to the Main?”

  “I have been pondering just that,” Zeno admitted.

  “Wait,” Kree said. “I have an idea. Perhaps Jon Hawkins suspects us. Maybe he has logically deduced our observations from the void, and this is his way of secretly sending data to the Main about Enoy.”

  “Why would the human do this?”

  “Because he lied to us all down the line,” Kree said. “Humans are really in league with the AI Dominion.”

  “Why tell us the opposite?”

  “So he would not have to fight us. We can clearly use the void better than the humans can.”

  “Why would he have helped free us from Cronus then?”

  “I have not yet discovered the reason,” Kree said. “But I am sure it is there.”

  Zeno considered the idea. “Your reasoning makes more logical sense than anything else I can deduce. What are your suggestions?”

  “Open a rip and send a Vestal missile at the dark shuttle.”

  “That would give away our presence and the fact that we’ve been observing.”

  “A negative to the plan,” Kree said. “But Enoy is more important than either of us.”

  “Of course, I agree with that,” Zeno said. “But the knowledge we hold is critical. We must survive to reach Enoy with it.”

  “True. Then, perhaps we should leave at once, sending a Vestal missile from half a light-year away as our parting shot.”

  “Your plan has merit,” Zeno said. “I might agree to it. Let us watch a little longer, though, and see if we discover something else to help confirm our latest deduction.”

  -3-

  The Sisters of Enoy watched for several days, trying to understand the motivation of the humans and the single Sacerdote. Perhaps if they had understood the desperation of the mission, they would have reached different conclusions.

  Jon had held a meeting earlier, and the rescue plan had reached its final modification. As far as the sensor team had been able to tell from in the Oort cloud, they knew the location of each AI siege-ship. It was doubtful if any of the team would have been surprised knowing they hadn’t found every smaller AI ship or hidden buoy.

  Presently, the Nathan Graham had come to an all-stop behind a huge asteroid. The insertion vessel had already passed the red dwarf star. Other, slower, black-ice coated detectors catapulted from the Nathan Graham drifted into position. Now came the hardest part for those on the cybership—waiting for confirmation, waiting for the rescue team to go into the Main and come back out with rescued Sacerdotes.

  Would the plan work? Would any of the people left on the Nathan Graham ever see the Centurion again, see Walleye, Bast Banbeck and the space marines who had volunteered for the deadly mission?

  Frankly, Gloria did not give them high odds for success. But this was one time she didn’t tell her husband what she thought. Jon had enough on his mind. She could tell this was eating him alive. Waiting was hard. Waiting when you had to watch, or listen, to others fight might have been the hardest of all. Gloria wished Jon could communicate with those in the insertion vessel. They didn’t dare lest the Main detect the message pulses. How was the insertion team doing? And what exactly was happening to them now?

  ***

  The insertion vessel was a specially constructed ship made for the rescue mission. It was far larger than a shuttle and much more heavily built. It had black anti-sensor coating and held more than just space marines. Senior Scientist Mathews was aboard to refine the new anti-AI virus. Walleye was there in case they ran into similar problems as he’d faced in the Lalande 46650 System. June Zen had volunteered to join the expedition, but Walleye had nixed the idea.

  The Centurion was running the overall operation, in charge of the twenty-four space marines.

  Lastly, Bast Banbeck had come. He’d insisted upon it as his right. The other Sacerdotes might not understand that the humans had arrived to save them. Jon had been against Bast going. The Centurion had argued for it. There was no telling what condition the captive Sacerdotes might be in. Seeing one of their own among the rescue party might help settle them.

  “We don’t really know that any Sacerdotes are aboard the Main,” Jon said. “What if the Main seeded the idea in order to lure us here?”

  “It’s too late to worry about that,” the Centurion had said in conference. “We’re here. We have to check. We have the plan. Bast could be instrumental in the plan succeeding.”

  Reluctantly, Jon had given his permission.

  Now, Bast was in the insertion vessel, wondering if this was his last hurrah. The big Sacerdote was in a large chamber with the space marines. They were muscular young men specially chosen and trained for the mission. They were a clannish lot, and several of them were six and a half feet tall. Bast almost felt at home with such big humans. None of them was as tall or heavy as he was, but a few might have been as strong. A few of the men looked positively herculean.

  The marines played cards with each other, read stories on computer slates or wrote letters home. How those letters would get home if the Main captured the insertion vessel, Bast did not have the slightest idea. But he didn’t say anything to the marines about it. They were risking their lives to save the Sacerdote race. The least he could do was let them go to their probable doom their own way.

  Bast had been feeling upbeat most of the voyage. Now, though, that they were on the last leg of this mission, doubts assailed him. They were doing exactly what Jon had done the first time in the Neptune System. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. This was even ballsier than that. They actually wanted the Main to draw them into him.

  That was a screwy idea, right?

  Bast leaned against a bulkhead in the chamber. He and the marines lived and slept in here. Their mats and bedrolls were laid out in neat rows, with small metal lockers beside each. Each evening when the Centurion declared “Lights out,” Bast would hear the last whispers. Then, the snoring started. Sacerdotes did not snore in their sleep. It seemed rather perverse that smaller humans did.

  The marines and Bast stayed in here because delicate stealth equipment, many extra computers and the engines were in the rest of the ship. The ship could hold several hundred Sacerdotes once they jettisoned the stealth equipment and computers. By that time, they would not need such items. That was the mission theory, anyway. How it would work in real time…that was anyone’s guess.

  “The Main will slay the Sacerdotes once he realizes what we’re trying to do,” Bast had argued at the conference table.

  “You’ll have to move fast at that point,” Jon said.

  “No one can move that fast.”

  “That’s why Mathews’ virus will have to work,” Jon said. “Everything rests on that.”

  As he thought back to the conference meeting, Bast shook his head. Jon should have let June Zen come. Walleye’s experience in the Lalande 46650 System had been critical to this mission’s idea. June had saved Walleye. Why hadn’t Hawkins let her come to save the Sacerdote race?

  “Bast,” the Centurion said. “What are you thinking?”

  Bast looked up.

  The smaller humanoid moved carefully among his marines and their bedrolls. The Centurion respected them by respecting what was theirs.

  The Centurion slid down beside Bast, sitting beside him.

  “Where are we now?” Bast asked.

  The Centurion with his dark eyes and still ways studied him. The man was uncanny sometimes. Bast didn’t know if the Centurion had always been this scary or if the final polishing had come after surviving his captivity aboard Main 63.

  “I would like to know our present location,” Bast rumbled.

  The Centurion dug in a pack and pulled out a computer slate. He touched it, and the gray screen dissolved until the stars and nearest asteroids appeared.

  Bast leaned over, looking down at the screen. It showed the insertion vessel’s route. He couldn’t tell anything by it, but it still made him feel better. The insertion vessel had passed the red dwarf star—

  “Is that the Main?” Bast asked quietly, or quietly for him.

  “There?” asked the Centurion, pointing at a tiny object on the screen.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it,” the Centurion said.

  Bast glanced at the smaller man’s face. It had closed up, and there was no emotion showing. That was scarier than earlier.

  “Do you remember?” asked Bast.

  The Centurion didn’t ask, “Remember what?” He merely nodded.

  “Will endless captivity be our fate?” Bast asked.

  The Centurion did not answer.

  “What are the odds we’ll fail?” Bast asked.

  The Centurion looked up at him. The emotional flatness was still there. “That is the wrong thing to say, my friend. A soldier asks what the chances of success are.”

  “I’m a philosopher, not a soldier.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” the Centurion said quietly, reprovingly. “You’re among warriors, my space marines. You must adhere to our customs while among us.”

  “Do you fear death?”

  “No,” the Centurion said, but there was something dark in his eyes. They did not reveal emotion. What did they reveal?

  “I fear death,” Bast rumbled. “I fear disgracing myself while we’re in the belly of the beast. I fear we will never find any Sacerdotes.”

  “We’ll find them.”

  “How can you know? Or is it merely military custom to say optimistic things at a time like this?”

  “Both,” the Centurion said.

  Bast shuddered. He hadn’t believed he would feel so frightened doing this. Hawkins had never shown such fear. The man kept charging, kept attacking. It was as if Hawkins had decided that the rest of the universe should fear him. He would make AIs, Sisters of Enoy and Cronus dance to his tune. Hawkins refused to dance to theirs.

  “When will we know this is going to work or not?”

  The Centurion studied him for a time. “Being a philosopher must mean being a brooder. That won’t help you on the battlefield. Act decisively, Bast. Decide in your heart that you’re going to win.”

  “That ensures victory?”

  “It ensures that you’ll fight when others quit. I know a little something about that.”

  Bast blushed as embarrassment roared through him. He was complaining about having a shot at rescuing Sacerdotes when this human couldn’t care about his race that way. The Centurion did not complain. He fought on. He must have imbibed some of Hawkins’s fierce courage.

  “I’m sorry,” Bast whispered.

  “For talking about your worries?”

  “I’m a philosopher. But I know how to be grateful. I’m among warriors now, the greatest in the Confederation doing me the greatest favor I could wish. Tell me what to do when you need it, Centurion, and I will obey promptly and with all my heart.”

  The faintest of smiles appeared. The Centurion clapped Bast on the knee. “We’ll make a marine out of you yet. Fret not. We’re here to win, and Hawkins is leading us. Soon enough, we’ll be going home with your people rescued. Won’t that feel good?”

  “It would,” Bast admitted.

  “Think about that. And then resolve to do whatever you have to do to see it done.” The Centurion stood, scanning the chamber, examining his men. With a start, he headed toward a youthful giant with mournful features.

  Ah, Bast realized. He’s stoking morale, keeping it high. He smiled. Perhaps with the Centurion leading them, they would pull this off.

  -4-

  The grim entity Cronus had reached the location where those on the Nathan Graham had practiced their foulness against him. The void ship was gone. Those of Enoy had long departed, it would seem.

  How did Cronus know this was the location, when the very nature of the void meant it had no up, down, sideways…?

  Despite Cronus’s vast size and power, in the void he, too, was like a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional world. He could do many things a human would consider magical, but he did not truly understand the void. That meant the extent of his time in the void was nearly miraculous. It was possible that the being who had banished Cronus into the void would never have done so if he’d known the exile could survive here this long.

  Cronus seethed, even though he’d known that the likelihood of finding either of the ships here had been miniscule.

  Very well; how did he find them now?

  Cronus used one of his powers, and he sent his intellect roving through the void, unaided by any reality shield. The process strained him, and it turned him even moodier and more violent than before. He hated this realm. He could use it better than any creature he’d met, and he had met plenty. That might have been another paradox, but he wasn’t dwelling on those now. He wanted—

  Hello. What was this?

  He sensed—

  The searching intellect of Cronus veered away abruptly. The sharp veer almost caused him to lose his way. If he had, his intellect would never have returned to his body. His body would rapidly decay without the intellect, until the reality field around his planet-sized body went down and discontinuity did its dirty work of making him not.

  Cronus feared. That, too, almost proved fatal.

  Think. Do not fear. Reason, as you are the greatest thing in existence.

  He continued to soothe the fear until reason took hold. By degrees, he righted himself and hurried back to the bulk that was he, finally reaching it and reuniting intellect and material form.

  He had sensed the weak, lacking Sister, the one that he’d programmed.

  Cronus was surprised how far the Enoy vessel had gotten. With a mental shrug, he set off to follow them with his material shape. It would take time traveling, as the casting effect of his intellect had taken fantastic reserves of power. He used his unique propulsion and steadied himself by imagining all the things he would do to the recaptured Sisters. Best of all, though, was the idea of getting ahold of a null-splitter. The idea that he could escape the void after all this time made him eager, almost giddy.

  Cronus refrained from giddiness. Now wasn’t the time. That would come later, eons later, after he found and destroyed the great one who had banished him into the void. Thought of that frightened him, though. The great one was mighty. Cronus was mighty, too. But the great one had been mightier still.

  Stay on target, Cronus chided himself.

  Hmm. The chiding showed that he might be unsuited to reality. The void rewarded the imaginative and the easily distracted. If he hoped to reach reality—time and space—then he would have to concentrate as he used to do.

  What was the best way to practice?

  By staying on target, Cronus told himself.

  He began to practice concentration. He did it so well that he nearly lost track of the Enoy vessel.

  That made Cronus angry, which he realized could make him unfit for reality anymore. Here, fierce emotions were good, as they helped keep a mind from dwelling on the void, while in reality, they were a weakness, a distraction.

  If the planet-sized being could have sighed, he might have. There was so much to do and in such a short amount of time. He reviewed his reasons for doing this, and his plans. The null-splitter was first, because without it, his future would be bleak. With it, the stars would be his.

  Cronus laughed, and the laughter did him good. Evil as he was, there was still value in good, honest laughter.

  Once he finished laughing, Cronus continued to travel, beginning to make his plans concerning Hawkins and the annoying Sisters of Enoy.

  -5-

  The insertion vessel headed for the asteroid field beyond the red dwarf star. It did so while coasting, occasionally using side jets to make small course corrections. The star’s size and thus gravitational pull continued to act as a brake on the craft, but that lessened the farther they moved away from the dwarf star.

  The Centurion had walked amongst his marines for days now. The insertion craft moved slowly in stellar terms. It did so for several reasons. Chief among them was that no one wanted the craft to have to brake too hard with the ion engine and give itself away as it neared Main 54.

  In the old days when men first began attempting space flight, a trip from Earth to the Moon had taken days. The pioneers in the Apollo capsules had been crawling. The insertion craft moved faster than those capsules, but the craft had a lot of inner system territory to cover. Main 54 was still over a week away.