“I can manage,” Bast muttered. The Sacerdote began dragging himself across the deck to a side chair, climbing into it.

  Walleye opened channels with the other compartments, telling them to strap in tight. This could be a rough ride down.

  The marines would be strapping in to crash seats that came out of the bulkheads. Mathews and his people would be doing likewise in a different chamber.

  “Kind of wish we carried a matter/antimatter bomb,” the Centurion said quietly.

  Walleye knew how he felt.

  “No!” Bast said, as the Sacerdote buckled into his seat. “We’re here to save my race, not to destroy the Main.”

  “Acknowledged,” the Centurion said. “But there’s something about going into…”

  He didn’t finish. Walleye figured that was just as well. This was the last moment in the mission they needed a fight between the mission leaders.

  The insertion vessel picked up speed as it went down. The sheer size of the AI Main—it was hard envisioning one computer brain-core controlling an entire world-ship. The mission was lunacy. This time, Hawkins had bit off more than anyone could chew. How could a little more than two dozen people find anything inside a world? Was the anti-AI deception virus, which had been concocted by a germ of a being, actually supposed to sway such a world-sized monstrosity?

  Walleye glanced at the Centurion and then Bast.

  “Problem?” the Centurion asked.

  “No,” Walleye said. “Just thinking.” He was glad neither of them asked what he was thinking, because the mutant did not have a good feeling about coming out alive on the other side of this.

  -12-

  Main 54 observed the insertion craft heading toward an ore hatch. The humans must be mad. Did they think a fantastic sentient brain-core that ran a world ship would fall for such foolishness? It was a madcap gamble on their part. It was a—

  An incoming laser message from Erbium 99 reached him. Main 54 received many messages throughout the day, most of which he ignored. Priority sequencing sent this message to the top of the list.

  Main 54 accepted Erbium 99’s data. This was unbelievable. Main watched the plastic creature ooze into existence. He recognized a reality rip, quickly realizing he saw a thing coming out of the void. This wasn’t like anything the Sisters of Enoy had used before. Did the plastic creature twisting, thrusting and oozing out belong to the Sisters of Enoy?

  Main 54 ignored Erbium 99’s analysis. Erbium was just a siege-ship. He hadn’t been around that long, several hundred years at most.

  As Main 54 continued to receive data, he decided on prudence. This was not only highly unusual but a nearly implausible occurrence. And the timing of the matter was another thing. The plastic creature appeared just as the insertion craft headed for an ore port. That seemed like too great a coincidence. Thus, he slowed the dragging of the insertion craft. He did not want it inside him right away. Something odd was going on here.

  Hmm, this made more sense than what he had seen so far. The plastic creature was unique. This might answer the question of why humanity under Hawkins’ leadership had survived for so long. So far, Main 54 hadn’t seen anything else that resembled brilliance. But the plastic-like monster oozing out of the void—

  Data of Erbium 99’s attack against the creature began incoming.

  Main 54 found himself absorbed by the battle. The plastic creature was almost as big as a Main. That was inconceivable. How had Hawkins kept such data hidden for so long? There hadn’t been a hint of such a creature in any of the reports concerning the Confederation.

  Time passed, and Main 54 recognized the thing’s force screen as a leap forward in combat equipment. The AI Dominion had never been able to deploy such a defensive screen. Now, he watched one resist a heavy grav-beam assault.

  Well, well, well, things were beginning to make much more sense. This must be Hawkins’ secret weapon. The weapon likely needed the insertion craft in him. Why otherwise would the craft have come to him? Rescuing Sacerdotes had been the cover mission. Really, logically, the insertion craft would likely try to deploy more diversion viruses into him.

  What was the best way to thwart such a strategy?

  He could destroy the insertion craft, certainly, but that might be too direct a reaction. Now that he knew Hawkins’ strategy, he should tease the man into revealing even more.

  Hmm…he would watch a little longer before he decided on his reaction to see what else happened.

  The tenor of Erbium 99’s data abruptly switched. The siege-ship lost sight of the world-sized creature as if it had disappeared. Such a thing should be impossible. Where had it gone? Had it really disappeared, or had it merely employed a cloaking device?

  Shortly, the one named Cronus reappeared behind Erbium 99. Cronus spewed a huge plasma ball. Main 54 observed the plasma charge nearing the siege-ship’s hull. Abruptly, the laser message ceased. The reason seemed obvious to Main 54. Erbium 99 was gone, destroyed by the Cronus creature.

  A moment of confusion struck Main 54 as he realized what he had seen. According to data, Cronus could teleport from one location to another and launch a plasma charge. That was incredible. That was—

  Wait a moment. Main 54 slowed down and gave this a second thought. The improbability of all this: the appearance of a fantastic void creature, the timing and then the insanely powerful teleport system and plasma weapon—

  No, no, no, no, no. Did Hawkins really think that he—Main 54—was that simpleminded? He should have seen this sooner. Hawkins was a genius. Clearly, the combined attack and insertion showed the man’s brilliance. The timing of these events also proved Main 54 was correct in his new analysis. There was no creature called Cronus. There was no destruction of Erbium 99 by a teleporting, plasma-spewing creature. Hawkins must have deployed other vessels out there. One of those vessels must have used an anti-AI deception virus on Erbium 99 so the siege-ship believed this nonsense, beaming it to him. Hawkins had used a weaker-willed AI to try to get the great Main to believe a fantasy, an obvious and ridiculously contrived fantasy. Hawkins’ one mistake had been in stretching credibility much too far. In retrospect, it was a huge, glaring error.

  So, what was the best way to use Hawkins’ error? Ah. Main 54 realized that despite his best efforts, some of the deception virus had reached his brain-core. It must have helped influence him into accepting the joke of a parody of a teleporting void creature.

  Perhaps it was time to change the tenor of Hawkins’ game. Hawkins wanted him to believe that the Confederation desired the Sacerdotes. But the real goal must be to get the insertion vessel inside him.

  That would never happen. Yet, he needed to thwart that without stopping Hawkins from attempting to use these strange ploys, so he—Main 54—could discover how the man had won time after time against weaker AIs.

  In that moment, Main 54 hit upon an idea. Then, he added a twist to it. If he were wrong about any of this, the twist would save him from much trouble. Oh, yes, this was a clever countermove against the so-called genius Hawkins.

  It was time to contact the human-crewed void ship, and the fastest way to do that—Main 54 began setting his countermove into operation.

  -13-

  Once again, the insertion craft shook, and then it drifted.

  “What was that?” the Centurion asked. “What happened now?”

  Walleye wasn’t sure. He began tapping the controls to find out.

  “I know what happened,” Bast said somberly.

  Walleye turned to the huge Sacerdote. “Well?” he asked. “Tell us.”

  “The tractor beams sheared off,” Bast said. “The Main set us free.”

  Walleye turned back to the controls. “You’re right,” the mutant said a moment later. “How did you know?”

  “Because I’ve been expecting the worst to happen,” Bast said glumly. “I knew this was too good to be true. Now, it isn’t. Balance has been restored in the universe.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Walleye said. The insertion craft was drifting away from Main 54. That would indicate that the tractor beams had no only released them, but given them a little shove for good measure. That made absolutely no sense.

  Bast groaned in dismay.

  Walleye turned to a small com screen. It showed a swirling image that indicated an AI intelligence. At the same time, the signaler began to beep.

  All three of them froze.

  Walleye was the first to move again. He checked the message board.

  “Who is it?” the Centurion asked.

  “Let me guess,” Bast said. “It’s the Main wanting to talk with us.”

  “It is,” Walleye said, tapping the com. “Hello?” he asked.

  “Humans, correct?” asked the robotic voice.

  “Who is this?” Walleye asked.

  “Someone too mighty to be speaking with fleas like you,” the robotic voice said. “I have declined to play your game, let us say. I know you are not an asteroid.”

  Walleye was nodding, although he was amazed the AI was talking to them like this. “Do you care to tell us when you figured it out?”

  “You are insulting me, flea,” Main 54 said. “I do not appreciate that.”

  “Understood,” Walleye said, his voice even but his mind scrambling. “What I don’t understand is why you’re bothering to continue the conversation.”

  The Centurion grabbed one of Walleye’s arms, shaking his head, silently pleading him not to ask questions like that.

  Walleye twisted his arm free. “I mean, humans don’t talk to fleas. Why do you?”

  “Patch me through to Hawkins,” Main 54 said.

  “So you can deploy a virus against the Nathan Graham?” asked Walleye. “I don’t think so.”

  “I will destroy your little craft, if you desire. I thought you might like a chance to live. I wish to discuss a deal with Hawkins.”

  Walleye debated with himself.

  “I have finished waiting,” Main 54 said. “Make the right decision or die.”

  “We’re not as smart or as quick-witted as you,” Walleye said, hedging. “We had to discuss matters.” Walleye glanced at the Centurion, who stared at him starkly. The soldier’s mind seemed to have gone blank. Bast was glum and shrugged. That meant it was his call. “We decided,” Walleye told the Main. “I will gladly patch you through to Commander Hawkins.”

  “You had better hurry, flea.”

  Walleye was nodding, using the controls to search for one of the Nathan Graham’s buoys. He found one.

  “I’m patching you through, Main,” Walleye said. “This is going to be a time-delayed message.”

  “Do not insult me further by telling me things I already know. You are a tool, nothing more. Tools should be seen but not heard. I will wait for Hawkins’ reply.”

  “Yeah,” Walleye said under his breath. This was weird and felt more than a little surreal, but he was glad they were no longer headed to an entry port. This way, they would die a quick clean death instead of enduring lingering captivity inside the AI warship.

  -14-

  Jon was on the bridge when Walleye’s message arrived twenty-five and a half minutes after leaving the insertion craft.

  The entire bridge crew listened to the message in silence.

  “How did this happen?” Gloria asked in a quiet, sick voice.

  Jon drummed the fingers of his right hand on an armrest of his command chair. This was a disaster. He could feel the bulkheads closing in around him. No. This wasn’t the time to listen to despair. He needed to act. He had a gut feeling Cronus had something to do with this potential disaster. Yet, if Cronus caused trouble for the AIs...

  “How should we answer?” Gloria asked in a quiet voice of despair.

  Jon did not respond to her. He had a faraway look in his eyes, and it was possible he hadn’t even heard her question. What was Cronus going to do next? No, no, why hadn’t Main 54 destroyed the insertion ship? His heart began to thud. He had to figure this out fast.

  “Should we agree to talk with the Main?” Gloria asked.

  Jon glanced at her. “That might be best. But if we don’t understand the reason for the situation…” He exhaled, stood and sat back down. “Ask Walleye what Main 54 would like to discuss.”

  “Roger,” Gloria said, sending the message.

  The message needed time to travel to the insertion craft, twenty-five and a half minutes to be exact. Walleye needed time to frame a reply and start the answer on its journey here. As the crew waited on the Nathan Graham, Gloria began to receive strange teleoptic images. She hunched over her board, witnessing bright plumes that had to be masses of accelerating missiles and then a hundred golden grav-beams. Further study showed her a siege-ship and even further teleoptic refinements showed—

  Gloria squinted, observing a planet-sized—she tapped controls, using a zoom function. It looked like an Earth-sized space jellyfish with dangling tentacles. The thing was over seven AUs away.

  “Cronus?” she whispered.

  Jon raised his head—he’d been brooding—and noticed his wife’s absorption. He checked a chronometer. It was too early for a reply to have returned.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “a battle.”

  “What battle?” he asked. “Put it on the main screen.”

  “I don’t know if that’s wise.”

  “The main screen,” Jon insisted.

  Gloria complied.

  Everyone on the bridge watched, entranced with the amazing sight. Then the creature vanished.

  “What happened?” Jon demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Gloria said. “I don’t—”

  “There!” Doc Cullen said. “He just reappeared. He’s behind the siege-ship.”

  Jon shot out of his seat as he approached the main screen. His head swayed as the creature opened a maw and spewed—

  “What is that?” Jon asked.

  “It’s bright,” Gloria said. “That would imply it’s hot.”

  “It’s hot,” Jon said shortly as the substance burned into the siege-ship.

  “Plasma,” Gloria said. “That’s what my sensors are telling me, a giant ball of plasma.”

  Finally, they witnessed the space beast drawing the broken siege-ship to it and plucking things from inside.

  “Is that Cronus?” Gloria asked.

  “Of course,” Jon said. “Cronus made it out of the void. I wonder why he looks so different on this side.”

  “Maybe he transmuted in some fashion in order to survive the void,” Gloria said.

  “Transmuted sounds about right,” Jon said. “If we saw this, Main 54 must have seen it, too. But why would that have caused him to see the insertion craft for what it was and then reject it? And why would he want to talk to me?”

  No one came up with a good explanation. They were still debating it when Walleye’s answer arrived. Halfway through the mutant’s explanation, a harsh burst of static drove Walleye’s voice off the com. Seconds later, the static stopped and Main 54 began to speak to them directly.

  “I would like clarification concerning the void creature that attacked Erbium 99,” the robotic voice said. “According to my data, the void creature teleported from one locale to another. It deployed a force field and employed a devastating plasma weapon. My sensors tell me the ‘monster’ ate part of the siege-ship. What is the monster? What do you expect me to do about it? And why were you attempting to disguise a Confederation raid vessel as an asteroid?”

  The message ceased as abruptly as it had begun. It also seemed that Walleye had finished answering.

  Jon scowled as he stared at the deck. That thing out there was a void creature. Main 54 must have witnessed Cronus coming through. Now, an AI master wanted data from him. It was bargaining; it would seem. What was he supposed to do? The AIs were the enemy. Cronus…just how dangerous was the void monster?

  Jon looked up to see everyone staring at him.

  “Cronus obviously made it out of the void,” Gloria said. “He…” She cleared her throat, speaking starkly. “He teleports, Jon. He uses a force field and belches plasma like a mythical dragon spewing fire. Why did he reenter time and space so far away from us?”

  “Cronus is unpredictable,” Jon said. “AI warships, not so much. Main 54 recognized the insertion craft for what it was. So why didn’t he destroy it?”

  “I’m as baffled as you,” Gloria said. “Except…”

  “Except Main 54 wants something from us.”

  “Yes,” Gloria said. “This Main can bargain. He’s not a monomaniac one hundred percent of the time, or if he is, he can still maneuver in ways to gain an advantage. That makes him more dangerous.”

  “Cog Primus Prime did that,” Jon said.

  “After our virus changed him,” Gloria said. “I don’t think our virus changed Main 54. I think Cog Primus Prime is no longer a monomaniac.”

  Jon stood with a scowl permeating his features. “I don’t care about Cog Primus. I want to know how long Main 54 has known the insertion craft wasn’t an asteroid. Did Cronus’s appearance jar something in the Main’s brain-core or did our deception virus fail?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “My instincts tell me we should run home while we’re able. If Cronus is in the dwarf star system, he’s not in the void. That means we can use the void to flee as Cronus no longer blocks our way.”

  “We can’t leave the insertion craft behind.”

  “We don’t want to certainly,” Jon said. “Can we rescue them under the present conditions? I don’t see how. It would seem, though, that Main 54 is using the craft as a hostage for our good behavior.”

  Jon began to pace around his command chair with his head bent in thought. Nothing was going right. Cronus—Jon sat in his chair. He pressed the com button, a plan blossoming in his mind like the ancient Greek goddess Athena coming fully grown out of Zeus’s head.

  “Patch this through to Main 54,” he told Gloria.