He took her down, landing beyond the weeds. After climbing off, without removing his helmet or lifting his visor, he pulled her roughly from the saddle and frog-marched her across the path. Burrs in the weeds stuck to her garments. He opened an ancient wooden door, its hinges squealing, marched her across creaking boards, and thrust her into a closet, locking the door behind her.

  Perhaps two hours passed. Margaret sat on the floor in dimness, hating the musty smell. She didn’t cry, as she refused to let tears fall. She wouldn’t let such an ordeal break her.

  I will learn. I will escape.

  Her wrists hurt and chaffed because she’d tried to slip them through the cuffs.

  When the door eventually opened, hope and fear surged within her. What if a naked brute confronted her to do his worst?

  No, it was just Clint, still helmeted. He placed a cup of water and sandwich on the floor. He was correct in thinking she’d worked the handcuffs in front of her instead of behind her back.

  Without a word, he closed and locked the door.

  Was any of this drugged? Margaret considered spilling the cup and crushing the sandwich. But she was too hungry and thirsty. She devoured the food and drank the water.

  Soon, she became horribly tired. Clint must have drugged the water. She should have known. But what else could she do? Was she supposed to die of dehydration in order to keep him from drugging her?

  He could have come in with a hypo. Margaret might have played it longer in her mind, but she fell unconscious.

  After a while, Margaret felt motion. She wasn’t sure how, but she realized she was in an enclosed van. There were other women with her. Some wept. A few consoled those who did. There was little light, enough for Margaret to see the others were beautiful. She didn’t recognize any of them.

  Had Clint Seasons tricked each of them, giving each a ride on his air cycle? Jealousy sprouted until she realized how stupid that was. Besides, if there had been other air-cycle kidnappings, word would have gotten out…unless the families were too embarrassed by all this.

  The van slowed down, turning onto a rocky, bumpy road, jostling them, throwing them around. The van turned again, speeding up as the ride smoothed out.

  There was another turn. The van slowed and then stopped. A large side door slid open.

  A tall, thin man peered at them. He wore a silver suit and had merciless dark eyes. There was something strange about him, as he had a seething vitality like a wound-tight spring.

  Margaret shivered as his hard gaze met hers. He looked at her as if she were a side of beef, a commodity.

  He snapped his fingers, making a loud sound.

  Three tough, coarse men wearing sweat jackets and sweats climbed into the van. They drew out the prisoners, forcing them to stand in a line outside.

  Three cinder-block buildings on a cement apron towered around them. A transport plane with propellers was parked nearby. To the left was a runway. In the distance were more buildings. Was this an industrial park?

  The tall, thin man with cruel eyes stalked slowly past the line, studying each captive. “Yes, yes, yes, good, very good,” he said.

  The tall man turned to a waiting Clint in his black leather jacket. Clint looked down, refusing to meet the man’s gaze.

  “Take them to the depot. From there, go to the Cestus System. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Clint said, his voice tight with obvious fear.

  “You will accompany them and be responsible for them. If any should escape…”

  Clint looked up.

  The tall man didn’t smile, but cruelty shined in his dark eyes. “You won’t pay with your life, but with limbs for each one that goes missing. The first limb to go will be the most precious to you. Do you understand?”

  Clint worked his mouth several times, with nothing coming out. Finally, he croaked bone-dryly, “I do.”

  The tall man made a bored gesture with a hand, snapped his fingers loudly again.

  The brutish men pushed the captives back into the van, drawing seatbelts around each. None of the brutes secretly fondled the captives. In fact, the brutes seemed extraordinarily careful not to let their hands touch female flesh.

  Clint climbed into the back of the van with them as the brutes jumped out.

  Margaret worked up the courage to speak. “Why are you taking us to the Cestus System? Do you plan to put us in a brothel and make us your whores?”

  Clint looked at her, shocked.

  The tall man was already striding elsewhere.

  One of the brutes slid the side van door shut.

  “So,” Margaret pressed, “is that our fate? At least have the decency to tell us.”

  Clint shook his head. “I frankly don’t know. I’m going to escort you. You heard the man. None of you will escape.”

  Hearing his declaration gave Margaret the idea it could be possible to escape. Why else had the strange tall man threatened Clint like that? If it were possible, she would try with all her cunning and courage to devise and execute an escape. When the time came, she would strike with ruthless efficiency. Somehow, she was going to get home.

  Strangely, that gave her confidence, maybe because she had hope. She assessed the other captives. Most seemed broken in spirit. One stood out, a redhead with a fiery gaze.

  Margaret nodded subtly to her. The redhead returned the slight nod. There was her partner, the one she should talk to when given a chance.

  Margaret swallowed hard, trying to maintain her courage. They hadn’t gone into the prop transport. The van roared along a smooth road.

  Margaret closed her eyes as fear threatened to swamp her fragile courage. She would watch and wait. A chance had to come, right? She pleaded silently, praying to God for an opportunity.

  -11-

  Golden Ural stood in a deep subterranean chamber under the surface of the Library Planet. He stood before an image of the Supreme Intelligence that appeared on a gigantic screen. It would have been a stadium screen on the planet Earth it was so big.

  On the screen was a green, faintly humanoid head. Green tendrils sprouted from over half of the head like hair. The tendrils wriggled, perhaps like snakes on a Medusa, or like extremely thick and lively braids. The Supreme Intelligence gazed upon Ural with dark eyes.

  “I’m in the process of conducting my preliminary survey on the assault vessel,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

  Ural shifted, wanting to get on with his study of the events taking place around Cestus IV. After that, he wanted to search for Empire star cruisers in the near vicinity of the planet. Using the incredibly powerful scanners on the Library Planet, he’d only seen Artaxerxes Par once this foray and the star cruiser two other times.

  “Observe,” the Supreme Intelligence said, disrupting Ural’s reverie.

  Instead of the giant green head on the screen, appeared the orbital-parked assault vessel from Leviathan. Approaching the vessel were three small bulbous craft launched from the Library Planet. The bulbous craft slowed and then stopped at three equidistant points around the vessel. First one, then all three energized. That created a dull stasis field around the assault ship.

  “Thus,” the Supreme Intelligence said, without reappearing on the screen, “I have rendered the assault vessel inert. Now I begin further investigations.”

  A fourth small and rectangular craft neared the triangular area of stasis. This craft had the deeply intense color of a black hole. The rectangular craft slid into the stasis field, continuing to maneuver. It stopped at the hangar bay door of the assault vessel. An energy beam, like a lightning bolt, zigzagged from the black object to the door. The hangar bay door began to slowly open.

  “Uncanny,” Ural said. “One of your devices can operate inside a stasis field?”

  “Obviously so,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Otherwise, you would not be viewing this.”

  “Just so,” Ural said, keeping his composure. He’d learned long ago that getting upset with the highhanded ways of the computer entity was useless. Perhaps worse than useless, it was counterproductive.

  The scene switched as a mobile camera unit from the dark craft entered the assault vessel through the hangar bay. The camera unit began transmitting from the interior of the vessel as it roved through the corridors. Soon, it shined a light upon stasis-frozen mechanical men, or machine men—cybers, cyborgs, take your pick. Their chests neither rose nor fell, as they were frozen in stasis.

  “How long can you keep the cybers like this?” Ural asked.

  “Several hundred years, I imagine,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

  “That long?”

  “Perhaps longer if I make a few modifications.”

  Ural nodded, impressed.

  “I have already denoted that there is a Builder origin to the ship and the cyber species. What I am seeing confirms this.”

  “Indeed,” Ural said, alert now. “These creatures are like you then?”

  “In the sense that I am of Builder origin and they are of Builder origin. I do detect dissimilarities between us, however.”

  “Could the dissimilarities originate from the Mastermind?”

  The Mastermind was a computer entity situated somewhere in the center of the galaxy. It had sent humanoid wolves—Ardazirhos—to the Library Planet before. It had also sent agents to the planet Kregen, those agents contending against Maddox for a relic from an ancient war.

  “The possibly exists,” the Supreme Intelligence said, regarding the question concerning the Mastermind.

  “Could the dissimilarities between the cybers and you have come from a different dimension?”

  “That is doubtful, but at this point, I am certain of nothing other than the facts of which I find.”

  “Do you have any hypotheses?” Ural asked.

  “I am not entertaining any yet.”

  The camera unit continued to maneuver through the assault vessel, taking various snapshots of prone cybers. Then, an alarm went off in the camera unit, shown by a blinking red light.

  “What does that signify?” Ural asked.

  “That there is other activity aboard the assault vessel?”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Please refrain from idiotic, even retarded questions,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “If the camera unit raises such an alarm, it is clearly possible.”

  At that moment, the picture from the camera unit ceased.

  “What happened?” Ural asked.

  “A disconnect,” the Supreme Intelligence replied. “I am analyzing the situation now.”

  A long-range view of the assault vessel showed on the huge screen. Abruptly, a titanic explosion occurred within the stasis field, which, logically, was supposed to be impossible.

  As Ural watched, the assault vessel exploded, with drifting pieces of matter moving sluggishly within the dull field. Some of the pieces struck two of the stasis crafts. The crafts erupted with explosions, destroying them. The stasis field instantly dissipated. That allowed some of the drifting pieces to begin falling toward the wintery surface of the planet.

  “This is astounding,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

  “What happened?” Ural asked. “Why did you destroy the assault vessel?”

  “I?” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Do you think I would be so foolish as to destroy a priceless piece of evidence like this? You do not understand the lengths I went to acquire the vessel.”

  “So you brought it here.”

  “Of course I brought it here. How else do you think it has remained in orbit?”

  “How did you bring it here, is the next question,” Ural said.

  “That, my fine curator, I will not tell you. I prefer to keep the knowledge to myself, as it is not yet time for you or the less intelligent premen to know.”

  “What? This is news,” Ural said. “You think of the others as premen?”

  “No. I simply use your terminology in order to make this easier for you.”

  “What if I said I no longer accept Empire terminology regarding lesser humans?”

  “Then I would say,” and now the green head appeared on the giant screen. The dark eyes stared at Ural.

  The New Man grew uncomfortable under the scrutiny,

  “Are you lying to me?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

  “Let me rephrase. I am in process of reconsidering Empire terminology.”

  “Aha. Interesting. Would you say that your stay here has caused this reconsideration?”

  “Probably,” Ural said. “But I do not care to make any hypotheses right now.”

  “You turn that back at me. You hurl it in my teeth, as humans might say. Well, well, well. That is fine. I will let it pass. For now, what just happened in orbit is far more startling. Indeed, it troubles me deeply.”

  “Why?” asked Ural.

  “Because the explosion took place in a stasis field. That should have been impossible. What is more, I believe a computer, a decision-maker aboard the vessel, in any case, resisted the stasis field to make the detonation decision.”

  “Earlier, did this decision-maker launch the computer virus into my orbital?” Ural asked.

  Ural knew about that because the Supreme Intelligence had discovered it after the fact and told him.

  “I believe it must have,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “What other unit could have made such a decision?

  “How could the unit operate and make logical choices while in a stasis field?”

  “Advanced technology,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “That is so obvious that it’s not even worth saying.”

  “Was the technology of Builder origin, or from the other?”

  “I am debating the possibilities.”

  “This is critical, isn’t it?” Ural asked.

  “You attempt to show passion about the subject,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “But your passion concerning the event is false. I doubt you care one way or another about what just happened.”

  “Why would you say this?”

  “Because you are consumed by the minor dispute between the New Men and Star Watch,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

  “You refer to the abduction campaign?”

  “Of course, that’s what I’m referring to. It is a small matter, and it is probably going to cause bad blood between the two power blocs. This occurs at an ill-fated moment. Still, if those of Leviathan are essentially of Builder origin, perhaps I am wrong to meddle in this. I should let the various Builder experiments mature. Whichever is superior, will rise to the top.”

  Ural kept himself from fidgeting as fierce agitation filled him. Was humanity, were the New Men—were the Soldiers of Leviathan—all experiments begun by the long-gone Builders? Who and what were the Builders? Ural had made an intensive study on them, and had found little that he hadn’t already known.

  “I need to contemplate the situation,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I do not know if I can acquire another assault vessel. That one came much closer to my territory than I had anticipated.”

  “How far can your scanners range?” Ural asked.

  “Now, now, Ural, we’ve been over that. I am not going to impart such knowledge to you. Instead, I must calculate. I must run possibilities, and make…”

  “Yes,” Ural said, “make what?”

  “I will keep that to myself for now. Ural, you need to cease your observations of the New Men near the Cestus System.”

  “Sir,” Ural said, “I request permission to continue studying them.”

  “The request is denied.”

  “Then I will study them on the sly,” Ural heard himself say.

  “Against my directives?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

  “Yes,” Ural said, astonished at his passion.

  “Interesting. Your passion for this runs deeper than I’d expected. Therefore, I give you permission to continue your scans, and you may even continue to speak with Maddox. But if I believe you are interfering too much, I will cause both actions to cease. It may be you who find yourself in stasis.”

  Ural nodded curtly, perhaps to hide his fear. The Supreme Intelligence and he had never had such a misunderstanding before. In the past, they had worked with unity, grace and without threats.

  Was he thinking about all this wrongly? No. He was still a New Man. The others had slain his brother in a foul manner. He also hated the direction the Empire was taking under the auspices of Emperor Trahey, and those like Archduke Artaxerxes Par.

  Ural enjoyed being curator. But if the Supreme Intelligence was going to stop him from doing what he must, it might be time to leave the Library Planet—if he could escape.

  The image of the Supreme Intelligence disappeared from the vast screen, leaving just enough light so Ural could find his way through the huge chamber.

  Who did the Supreme Intelligence ultimately serve? He had said in the past the vanished Builders. What did that truly entail? Had an alien bug or computer virus slipped past the computer entity’s defenses and started altering him?

  As Ural walked through the chamber, stroking his chin, he thought about all this deeply.

  -12-

  Several hours later, Ural was in a more familiar chamber. It was much smaller, with many normal-sized screens on the walls. This was Ural’s study, where he conducted the investigations he attempted from time to time.

  As he sat at a computer board using Long-Range Builder scanners of much greater power and sophistication than the one in Pluto that Maddox had brought to the Commonwealth long ago, he swept the Cestus System. He searched for star cruisers, through which the Empire often enforced its decisions. He tried different spectrums on the off chance the star cruisers used camouflage gear. Finding nothing, he systematically widened the search.

  Hours later, he grew sleepy, yawned, stood, did some stretches, drank some green tea—a ping sounded.

  Ural went to the console and adjusted it.

  On a screen, seven star cruisers appeared. They were triangular and black-painted. According to the scanners, they boasted the latest weaponry, an advanced disruptor cannon each with heavy-metal components from the chthonian planet in the Alpha Centauri System. Each possessed an electromagnetic-field generator with similar heavy-metal components. Those metals allowed a greater surge of energy so the beams burned hotter and the shields held stronger.