She swiveled to her controls, tapping them.

  Jon had expected an argument from her. Likely, everyone, including Gloria, was as baffled as he was, and that meant everyone was terrified. This was a time for decisive leadership. Doing something was better than doing nothing. He was going to have to feel his way through, though. Main 54 wanted something more from them than just data. An AI killed unless delaying killing would allow it to kill even more later.

  Gloria looked up from her panel, waiting for him.

  Jon stared at his open hands before speaking into the com. “Main 54, the creature is called Cronus. We fought him in the void. He is supposedly ancient and believes himself superior to everything else, including the AI Dominion. Cronus claimed that he is from a different multi-dimension. He suggested that the void lies between these dimensions and must therefore act as a conduit from one to another. You saw what Cronus did to the siege-ship, Erbium 99 you called him. I suggest to you that Cronus will attempt to destroy all the AIs in the system. My recommendation is for you to gather your siege-ships and get ready for the fight of your life. Jon Hawkins of the Confederation, out.”

  Jon clicked the switch, turning off his com.

  Gloria observed her panel and then tapped it, swiveling around toward him. “What are you hoping to gain by telling Main 54 what you did?”

  “I’m fishing,” Jon said. “My words are the line and hook. What it will catch—I don’t have the foggiest notion yet.”

  -15-

  Main 54 listened to Hawkins’ message. As he did, the insertion craft attempted to accelerate away. He reached out with a tractor beam, applying just enough force to keep it in place. Finally, the ion exhaust stopped. At precisely that moment, the tractor beam sheared off.

  Main 54 continued to watch Cronus through teleoptics. The creature—if it existed and was not a figment of the deception virus—did not teleport here. Instead, it began accelerating by expelling gravity waves from its mass.

  Main 54 used other sensors to study the thing. That took time. He concluded that the “creature”—again, if it existed—had machine parts, but was mainly biological.

  The giant brain-core deep in the Earth-sized death machine analyzed many factors. He was beginning to think that the creature did exist. He did not think it was a phantom of anti-AI deception viruses. Yet, that posed a different problem. What was Cronus?

  The giant brain-core had memories stretching thousands of years. It also had history files of amazing age. The AI Dominion was not only old but had gathered data from beings even older.

  Main 54 searched for any scrap of data concerning Cronus in particular or giant entities that could do what his sensors had said Cronus had done. Even at computer speed, searching such massive files of—

  Ah. Here was a tidbit. It spoke of a creature called Cronus, but in an ancient language dead for twenty thousand years. This creature was gigantic as a planet, used life essence to power plasma—

  Main 54’s processors quickened. He pulled up more ancient data. There seemed to be correlations. Cronus had once wreaked havoc against primeval civilizations. These civilizations considerably predated the AI Dominion. The civilizations had never faced angry sentient computers.

  Main 54 studied the ancient data further. In this instance, the data could be called galactic lore. Cronus had belonged to a race of eldritch monsters that had battled each other in the early days of the galaxy. They fought as gases formed into stars. They were aberrations. Some believed they had originated elsewhere—in Hawkins’s multi-universes. How or why they had migrated to this universe, Main 54 could find no scrap of information. They possessed dark powers, Cronus being among the strongest and deadliest of them. There had been a battle royale, a galactic contest, and Cronus had vanished from existence, at least according to this olden lore from a lost civilization before the AI Dominion. How much weight could Main 54 give such data?

  Could a thing like Cronus survive in the void? The AI Dominion knew almost nothing about the realm. It was purported to be timeless. A timeless realm might allow a creature to survive eons.

  Yet, according to Main 54’s sensors, Cronus had machines or mechanisms on or in him. That was startling.

  Can I trust what I see?

  That was the great question. The longer he saw this, the less chance it was anti-AI viruses doing this to his brain-core. He had been purging every vestige of the human-spawned virus, going so far as to destroy the test computer. He could find no sign of any virus in his brain-core.

  Could he have tricked himself? The idea seemed preposterous. But suppose Cronus really was a primeval monster from the dawn of time. If he saw accurately, Cronus could teleport, at least for a short distance. He could use a plasma weapon and generate a force field. Such powers would help the AI Dominion immensely if gained. Perhaps more importantly, if Main 54 owned such powers, there would be no stopping him from climbing the hierarchy until he ran the AI Dominion. He would become the supreme sentient computer of the galaxy.

  That was a heady thought indeed. Perhaps it was time to contemplate a few absurdities in order to acquire supreme power. The humans possessed a void ship. Such a ship could prove useful in destroying Cronus. Hawkins would not willingly aid him, but perhaps he could coax the humans to do so through subtle trickery.

  If Main 54 was correct that Cronus was real, that might imply that Hawkins’ story held grains of truth. If that was so, then maybe the void ship had traveled here to rescue the Sacerdotes after all.

  It would mean his original analysis was correct concerning the humans and Hawkins.

  “I can do this,” Main 54 told himself.

  He ran a last and brutally thorough diagnostic on his brain-core and then his sensors. He would not let Hawkins trick him. The man had succeeded for a reason. He had not yet discovered the reason, and Main 54 did not think Cronus was it. Cronus was a glitch, but it was a glitch that might give him everything he yearned to have.

  The sensors said Cronus was headed toward him. The monster built up velocity. Likely, Cronus would teleport the instant he was in range.

  “No,” Main 54 said. “It is time to re-calculate the situation. I have siege-ships…”

  He grew silent. Main 54 had siege-ships, but most of them were in the system’s Oort cloud. It was time to summon them in-system and gather the nearest to him. As he did—Main 54 ran through ten thousand possibilities before he finally sent a new message to the Nathan Graham.

  -16-

  Negotiations between Hawkins and Main 54 took a day. During that time, Cronus continued to accelerate, reaching a velocity one percent of light-speed. He did not accelerate more after that, but coasted directly at Main 54. He would have to start decelerating in the next twelve hours, or he would zip past them as he traveled at three thousand kilometers per second. If he did decelerate hard that, would give them an extra day or two to prepare.

  Two inner system siege-ships neared Main 54. Six others headed inward from the Oort cloud. Those six would be a long time coming.

  ***

  After what seemed like endlessly tense hours inside the insertion craft, Walleye received a transmission from Hawkins. The small, heavily built craft was just a little beyond the orbital range of Main 54. Naturally, their existence had hung upon the negotiations.

  The Centurion and Bast crowded behind Walleye, breathing down his neck. On the tiny com screen, Hawkins stared at them. He had bags under his eyes and looked stressed. The Nathan Graham was on the other side of the red dwarf star, wisely keeping its distance from any major AI warship.

  “I’ve made a deal with Main 54,” Hawkins said, his message twenty-five and a half minutes old. “The Nathan Graham will ready itself to slip into the void, moving to a different spot and opening a reality rip, launching Vestal missiles at Cronus. We may have to do more to defeat Cronus. We don’t know yet. By ‘we,’ in this case, I mean Main 54 and the Nathan Graham.

  “The Main is about to send you cargo,” Hawkins continued. “He says the units will hold Sacerdotes in deep freeze, in stasis. I suggest you start offloading the stealth equipment and other unneeded systems so you can cram as many Sacerdotes as possible into the craft. If there are more than you can hold, use magnetic clamps and attach the extra storage units to the outer hull. Take as many as possible. We’re probably never going to have a chance like this again. You’re going to have to stay in Main 54’s vicinity, though. That’s part of the deal.”

  On the tiny com screen, Hawkins looked away before clearing his throat and staring at them earnestly.

  “Gentlemen, this is going to be rough. That’s my guess, anyway. Main 54 and I don’t trust each other. We’re making nice noises at each other right now because Cronus terrifies each of us, but Main 54 hates Life and we hate AI Destroyers. It turns out that Main 54 had some old data about Cronus. He’s a primeval entity and has…magic powers, in lieu of saying it any other way. Be ready. Stay the course. We can do this, gentlemen. And if we can do this, then Bast has his race back. Then, the Confederation will grow that much stronger. I don’t know how long you’re going to have stay out there. Probably until Main 54 and Cronus have slugged it out. Good luck, gentlemen, and God bless all of you and your endeavors.”

  Hawkins stopped talking but stared at them. “Look,” he added. “After you have the cargo and confirm with me, Main 54 is going to jam any further signals. You’re going to be on your own. I’ll get a few visuals of you now and again to see that you’re okay. We’re working together, but getting our Sacerdote cargo home is going to be dicey. Use your heads, gentlemen, and act if you find the chance. That’s it. I hope to see you soon in person and have been praying for the success of your mission.”

  The screen wavered and then Hawkins disappeared.

  Walleye turned around to face the other two. They stared at him in disbelief.

  “But this is incredible,” Bast blurted. It took some doing, but a smile burst onto his wide face.

  “This is bad,” the Centurion said in a gloomy voice.

  “How can you say that?” Bast asked.

  “The Main is sending us Sacerdotes,” the Centurion said. “The AI won’t have given us a straight deal, though. Each Sacerdote will be rigged. I’m sure octopoid attackers will be hidden in some of the stasis units.”

  “Main 54 made a deal with Hawkins,” Bast said. “The AI is going to keep his deal because he wants help against Cronus.”

  “You want to believe that,” Walleye told Bast slowly and carefully. “That means you’re the easiest person to trick right now. The Centurion is right. The AI will have done something sneaky. I suspect hidden octopoids and Sacerdotes with control units shoved into their brains, but it could be something else.”

  “We’ll have to check each stasis unit carefully,” Bast said. “Jon can’t agree to do anything until we know we have sound Sacerdotes.”

  Walleye and the Centurion traded glances.

  “We’ll do our part,” Walleye said. “But we have to use every precaution and test every Sacerdote we store inside the ship. We should rig every stasis unit outside the ship to blow and keep around-the-clock vigilance on them. If we see octopoids emerging—we expel that unit from the hull and denote it.”

  Bast blinked several times, scrunched his broad forehead afterward and finally nodded. “You’re right. I want sound Sacerdotes. The AI will try tricks. We have to thwart him.”

  “It’s going to be hard work,” Walleye said.

  “Good work,” Bast said. “Besides, the crew needs to work. We’re all sickly bored, waiting for the end.”

  “He has a point,” the Centurion told Walleye.

  Walleye did not say more. He was remembering Makemake and the horror of the place after the AIs struck. He was going to make damn sure the AI didn’t pull the same kind of stunts here.

  -17-

  While sitting in the control room of the insertion craft, Bast watched a portal open on the world-sized Main. With a teleoptic zoom function, he witnessed a laser-launch system fire three conical objects. Once the objects reached orbital space, the top parts blew away to reveal platforms. On the platforms were piled coffin-like stasis units.

  Bast’s heart rate quickened. Could the stasis units truly contain Sacerdotes? Was he really attaining his goal? That meant there had been Sacerdotes inside the Main all along. The idea of speaking again with fellow Sacerdotes made his eyes well with tears. A few of the tears leaked out and trickled down his face. He wiped the tears away.

  “Don’t get too attached to them yet,” Walleye said beside him.

  “I realize that,” Bast said quietly.

  “You may realize, but I doubt it makes any difference to you. You’ll do anything to save the people in those caskets.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I would give it a good try,” Walleye said. “But no, I wouldn’t do anything.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like being the only one of your kind.”

  Walleye snorted.

  Bast looked up from the scope to stare at the small Walleye. “Did I say something stupid?”

  “Sure did. I’m a one-of-a-kind mutant. I think I know something about being alone.”

  Bast shook his head. “You have June Zen. So you’re not alone. Besides, even though you are different, you’re still human.”

  “There are some people who would disagree with you about that.”

  Bast peered through the scope again. He began smiling as the platforms headed toward the ship. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You’re never going to trust AIs after Makemake.”

  “But I do.”

  Bast looked up in surprise.

  “I trust them to act in the same manner they always have. Think about it, Bast. How many times have octopoids tried to screw with us?”

  Bast signed wistfully, realizing it had been often.

  “I hope we save some of your people,” Walleye said. “But we won’t save any if you’re making trouble for the rest of us the whole time. You want to save your race, right?”

  “Yes,” Bast said. “And I take your point. I have to do this with eyes wide open to save my race. I can’t get misty-eyed or do something stupid. That only means the AIs used me to help them.”

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  Bast considered that. “I’m putting myself in your hands, Walleye. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. You succeed even more than Jon does. I want my people alive. What should I do first?”

  “Let me think,” Walleye said. “What is the best way to do this?”

  ***

  The best way ended up being the most time- and effort-intensive. The Centurion and five marines donned battlesuits, going out through an airlock to walk along the hull with magnetized boots.

  The auto-platforms had halted near the ship and just sat there like waiting spiders.

  The Centurion and the space marines donned thruster packs, each of them demagnetizing and expelling hydrogen exhaust as they maneuvered from the hull toward the first platform. They kept their pulse rifles ready for a sudden attack by octopoids. No AI robots showed themselves, however.

  “I’m not seeing anything suspicious yet,” Walleye radioed from the insertion craft. He sat at the controls, ready to use the ship’s weapons to blow away the platforms if needed.

  The Centurion maneuvered onto the first casket of the first platform, attaching to it magnetically. The five marines hovered over him, pulse rifles ready. He used a scanner, watching the readings on a HUD inside his inner visor. He finally declared that there was nothing obviously dangerous about this one.

  Work went apace until the marines had collected ten floating caskets. Magnetizing them into a single clump, the battlesuited marines used thrust from their packs to guide the clump to the insertion craft.

  More battlesuited marines waited outside the ship.

  As the others floated with pulse rifles ready, two battlesuited marines brought a casket through a cargo hatch into the ship.

  There, inside, other armed marines and Bast waited. Bast looked on as Walleye—who had come from the control cabin—checked the casket again, walking around it with a hand-scanner. Finally, Walleye pressed outer casket controls. A frosted panel slid back.

  Bast rushed near, staring down at a frozen Sacerdote. There did not seem to be anything wrong with him. The Sacerdote was huge like Bast, with a Neanderthal-like face.

  Bast’s chest felt as if it was going to burst with joy.

  Walleye leaned in, feeling the scalp, finding nothing like an embedded AI brain unit. He used the scanner, running it over the naked Sacerdote. He was clean inside, and that perplexed Walleye.

  Finally, Walleye pressed casket tabs and the panel resealed the unit.

  “Good?” asked Bast.

  “As far as I can tell,” Walleye said.

  “Why can’t you admit the Sacerdote is sound? There are no tricks here?”

  “Because I’m not sure yet,” Walleye answered. “Don’t worry. I want to give the all clear, but I’m certain there is an AI trick somewhere. I just can’t tell what it is yet.”

  “Main 54 wants and needs our help,” Bast said.

  “That might be true. But there is still a trick, a ploy. We have to figure out what it is so we can thwart it.”

  “Okay. I’m in your hands. But everything looks clean to me.”

  “And that’s what’s troubling me,” Walleye muttered. “This is too good to be true.”

  -18-

  Main 54 watched as Cronus began decelerating. The monster headed for one of the two inner-system siege-ships. There was no way Main could reach the siege-ship in time. But if he started now, he might interpose himself between the primeval creature and the second siege-ship. To do so, however, would mean leaving the human-crewed insertion vessel behind.

  Main 54 would not do that for two reasons. The insertion vessel was a hostage for Hawkins’ good behavior. That was the critical point. Main 54 believed he would need Vestal missiles slamming home to give him the victory.