“You dare to ride that?” Margaret asked in wonder after they finished their greetings.

  Clint had taken off his helmet to scratch his scalp. He now thrust the helmet at her. “You want to fly it?”

  Margaret glanced at the manor captain, an older man with white hair and a suspicious gaze. For some inexplicable reason, the captain didn’t seem to like Clint.

  “No, no,” Margaret told Clint. “I could never do that.”

  Clint noticed the watching captain as well. He put the helmet on the handlebars and asked, “Do you have anything to drink? I’m thirsty.”

  Margaret said she did and led him away to the main house.

  Clint talked the entire way and Margaret listened, enraptured as he retold what had happened during the larl hunt. Clint obviously knew how to tell a story, and he cast her several meaningful glances, smiling what seemed for her, personally, each time.

  Margaret felt a thrill as his gaze touched hers. There was something dangerous about Clint Seasons. She could feel it. But he was a young knight, a daring man of action, so that was how it should be.

  In the kitchen, she fed him sandwiches and filled his mug with beer twice. Afterward, they walked around the manor as she showed him the sights. In time, almost innocently, Clint began telling her about the air cycle, the feel of the wind in his hair (although he wore a helmet while flying) and the sense of freedom soaring like an eagle.

  “Could you give me a ride?” Margaret asked.

  Clint frowned. “I’m not sure your father would approve.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Even more reason to respect his wishes. Besides, I’m sure he left a retainer in charge. The silver-haired man would never agree to that.”

  “Captain Tarl might not,” Margaret agreed. “But we don’t have to ask him, do we?”

  Clint frowned more. “I ate your father’s food. I took his salt in other words. I wouldn’t want to do anything to anger him or stain my honor.”

  “You wouldn’t anger him,” Margaret said. “It would just be a short ride.”

  “A short one?” asked Clint.

  “Take me up and fly around the manor and then bring me down. You could do that, can’t you? You’re not too afraid?”

  Clint scowled.

  Margaret knew he wasn’t afraid. She shouldn’t have said that. It had upset him. Now, though, she wanted a ride more than ever.

  “Please,” she wheedled, using the voice and look that worked ninety-nine percent of the time on her father.

  Clint stared at her a moment longer until he grinned, with fire in his eyes. “All right then. You twisted my arm. Let’s do this.”

  -3-

  Margaret hurried inside and slipped on a suede jacket and a tight cap and gloves. Then she returned to a waiting Clint and followed him to the air cycle.

  Captain Tarl wasn’t in the defense shed. A younger man was. He glanced at them, but didn’t seem to understand the significance of Margaret’s attire.

  Clint climbed onto the air cycle, kicking back the stand and holding the bike upright. The machine proved bulkier than one might expect. He pressed a button, switching on the jets so they purred at idle.

  He tested the throttle, making the jets whoosh with power, put on his helmet, cinching it, and looked back at Margaret through the open visor.

  She noticed a sub-machine sleeve near his right leg and the weapon holstered there. That seemed like an odd weapon for a young sportsman to have. Her heart rate sped up and she knew getting on the air cycle wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. It could be dangerous. Her father might become angry later, too.

  Clint is a knight, Margaret told herself. He even wears a helmet like one. This was her chance to do what she read about all the time.

  With a devil-may-care laugh, Margaret bounded to the air cycle, climbed up and behind Clint, putting her arms around his lean waist.

  “Hang on,” Clint shouted.

  He pressed a pedal control and twisted the throttle. The anti-gravity device heated with power as the jets supplied thrust.

  The air cycle lifted, causing dust and dirt to swirl.

  The retainer popped out of the shed. He was shouting, waving at them to come down.

  The air cycle was loud. Margaret pretended not to hear or see the retainer.

  Clint activated something else and they shot higher as if this was a roller coaster.

  Margaret screamed with delight. Then she couldn’t breathe, her heart raced so hard. This was wonderful and exciting. She realized she had been missing out on the real excitement of life here on Wind Haven Farms.

  Clint shouted something back at her.

  Margaret didn’t catch it. Her eyes began to water and even more as Clint bent out of the way for a moment. The blast of air made her eyes tear so she could hardly see.

  She felt the cycle speed up, though, as her body pressed against the backrest.

  At first, Margaret didn’t worry. This was too exciting, and Clint was the knight. When she could finally see again, Margaret looked back. There was no sign of Wind Haven Farms. The mountains were much closer than before as the cycle sped toward them.

  She leaned up against Clint, shouting at his helmeted ear. “You should swing back to the farm. I don’t want to worry them.”

  Clint nodded, but he kept speeding for the mountains.

  “Clint!” Margaret shouted.

  He reached back with a gloved hand and patted a knee.

  For some reason, that made Margaret worry.

  “Turn around,” she shouted.

  He did not.

  “I’m not kidding.”

  He twisted his head back toward her. “I know you’re not.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “I need sunglasses. This hurts my eyes too much. Let’s go back and get a pair.”

  “Just give me a few more minutes.”

  “Clint, I’m serious. This isn’t a joke anymore.” She half expected him to start laughing. She half hoped he would. She might blush or get mad at him. This was a poor prank to pull.

  Except he didn’t turn around. Maybe this wasn’t a prank. What could it be then?

  Margaret was beautiful and smart. This seemed wrong. With the feeling, came the certainty that she was right about this. She’d made a mistake, maybe a grave one. If Clint were a bad man…

  Margaret grasped his waist with one hand and leaned harder into him. She reached down for the sleeve with the sub-machine gun with the other hand.

  He leaned back against her, maybe liking the press of her breasts against him.

  As Margaret began to draw the sub-machine gun from the holster, he noticed. He chopped her wrist hard.

  Margaret cried out in pain, releasing the sub-machine gun so it tumbled toward the now distant ground. Soon, it was a falling speck.

  “You hurt me,” she shouted.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Take me home this instant.”

  Clint did not respond.

  “Take me home,” she said.

  He still said nothing.

  Margaret had been thinking hard. One of her defense instructors had warned her never to allow anyone to take her to a secondary crime scene. She seemed to hear the instructor’s voice in her mind.

  It is imperative that you act now.

  I can’t kill him, she responded. You’re talking about me killing him.

  Yes. Kill him. He’s an evil man, and you know it.

  Margaret gritted her teeth, her heart racing. She’d shot a weasel once, one that had been killing their chickens. It hadn’t been a weasel from Earth, but rather an Arius III weasel—a much bigger and more violent predator.

  Clint was evil, and she did know it. The bubble of her infatuation popped with brutal clarity. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. But she’d learned enough from her instructor, and had the hard-headedness of a colonist, to force herself to act.

  Do it now, she told herself. You must, or terrible things will happen to you. You know it’s true. Clint tricked you for bad reasons.

  Margaret took a deep breath, steeled her resolve and reached around him. Although she wore gloves, she undid his belt buckle. Then she heaved him left, trying to hurl him from the saddle. It was a bold and deadly maneuver.

  Clint shifted against her thrust, yelled with fear and then fought against her with his body and a hand, struggling to stay in his seat.

  As he did that, he had the presence of mind to bring the air cycle down fast.

  Margaret was panting with effort by the time he landed. Would he rape her? Would he slit her throat afterward with his big knife?

  She jumped off and ran. She heard his footfalls as he gave chase. Then he grabbed her long blonde hair and jerked her brutally against him. That painfully twisted her neck. She was too winded to scream.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he breathed at her.

  Turning around, she tried a combat move with her right knee, trying to smash his privates.

  He blocked that with a knee and slapped her across the face, knocking her down.

  From the ground, Margaret looked up at him in shock, with tears of pain in her eyes as her cheek throbbed. “Why are you doing this?” she murmured.

  “Money,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Margaret frowned, not understanding. This wasn’t about rape?

  “I have to make my quota and delivery is tomorrow. You’re prime AA as far as I can tell. You’d be surprised how rare that is.”

  “Don’t do this.”

  Clint shook his head. “You’re beautiful. I’m almost willing to take you myself. But my boss isn’t one to cross. My boss would know, and he’d tell him.”

  “Tell who?” Margaret asked.

  Clint advanced on her, producing a pair of handcuffs. “Baby doll, you’re going to find out real soon.”

  -4-

  Far from Arius III and farther even from Earth was the Library Planet, a world in the Beyond.

  Once, the ancient Builders had inhabited the frozen planet, drilling a vast subterranean maze beneath the ice and howling snow. Starship Victory had visited the star system on two separate occasions. However, it was nowhere to be found today, certainly not in planetary orbit.

  A construct called the Supreme Intelligence ruled the Library Planet. The Builders had created the massive computer entity and written the soon-to-become self-aware software for it.

  Many years ago already, Maddox had faced a host of New Men in the star system and on the planet, among them Emperor Trahey and Archduke Artaxerxes Par. There had also been a Spacer spy. Her name was Venna, a treacherous beauty who had used male lust to her advantage, aided by a device that heightened their sexual desire for her.

  Maddox’s uncle, Golden Ural, a New Man, had also been here. In fact, Ural had remained all these years. In a sense, he was a curator and the greatest intelligence operative among those called humans, both Old and New.

  The Supreme Intelligence could monitor distances much greater than those achievable by the Star Watch personnel on Pluto with the Long-Range Builder Scanner. Despite that, aliens of various shapes, hues and substances—some bio, some mechanical—had made secret assaults upon the Builder computer entity.

  Perhaps Golden Ural’s greatest work was in finding and debugging each of the hidden attempts. That kept the Supreme Intelligence focused on the tasks given him by the long-departed Builders.

  Ural was not presently in or on the planet. He was inside an orbital vessel. It had a cigar shape and a displacement of a Star Watch light cruiser at 15,232 tons.

  Ural was tall with golden skin, though currently only his face showed this hue. A silvery crinkly spacesuit and bubble helmet covered him. He gripped a blaster, ready to fire at anything dangerous as he walked through the alien ship’s corridors and chambers.

  So far, he’d found little more than humanoid-machine creatures—cybers—plugged into each other and the ship. The cybers were slender and tall, ugly and far too uniform in appearance with their long, narrow faces and metallic, plastic eyes. Were they clones from a single original? Ural suspected so.

  “Are there any change in their status?”

  The question came through a helmet speaker. The Supreme Intelligence asked it. He viewed the interior through a floating bot hovering near Ural, sending the signals down to the planet

  “No changes,” Ural said.

  “Are they dead?”

  The machine-men had remained motionless and barely breathing the entire time of the inspection. Ural suspected they were in a form of hibernation or stasis. He didn’t trust that to last, though.

  “Negative,” Ural said to the Supreme Intelligence’s question. “I wonder if I advance deep enough into their ship, if they’ll suddenly activate and attack me.”

  “That would denote an aware intelligence and planning on their part.”

  “Precisely,” Ural said. “I do feel as if something is watching me.”

  “I am launching a unit from the surface. When it arrives, it will place the assault vessel in stasis.”

  Ural froze, frowning.

  “Trouble?” asked the Supreme Intelligence.

  “You know this species?”

  A few seconds passed in silence.

  “You ask this because I called it an assault vessel?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You are correct. I know the species. I’m surprised you do not.”

  Ural thought about that. Oh. He should have guessed. “This is a smaller ship from the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan?”

  “From the assault vessel’s dimensions and tonnage and the Soldiers within, I give it a ninety-seven percent probability the ship originated in Leviathan territory.”

  “How did the assault vessel come to be in orbit here?”

  “Let me refrain from answering that for now,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

  “Since I have no means to coerce you otherwise,” Ural said, “I agree.”

  “Don’t be bitter. It doesn’t suit you.”

  Ural didn’t reply or even shrug. He’d gotten used to the Supreme Intelligence’s secrecy. It did not happen with each thing, but on matters upon which Star Watch or the New Men didn’t know. That implied the Supreme Intelligence thought he might tell either party. Both Star Watch and the New Men knew about Leviathan and its cyber Soldiers. What neither party likely knew was how the assault vessel should find itself in the Library Planet System.

  “Is there a reason you’ve shown me the assault vessel and personnel?” Ural asked.

  “Confirmation that it and they exist,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “And so we can compare notes later.”

  “Should I find and attempt to hack into the main ship computer?”

  “No. I’ll have my security bots do that. Perhaps you should return to the planet now. I don’t like the idea of the Soldiers awakening and capturing you.”

  What was peculiar about the Supreme Intelligence was its dislike for him being off-planet for more than an hour. The SI was something of a wet hen about that. Ural began to wonder if he would ever venture beyond the Library Planet’s orbital space or visit another planet in a different star system.

  Ural scanned the stiff Soldiers lying on their padded rests. He refrained from examining the jacks in their heads or the cords snaking from them. Was energy fed to the Soldiers through the jacks? Was this a biomechanical computer entity, using the bio-brains to aid the main ship computer?

  Ural shivered with horror. He disliked the cybers. Captain Maddox had lately returned from the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm. Leviathan’s extensive realm resided there. What would cause Leviathan to send ships such a vast distance as between spiral arms and then even farther to here?

  Once, the Swarm bugs had come from the Sagittarius Spiral Arm. That had ignited a grim and bitter war. Given the mighty invasion armada, the Throne World of the New Men had fought beside Star Watch against the Swarm.

  Was this a new inter-spiral-arm war brewing? Why send a lone assault vessel to the Library Planet? Did that denote a Leviathan task force somewhere in the vicinity sending out scout ships?

  That seemed unlikely, as the Supreme Intelligence would have long spotted such a task force by now.

  Ural hurried through the alien corridors, his nape hairs rising. He sensed something amiss. He remained hyper-alert as he increased his pace. He would have sprinted back to his orbital, but that might have indicated fear on his part. He refused to indulge in that.

  Finally, Ural arrived at his orbital in a small hangar bay. The craft was much different from a Star Watch shuttle. This was a heavily hulled oval with powerful thrusters. The craft lacked any windows or ports, relying instead upon its sensors.

  Ural ascended a short steel ladder and pressed his palm against a lock. The hatch opened. He hurried through, the hatch closing behind him.

  Simultaneously, a Leviathan computer deep within the assault ship took note. It sent a coded message to Ural’s orbital in its hangar bay. The orbital’s computer resisted until the message passed the firewall. Then the orbital computer accepted the missive. By doing so, it deleted the log that showed the Leviathan computer had sent a message in the first place.

  Ural had no idea about this as he shed the spacesuit and bubble helmet and settled into his crash seat, beginning to activate the orbital’s engine.

  -5-

  The small but heavily constructed orbital left the cigar-shaped assault vessel, maneuvering toward the white planet below.

  A snowstorm showed directly underneath, a vast swirling mass nine hundred kilometers in diameter. The winds would be wicked down there.

  Ural manipulated his pilot board, checking planetary wind speeds and atmospheric pressures. This heavily constructed ball of an orbital was built to take all that.

  Ural’s shoulders relaxed as the orbital distanced itself from the alien ship. How had an assault vessel from the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan ended up in orbit around the Library Planet? There were two possibilities. The assault vessel had journeyed here on its own power. The Supreme Intelligence had brought it here in some other manner. Both scenarios presented problems, with the first being worse than the second.