“That is what Gloria called it,” Bast said.

  Gloria and Jon had had a bad argument after the conference meeting where she’d so vigorously disagreed with him. He had expected her to back him up.

  “Don’t you want me to give you my real opinion?” she’d asked, with tears brimming in her eyes.

  Gloria was a mentalist all right, but she was still a woman, still essentially a creature of conflicting emotions surging almost all the time. She hadn’t liked him saying that, but it was his opinion.

  The incident with Kling—the robot, damnit—hadn’t made things any easier between them. She wanted him to hide deep in the Earth, in a dungeon or prison. Well, he hadn’t fought all this time to become a prisoner to his own side. He was a man, a solider, and he intended to go down fighting with a weapon blazing in his hand.

  Bast cleared his throat.

  Jon looked up, surprised. He’d mentally phased out again. He’d been doing that too much lately. Maybe it was all the pressure of his convictions.

  “What’s the matter, Bast?”

  The big lug inhaled through his flattish nostrils, expanding his huge chest. “It has been a long time since we’ve been in the Nathan Graham, getting ready to go to war.”

  Jon forced himself to quit daydreaming and concentrate on the present. He was the Supreme Commander, but he’d been woolgathering far too much lately. Maybe that’s what happened to a man back at base. He needed to be out there, doing, fighting, killing the enemy.

  “I have sworn off booze for the voyage,” Bast said. “I want to clear my mind and exercise, so I am ready to help the survivors. It has started to hit me. We are going to free my people.”

  “We hope to find some Sacerdotes, yes,” Jon said.

  “My people,” Bast said, his eyes shining. “I am not alone, Jon. There are more Sacerdotes that survived the terrible killing than just me.”

  “Bast…”

  The Sacerdote blinked, smiled sheepishly and gave Jon his attention. “I know. I hope so desperately that I am unable to consider the possibility that they will have died in captivity. Only the Centurion survived Main 63. How many Sacerdotes will have survived this long in Main 54?”

  “Let’s concentrate on winning, not on always defending if we guess wrong. We have to make the machines to start guessing. The only way to do that is to go onto the offensive, to make them dance to our tune.”

  “We will sing while we attack?”

  “‘Dance to our tune’ is a saying.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Bast said. The Sacerdote stared at some nearby holographic stars.

  “What is it?” Jon asked.

  “Eh?” asked the giant.

  “You came here for a specific reason. It’s been a while, a long while, I admit, but I still know when something is on your mind.”

  “You are right, Jon. I have heard news. There is a movement afoot by some who want to ground you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The Great Council is debating, I hear. They have learned about your decision to lead the raid. Many think you should stay home. That if you do go, you are in essence abdicating your position as Supreme War-Leader.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jon said. “And where did you hear this?”

  “Gloria,” Bast said.

  A surge of anger flared in Jon’s chest. Gloria must have told Bast so the Sacerdote would come and tell him. It wasn’t the grounding that was telling, but that some people thought they could strip him of Supreme Command.

  If he stayed behind, who could he place in charge of the Nathan Graham?

  Jon put his hands behind his back and started pacing again.

  “Should I leave?” asked Bast.

  “No,” Jon said. “Let me think a moment.”

  “Of course.”

  Jon paced through the holographic stars. In a way, the others had a point. He was the Supreme Commander. Such a one needed to make grand strategy and sometimes the campaign strategy with a team of talented officers helping. The Confederation was different. It had been birthed because he’d fought each time. He ran it because who else could have done it.

  That didn’t mean he was the indispensable man. It meant he might have been the indispensable man at one time. Yet, who else wanted to make this sneak raid? Who else had made an oath to Bast Banbeck?

  Jon’s eyes flashed. He turned and stared at Bast. “I’m a fighter. It’s what I do. I’m not the stay-at-home leader. I don’t want to send others into harm’s way while I sit back in safety. This is a different kind of war, Bast. Machines, freaking machines are trying to wipe out all life.”

  “You’re making your excuse.”

  “Call it what you will,” Jon said, his resolve firming. “I’m not going to push the rest of the Confederation into doing the right thing. I’m going to pull them. We have to attack, Bast. We have to keep the AIs off balance. They have by far the greater weight and can afford many losses. We can hardly weather one huge strategic loss. I should have seen that sooner. The robot assassins were a smart play on their part. This will be our play. Whether it’s smart or not will depend on what happens.”

  “You’re going, then?” asked Bast.

  Jon’s head snapped up and he stared at the Sacerdote. He tried to picture Bast as a robot assassin. No. He didn’t feel that. This was Bast, all right.

  “They’re trying to stop me,” Jon said, half to himself. “But that isn’t going to happen. It’s time to launch. I may have already waited too long. But that ends this moment.”

  “What was that?” asked Bast.

  “Come with me,” Jon said, as he headed for the hatch. “I have to steal a march on the goodwill worriers. That’s the only way I’m going to be able to do this.”

  PART III

  THE VOID VOYAGE

  (+2005 Days since the Void Attack)

  -1-

  This was far riskier than Jon had admitted. This was the terrible void that Zeta had said contained absolutely nothing. That meant no life, no time. No down, no up, no dark and no light. Zeta had said that some called it the Howling. It was a plane or dimension of non-existence. It not only destroyed or discontinued things that went in it, but often drove mad those that could survive for a time behind a reality field. And if the experience didn’t drive the travelers mad, it caused them to change in negative psychological ways. Now, they knew, that included AI robot assassins.

  The first time, a veteran Sister of Enoy had watched over the human-crewed void ships. Then, the distance in real space had been miniscule, and the time in the void to reach the other place relatively short. Now, they would attempt a long trip of much greater duration. That meant despite the improved reality generators, seepage from the void would play havoc with their sanity.

  Jon was on the bridge of the Nathan Graham. The cybership-class void vessel had left Earth orbit and sailed serenely past the Moon. They had their complement of tested personnel. No robot assassins were aboard. No hidden octopoids lurked anywhere inside or outside on the asteroid-like hull. The Centurion ran the space marines. The Old Man had remained behind on Earth, running interference for them. In his place, Walleye ran ship Intelligence. Gloria—

  Jon had made up with his wife. She still didn’t agree with the idea, but she would stay by his side no matter what.

  Master Teehalt was with them, along with Mathews. Teehalt’s medical people were ready to administer the first round of DE-16-C: the dope that would allow them to cope.

  “Sir,” a woman said.

  Jon glanced at the nurse. She seemed awfully young to work with Teehalt, a slender woman of twenty-two, if he had to guess her age.

  Jon rolled up a sleeve.

  “That isn’t necessary, sir,” the woman said. “If I may?” She held up a gleaming silver hypo with a blunt end.

  He nodded.

  She pressed the end of the hypo against his neck. It hissed as a cold blast of jetted air shoved DE-16-C under his skin into his bloodstream.

  He rubbed his neck, glancing at her. She was already heading for Gloria at her station. Jon waited, and he felt a certain sluggishness ooze over his mind. It felt as if he’d chugged a glass of wine without anything in his stomach. It was a pleasant feeling of euphoria, an easing of mental tension and a slight dulling of the intellect.

  One thing they’d learned from the Kling-impersonating robot. During the time in the void, they would shut down the computers for most of the time. The void seepage did something to the delicate circuitry.

  Time passed as Jon waited. It was easy with the cope-a-dope. He smiled thinking about an old joke.

  “We’re ready, sir,” Gloria said.

  He swiveled his chair to regard her. “Ready as can be?” he asked.

  “Jon?”

  Jon closed his eyes. He needed to get ahold of himself. He was the acting captain, even if he was the Supreme Commander of the Confederation. He opened his eyes, nodding. “Let’s go.”

  The navigator had made the void calculations. Now, the pilot began tapping the helm.

  The helmsman was a somber young man named Doc Cullen. He had narrow features with straight brown hair, never smiled and was from the Saturn System. He appeared to move slowly, but he always moved surely and promptly. Doc had won a fierce competition two years ago, winning the right of first helmsman aboard the Nathan Graham.

  Deep in the cybership, a null-splitter began powering up. At times, it could set a person’s teeth on edge. Today, Jon heard the whine, or thought he did, as the null-splitter didn’t actually make noise. The quantum-pi engines supplied the needed force and before them—

  Jon leaned forward on his chair. It had been years since he’d been in the void.

  The null-splitter reached out before the ship and began to tear open reality. That’s how Zeta had described it over five and a half years ago. A circle grew, one with lines of glowing power seeming to eat at the edges of reality. Behind that, the non-existence of the void appeared, which showed as blackness to the sensors.

  Jon suppressed a shudder. The navigator groaned, and that was despite the DE-16-C. The opening grew as the null-splitter did its magic. This was magic, creating a hole in reality. What did that even mean? Who were the Sisters of Enoy really? Zeta had been so secretive most of the time.

  “We’re moving, sir,” Doc said somberly.

  “Steady as she goes,” Jon said.

  The great asteroid-like hulled vessel slid toward the opening into the hellish-like null.

  The Nathan Graham slid out of normal time and space, past the reality rip, and into the nothingness of the void. Jon had an insane desire to roar like an axe-man charging an army of spearmen. He held it in and was glad he had the coping dope. He tried to retrieve the good feeling of only moments ago. Maybe he needed another shot of DE-16-C.

  The ship moved into the nebulous realm, and the null-splitter closed the reality rip behind them. They had exited normal time and space.

  Now, the reality generator turned on, creating a bubble of reality around the Nathan Graham. Without that reality, the void would cause discontinuity to the ship and everyone inside. According to what Jon knew, the discontinuity would dissolve the very atoms that formed the molecules that made up their bodies and that of the ship. The atoms would no longer be. How that was possible according to physics, Jon had no idea.

  He swallowed hard. Had this been a good idea after all? “Set course,” Jon forced himself to say.

  The navigator turned to him. “I already have, sir. We’re on our way.”

  “I don’t feel any movement.”

  “I know, sir,” Doc said. “You won’t. This is the void. But according to our instruments, we’re moving—if that’s the right way to say it.”

  Jon nodded, pressing his palms against the armrests of his commander’s chair. They were doing it. They were heading for enemy territory to do the impossible, rescue Sacerdotes for Bask Banbeck. Jon wished he’d never made that oath, but he had, and this was it. So, it was time to settle down and endure void seepage to the best of his drugged ability.

  -2-

  As the Nathan Graham entered the void, one hundred and sixty-two light-years away, Main 54 continued to cruise through the red dwarf star system, gobbling up worthwhile asteroids. He’d already created an appreciable debris cloud and had added almost ten thousand tons of equipment and hull structure since he’d made the decision regarding the Robot Assassin Operation.

  Periodically, small AI spy-ships reported in from their time in Confederation territory. The vessels dropped out of hyperspace deep in a targeted Confederation system’s Oort cloud, in the far region that few system ships ever reached. From there, the spy-ships had listened to biological creatures’ transmissions, mainly broadcasted news shows. Occasionally, a broadcaster told about a failed assassination attempt or the successful killing of an important person on the robot kill list.

  The operation had been in progress for several years already and had been a success in one sense. It created chaos or pockets of chaos in the bubble of territory controlled by the Life creatures. Would it do the trick, though, and cause a breakup among the alliance? If it failed to do that, would it drive Jon Hawkins into coming here?

  Main 54 was still optimistic that his calculations had been correct. He had not been as successful in gaining any of 63’s regions. Other Mains or puffed up siege-ships jockeyed with Higher AIs for a Dominion ruling. He was not through there though.

  If he could eradicate the Confederation, and if he could capture Jon Hawkins and other important leaders, then he had no doubt he would be successful in adding at least two of those three regions to his satrapy.

  One plan involved using a robot replica of Jon Hawkins, with data ripped from the human’s brain…ah, that would go far to annihilating the other creatures in that pest-ridden Life-seething region.

  It was the void ships that gave all the AIs pause. Did more Sisters of Enoy lurk around this area of the Orion Arm? It seemed like a reasonable view. But if Main 54 could capture a genuine void ship, learn how to duplicate the ancient technology…

  Deep in the great Main, the gigantic brain-core started to think interesting thoughts. With void ships, with greater technology than any other AI in the Grand Dominion, well, did it not make sense that he should have greater rank then? Yes, of course that made sense. Yet, he did not have any void ships. First, he would have to suffer an attack, a sneak attack he was sure. He did not see any other way the humans would attempt to grab the Sacerdote bait.

  What if Jon Hawkins refused to fall for the bait, though? By all his calculations, Main 54 knew Hawkins should try. The mathematical formulas showed that it was in the human’s character to go himself.

  Main 54 ran ten thousand new calculations. Given he was right, the sneak attack should take place this year.

  Could he have miscalculated in any way? Certainly, the possibility existed. Given that was true, maybe he should take a few extra precautions. He did not see how a band of humans could truly harm him. But then, almost six years ago when Main 63 made his decisions, he would not have conceived the Confederations forces being able to eliminate him and much of the attacking AI fleet.

  Yes, it was time to add some layers to his defenses here. They could not be obvious additions. Oh, the reward of capturing a void ship was so great that taking extra steps only made sense. Nothing must be left to chance. This would a flawless trap that would give him—

  If Main 54 could chuckle, he would have chuckled now. With void-ship technology, he could leap much higher into the AI hierarchy. He might even think about becoming the top machine. And with void technology, he could finally solve the twenty-thousand-year-old problem of the Sisters of Enoy.

  The great brain-core inside Main 54 felt a sensation. It was a strange feeling, but a good one. Maybe this was a new breakthrough in AI tech. He lusted after supreme power. The lust did something to his circuitry. The feeling—he wanted supreme power. He yearned to be the top machine in the galaxy. After that…

  Main 54 decided that a few extra preparations weren’t needed, but a host of extra work to make his dreams—his visions—a reality.

  -3-

  Because of the reality generator, time passed aboard the Nathan Graham. The crew took their DE-16-C injections and continued to endure the void seepage slipping past the reality field. Luckily, so far, the reality generator was working at nearly peak efficiency. The seepage was less than at any other time humans had used void ships. It was the duration of the mission that was starting to make the collective seepage, well, not an issue yet. But some of the crew were more susceptible to void madness than others.

  One of the worst afflicted was Lugo Malagate.

  He’d joined the Nathan Graham at the instruction of the Kames. He could still hardly believe that the aliens had taken him back as their representative. Losing the connection before had nearly driven him to despair.

  Lugo lay on his cot, asleep, slowly twisting back and forth. He wore a nightshirt because the Kames found human nakedness distasteful.

  Lugo Malagate had known hardship most of his life. He was from Earth, from the great slums of Sydney, Australia. There, he had fought in the illegal, underground ring, making money fighting as his associates bet on him. He had been a tough fighter rather than a skilled fighter. Lugo could take a hit, which made the blow from the bottle a huge embarrassment. He should have been able to take that. The giant Sacerdote had thrown hard, though. It had been lights-out that night.

  After several years in the ring, Lugo went into the loan business, on the muscle end that required late payers learn a painful lesson. In truth, Lugo realized he hadn’t been a good man most of his life. There had been this spark in him, though. Later, after he passed rigorous tests and went to the XT Institute on Titan, he realized he had latent mental abilities. That’s what had made him such a good ring fighter. He had known a moment before a swing or kick came that it was going to come. He’d had an unfair advantage. He hadn’t asked for the advantage, but he had used it.