“Yeah…”

  “Perhaps we can repair the separation.”

  “It’s hopeless,” Lugo said, with deep despair.

  “No,” Bast said, his voice firming. “It’s not hopeless. My predicament is hopeless, but yours isn’t. We will repair it.”

  Lugo sighed. “You know what’s really funny about all this?”

  “No.”

  “The Kames wanted me to give you a message. You’ve been saying you’re alone. But you’re not, you know? The Kames have found evidence of more Sacerdotes.”

  Bast twisted around to stare down at the man.

  “That’s right,” Lugo said. “There are more Sacerdotes, captive ones, but living and breathing just like you.”

  “Where?” Bast whispered.

  “Have no idea anymore. The Kames hadn’t related that part yet, just the first. They were going to tell me when you were ready to listen.”

  Bast lurched to his feet, putting his hands on a low dresser. He inhaled deeply. Then, he lowered his head. If ever there was a time to think things through, this was it.

  “Sorry, pal,” Lugo said. “It looks like we’re both screwed.”

  “No,” Bast said. “That’s where you’re wrong—pal.”

  -8-

  “The Committee for Public Safety has arrived, sir,” a marine told Jon Hawkins. “Your wife told me to tell you that they’re eager to speak to you.”

  Jon looked up from his desk in his ready room aboard the Void Ship Nathan Graham. He’d been using the same ready room for a long time now. The Nathan Graham was a one-hundred-kilometer-long cylindrical cybership-class vessel. In its early days, it had a normal armored hull. These days, it had an asteroid-like hull so it could use a null-splitter and reality generator and thus travel through the void.

  The void ship was in orbit around Earth, the capital planet of the Confederation, which included four different races: Humans, the Warriors of Roke, the Kames and the telepathic Seiners, of which there were only a handful left.

  Since the victory over Main 63 and its huge AI Fleet five years ago and the destruction of Social Dynamism in the Solar System with the death of its key leaders, mankind had spread outward in even greater numbers. People emigrated to the conquered planets torn from the AI Dominion and Cog Primus Prime. That meant more factory planets and factory stations churning out more hardware, cyberships and void ships for the continuing war against the death machines.

  Even the Warriors of Roke had gotten into the swing of things, having spread out to a few more star systems.

  The Kames, though—

  Jon set down his stylus and massaged his temples. Five years ago, he had been the supreme commander, fighting in the field. These days, he was more like the main administrator. He was no longer a young man, but he wasn’t middle aged yet either. He was as leanly muscular as ever, and his dirty blood hair still matched his icy blue eyes. But his face showed the years with a line here and a crease there. Soon enough, he would turn forty.

  He didn’t like the sound of that.

  The marine—Sergeant Shaka—cleared his throat. He was a thickset fellow in his mid-twenties with black kinky hair and dusky features.

  “Right,” Jon said. He shoved a computer slate from him and stood up. Administrative duties. Had Colonel Graham had to deal with these kinds of things? Jon rather doubted it. “Let’s go see what the Committee members want.”

  The two of them marched out of the ready room and bridge, hitting a corridor that soon reached a much larger corridor. There was a flitter waiting. Jon sat in the passenger side as Shaka started it, taking them aloft as they flew through the giant corridor.

  Too soon, the flitter landed, and the two reversed the process until the sergeant indicated a door.

  “You’re coming with me,” Jon said.

  “Sir?”

  “Just stand against a bulkhead. If I give you the signal, pull out your gun and start firing.”

  “Have there been more assassination attempts, sir?”

  Jon didn’t answer, although Shaka had the right of it. The robot-assassin attacks had intensified lately. Jon had been reading reports about them several hours ago. One robot or android assassin had almost reached Toper Glen, the old Warlord of the Roke. Jon didn’t think any of the Committee members were robots, as the members had passed a rigid screening process in order to board ship, but having an armed marine around seemed like simple insurance against bad surprises.

  Shaka led the way into the conference chamber. The Committee members had been sitting. They all stood as Jon entered. He walked to a chair opposite them across a large table.

  There were three members, two men and a woman. One man was black, with gray hair and wearing a long red robe. The second man was an Inuit from Greenland, with deeply seamed skin and a severe old-style suit. The woman was from Europe, in her mid-thirties, busty and pretty, with brown eyes. She wore a tight dress to accentuate her physical advantages, it would seem.

  “Thank you for your time, Supreme Commander,” the woman said. “I’m Cora Dilmun, Premier of the Committee for Public Safety for Earth. These two men are my colleagues—” She gave their names, which Jon promptly forgot. Premier Dilmun was the important one. That’s what his brief had told him.

  Jon nodded, speaking pleasantries to the trio.

  After a short time, Premier Dilmun cleared her throat. “We were told this would be a private meeting.” With her eyes, she indicated the sergeant.

  “I hope I don’t appear rude,” Jon replied, ignoring her comment. “But my time is limited. Perhaps we could get down to business.”

  He didn’t like political talk, at least not this kind. He gave orders. He soothed angry officers and led assaults with fleet units or on the ground in person. But having to administer and scratch backs so others would scratch his…

  “This is a delicate topic,” Dilmun said.

  “Oh?”

  “The reason I referred to your bodyguard,” she said, smiling as if her prettiness could take the sting out of her words.

  “Premier,” Jon said, “Sergeant Shaka stays in the room.”

  “Do you distrust us?” she asked.

  Jon almost said, “Yes,” and that would probably have been a mistake. Instead, he smiled. Sometimes, saying nothing was the best tactic.

  “I see,” Dilmun said, with a touch of iciness. “We are here—”

  The gray-haired Committee member tugged Dilmun’s left sleeve, shaking his head as she glanced at him.

  Premier Dilmun cleared her throat, giving the man a slight nod in return. Then, she stared directly at Jon, smiling pleasantly again.

  “We appreciate your time, Supreme Commander.”

  “Jon will do,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Dilmun said. “Yet, in this setting, perhaps formality will serve us better.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Supreme Commander, the Committee for Public Safety wishes to formally thank you for all the hard and brave work you have done securing the future for humanity. Without you—”

  “Please,” Jon said, interrupting. “You don’t have to elaborate.”

  Premier Dilmun cleared her throat, dipped her head and forced herself to smile. “I hate to disagree with you, sir, but we agreed beforehand to state the situation exactly as it stands. It is important to our conclusion.”

  “Oh, well, then by all means, continue.”

  “You are kind, sir. Your foresight and aggressiveness were instrumental in saving human life from the death machines. Not only that, but you forged an alliance with the Warriors of Roke, outwitted Cog Primus—”

  Jon sighed heavily, interrupting her again. “The Confederation stands against the AI Dominion. With Enoy technology, we’ve become dangerous to the machines. With human unity, with the destruction of Social Dynamism—”

  “Sir,” Dilmun said, interrupting him. “I would not put it that way. The tenets of Social Dynamism still guide millions, nay, billions of humans. The Committee for Public Safety holds with many of those tenets. Rather, the old militaristic and belligerent attitudes of those in power during the dark days of Social Dynamism have been radically modified to a new understanding of united cooperation.”

  “Growth,” Jon said.

  Dilmun stared at him, no doubt understanding his sarcasm. Instead of frowning, however, she smiled wider. “Growth,” she said. “United social interaction demands that a group grows in such a way as to aid species survival rather than limiting it.”

  Jon nodded.

  “We have thought long and hard on the subject of human survival,” Dilmun said. “That is how we came to understand your great importance to the struggle against the death machines. We have concluded that they fear you. Their numerous attempts to assassinate you shows that, if nothing else. Your repeated victories over the machines must have given them pause.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “If nothing else, sir, you are the symbol of human vigor, of will to Life. We cannot allow the machines to kill you.”

  “Ah. I see. What do you propose?”

  Dilmun glanced at the two Committee members, one on either side of her. They both nodded encouragingly. She sat straighter, which further accentuated her ample cleavage.

  “We cannot force you physically,” Dilmun said. “If we could, our people would take you down to the old subterranean bomb shelters deep in the planet. There, we would protect you against any machine threat.”

  “You want to entomb me in the Earth?” Jon asked.

  “Protect you, sir,” Dilmun said. “You are the most important member of the Confederation. Without you—” She shook her head.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Jon told her.

  “Tell us you will come down to the ancient bomb shelters. Tell us you will let the security forces of Earth guard you night and day.”

  Tell us you will willingly become our prisoner, Jon thought. He pasted a smile on his face. “Your concern for my safety is touching.”

  “We have grave concerns for the future of the human race,” she said.

  “Oh. Yes, I’m beginning to see your logic. Guarding me is guarding the symbol of Confederate unity.”

  “He does understand,” the gray-haired member told the other two. “I told you he would. Thank you, sir,” he told Jon.

  “Just a minute, Tobias,” Dilmun said. “The Supreme Commander has not agreed with our solution. He is merely stating our position.”

  “I would like time to consider your suggestion,” Jon said.

  “If you could give us some indication as which way you will—” Tobias said.

  This time, Dilmun yanked his robe and shook her head, giving Tobias a significant glance. “We are gravely concerned about your safety,” she told Jon. “The sooner you reply, the sooner we can prepare.”

  “I understand,” Jon said. “I would like to talk to my wife first.”

  “That makes sense,” Dilmun said diplomatically.

  Jon stood. “You may remain here. I plan to return shortly.” He backed toward the hatch, watching them watch him.

  Sergeant Shaka had straightened and put a hand on his holstered weapon.

  At that point, Jon reached the hatch, opened it and stepped through. Shaka came through a moment later. Jon closed the hatch and ran his fingers over a coded unit. The hatch locked. It would remain locked until he gave the code to unlock it.

  “Sir?” asked Shaka.

  “Have Security send a team,” Jon said. “They’re to escort the Committee members to a shuttle. The members must go straight to the shuttle and down to Earth. I want them off the Nathan Graham.”

  “They’re trouble, sir?” Shaka asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Jon said. “Maybe this is a power play by the Committee. Maybe it’s something else. I plan to find out, fast.”

  -9-

  Two days passed as the Confederation Security Forces went into action. The CSF was quite different from the altered Solar League’s Government Security Bureau or GSB for short.

  Five years ago, the Solar League had collapsed under the threat of the giant AI Fleet heading in from the Oort cloud. Social coherence had nearly collapsed throughout the Solar System. Then, Alice Wurzburg and her people had attempted to flee, slaughtered by fleeing Seiners instead so the telepathic aliens could board the hyperspace-capable ships in Earth orbit and flee to parts unknown.

  Jon’s void ships had caused the greater AI vessels to slip into the void, and there they had discontinued in the eerie realm of nothingness. The rest of the AI Fleet had turned tail and run back into hyperspace.

  Since then, Jon and his allies had attempted to reshape the Solar System into a normal Confederation ally. They had been successful in many ways. The hardest to reshape politically and socially had been Earth, home to Social Dynamist Theory and the former head of humanity. Was the Committee for Public Safety’s kidnapping plan the first real attempt to reassert control in the last two years?

  Gloria Hawkins entered Jon’s ready room two days after he’d spoken with Premier Dilmun. The tiny mentalist had dark hair and piercing dark eyes, and she was wearing a utilitarian gray uniform.

  Mentalists were strict, almost computer-like logicians, although Gloria had let emotions guide her on occasion, having realized that was the logically human thing to do. It was one of the reasons she had said “yes,” to Jon’s marriage proposal. The joys of marriage were not all strictly logical, just as the trials of marriage were often emotionally driven. Maybe she wasn’t as much a mentalist these days, but she would not have traded her new life to go back to the old if she could.

  Jon was busy scribbling with the stylus on a slate as she entered. He heard her sit down, finished reading the latest report, and wrote a few more instructions. Only at that point did he look up, setting aside the stylus.

  “Beautiful, when did you arrive?” He jumped up and came around the desk, picking her up, kissing and squeezing her.

  He meant arrive on the Nathan Graham. She’d been on Mars for the last few weeks. He hadn’t known she had been on a packet back to Earth.

  She laughed, hugged him back and kissed him hungrily. How she’d missed her man.

  Finally, Jon let go, smiling hugely. “You have no idea all the work they’ve been dumping on me. How was Mars?”

  “Sit on your desk a minute,” she said. “I have something to tell you.”

  He raised an eyebrow, sensed a degree of seriousness and moved back, hunching up and pushing onto a corner of his desk.

  “I spoke to the Old Man a few minute ago,” she said.

  The Old Man ran CSF Intelligence from the Nathan Graham. Long ago when this had all started, he had been a sergeant in the Black Anvil Mercenary Regiment, the one Colonel Nathan Graham used to run.

  “Okay…” Jon said.

  “I’m verbally bringing you his report,” Gloria said.

  “Which one?”

  “About Premier Cora Dilmun and the Committee for Public Safety.”

  “Oh.” Jon slid off the desk, walking around it to his chair, sitting down there. “Give it to me straight.”

  Instead of doing so, Gloria studied him.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “You look tired.”

  “I feel it, too.”

  “Deeply tired,” Gloria said. “Something is bothering you.”

  He nodded. “The new AI assassination attempts. I sent a message to you on Mars about it. You must have read it.”

  “It’s why I broke off my vacation. I did some thinking about it on the trip back.”

  “And?” he asked.

  “The Committee for Public Safety has the right idea.”

  “Entomb me deep in Earth?” asked Jon.

  “If that’s the safest place for you, then yes,” she said. “I’m not sure it’s the safest place, though.”

  “What did the Old Man say?”

  “Premier Dilmun is in the clear. She meant what she said. As far as the Old Man can tell, it wasn’t a secret coup attempt.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I already told you. Dilmun has the right idea. Her committee recognizes the problem. The Confederation is a politically shaky organization. You’re one of the chief…glues that keeps us together. You’ve always been one of the key elements to defeating the death machines. I also think we have to set up a better mechanism for governance than the Confederation Main Council.”

  Jon sighed. “It seems to me that you’re talking about better administration. I’m swamped with paperwork. I read all day and sign documents all night. I long for a field command again.”

  “You’re far beyond that, honey. You have to train others to do what you did.”

  “Maybe,” he muttered.

  “Anyway, the point is that you can call off your watchdogs on the Committee and Dilmun.”

  “Those were the Old Man’s words?”

  “They’re mine. I interpreted them for you so you can understand. But I still say we should start thinking about the safest place to hide you from the assassins. I’ve begun to suspect that keeping you alive is vital to humanity, as your existence seems to be giving the AIs pause. Their pause in extermination allows the Confederation more time to get ready.”

  “That’s my prize, huh? Imprisonment somewhere. No good deed goes unpunished. No. Forget it. Wait. Let me rephrase that. Absolutely forget it. I would rather commit hara-kiri than willingly allow myself to become someone’s prisoner.”

  “Jon. That’s the wrong way to look at it. You’re so important that we can’t afford to lose you. Besides, you surely want to give others time to learn how to kill more death machines.”

  “Why does everyone think I’m so bloodthirsty? I just don’t want us to go extinct.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve never met a more bloody-minded individual than you. If something hurts you, or hurts what you love, you want to nuke them into extinction. I suppose that comes from your days in the New London gangs.”

  Jon suddenly felt bone-tired. He was sick of just sitting, reading, signing documents while waiting for the next AI attack. He wished—

  The hatch slid open. “I’m sorry, sir,” Sergeant Shaka said. “But your secretary said you would want to know that Bast Banbeck is on the Nathan Graham. He’s demanding to see you.”