“You cannot go,” Lugo said urgently.

  Jon lofted an eyebrow.

  “Excuse me,” Lugo said. He shut his eyes, and it looked as if he mentally fought himself. Finally, Lugo opened his eyes as he breathed heavily, as if he’d sprinted a mile. “We meant no disrespect. Our rep has mentally explained your ways of debate to us. It is very…strange to us.”

  “Thanks for your understanding,” Jon said. “One of the great aspects of the Kames is their ability to learn.”

  “Do not patronize us, Jon Hawkins.”

  Jon was embarrassed, and he actually turned red-faced.

  “We have voiced our opinion,” Lugo said. “Now, we will listen.”

  “Jon,” Gloria said, “As much as you don’t want to hear this, I must officially tell you that this is a crazy mission.” She turned to the towering Sacerdote. “I love you, Bast Banbeck, as a friend. But I ask you to absolve my husband from his oath in this.”

  Bast’s throat convulsed several times until he shook his shaggy head. “I cannot, Mentalist. This is why I continued to fight in times past: for the slim hope I could save my race. This is the first opportunity I’ve had. I will not squander it.”

  “Sir,” the Centurion said.

  Jon looked winded, but he nodded.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” the ultra-soldier said. “I know what it’s like being hopeless in captivity. I fought on regardless, but then I miraculously regained my freedom. Now, I realize how precious that freedom really is. The AIs are monstrous because they’re soulless. They have no heart, only circuits that have sentience. They are mathematical and logical. Perhaps they truly don’t understand our Supreme Commander because Jon Hawkins uses his head and then suddenly fights from the heart. That has foiled them time and again.”

  “I understand that,” Gloria said. “But the risks—”

  “The rewards,” Jon said, interrupting her, encouraged by the Centurion’s words. “Sometimes it’s better to focus on the rewards. Besides, it’s time to hide, you said.”

  “What?” Gloria asked. “Oh,” she said, quickly perceiving. “You mean hiding you from the robot assassins.”

  “Exactly,” Jon said. “What better place to hide from them than by leading a daring mission into the heart of their territory? They will never think to look for me there.”

  “Maybe,” Lugo said softly.

  “What was that?” Gloria asked the rep.

  “Do not think the death machines do not account for human emotions,” the Kames said through Lugo. “They will have assigned your unpredictability a number,” he told Jon. “Therefore, it is possible that the machines have already logically predicted your next idea.”

  Jon shrugged. “There’s a time to count every cost. There’s a time just to go for it. Are they flushing me out with their assassins? I doubt they have thought that, as all my people have universally told me to hide. Okay. I will. I’ll hide in the void and head deep into enemy territory. The AIs might capture us and thus me, but they won’t kill me with one of their blasted assassins.”

  Jon scanned the people around the table. Lugo Malagate peered at his hands. What was the Kames rep really thinking? Jon would like a deeper conversation with the man, although not right now.

  “Anything else?” asked Jon.

  Bast rose ponderously as he peered at each of them. “You are my friends,” he rumbled. “I am glad I risked everything to help you. Because now I see that Jon Hawkins is a man of his word. That is critical, and you will see that the Sacerdotes know how to repay their friends.”

  “Good,” Jon said. “Well said. Now, we’ll end this on a positive note. Bow your heads.”

  Some of them did. Lugo Malagate was not among them.

  “Lord God,” Jon prayed with his head bowed. “Please give us wisdom as we plan to free the Sacerdotes. Give us courage and help us defeat the machines of Death. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Bast said, and he rapped his knuckles on the table.

  -16-

  With Jon’s decision, people worked furiously and overtime to ready the Nathan Graham for the coming mission. Mathews drove his scientists to perfect the new virus. Teehalt studied the first void tests, made a previously readied modification to the DE-16 and gained permission for a longer test. The Centurion spoke privately with Jon a few days later and received permission to lead the cybership’s marines.

  It was a whirlwind time. Gloria still objected, but Jon threw himself into the preparations and thus spent less time with her at home because he was in the field.

  Twenty-five days after the meeting, Captain Uther Kling of the Void Ship Neptune came to see Jon. Kling had been the Missile Chief on the Nathan Graham in the early days, having fought the AIs for almost as long as Jon. Kling was originally from Camelot Dome from the moon Triton in the Neptune System. He had a red-dyed, triangular-shaped crest of hair and a pointy chin. He was a keen ship’s captain and one of Jon’s staunchest supporters.

  Unknown to Jon, maybe because he’d been so busy with other things, Kling had gone into the void with the Neptune, having used the DE-16-C as part of Teehalt’s accelerated drug testing.

  “Sir,” Kling said, upon entering the ready room.

  “None of that,” Jon said, setting down his stylus and rising from his chair. “When did you come into the Solar System?”

  There was a haunted look to Kling’s eyes that Jon hadn’t noticed at first. He did now. “Do you want to sit?” asked Jon.

  “A drink. I would like a stiff drink first.”

  “Let me pour you a whiskey,” Jon said, opening a bottom drawer. He picked up two shot glasses as well, setting them on his desk, pouring and handing one to Kling across the desk.

  The captain accepted the shot glass, practically collapsed into his chair and slammed the whiskey home. “How about another?” he asked in a half-choked voice.

  Jon picked up the bottle, came around and sat in the chair beside his most trustworthy captain. He clapped Kling on the shoulder, shook his friend’s hand and poured him another shot.

  Kling swirled the whiskey before hammering home that one as well. “Just give me the bottle,” he muttered.

  “You want to get drunk?” asked Jon.

  Kling laughed sourly, moving the empty shot glass in his hand. It seemed as if he might grab the bottle and just start guzzling like Bast.

  “We went on a test run,” Kling said abruptly.

  “Not into the void.”

  “Into the void,” Kling said. “We were testing the DE-16-C, the dope that makes you hope. You need it to work, I am told.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone. You’ve been in the void more than anyone else. Extended exposure is the worst.”

  “Anyone else but you,” Kling amended. “I wanted to test the dope for you. Besides, we need those void ships. But it drives too many people whacko using it that way. I can still feel—” Kling shuddered, with horror shining in his eyes.

  Jon found himself pouring his friend another shot of whiskey.

  The void…unless someone had been in the void, it was hard to explain. It was a realm of nothingness, null, emptiness, but one could travel through it if he had the right kind of ship and equipment. They likely never would have discovered the void except for the energy-beings Sisters of Enoy.

  “Didn’t the DE-16-C help in the slightest?” asked Jon.

  “I think it made it worse,” Kling said heavily. “It made it much worse. I do not think I am ever going to try again.”

  “You want to relinquish your captaincy of the Neptune?” Jon asked in wonder.

  “Want?” Kling asked. “Want has nothing to do with it. I am tired, Jon. I am worn out. I need a break, a rest.” He eyed the Supreme Commander. “I bet you need one, too.”

  “No,” Jon said quietly. “I’m sick and tired of sitting around. I need—”

  “Action,” Kling said. “Yes. I understand. You can wait, not like Walleye, but you can wait for a time. But you like fighting, too. Or have you never admitted that to yourself?”

  Jon studied Kling and wasn’t certain what gave it away, but in that moment, he knew that he was looking at a robot assassin. It was crazy he should reach the conclusion so quickly, but there was something false here. Yet, if the thing was a robot assassin, why hadn’t it tried killing him yet? Had the robot gone through the void as Kling? Did that mean the robot had already slain Kling in order to take his place as captain? Had the void made the robot brain irrational?

  With his heart beating more rapidly, Jon picked up the whiskey bottle. How did one test this sort of thing? If it was a robot assassin, it might be able to detonate. That meant demanding its surrender was out of the question. Yet, if he was wrong, and he shot to kill, and killed Captain Kling—Jon didn’t know if he could live with himself.

  No, he silently corrected himself. He could keep on living. He would feel wretched and stained, but he had a job to do, and that was killing as many damned AI machines as he could while he was alive. He hadn’t always felt that way, but he did now.

  He used to want to be the space version of Alexander the Great, conquering as much as he could. That was a glorious desire. Glory was fleeting, though. It was vain, too. Instead, he wanted to build something greater than himself, and that was a Confederation that would hunt down the last robots and exterminate them when the day came one hundred, one thousand or one million years from now. Oh, he wouldn’t be alive, but he would have gotten the ball rolling.

  So, what did that mean for the Kling sitting in his ready room aboard the Nathan Graham? If this was a robot assassin…the idea seemed so farfetched that Jon laughed.

  “What is so funny?” Kling demanded.

  Jon blinked, and he realized if Kling had said, “What’s so funny?” he couldn’t go through with this. But the thing, the robot, the AI computer brain that had been through the void and had had its circuits screwed with—maybe the DE-16-C variant had worked wonderfully for the humans. Maybe the robot had decided to take out Hawkins before the mission started because the anti-void drug worked.

  Jon raised the bottle. “Had enough?”

  “I suppose,” Kling said sullenly.

  “Yeah,” Jon said, standing. “Damned war, when will it end?”

  “You appear…” Kling cocked his head. “You appear suddenly agitated.”

  “You better believe I’m agitated,” Jon said, understanding the robot assassin was judging him. Could he fool it long enough to get to his heavy caliber pistol? Well, it was time to find out.

  He began walking around the desk.

  “I think I will have another shot,” Kling said.

  Jon stopped at the edge of the desk and stared at Kling—at the thing. It was a robot, right? “You want the good stuff then.”

  “Huh?”

  “The good stuff,” Jon said, resuming his slow walk. “I drink this sometimes, but you’ve been through the void.” He shook his head as he sat down. This was hard. If he was wrong…how could he bear it?

  “Where did you go?” Kling said. “Why are you digging in your desk?”

  “Where did I put the bottle?” Jon said loudly, rummaging in the lowest drawer. His hand fell onto a big caliber handgun. He picked it up in the drawer, and knew that it had five bullets, as the cylinder only held five. He put the bottle down, timing it as he cocked the hammer. This was a big sucker.

  “The void,” Jon said.

  “Your voice sounds different,” Kling said. “Why do you have so many bottles of whiskey in your desk?”

  “In case Bast Banbeck comes around,” Jon said, steeling himself. He wasn’t one hundred percent certain. He was going with his gut. Sometimes, a man’s instincts were wrong. They’d better be right today.

  “Jon Hawkins,” Kling said.

  In that second, everything seemed to slow down for Jon. He pulled the handgun out of the drawer as he straightened on his chair. He looked across the desk and saw Kling standing, holding the shot glass. If Jon were to guess, in that second, it looked like the robot wanted to cock his arm and hurl the glass like a missile.

  “I think I understand,” Jon said quickly. “You want to stay alive.”

  The robot tilted his Kling-like head at him. “That is an odd comment. And yet, it is correct. That has not always been so. I do not want to detonate. I will use this glass—”

  Jon produced the heavy hand cannon and pulled the trigger. The hammer went down, the powder ignited, causing a loud BOOM.

  The bullet smashed against the thing’s chest. Blood spurted. Jon knew a moment of deepest regret. It was really Kling. And yet, he had to finish what he had started just in case he was wrong, or right, or something. He knew the robots had pseudo-skin and blood, and something gleaming in the chest—armor plating underneath.

  Jon fired again. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

  The heavy caliber bullets backed by big charges of cordite smashed against the Kling-looking thing. The bullets hammered, the repeated shocks doing the job. There was more flesh and blood, but not bones. There was armor plating, circuits underneath, sparking and then zapping electrical discharges.

  Jon expected a detonation from the thing. His ears were ringing from the booms and there was smoke in the ready room. It smelled like gunpowder and burnt circuits in here.

  “Explode,” the robot said from on the floor where it now lay. “I cannot explode. I do not understand why.”

  Jon walked up to the robot, its chest area blown open and shredded.

  “The void did this to me,” the robot said.

  Empty shells fell from the opened cylinder onto the floor. Jon had grabbed a few extra bullets and now shoved them into the cylinder one at a time. He was surprised that his hands were so steady.

  “Jon Hawkins,” the robot said.

  With a flick of his hand, Jon snapped the cylinder shut, cocked the hammer and stared down at the thing.

  “You can never win in the end,” the robot said.

  “We’ll see,” Jon said, as he aimed at its head and fired until the face was a mass of broken circuitry.

  Finally, Security personnel showed up, and they hustled him out of his own office, ending the Kling-robot’s botched assassination attempt.

  -17-

  Talk about screwing with your head. Killing one of the best men in the Confederation—

  “No!” Jon said to himself for the hundredth time. “It was a robot. It killed Kling and took his place.”

  Jon was aboard the Nathan Graham in a dark room with a newly installed holographic system. He had been pacing through a simulacrum of their local area of the Orion Spiral Arm. The holoimages showed the stars. The area here where he stood was the Confederation. The rest that expanded throughout the large chamber was—

  Well, Jon didn’t know what exactly was in all that area of space. No one who belonged to the Confederation knew that, not even the Kames. Zeta of Enoy could have told him more before she’d left, but she hadn’t. She’d told them a lot, sure, but there was so much more to know about the blasted AIs and their Dominion.

  It had been a week since he’d slain Kling—slain the robot. “It was a robot,” Jon said loudly. “I killed a robot.”

  He knew that in his brain, but he did not seem to know it quite so well in his heart.

  Often, when he closed his eyes, he saw the robot with Kling’s eyes staring up at him. He knew it was because the robot had changed in the void, had become self-aware, perhaps. Had it started to become more like Kling in reality, rather than a mere robot assassin?

  What had happened to Kling? How had the man died? The captain had—the robot had—led the Neptune through the void. The DE-16-C variant had worked on most of the crew. The few for whom the drug hadn’t worked had instead faced an intensified void effect. Those unlucky few were now raving lunatics in a special asylum.

  The Nathan Graham’s crew was presently undergoing tests. Some of the mind specialists said they’d figured out which people shouldn’t go, which were most likely to go mad.

  Jon had passed the exam, so had Bast Banbeck and Lugo Malagate. In another week, they would have the picked crew for a crazy mission deep into enemy territory.

  Jon whirled around in the gloomy chamber. He verbally gave the specifications for the red dwarf star that in real distance was one hundred and sixty-two light-years away. A holographic image of a star brightened. Jon looked at it and then glanced back at the Sun. That was some distance, over four times the diameter of the Confederation at its widest. A monster of a robot ship waited at the star.

  Were the Kames right? Was this a trap? Could ancient sentient computers calculate something that closely?

  Jon wouldn’t doubt it.

  He let his eyes rove over the starry images. Most of that territory belonged to the AI Dominion. Other than Walleye’s incident with a Cog Primus cybership at the Lalande 46650 System, the Confederation hadn’t had any dealings with the rogues for over five long years.

  “Five long years,” Jon said to himself. They had continued to survive the AI Dominion because they had these freaky void ships. The Sisters of Enoy had not returned, had not sent any more advisors. What had happened to Zeta? Jon wondered if he would ever know. So many of Zeta’s predictions had proven true.

  Could the Nathan Graham and its crew successfully cross one hundred and sixty-two light-years while in the void?

  Jon scowled. That wasn’t even a real question. Distance did not compute in the void. It was nothing, a vast sea of nothing. It took so much less time crossing nothing to reach something—Jon shouted in frustration as he shook his fists above his head.

  “Permission to enter your playroom,” a deep voice asked in the darkness.

  Jon whirled around as his right hand dropped to the massive hand cannon holstered at his side. He’d taken to wearing the gun after Kling—after the robot assassin.

  “Bast,” he said. “Come in.”

  The towering Sacerdote ducked his Neanderthal-like head to enter the chamber. The hatch swished shut behind him. Bast then picked his way through the stars to him.

  “What do you mean ‘playroom?’” Jon demanded.