Main 54’s brain-core had been sending messages the entire time, and he was insistent.

  As the siege-ship neared the Cronus masses, its sensors noticed that the various pieces of space monster had begun melding back together. That was odd. Even odder, was the increased heat detected from the reforming thing.

  The siege-ship sent a message to Main 54’s brain-core. Before the answer returned, sensors picked up a new development.

  The great bulk of Cronus began to glow as if with heat. Then, in a great consumption, plasma broke out as it devoured the otherworldly substance that had been Cronus. The plasma grew in size and heat, devouring faster.

  The siege-ship rotated, as it detected danger. It began to accelerate away from the mass. The siege-ship failed to leave in time, however.

  A monstrous explosion hurled the final burning substance of Cronus in all directions. The heated mass sped faster than the siege-ship could accelerate away. Great heated pieces of substance slapped against hull armor and began to burn inward.

  The siege-ship began emergency actions, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The pieces of Cronus exploded into plasma, sinking deeper and deeper into the siege-ship. At least, the hot pieces sizzled into the brain-core chamber, killing the siege-ship as Cronus’s final act of vengeance.

  In doing so, Cronus made sure that Main 54 and the AI Dominion would not get his plasma technology or the ability to create force fields. Except for the Subspace Teleport Device—with his self-immolation, Cronus took all his secrets to the grave with him.

  PART VI

  HOME

  -1-

  The Nathan Graham successfully crossed the void back to the Solar System. In case Cronus’s rubbery, hull-patch flesh had sinister properties, once the void ship reentered time and space near Saturn, teams burned off the substance, annihilating it completely. Then, everyone disembarked from the cybership-class vessel and entered quarantine.

  Jon distrusted Cronus, and he was certain the cosmic horror had a trick left in that rubbery mass. Hopefully, destroying it utterly would thwart that trick.

  Soon thereafter, the Nathan Graham entered space dock and suited workers boarded the empty vessel. Each piece, each compartment underwent a thorough scrubbing. Every time a worker exited the void ship, he or she underwent decontamination.

  The crew quarantine was hardest on Bast, as Jon had made a decision during the beginning of the voyage home. They would not attempt to unfreeze any of the Sacerdotes while in the void. There was no telling what waking up in the void—even behind a reality field—would do their non-drugged minds. Thus, the thawing of the Sacerdotes would commence after quarantine.

  There were two hundred and sixty-three caskets. One-third of the Sacerdotes were males, the rest females. Why there had been the disparity between the sexes was anyone’s guess.

  Time passed and eventually, everyone received the all-clear, leaving quarantine.

  Jon, Gloria and Bast took a liner to Saturn’s largest moon, Titan. By a ground-effect vehicle, they drove from New London to Bristol Dome and took a tram to the Alien Studies or XT University.

  There, in a subterranean chamber, Jon, Gloria and Bast donned suits and masks and went into a larger chamber. A team of suited and masked technicians worked the machines surrounding the first stasis casket.

  Because of his great size and Gloria’s diminutive stature, Bast had to lean far to whisper in her ear.

  “This is so exciting,” he rumbled, sounding like a bear trying to keep his voice down at the exhilaration of finding a chamber full of honey.

  Gloria nodded, happy for her friend.

  “I told you I would help you find your people,” Jon said from the other side of Bast.

  “You did indeed,” the towering Sacerdote replied.

  The techs had already begun the process. Marines in battlesuits were also in the chamber just in case Main 54 had pulled a trick they still had not foreseen.

  So far, nothing bad had happened with the stasis caskets or Sacerdotes. No octopoids had appeared. No hidden explosives had detonated. No pulse had shorted suits or equipment.

  Jon was frowning behind his mask just the same. He was still certain Main 54 had done something evil to the Sacerdotes. It simply did not seem to be in AI nature to return a lost race.

  Finally, the chief doctor approached the casket, which was laid on a raised pad. The casket’s panel slid open and the Sacerdote within—the giant alien twitched, jerked and starting making weird facial tics. Odd noises whistled from his flattish, Neanderthal-like nose. The Sacerdote twitched more violently as if having trouble breathing.

  “Do something!” roared Bast from the side, walking toward the casket “He’s dying.”

  Jon vainly trying to pull Bast back as medics rushed forward. The big alien refused to budge as he watched the medics.

  They tried everything, but nothing worked as the waking Sacerdote jerked and spasmed more each second.

  “Put him back under stasis,” Jon suggested.

  The director of the operation must have had the same idea. He gave the order, but it was too late. As the medics and techs began the refreezing, the Sacerdote died, his eyes bulging outward as his mouth stiffened into premature rigor mortis.

  Bast tore off his mask, staring at the dead Sacerdote. He turned to Jon, who also took off his mask. “Why did this happen?”

  “Good question,” Jon said. “I want to know, too.”

  “We can’t afford to lose any more if we’re going to revive my race.”

  “I know. Believe me, Bast. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

  -2-

  They thawed a second Sacerdote, another male. Despite all their procedures and protections, the same thing happened to this one, too.

  Gloria had observed the proceedings carefully. Later, a team of mentalists met with XT-trained doctors. After a three-hour examination of the evidence, they brought in an XT brain specialist.

  The thin specialist, a woman, studied their findings and then asked to see the raw data. She watched the proceedings on a slate and clicked to various medical reports. She scowled, hunched over the slate, intent, and then looked up. “Each of the two aliens was brain-dead…no, not dead, but brain-empty.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Bast. He’d insisted on being at every meeting concerning the Sacerdotes. Jon had backed him and was sitting in on the meeting as well.

  The thin brain specialist turned to Bast. “The revived aliens had no intellect. That would include a lack of ability to run the autonomic functions of the body. It isn’t that the brain was dead, but empty of any…” She peered at the ceiling as if searching for the right word. She must have found it, for she addressed Bast again. “Let’s call it empty of any knowledge.”

  “Are they all like that?” Bast asked.

  “I would have to check.”

  “I can answer that,” Gloria said. She’d been tapping a slate and now set it on the conference table. She stared at Bast, and hesitated.

  “I want the truth,” Bast said.

  Gloria nodded. “All the brain patterns are identical.”

  “And that means what?”

  “I’m not willing to speculate,” Gloria said.

  “I am,” the brain specialist said, “as it isn’t speculation. They will all be brain empty.”

  “Which is the same as dead,” Bast said.

  “No,” the specialist said. “It isn’t the same, although the ultimate effect is when brought out of stasis.”

  Bast’s huge shoulders slumped. His head lowered. “I knew this would happen,” he whispered. “I knew gaining the caskets was too good to be true.” He regarded Jon. “We found Sacerdote bodies, but they weren’t my people. Their intellect is gone. I’m doomed to be alone. The AIs killed the Sacerdote race.”

  “No,” Jon said.

  “You disagree with my analysis?” the brain specialist asked.

  “I do not,” Jon said. “We have almost three hundred Sacerdotes. They’re alive, although under stasis.”

  “Once you thaw them,” the specialist said, “they will die. I suppose you still have their DNA. You could possibly combine sperm and egg and make test tube babies.”

  “How would that help?” Bast cried out in anguish. “The great Sacerdote culture has perished. All our thoughts, our histories, our heritage is gone and destroyed, demolished.”

  “You can remember for them,” Gloria said, putting a hand on one of his arms.

  “Me?” cried Bast. “I don’t know a tenth of Sacerdote lore. We have the people—” Bast shook his head. “It’s over. I’m done. I tried to revive my race—”

  “It’s not done,” Jon said, interrupting. “I realize Main 54 screwed us. We screwed him—”

  “And the Sacerdotes paid for it,” Bast said bitterly.

  “No,” Jon said stubbornly. “We have almost three hundred Sacerdotes. There has to be some way—”

  “If you’re going to say, ‘Save their intellects,’” the specialist said, interrupting. “Then it’s a moot point, as none of them possess an intellect to save.”

  “But they do have a workable brain?” Gloria asked.

  “What does that really mean?” the specialist asked.

  “Please answer the question.”

  The specialist pursed her lips and finally shrugged. “I’ve said it before and I’m going to say it again. There is nothing wrong with their brains except that they’re empty.”

  “Are you thinking that we can retrain them?” Jon asked his wife.

  “No,” Gloria said. “I have a different idea.”

  “What?”

  Gloria told the assembled team.

  Bast looked up, stunned. “Would that work?”

  “Why not?” asked Gloria. “It has worked against us enough times. Why not have it work for us for a change?”

  Bast turned to Jon.

  “Yes,” the Supreme Commander said. “We must test the idea and see if it works.”

  -3-

  Given the problems in the past with the brain-tap machine on the Nathan Graham—the one that had stored countless alien memories—the procedures and safeguards this time proved monumental.

  The brain-tap machine had been torn out of the Nathan Graham over a year ago. The same was true of any captured AI cybership. The alien memories had simply proven too dangerous to leave unguarded or under-guarded.

  The logic seemed inescapable. If the AIs used brain-tap machines to rip alien memories and personality from their hosts, and could put those memories and personalities into other minds, why not put Sacerdote brain-tapped personalities and memories—their minds, in other words—into the empty Sacerdote brains?

  The key was keeping harmful personalities out of the Sacerdotes. Then, after several months observation—in case there were other Main 54 glitches in the bodies—the Sacerdotes would be free to join the Confederation.

  Did almost three hundred Sacerdotes possess enough genetic variation to reproduce an entire race? It seemed more than possible. The key would be in getting a good start.

  The first test took place a month after the conference where Gloria had broached the idea.

  Security was kept fantastically tight, including a disguised Red Demeter, a Seiner telepath, hidden in the background.

  The trick was pouring the memories and personality into the frozen Sacerdote so that when the body woke up, the automatic functions would work.

  The first subject was a female Sacerdote, a beautiful female according to Bast. A modified brain-tap helmet fit over her frozen head. Then, attendants turned on the machine and poured the pre-selected personality into her.

  “Done,” the chief tech said fifteen minutes later.

  Workers wheeled the casket and Sacerdote into a different chamber. Technicians and doctors went to work, while armored marines lined the walls.

  Bast stood to the side with Gloria and Jon.

  “So far, it’s working,” a doctor called out.

  Time passed. The thawing female did not twitch, did not shake or jerk. Finally, though, she screamed in horror.

  It ended up being a matter of modesty, as she was naked before legions of watching perverts—she said in her Sacerdote language a few moments later.

  Bast laughed with relief, taking a garment one of the techs held out to her. The Sacerdote crouched low in the casket, hiding. Bast approached, with a hand before his eyes, holding out the dress to her.

  She raised a Neanderthal-like head from the casket, peering around as she held her hands in front of ponderous breasts.

  Every tech, every battlesuited marine and doctor held his hands before his eyes.

  “Where am I?” she asked Bast in the Sacerdote tongue.

  Bast spoke soothing words, suggesting she put on the dress.

  “Turn your head,” she said in the Sacerdote tongue.

  Bast did.

  Jon peeked between his fingers, just in case. He stood some distance from them, but he expected something evil to happen.

  The naked Sacerdote climbed out of the casket. She looked around warily as she held her arms before her like any human woman might. She tiptoed to Bast, snatched the garment from him and slipped it over her head and body.

  Jon tensed. Perhaps many people did in the chamber.

  “You can face me,” she told Bast.

  He looked up, smiling, and his smile widened as he approached her.

  They spoke in the Sacerdote tongue, and soon, Bast held one of her hands. Gently, he tugged her toward Jon.

  “Sir,” Bast said. “May I introduce to you, Cil Derwe? She…she has many questions. And she wonders why she’s in such a young maiden’s body. Do I have your permission to show her around?”

  “Bast…” Jon said. “She has to go into quarantine. We have to observe her.”

  “I’d like to enter quarantine with her,” Bast said.

  Jon shrugged. Gloria elbowed him. Jon eyed his wife and the way she looked at him.

  “Of course, Bast,” Jon said. “Join the other Sacerdotes. I think that would be a splendid idea. Could you tell Cil Derwe that we are delighted to make her acquaintance?”

  Bast turned to Cil—she was several inches shorter than he was—and spoke the Sacerdote tongue.

  Cil smiled, showing the same large teeth as Bast, although she had a decidedly feminine manner.

  Thus, the first brain-tap test proved to be a success. Bast Banbeck was no longer the only living Sacerdote. He was not alone, but soon to be among his people.

  It was a glorious day for Bast and for the Confederation.

  -4-

  Too bad all the brain-tap operations didn’t go as smoothly. There was one odd occurrence with the one hundredth and eighth memory implanting, and Red Demeter the Seiner, who waited in a nearby room, telepathically scanning the subject, signaled Jon through a small device on his belt.

  It beeped.

  Jon looked down at this belt. Gloria wasn’t here today, but had gone to the university to set up an appointment for him with the Kames rep.

  The device beeped again. Jon raised the unit to his ear. “Yes,” he said quietly.

  “Evil,” Red Demeter told him. “Ancient evil. I cannot tell you more than that.”

  Jon knew she meant the new personality. “Can you give me a name?”

  “I don’t want to scan that mind again. It could corrupt me.”

  Jon frowned as he watched the proceedings. A huge Sacerdote male—bigger than Bast—climbed naked out of the casket. This Sacerdote looked around fast as if cataloging everything. A man handed him a garment. The Sacerdote continued to scan as he took the robe and donned it.

  The Sacerdote’s Neanderthal-like head jerked, and he stared directly at Jon.

  Jon kept the unit by his ear. “Cronus,” he whispered.

  “Yes!” Red Demeter said. “That’s the name for the evil. How did you know?”

  Jon clicked off the unit and made a signal. He’d been expecting something like this, which was another reason why he’d had Red Demeter telepathically watching the subjects.

  Battlesuited marines lowered pulse rifles, aiming at the Sacerdote.

  The Sacerdote took it all in, and his eyes slowly changed to a dark oily color.

  Jon opened his mouth to order the marines to fire. His tongue locked and he found that he couldn’t speak.

  Sacerdotes had a latent telepathic ability. Bast had used his once, and then had it burned out. Was there some particle of Cronus in the new Sacerdote, and had that particle heightened the latent Sacerdote telepathic ability?

  Around the large chamber, technicians and scientists began to drop unconscious onto the floor.

  Jon struggled to order the marines to fire. Surely, the marines could see the danger and should fire on their own initiative.

  The Sacerdote looked around as if satisfied. He headed for Jon, oblivious to the battlesuited marines along the walls, the ones who weren’t moving.

  “Jon Hawkins,” the Sacerdote said in a deep voice.

  Jon’s throat convulsed, but he still couldn’t speak. Now, he couldn’t move.

  “Don’t be surprised,” the Sacerdote said. “I was going to arrive sooner or later. A particle of my being survived, planted in the Subspace Teleport Device. Why else do you think I agreed to give it to you?”

  Jon strained to draw his heavy revolver, but his arm and hand simply wouldn’t obey.

  “I thought I would slip into one of the memories. I wasn’t able to do so undetected because of your traitorous Seiner. Never fear, Red Demeter will learn the folly of having given me away.”

  The Sacerdote waited. “What? Can’t speak?” He grinned. “I’m going to kill you, Hawkins. Then, I’m going to find a way to restore myself to my former glory. It might take your entire Confederation working to that end, but…”