SF Books by Vaughn Heppner

THE A.I. SERIES:

A.I. Destroyer

The A.I. Gene

A.I. Assault

A.I. Battle Station

A.I. Battle Fleet

A.I. Void Ship

A.I. Rescue

A.I. Armada

THE SOLDIER SERIES:

The X-Ship

Escape Vector

Final Odyssey

LOST STARSHIP SERIES:

The Lost Starship

The Lost Command

The Lost Destroyer

The Lost Colony

The Lost Patrol

The Lost Planet

The Lost Earth

The Lost Artifact

The Lost Star Gate

The Lost Supernova

The Lost Swarm

The Lost Intelligence

The Lost Tech

The Lost Secret

The Lost Barrier

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The Lost Secret

(Lost Starship Series 14)

by Vaughn Heppner

Illustration © Tom Edwards

TomEdwardsDesign.com

Copyright © 2021 by the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

-Prologue-

Far in the Beyond, on the Throne World of the New Men, was a prison for the most dangerous human in existence.

At the moment he didn’t look particularly dangerous, deadly or even nefarious, as he was a gnome of a Methuselah Man—a hunched, muttering madman. He paced through his prison complex, clacking his teeth with frustrated rage as he spewed spit, obscenities and profundities in equal measure.

He was Strand, a former Earthman kidnapped and trained centuries ago by the vanished Builders. In those distant days, the aliens had gifted him with superior intelligence and long life—if he proved nimble and clever enough to keep it, which he had so far. New Men, highly ranked Star Watch officers, Spacers—a host of people—feared his cunning and breadth of knowledge, particularly concerning ancient alien technology, some of it still scattered among the stars.

Strand had committed many sins, many transgressions against the innocent, but he’d also achieved incredible things.

The Methuselah Man halted, barefoot in his black monk’s habit with hood and rope belt, and eyed the walls of his confinement. He seethed, his gut knotted, and he feared, oh, how he feared to remain trapped for yet another span of years.

The prison was large as such things went, especially given the nature and number of his crimes. But he was alone ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. Yes. He believed that most people were idiots, and he suffered fools poorly. Because of his breadth and depth of knowledge, he was also quite aware that solitary confinement was one of the worst horrors to inflict upon a human. He was, after all, a herd animal like the rest of the human rejects. People needed companionship to maintain mental equilibrium.

He was anything but normal, but after all these lonely and tedious years, the solitary confinement had begun to drive him…

He shook his fists. He ground his teeth and started pacing again even as he strove to quit muttering like a madman.

His prison quarters were composed of five connecting chambers. There was one for toiletry and hygiene, another for exercise, including a treadmill—

Strand snarled to himself, despising the treadmill. He paced enough each day so that his stringy muscles still possessed surprising strength. A treadmill—bah!

He passed the useless library room. He’d read each book so often that he’d memorized them.

He’d committed many sins, transgressions, crimes and offenses. It was ironic that he was a prisoner to possibly his greatest achievement: the creation of the New Men, his present wardens.

A terrible light shined in his eyes.

Over one hundred and fifty years ago, he and Professor Ludendorff—another prodigy of a Methuselah Man—had set out to ensure humanity’s survival in a tremendously hostile universe. They had each served the Builders; that was before the remaining alien overlords had left en masse to places unknown, abdicating their rule. Due to their greater knowledge about surrounding space, Strand and Ludendorff were far more aware of the coming dangers to humanity than the Earthlings who had finally started to colonize outward from their Terra-local star systems.

Given their profound knowledge of the coming dangers, and both believing themselves students of history, they realized how often humanity found itself divided at the worst possible moments. Thus, as paragons of virtue—in their unified opinion about themselves—Strand and Ludendorff had begun a bold experiment. It was called the Thomas More Society, named for the ancient former chancellor of England who had both coined the term, and written a book called Utopia. The two Methuselah Men had planned to make the perfect or ideal society as told by Socrates, who had envisioned philosopher kings benevolently ruling over brave warriors and brutish workers. Their twist was to create a race of superior defenders who would leap to humanity’s aid in its hour of direst alien peril.

To that end, the two Methuselah Men had posed as regular, if extremely wealthy, businessmen. They’d started the Thomas More Society for the Betterment of Humanity. The two planted the idea of a model civilization into the membership. Ten years later, several gigantic colony ships had set out for the most distant stars in what others called the Beyond. It meant beyond the pale of organized human society, which was always expanding. Thus, the colony ships deliberately went far indeed, eventually landing on what was to become the New Men’s Throne World.

It was a pristine planet, an idyllic world, as envisioned by hyper-environmentalists.

Soon after landing and completely cut off from the rest of humanity, Ludendorff and Strand—particularly Strand—began to implement The Plan.

The Plan was simple and direct. Throughout the ages, people had selectively bred cattle, horses, dogs, chickens, pigeons and other domesticated animals for certain traits. In this instance—and here was where Strand shined—the two set up a system of government where a committee approved or disapproved of a man and woman procreating or not, based on their genetics. Naturally, Strand ran the committee exactly as he wanted, with the other members being his unwitting puppets. And he’d already secretly determined what he hoped to achieve from the selective breeding.

After a time, Ludendorff took his leave of the Throne World, as certain of Strand’s practices had begun to make him feel morally queasy.

Strand had anticipated Ludendorff’s departure—had engineered and encouraged it, in fact. Such abilities were among his greatest, as he was a manipulator par excellence.

With the moralistic old fogey out of the way, Strand shifted into high gear. He stratified the colony into an ever more hierarchical society. He abolished the old-fashioned marriage of one man with one woman and instituted “the harem,” strictly for the better men, those who had proven themselves worthy. In this instance, better or worthy referred to warrior skills: brains, strength, reflexes and ruthlessness to achieve and, if needed, to kill without compunction.

Fourteen years later, to speed the results already achieved through selective breeding, Strand began genetic modification of the fetuses.

Nearly one hundred and fifty years from the beginning of the colony, those now called New Men were perfected, and soon thrived in abundance.

They were tall, golden-skinned as befitted a superior race, and possessed great strength, paranormal reflexes and lofty intelligence—comparable to a normal human champion athlete in physical contests or a chess master in mental acuity.

However, Strand ran into a snag. The New Men universally lacked an X-chromosome in their sperm. Strand had never figured out how this had come about or how to correct the flaw, but it meant that the New Men sired only sons, never daughters. They produced crops of fine young lads, hearty soldiers and pioneers, but there were never any New Women. So, the new race could obviously not survive more than a generation unless they constantly acquired fresh young women to impregnate.

Additionally, the present path to making more New Men meant they had to breed with carefully selected unmodified women. Strand had discovered and then taught Throne World geneticists how to inject a fetus with the gene-editing substances that would transform the budding baby into a golden-skinned superman, or a dominant, as the Throne World natives called themselves.

Was that the fatal flaw to the original Thomas More Society ideal? Strand had begun to wonder. As a quick fix—about a decade ago or so—he’d initiated “secret raids” into the Commonwealth, kidnapping the very best women: brainy, athletic and beautiful. The last trait was because Strand considered himself an artist as well as the universe’s greatest scientist, and he desired to create a beautiful as well as highly functional New Race.

During these raids, many New Men saw how weak, stupid and pathetic regular humans were. The raiding teams began to call normal humans premen or submen. They, the New Men, were the new model of humanity. The lesser standard humans were more akin to Neanderthals or Homo habilis compared to them. Only the prized beauties captured for breeding stock were considered worthy of the dignity of being called human, but even they had no power in the New Man society. Their only role was as breeders and mothers of more New Men.

To hold the growing sense of New Men entitlement at bay—at least, Strand told himself this was why he did it—he took over direct and open leadership of the Throne World and instituted a strict regime: this was to get back to the good old days of the Thomas More Society. He even used terror, at times, and later inserted brain-chips to keep the New Men subservient to what Strand considered his adamant will.

As cunning, intelligent and amoral as Strand was, he wasn’t driven by sexual lust or the intense desire to dominate as the greatest New Men dominants were. In retrospect, perhaps Strand had created his supermen too well. It was a tale as old as Frankenstein: the monsters turned on their creator.

The present Emperor of the Throne World led the rebellion against Strand’s rule. It was how he became the Emperor. Methuselah Man Strand eventually fled, barely escaping with his life, and vowed revenge against the golden-skinned ingrates he’d created.

With a growing sense of their unique strength, the New Men decided to change their originally designed role. Instead of being the last-ditch defenders of humanity, especially in mankind’s darkest hour, they would conquer and rule the premen, shaping them into useful workers. Ironically, Strand later mused, the all-conquering dominants would unknowingly implement part of Socrates’s ultimate form of government. Who could reasonably argue against that?

Thus, the New Men went to war against unmodified humanity, sweeping aside every effort to halt their drive with amazing ease.

In desperation, Captain Maddox left on a dangerous and profound quest, found the ancient Adok starship Victory and returned to Earth with it. Soon thereafter, Star Watch began to win more engagements, eventually pushing the New Men out of “C” Quadrant. Golden Ural and his soldiers took a vast haul of women with them, but the war was ended, and there had been an uneasy peace ever since.

Worse for Strand, the smug, arrogant young pup of a Star Watch officer—the damned hybrid Captain Maddox—had captured Strand and turned him over to the Emperor.

Here in the prison on the Throne World, Strand had languished ever since.

He muttered under his breath, swearing awful curses against Maddox and his crew, and against the traitorous Professor Ludendorff who had been helping that prideful young ass for years.

What did this veritable prodigy of the stars look like? Nothing like his creation: the tall, handsome and proud New Men. Strand was short, a gnome or dwarf of a human, shrunken perhaps due to his extreme age. The term Methuselah Man meant something, after all. He was short, as stated, with a larger than average head and skull case and strange, some said frightening, eyes. The eyes radiated with infernal heat. He wore a monk’s outfit, including cowl and rope belt. He did not wear sandals, but walked barefoot. Worse, he smelled of sweat and old urine. His soiled garment had something to do with the stench. And he appeared disheveled, unwashed and perhaps, a few might say, stark raving mad.

Strand had spoken with Golden Ural several months ago and had told the dominant that the craziness was part of an act. Strand never did anything halfway, but threw himself at any chosen activity. In this case, that was feigned madness.

Golden Ural had stayed long enough for Strand to reveal certain secrets about a long-lost Builder weapon, the mobile null region. Captain Maddox had desired the information, because Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers had unleashed the null region against the Commonwealth of Planets. The captain had convinced the Emperor to help weak humanity.

“Whatever,” Strand muttered. “It doesn’t matter…unless Meyers killed Maddox.” The Methuselah Man chuckled nastily, relishing the idea.

He turned his head and spit on the floor. “Damn Maddox. Damn Star Watch. Damn you all!” he shouted, shaking his gnarled fists at a video camera, one of many in his prison.

New Men guardians watched him at all times, no doubt to stop him from killing himself, if he should ever attempt it. The Emperor feared him, but still wanted Strand around for emergencies, to help them in case unexpected alien menaces should rear up that were too tough for the New Men to handle.

Strand lowered his fists and then his head, beginning to shuffle once more. He chuckled silently to himself at how well he played the role of madman—

Strand halted, knit his considerable breadth of brow and started to wonder upon something that had been bothering him lately. Unease had started in him after he’d discovered that Professor Ludendorff had finally learned about the Builder Library World. Strand had stolen the memory from the professor centuries ago, but now the old goat had recalled their time on the distant planet. Strand thought of Ludendorff as a goat because his fellow Methuselah Man loved women with real sexual desire, and often kept a beauty around as his paramour.

“No, no,” Strand muttered. “Stick to the issue, will you?”

What had he been thinking? Ah! He remembered. The Library Planet.

Strand’s head bobbed up and down. Then, he shuffled to a chair, sitting on it and putting his elbows on the table. He resumed knitting his brows as he froze in position and began to use his great intellect to think, to really think.

It was time to devise a plan, a devious twisted plan so he could regain his freedom.

“Ah,” he said, later, realizing something profound. To achieve his goal, he would have to provide critical help to the New Men. He would have to commit a supremely good deed in order to…

His hellish eyes glowed, as he was beginning to see how he could do this and screw smug Star Watch along the way.

-1-

Captain Maddox was definitely out of uniform as he lay on a sandy beach in Maui, wearing dark swimming trunks.

Meta stretched out beside him on her own plush towel. She’d had him untie her string bikini top as she lay on her stomach. Afterward, she’d had him lather suntan oil over her body.

While leaning back on his elbows, Maddox ran his eyes over his wife. She was a babe, all right, a coconut smelling one, nicely tanned, with luscious curves, long blonde hair and longer legs.

I’m living the dream, Maddox realized.

Then why didn’t it feel that way?

The captain scowled, knowing the reason. He’d been arguing with the Lord High Admiral, had been doing so for over a month already. They’d disagreed about the ex-Iron Lady, Mary O’Hara, Maddox’s grandmother and former chief of Star Watch Intelligence.

Thinking about it caused Maddox’s scowl to deepen. He was a long, lean man with muscles like bands of steel. In some ways, he was a New Man, the golden-skinned so-called superman of the Beyond. Maddox was fast like them, dangerous like them—

“Where’s Mary?” Meta asked.

Maddox started, surprised that he’d zoned out while thinking about Admiral Cook’s stubbornness against his grandmother.

Meta had not only turned around from her former position on the blanket but faced the ocean. She used her right hand to hold up her bikini top.

A skinny surfer clutching his board rose from the shore, staring at Meta with teenage fixation.

Maddox’s senses sharpened into focus. His grandmother had joined them on the beach today. She’d gone out on a paddleboard. It took skill and balance to negotiate the ocean’s swells and waves like that, but she was still fit and athletic. Normally she could handle it, but…

Jumping to his feet, Maddox scanned the ocean. They were on a public beach full of tourists. A ribbon of bathers that paralleled the shore played in the shallow water. Farther out, a ribbon of surfers that also paralleled the shore drifted in the swells, waiting for a good wave to ride.

Maddox didn’t see Mary with either extended group.

The captain blinked as worry twisted his stomach. He scanned even farther out—there, he saw her. It had to be his grandmother, right?

“I need the binoculars.”

Meta handed them to him, after digging the binoculars out of their duffel bag.

As Maddox accepted them, he idly noticed his wife had retied her bikini top. He raised the binoculars, training them on his grandmother.

She stood on the board, with the double-bladed paddle in her hands. She wore a modest one-piece swimsuit. She was shorter than Meta, much older, but with firm muscles in her arms and thighs. She had wet curling gray hair plastered against her scalp, indicating she’d spilled into the ocean at least once and climbed back onto the board. For someone her age—over a hundred—she had pleasing features like a woman in her forties. That came from extended life treatments.

Mary paddled firmly, heading even farther out to sea. She was already well beyond the surfers. There was one other paddleboarder up, but he wasn’t close to her, but nearer shore between the surfers and bathers.

Maddox frowned. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint—

He saw it, then—them, rather. It was a school, no, a pod of killer whales, or orcas. They were big, black and white, and cavorting with each other out beyond a line of sailing and private fishing boats.

The killer whales usually weren’t dangerous to the boaters. In fact, people lined the boats’ farther gunwales, watching the sporting orcas, recording the play on their phones. Would the lack of danger hold true for an older lady paddleboarding among the killers?

“Damn it,” Maddox whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

Without looking, Maddox handed Meta the binoculars. He stood, and asked the seeming air, “Galyan. Can you hear me?”

The little Adok holoimage that haunted Victory didn’t respond. It was possible the starship presently orbited the other side of the planet.

“Galyan,” Maddox said, “this is an emergency. Please respond.”

Meta lowered the binoculars. “It isn’t really an emergency,” she said.

“Wrong. Look again, more closely this time.”

Once more, Meta raised the binoculars.

“One of the orcas is heading toward her,” Maddox said.

“…Oh,” Meta said a moment later. “Yes. You’re right. I hadn’t noticed before.”

Maddox’s gut seethed. He didn’t even have a communicator. He had a knife in the bag, but no communicator or gun.

“Maddox,” his wife said, sounding relieved. “Someone on a boat sees her.”

Without asking, he grabbed the binoculars. Concern for his grandmother overrode his normal politeness toward his wife.

Meta must have understood, for she watched him with concern.

Maddox trained the binoculars on Mary, on the orca and then on the motorized sailboat swinging around toward her. He saw a muscular man in an open yellow shirt and shorts at the wheel, and two others with rifles. Something about them—

They’re professionals, he realized, Intelligence agents or military men.

Maddox lowered the binoculars, thinking. Could this be a setup? Would Intelligence agents wait for killer whales to appear near a beach and hope one headed for the ex-Iron Lady out paddleboarding? Did that mean his grandmother had been hearing voices again?

Maddox raised the binoculars a second later, studying the boat heading for his grandmother and then focusing on the lone orca.

“No,” he whispered, slowly lowering the binoculars.

Meta stared at him as she bit her lower lip.

Maddox blinked several times before facing his wife. “There’s a receiving unit embedded in the whale’s upper blubber.” He’d just seen that through the binoculars.

Meta frowned, shaking her head, perhaps not understanding the significance of what he said.

“Someone is guiding the orca,” Maddox said, “guiding it straight at my grandmother.”

-2-

Maddox’s mind clicked into high gear. This was a setup, most likely to kidnap his grandmother, or possibly to kill her. He could swim out there with his knife, but that would take far too long. No. He’d never make a difference that way, only effectively take himself out of play.

There was nothing he could do if the orca was supposed to eat his grandmother. He would therefore operate on the assumption this was a kidnapping or that the agent at the wheel was part of this. That meant—

Maddox swore as he pivoted and broke into a sprint. Galyan was out of reach. He lacked a rifle—

Meta’s voice drifted from behind him. She must have shouted at him.

Maddox looked back over a shoulder. Meta remained on the beach, with the binoculars raised as she watched Mary O’Hara.

Good girl, Maddox thought. Then he used all his concentration for sprinting. He raced up the beach, onto the grassy area of the condominiums and toward the parking lot in back, his bare feet scarcely registering the hot pavement. He ran faster than an Olympic sprinter, blowing past people.

Some of them turned to stare at him in amazement.

Maddox lowered his head, gnashing his teeth in frustration as he saw a moving car enter the parking lot. Good. That was just what he needed. The car—a sports model—eased into a parking spot, stopped and shut down. It was an electric vehicle. The driver’s side door opened—

Maddox reached the car, ripped the door out of the rising man’s hand, grabbed the man by the shirt and threw him out, snatching the keys as a hand flew past.

“Hey!” the man shouted from the blacktop.

A woman shrieked, still sitting in the passenger-side seat, frozen in shock as she stared at Maddox.

Maddox slid into the car—

“No you don’t,” the man said. He jumped up and fast-drew and aimed a small-caliber pistol at Maddox’s head.

“No,” Maddox muttered, glancing at the gun. It had a ridiculously snub barrel. He concentrated and moved with lightning speed, ripping the gun from the man before the other could fire. He shoved the man back down and dropped the pistol onto his lap, turning to the mouth-gaping woman. “Get out!” he roared.

The woman screamed again, beginning to cry as she opened her door and practically fell onto the blacktop.

Maddox inserted the key, turning on the power. He slammed the driver-side door closed, grabbed the wheel and with a bare foot pressed the accelerator to the floorboard. The tires squealed as the car jerked and swerved out of the parking spot.

All the while, the captain kept thinking about the orca approaching his grandmother, and the three armed men closing in with the powered sailboat.

Gritting his teeth, with his hands tight around the wheel, Maddox swerved and raced for the street.

***

Twenty-nine and a half agonizing minutes later, Maddox’s car squealed to a stop before a lowered gate, the closed entrance to a Star Watch defense facility. He turned to the guard in the booth, a young marine who nevertheless recognized him.

“Captain Maddox,” the marine said.

“It’s an emergency.”

The marine pressed a button, and the gate began to rise.

“Call ahead!” Maddox shouted. “Tell them I’m taking my flitter.”

“I will, sir.”

The gate rose high enough and Maddox sped onto the local defense facility. Its primary feature was a surface defense gun, a big domed emplacement three hundred meters back. When the dome opened like an astronomy observatory, a heavy fusion cannon would poke out. It was in case of a massed fleet invasion. In front and around the huge dome was a tarmac.

Maddox’s electric sports car already raced across it.

A siren began to blare. A battlesuited marine clomped into sight, waving an armored arm at someone unseen.

Seconds later, Maddox skidded to a stop, jumped out of the car and dashed to a parked flitter. It was a small two-seater, with a clear plastic dome cover. Meta and he had arrived in Maui aboard it.

Maddox pressed his right-hand thumb against a small square on the driver’s side door. The lock clicked open. He tore open the door, ducked under the clear dome and slid into the driver’s seat. With the combined touch of his foot on the floorboard and his thumb on the ignition switch, the thing purred into life.

As the flitter warmed up, with its anti-gravity pods clicking into life, Maddox reached over the seat to a hidden compartment in back. He flipped open the compartment and stared in horror at the empty slot. His Hi-Powered Khislack .370 was missing.

With a snarl, he faced forward and ripped out the little pistol he’d tucked against the band of his swimming trunks, the one he’d taken from the man. It was a pathetic weapon, a civilian piece firing .32-caliber bullets. He counted a measly four of them.

Are you kidding me? Four damn shots.

He jammed the toy pistol back under the waistband and slammed his door shut. Then, hearing the anti-grav pods purring, he launched into the air.

***

He tried the dash comm in order to alert Star Watch what was happening. He heard a growling sound from it, which meant that someone was jamming communications. That confirmed his worst suspicions. He should have taken an extra ten seconds to speak to the guard. Well, he hadn’t—

Because I’m not thinking, he realized. This was his grandmother, his only blood relation in the Commonwealth. She meant everything to him. Maddox gripped the flight controls with manic force. If they harmed his grandmother…if she was already dead…

A moment of intensity threatened his vision. He snarled, shook his head and forced himself to act logically and professionally as he always did—usually did.

The flitter sped a bare fifty meters over residential streets and buildings. That was against regulations, but Maddox couldn’t have cared less about that. He saw ocean blue as he flashed over the condominium complexes.

Luckily, he had excellent spatial awareness, turning in his mind what he normally saw from ground level into something he could use from the air. He couldn’t do it as well as Lieutenant Keith Maker might—

“Boats,” he spat, seeing the general line of them out to sea. He looked down and was sure he spied Meta, a tanned woman in a bikini waving at him and pointing out to sea. Yes. That was Meta. She—

Maddox followed the line of her pointing finger. Something—

“No killer whales,” Maddox whispered. “They’re gone.”

The realization went through him with a cold and then warm shock. Had the one orca eaten the Iron Lady, and had the three armed men shot the beast? That might have spooked the rest of the pod.

Maddox took the flitter lower, scanning the sea… Meta had pointed farther, as in something—

Maddox’s head snapped up as he scanned—there it was. He spied the motorized sailboat he’d seen earlier. Had Meta seen the men kidnap his grandmother?

The flitter sped across the sea, zooming in on the watercraft. It had a tall main mast, with the sail secure against it. A large outboard motor drove the vessel as it picked up speed. The bow cut through the sea, but it was beginning to rise and fall with the growing swells. He saw one of the muscular men, but there was no sign of Mary O’Hara.

At that point, his dash comm activated.

“Captain Maddox,” a deep rich voice said.

Maddox had to concentrate to understand. “Lord High Admiral?” he asked, stunned.

“Yes,” Cook said.

“Admiral,” Maddox said excitedly, perhaps the most excitedly that he’d ever spoken to the commanding officer of Star Watch. “Kidnappers have the Iron Lady—Mary O’Hara.”

“I’m quite aware of that, Captain.”

Maddox judged the approaching boat as he pressed a switch that caused the plastic canopy to open. He pulled out the toy pistol and gathered himself in his seat.

“Are you listening to me?” Cook asked.

Maddox heard the Lord High Admiral, but he couldn’t really say that he was listening to Cook. The captain was judging speeds, distances and possibilities.

“Captain,” Cook said. “I know all about your grandmother.”

The last barely penetrated the captain’s consciousness. He understood, but he was too involved and caught up in the moment.

“You’ve been pestering my office for weeks,” Cook said. “You’ve been asking why I don’t reinstate the Iron Lady—”

Maddox clicked off the dash comm as rage washed through his mind. Yes. He’d been agitating for his grandmother’s reinstatement as the head of Star Watch Intelligence. He had possibly gone too far in several of his conversations with the Lord High Admiral. If that meant Cook had arranged this little affair to give him an object lesson as to his grandmother’s diminishing abilities—

“No,” Maddox told himself. Someone attempted to trick him. Whoever had originally jammed his comm had activated Plan B, which was to sound like Admiral Cook and order him away.

“Not going to work,” Maddox said.

The flitter neared the fleeing boat. Maddox took his two-seater even lower so it kicked up droplets of seawater as it passed. He throttled back speed at the last moment and saw a second man appear from the lower quarters of the boat. The man carried a rifle as he’d seen earlier.

“An object lesson, my ass,” Maddox said, referring to the Cook-sounding individual.

The flitter reached the boat. Maddox sprang like a jungle cat. It was an athletically graceful move. He cleared the flitter, sailed over the boat’s railing and landed upon the deck. He had forward momentum, and there was no way he could contain it. So, Maddox didn’t bother to try. Instead, he redirected, catapulting against the man with the rifle, crashing against him and sending the man flying.

The man disappeared down steps, no doubt crashing into the galley. Maddox climbed to his feet, bruised but far from out. With the pistol in his hand, he dashed upon the cabin and raced at the man steering the boat.

The man was young, with red crew-cut hair and a scar across his upper nose. He wore an open yellow shirt and shorts that showed off six-pack abs and muscled limbs. The man’s brown eyes widened as he watched Maddox ascend.

The man spoke fast and smoothly: “Listen carefully if you want to see your grandmother alive—”

Maddox was beyond listening to threats and blandishments, reaching the man, jamming the pistol against the man’s mouth, breaking teeth to shove the stubby barrel as far as it would go as he grabbed the back of the man’s head.

“Where is she?” Maddox snarled.

The man’s shocked eyes showed pain, although he managed to shake his head.

Maddox fired so a single .32 caliber bullet ejected in a spray of blood and bone out of the back of the man’s head. The captain whirled around, letting the dead body collapse behind him.

Despite the sound of gunfire ringing in his ears, Maddox spied a rifle barrel poking up through the open area over the stairs. He leapt for the opening, firing again, down this time.

The second opponent ducked even as he fired the rifle. Ducking caused him to miss the captain. Before he could fire the rifle a second time, a plunging Maddox connected against his chest feet-first. They both careened down the stairs, thumping against the narrow walls and steep steps. Maddox kept the other under him, sledding the last part until they thudded to a halt on the narrow, carpeted aisle.

The man groaned in agony.

Maddox stared at him—rage erupting like a volcano—and shot the man in the face. As Maddox rose, a side panel slid open, and his grandmother stumbled into the narrow aisle, thudding against the opposite wall.

Obviously, someone had just shoved her.

“I’m aiming at her head,” a man shouted from the side room.

Maddox noted a long needle hanging point-first from his grandmother’s left arm. Some of the solution was still in the syringe. Something about that ignited the wolf in Maddox, turning the already raving beast into something even darker and more sinister.

“Do you hear me?” the unseen man shouted.

Maddox winked at his grandmother, hoping to calm her.

She seemed confused, with her pupils dilated. Her mouth opened as if she would speak, but it seemed as if she didn’t know what to say. Earlier this morning, when she’d started on the paddleboard, she’d been fully lucid.

“I’m not going to warn you again,” the unseen man shouted.

“What did you inject into her?” Maddox asked in a voice he hardly recognized.

“Hey, calm down, Captain. No one harmed her permanently. You and I, and your grandmother, we can all get out of this in one piece.”

Maddox crept forward, straining to see where exactly the bastard stood.

“Brigadier Stokes is running the operation,” the man said. “I answer to him.”

Stokes ran Star Watch Intelligence, had been ever since Mary stepped down. Stokes and Maddox hadn’t always gotten along, but not for a moment did Maddox believe that Brigadier Stokes had anything to do with this.

“Do you need to call the Brigadier?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Maddox said.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.

“I don’t have a communicator.”

“Captain, let’s be reasonable, I’m not going to let you trick me into giving you—”

Maddox took two swift steps, seeing the machine-pistol-wielding man pointing his weapon at Mary. Maddox proved considerably faster, firing his last bullet before the man touched his trigger.

He slumped to the floor, shot in the head but still getting off several rounds at the end. One slammed into Mary, who also slumped, her neck spurting with blood as she began to twitch and shake on the floor.

-3-

Maddox rode in the back of a medical air-van with his grandmother. Medics had strapped her to a gurney and supplied her with blood. She’d lost quite a bit while waiting in the sailboat. Maddox had stanched some of the bleeding, his first-aid job unable to stop the wound from soaking the bandages.

The captain knelt beside her, holding her right hand and stroking her sweaty forehead. He looked up at the nearest medic.

The woman nodded with encouragement.

“You’re going to be fine,” Maddox whispered to his grandmother. “The bullet only creased your skin.”

Mary’s eyes opened as she stared into his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. I felt it go into flesh and exit.”

“A scratch,” he said. “You’ll be back paddleboarding tomorrow.”

She smiled sadly. Her eyes had more awareness than earlier. The medics had checked the syringe. It had held traces of the concoction the last man had injected into her. The mix would have made Mary open to suggestions, unable to think for herself.

“A kidnapping drug,” Maddox had said.

A medic had injected a counteracting agent at Maddox’s request. He wanted to learn more about what had happened so he could begin tracking the unknown enemy.

His examination of the three corpses had revealed tattoos on each. Two of the tattoos had been cursive HMs. To Maddox that had meant Humanity Manifesto. Some of the Political Intelligence Division people during Lord High Admiral’s Fletcher’s reign had gotten such tattoos. Last mission against Lisa Meyers and her mobile null region, Maddox had dealt with former Star Watch people who’d belonged to HMD, the last letter standing for Doctrine.

Mary weakly squeezed the captain’s hand.

Maddox gave her his full attention.

“Can I go to sleep?” she asked. “I’m so tired.”

Maddox glanced at the medic he’d spoken to earlier. She nodded. “That will be fine, Mary,” Maddox said.

“Call me grandmother,” she said sleepily, closing her eyes.

“Sleep, Grandmother. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He looked up at the medic.

“We’re almost to the hospital,” she said.

Maddox nodded and extracted a communicator he’d picked up from the last dead man. He studied it, touching the pad, soon discovering it had been recently purchased, likely for the mission. It didn’t show any previous calls. He opened the phone, looking for tiny tabs or bugs. He debated calling the Lord High Admiral and decided against it. Instead, he called Meta, giving her directions to the hospital.

Someone had targeted his grandmother. They’d drugged her and used at least one controlled orca—why else had the killer whale had a receiving unit? They’d done it out in the open, too, with Meta and him watching.

And while Victory was on the other side of the planet.

Maddox put the communicator in the pocket of a loaned jacket and concentrated on his grandmother. Someone had targeted her, and someone was going to pay—with blood—for having done so.

***

Meta arrived in their rental car, bringing his clothes, ID, communicator and personal weapons.

He felt better with them. “Can you keep watch on Mary?” he asked in a hospital hall.

“Gladly,” Meta said, heading for an elevator. She was armed now, and she was more lethal than most space marines, having grown up on a 2-G planet and trained with Maddox in hand-to-hand combat.

Maddox watched until his wife entered the elevator and the door shut. Even after all these years of marriage, he delighted in the sway of her hips.

He grunted to himself and headed outside, soon walking under palm trees beside the luxurious grass. There was something special about Hawaiian grass, maybe because it received so much tropical rainfall.

He used his regular communicator, soon speaking to the Lord High Admiral halfway around the Earth in Geneva, Switzerland Sector, Headquarters for Star Watch.

“I heard,” Cook said in his deep voice. “Is she all right?”

Maddox gave Cook a rundown of the events.

“You just shot them?” Cook asked. “Blew out their brains?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, no, don’t give me the ‘sir’ routine now,” Cook said. “Why did you react so savagely?”

Maddox scoffed.

“Captain, I feel for your grandmother—”

“The Iron Lady,” Maddox said, interrupting.

“Listen to me, Captain,” Cook said. “If you plan to continue having access to me, you will start by speaking respectfully. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Sir.”

“Sir,” Maddox said, almost exhaling the word.

“I’ll have no more of your cheek. I’m in charge of Star Watch. Or do you dispute that?”

“No, sir,” Maddox said.

“Tell me more about the assailants.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Maddox said, “but I suspect you already know more about them than I do. I’m sure you or Stokes has sent operatives poring over the boat and their records.”

“That’s Brigadier Stokes to you,” Cook said.

“During my initial flight to the boat, my communications were jammed, and then a man came on the comm ordering me away.”

“They were jamming you?” Cook asked.

“Yes,” Maddox said. “The man on the comm had your voice and claimed to be you, ordering me to cease what I was doing.”

“You think I had a hand in this?” Cook asked.

“Perhaps an android double of you, sir,” Maddox said.

“Androids,” Cook said sharply. “Do you really think so?”

“I’m trying to keep an open mind, sir. I don’t want to prejudge but see what’s really there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tracking down the source of my grandmother’s assailants,” Maddox said.

“That’s out of the question. You’re going to let others handle this.”

Maddox said nothing.

“Did you hear me?”

“I did.”

Cook said nothing for a moment. “Are you quibbling with me?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Are you parsing words?”

“Not at all,” Maddox said. “I heard you.”

“I’m ordering you off the case.”

“Yes. I heard you, sir.”

“I shouldn’t have to ask this,” Cook said. “Are you planning to obey the order you heard?”

Maddox did not reply.

Cook sighed. “Captain, you are perhaps Star Watch’s most resourceful agent. I understand your concern and even love for your grandmother. But you’ve already shown too much emotion in the case in the way you eliminated the three enemy agents.”

“Sir—” Maddox said.

“Don’t bother quibbling with me. I’m not going to change my mind. Either I run Star Watch or I don’t. Am I making myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Maddox said.

“I’ve yet to hear that you’re going to obey my orders.”

Maddox stared off into the distance. “I request permission to hunt for the orca with the electronic device embedded in its blubber.”

“…I’ll grant you that if you give me your word as an officer that you will not attempt to follow the trail of the three you eliminated.”

“I give you my word that I won’t begin until I’m granted official permission.”

“I suppose that will do. I’m very sorry about your grandmother. We’re going to find the people behind this.”

Maddox nodded, unable to say thank you. He dearly wanted to track down those who’d initiated the mission. But he could sense he’d pushed Cook to the edge. It was time to back off, maneuver if he had to and strike at a more opportune moment.

-4-

At nearly the same moment, halfway around the Earth in Geneva, Switzerland, Lieutenant Valerie Noonan squirmed as she sat on a chair in the outer office of the Lord High Admiral.

Valerie had a good reason to be nervous. Cook had summoned her for the meeting, having scheduled it five days ago. The Lord High Admiral hadn’t given any indication what the meeting concerned. Naturally, she suspected the worst.

Valerie was a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with long brunette hair and an athletic frame. She’d been Maddox’s second-in-command on Victory since the beginning. In fact, she’d come planet-side from Victory yesterday afternoon. Before she’d left, she and Lieutenant Keith Maker had been arguing…again.

Maybe we’re not destined to be together.

Not that Valerie was a strong believer in destiny—certainly not like Captain Maddox with the belief that he was the mythical di-far of Spacer legend.

Valerie shook her head.

She was wearing her dress uniform and perfume and tried to force herself to smile. She couldn’t as she switched from worrying about her relationship with Keith to asking herself why in the hell Cook wanted to interview her in his office.

The aide at the desk looked up. He was an older man with thinning hair, although his thick wrists showed he might be tougher than one would think at first glance. “The Lord High Admiral is ready to see you, Lieutenant.”

Valerie swallowed, the fear sticking in her throat. “Thank you,” she managed to say, standing, rubbing her dry eyes and heading for the door.

“It won’t be as bad as all that,” the secretary said.

Valerie nodded, wanting to give him a smile but simply unable to achieve it. She was sure her inability had everything to do with her slum upbringing in Greater Detroit. She’d fought like a tigress to reach officer rank in Star Watch. But she still asked herself sometimes if she really belonged with the others.

The door opened as she reached for the handle, and the meaning of it failed to reach her mind in time. She looked up suddenly at Lord High Admiral Cook, and tripped because of it, lurching forward.

Cook was old, but he was like an ancient fortress that always towered over events. He had thick white hair, a leathery face like the perfect grandfather and big hands.

Valerie crashed into him.

Cook didn’t stumble back, but grabbed her arms, straightening her as he smiled down at her. “Hello, Lieutenant.”

“L-L-Lord H-High Admiral,” Valerie stammered. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed, released her and stepped aside with a courtly gesture. “Don’t worry about it. Please, enter.”

She brushed past him as he stood at the entrance, and she happened to look up at him a second time—and she saw something in his eyes, something she’d seen in other men’s eyes.

Valerie swallowed audibly, heading for a chair with armrests, one of several before the mammoth desk.

Cook shut the door and headed for his desk chair.

As Valerie sat, she silently rehearsed a pep talk, remembering how the Lord High Admiral had just looked at her. Could the “Old Man” have a thing for her?

The idea brought the faintest of smiles to her face.

“Lieutenant Valerie Noonan,” Cook said, as he settled into his squeaky chair. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” she said, smoothing her hair.

Cook picked up a reader, frowned at something on the screen, and clicked the pager. “I just finished speaking with Captain Maddox. I won’t hold that against you, though.”

“Oh?” Valerie said, before she could stop herself.

Cook waved that aside with one of his beefy hands. “We’re not here to talk about him…although I do have a question concerning Victory.”

Valerie waited.

Cook hesitated, touched the reader with a fingertip and regarded her more closely. “Does Captain Maddox seem…changed to you?”

Valerie sat straighter as she blushed. She knew because she could feel the heat in her cheeks. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“No,” Cook said, who watched her. “I shouldn’t have asked that. Some could construe it as gossip about a fellow officer. Please—”

“Oh, no, sir,” Valerie said. Watch what you say. Don’t do anything you’ll regret or against regulations. “Uh…”

Cook’s interest had risen visibly as she’d spoken. Now, perhaps seeing she was going to stick to her original position, he waved his hand again. “This isn’t about Maddox—not directly, in any case.”

Valerie waited quietly, wondering what the meeting could be about.

“Let me start again.” Cook picked up a small box, like one that might have held a wristwatch. He leaned and reached across the desk, handing it to her.

Valerie accepted. Was the Lord High Admiral giving her a gift?

“Open it,” he said, as he sat back.

Valerie did so, staring at two pins, one for each shoulder. “Uh…”

“Congratulations,” Cook said in a ringing voice. “You are hereby promoted to Lieutenant Commander in Star Watch.” He smiled uncharacteristically, and she again wondered if he was attracted to her as many men were. “We’ll have a ceremony later…and don’t forget your promotion party at the Officers’ Club. You’re buying.”

She stared at him in shock.

Cook smiled wider. “I was reading over your service record the other day and found it unconscionable that you hadn’t been promoted yet. Now, I’ve rectified that.”

An answering smile finally stretched across her face as understanding struck. “Thank you, sir.” Valerie stared at the shoulder pins in wonder. This was marvelous. She looked up, smiling more than ever.

There was a mischievous gleam in Cook’s eyes. He opened his mouth…but must have thought better of it. He closed his mouth without saying anything.

Valerie shut the box, slipping it into a jacket pocket. She was a lieutenant commander. She was no longer just a Lieutenant. That meant she outranked Keith. She wanted to clap her hands and laugh. Her father would have been so proud of her. Thinking about her dear long-departed father caused the smile to drain away. She missed him terribly.

“Is everything all right, Lieutenant…Commander?”

Some of her smile returned. “I was just thinking about my father.”

“Ah.”

“He’s gone now.”

“He would be very proud of you, I know.”

“Thank you, sir. You’re most kind.”

Cook leaned his considerable bulk against his chair, which creaked and groaned in complaint. “Valerie—may I call you Valerie?”

“Of course, sir.”

Cook nodded absently. “I was studying your record the other day, as I said. Do you know why?”

Here it comes. He’s going to ask me out on a date. Can I accept? Should I accept? Keith and I aren’t officially dating. He told me so before I left. Besides, wouldn’t it be improper? I’m under his command.

“Valerie?” He stage-coughed to get her attention. “Lieutenant Commander?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” Valerie said, realizing she’d zoned out. She blushed again.

Cook grinned. “I checked your record because I was remembering when Star Watch first faced the New Men.”

“Oh…?”

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, no, nothing,” she said, feeling stupid because she’d thought the Lord High Admiral of Star Watch had wanted to date her. He was old enough to be her great-grandfather. But a vigorous older man...

Quit acting like a schoolgirl. It’s only because Keith and I are having problems that I’m even thinking this way.

Cook glanced at her oddly before he said, “One of the things I remembered about that time was that you were the first to meet and survive a military encounter with the New Men. That gained you a berth on Maddox’s exploratory team as it went out in search of a legend.”

“I remember it well, sir.”

Cook nodded. “Since then, you’ve been the second-in-command aboard Victory. You’ve given exemplary service, helping Star Watch through many harrowing times.”

“You’re making me blush, sir.”

“I’m stating facts, Lieutenant Commander. One of the facts I noticed was that you were in command of a vessel, and that was the reason it survived the New Men.”

“I’ve commanded at times on Victory.”

“Yes. That was another thing I noticed, including your captain’s glowing reports about you.”

“Captain Maddox, sir?”

“Surprised, aren’t you? He can be a royal pain in the ass, but I’m sure you already know that.”

Valerie kept her mouth shut, although she silently agreed in spades.

“It speaks well of you that you can keep your own counsel,” Cook said. “What someone does for you, they will often do against you.”

“I’ve heard the saying before.”

Cook sat straighter. “Clearly, I’m considering giving you an independent command, your own ship. First, however, I want to know if that interests you?”

Valerie only had to think a half-beat before she said, “It does, sir.”

Cook steepled his thick fingers and tapped his mouth as he studied her. “I notice hesitation before you answered.”

“Yes, sir,”

“You admit to hesitation?”

“I do.”

“Hmm… I’d like to know why.”

Valerie cleared her throat as she composed her thoughts. “I’m integrated aboard Victory. The voyages we’ve taken were among the most important in human history. Being Captain Maddox’s second-in-command has been uniquely rewarding.”

“That’s certainly true,” Cook said. “It’s also true that Star Watch constantly needs talented and proven ship’s captains, no matter the size of the vessel—more now than ever. You’re certainly aware that HMD has taken a swath from Star Watch. That’s so among the enlisted but even more among the officers. For whatever reason, HMD appeals to the more intelligent, to the thinking enlisted and officer.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“We don’t try to parade the fact,” Cook said. “The truth is that we’re getting thin among field grade officers. That doesn’t mean we’re scraping you as the bottom of the barrel. But you’re clearly talented, tempered through many amazing adventures and over-qualified for the post I’m offering.”

“Which is…?”

“A Patrol frigate,” Cook said. “We’re in desperate need of more Patrol officers who can think on their feet.”

“Kris Guderian—”

“Lieutenant Commander, are you trying to teach me my business?”

“No, sir,” Valerie said, aghast.

Cook laughed heartily.

It took Valerie a moment to realize that he’d been teasing her. Is that flirting?

Cook sobered, and he nodded; more to himself, it seemed. “Let me offer you an alternative: a posting on Victory, but as an independent Patrol officer with your own scout vessel.”

“Sir?”

“It would be a darter, much like the Reynard you captained while hunting for Lord Drakos, when Professor Ludendorff joined you.”

“I remember that.”

“This would be official,” Cook said. “You would be the scout’s commanding officer, your captaincy an independent command from Victory’s official structure.”

“Would Captain Maddox agree to that?” Valerie asked.

Cook’s sudden frown was replaced with a grin. He leaned forward, putting both hands on the desk. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked in a soft voice.

Is he going to tell me he finds me attractive? Valerie wondered, as she nodded.

“I’m in charge of Star Watch, not Captain Maddox.”

Valerie blinked, blinked, and then she felt heat rush into her cheeks. “Yes, sir, I understand, sir. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No worries,” Cook said, as he resumed a normal posture. “Does such a posting interest you?”

Valerie didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes, sir, I’d be delighted to have such a post.”

“Good. It’s settled then. I’ll let the captain know at the proper time. Until then, I would appreciate it if you kept this under your hat.”

“I will, sir.”

“Excellent,” Cook said, pausing, studying her, blinking and then rising.

Valerie stood, too.

Admiral Cook cleared his throat, and it seemed as if he changed his mind about what he was going to say at the last second. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. That will be all.”

Valerie headed for the exit, wondering what Cook had wanted to say. She felt as if she knew…and decided that she was glad he hadn’t asked her out.

I’m a Lieutenant Commander, and I’m going to command a scout ship out of Victory. She beamed with delight—before she started to worry how that would work when they were deep in the Beyond, and if it would entail clashes with Captain Maddox.

-5-

A day later and halfway around the Earth, Captain Maddox cruised 164 kilometers southwest of Maui in a four-man submersible. It was presently on the surface, riding long low swells as Maddox stood in the conn with a pair of sensor-binoculars, studying the sea.

They’d already searched a wide swath around Maui, having checked out three other pods of killer whales. None of them had possessed an orca with a receiving unit.

To help in the search, Starship Victory was in orbit high above the Hawaiian Islands. Galyan had come down, the little Adok holoimage personally seeking out each pod ahead of Maddox. Each time, Galyan had informed the captain that none of the pods had the targeted creature. Each time, Maddox had insisted on looking for himself, using the submersible to cruise among the so-called “wolves of the sea.”

Meta piloted the submersible.

Andros Crank ran the sensor station. He was a pudgy Kai-Kaus Chief Technician that Maddox had rescued years ago from a Builder Dyson Sphere a thousand light-years from Earth. The captain had rescued ten thousand Kai-Kaus back then.

Professor Ludendorff had wanted to join the team, but Maddox nixed the idea. The captain felt far too tense to deal with Ludendorff right now.

Someone wanted his grandmother, damnit. People had been trying to kidnap her for years already. Maddox intended to put a permanent stop to that—no matter what he’d told the Lord High Admiral.

Maddox stood at the conn, wearing a wetsuit against the salt spray, scanning the ocean. Clouds roiled overhead, adding to the glum atmosphere of the increasingly growing swells.

Earlier, Maddox had pored over the reports concerning what Brigadier Stokes’ people had discovered about the sailboat and the three former Political Intelligence agents.

The sailboat had been just that. There hadn’t been any special equipment aboard, certainly nothing to guide trained orcas. Ex-Lieutenant Hans Steiner had rented the boat in Hawaii, paying cash in advance. Steiner had been one of the two with an HMD tattoo. He’d been posted to Earth during Fletcher’s reign over Star Watch, having been in the Geneva HQ Political Intelligence Division. So far, Stokes’ people hadn’t been able to find out what Steiner had been doing since then. The man had disappeared during the counterattack against the Luna Liss cybers, only reappearing yesterday in Maui.

The other two had served under Steiner back in the day. After the Lord High Admiral Fletcher’s death, they’d remained in the Solar System, working with an organized crime syndicate as “collectors.” Stokes’ people could account for the other two until eighteen days ago. Presumably, that was when Steiner had contacted them. Steiner had been the last one Maddox had shot on the boat.

Maybe killing the man had been a mistake.

Maddox gripped the sensor-binoculars tighter. He couldn’t worry about that now. He had to think, to reason this out. Yes. People had tried to kidnap the Iron Lady before. Lisa Meyers’s Merovingians had made a stab for her during the last days of the Luna Liss cybers. His grandmother had heard voices then, too. That had been in Antarctica.

This has to stop.

But how could he enforce such a thing…?

Star Watch had ancient Builder equipment that could go into her head and fix everything. The trouble was that no one knew how to use the mind-altering equipment well enough to suit the Lord High Admiral’s requirements.

As Maddox considered the problem, his thoughts strayed to the Library Planet Ludendorff had mentioned last mission, the one fifteen hundred light-years away. Might they find the knowledge there that would allow them to use all their Builder items here?

Maddox straightened as he peered through the sensor-binoculars. He spied—he muttered under his breath.

Seconds later, Galyan the holoimage drifted from the sea to the conn. Maddox had seen Galyan. He was the image of an Adok, an alien with a small tubular body and ropy arms.

“I just inspected the pod, sir,” Galyan said in his reedy voice. “None of the killer whales in it has a receiving unit.”

“Where are they exactly?” Maddox asked.

“Must we go through this again, sir? You checked my findings each time, and they were always one hundred percent accurate.”

“If you could just point in their general direction.…”

In a resigned manner, Galyan did.

Maddox noted the direction, picked up a microphone and gave Meta the information. In moments, the submersible began heading that way.

“I have a question for you, sir,” Galyan said.

“Go ahead, if you must,” Maddox muttered.

“Why are they called killer whales? The orca does not belong to the whale family, but the porpoise family.”

“If you’re asking the question, I’d assume you would have already found the answer. Why bother asking me, then?”

“Is that a rhetorical question, sir?”

“Why not,” Maddox said.

Galyan waited in seeming anticipation.

“Is something wrong?” Maddox asked.

“In fact, sir, I just tricked you. I am practicing the art of deception in order to add it to my expanding range of options.”

Maddox lowered the binoculars to stare at the holoimage.

“Orcas belong to the Toothed Whales or Odontoceti,” Galyan said. “That includes dolphins, porpoises and all other whales possessing teeth, such as the beaked whale and sperm whale.”

“How wonderful,” Maddox said.

“Furthermore, the orca belongs to the Oceanic dolphins or Delphinidae—”

“That’s enough,” Maddox said, as he raised the sensor-binoculars.

“Yes, sir. Did I just explain myself in too detailed a fashion?”

Maddox did not respond.

“I can check on your grandmother, if you like.”

“That’s all right,” Maddox said.

On Cook’s orders, Mary had been moved from the civilian hospital to the nearest military facility on Hawaii, or the “Main Island,” as many called it.

Maddox eyed Galyan, raised his eyebrows and said, “What’s really bothering me is that we haven’t found anything useful. Not even having the boat and bodies helped. An enemy that can cover his tracks that well indicates a thorough and highly dangerous enemy.”

“Probabilities suggest there are three likely perpetrators,” Galyan said. “Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers, the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan or the New Men.”

Maddox spied something in the distance and raised the binoculars to look. At the same time, his earpiece pinged.

“Sir,” Andros said through the earpiece. “I’ve spotted the pod. It looks as if they’re diving.”

“The orcas are submerging,” Maddox told Galyan.

“The submarine must frighten them.”

“Or you missed something,” Maddox said.

“I doubt that, sir.”

“We’ll see. Come into the sub with me.”

“Is that an order?” Galyan asked.

“Yes,” Maddox said, as he lowered the binoculars.

“My holoimage cannot project far beneath the waves, sir.”

“No excuses, Galyan.” With that, Maddox began to climb down the hatch so they could submerge and follow the orcas.

-6-

The submersible chased the orcas, diving a hundred meters deep. The increasing water pressure caused the hull to creak and moan around them.

“Should I go outside, sir, and take a look for you?” Galyan asked. “My visibility will be minimal at this depth, but I am finding their behavior odd and recommend that I check on them.”

Maddox sat at the weapons board. He didn’t have any plans for firing torpedoes at the orcas, but it was this seat or near the head. He’d chosen this one.

“What was that?” the captain asked.

“Sir,” Galyan said, as his holoimage flickered. “I am reaching my operational limit under water.”

“Go upstairs then,” Maddox said. “We can take care of it from here.”

Galyan vanished.

Andros turned from his sensor board. “It might have been a good idea for Galyan to check.”

Maddox frowned. He didn’t like anyone second-guessing his orders.

Andros might have sensed that and turned back to his board.

“Are you okay?” Meta asked quietly.

“What?” Maddox said. “Oh. I’m fine.”

She gave him a searching look. “What’s troubling you?”

He almost ignored the question, but said, “I don’t know. It’s odd.” He quit talking, as he realized that he did feel odd. It was… A spot heated up inside his head. He winced, touched his forehead—with a lurch, the captain dove out of the chair and struck the deck with his chest and hands. Immediately, the heat in his head ceased.

Both Meta and Andros stared at him in surprise.

Maddox sat up, looking around wildly. He saw a flicker, and it moved toward him. “Ghost image!” he shouted.

“Galyan!” Andros shouted. “Galyan, report back at once.”

Meta gave Andros a weird look.

Maddox rolled and jerked his head out of the way.

Meta’s eyebrows rose. Maybe she finally understood. She immediately changed their direction of travel, heading up instead of down.

Andros clicked a switch on a panel, speaking toward it. “Victory, come in Victory. A ghost image is attacking the captain. Galyan, we urgently need your assistance.”

Maddox rolled again. He wasn’t going to give the ghost image time to do to him as Galyan had done to others in the past.

A fuzzy Galyan reappeared. His Adok eyes flickered, and he disappeared and reappeared elsewhere in the sub. He sizzled— “Done,” Galyan said. “I broke its link.”

“Can you trace it?” Maddox asked as he climbed to his feet.

“I could have if I had not burned out the enemy holoimage.”

“Did it use the same ghost-imaging technology as you use on Victory?” Maddox asked.

“Unknown at the moment,” Galyan said. “It would appear the enemy targeted you, perhaps trying to burn out your mind.”

The three humans glanced at each other.

“Your grandmother,” Meta said. “Will they try this against her?”

“Galyan, go check on her,” Maddox said.

The holoimage vanished.

Andros’s panel began to ping. He turned to it, studying the readings and shouted, “Sir, the orcas are heading for us. They’re moving fast.”

Maddox stepped behind Andros, putting his hands on the man’s thick back. The captain peered at the sensor panel: nine dots headed toward the submersible.

“Take us up faster,” Maddox told his wife.

Meta complied as the submersible picked up speed.

“Are the whales trying to ram the sub?” Andros asked.

“Galyan!” Maddox shouted. “Galyan, come back.”

The Adok holoimage did not reappear.

Maddox bared his teeth as he studied the sensor panel. The killer whales converged upon the sub, picking up speed. He needed Galyan to reexamine the orcas. But if the holoimage couldn’t do so…should he allow the nine huge “wolves of the sea” to smash against their submersible, possibly causing a hull rupture and sinking them?

Almost without conscious thought, Maddox found himself at the weapons board. He manipulated the panel, and the submersible shuddered as it launched a torpedo.

“Are they still coming?” Maddox asked.

“Faster than before,” Andros said, staring at his board.

Maddox flipped a switch, going to manual control of the torpedo he’d just launched. He hated killing such creatures, but he wasn’t going to let them eliminate his wife and crew, and possibly aid the enemy in murdering or capturing his grandmother later.

Maddox pressed another switch. It must have been his imagination, but he heard a crump. He stood and went to Andros.

The Kai-Kaus Chief Technician looked up. “They’re not moving anymore.”

“You killed them?” Meta asked from the helm.

“Or stunned them, maybe,” Maddox said. “They’re susceptible to loud sounds, because they use natural sonar. Still, it was them or us, and I definitely prefer it be them.”

“Agreed…” Meta said a moment later. She frowned. “Did someone steer the orcas at us?”

“I have no other explanation for what just happened,” Maddox said. “Galyan,” he called.

The little holoimage finally appeared. “I am sorry, sir. There was a complication with your grandmother.”

“An attack against her?”

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said. “It was the same sort as against you with the enemy ghost image. As soon as the enemy perceived my presence, it fled. I was thus unable to trace its origin point.”

Maddox slapped a thigh before he turned in a slow circle. He had a secret enemy, and he or she was attacking his grandmother.

Meta stood with a warm hand on one of his forearms. She rubbed his arm and then gripped it tight.

Maddox stared at his wife.

“You must act like the best Captain Maddox,” Meta whispered. “You can’t solve this through anger or rage. You must use your usual methods—your logic and Intelligence training. And your determination.”

A knot formed in the captain’s chest, hardening into resolve. They wanted to kill or capture his grandmother. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He was going to make them pay… Maddox stood utterly still, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, there was something different: cold, fierce resolve. He nodded slightly, and some of the maniacal feeling drained away. In its place was the implacable will that normally drove him.

He turned to Meta and kissed her. Then he patted her on the ass. “Take us up, love. It’s time to get serious.”

-7-

Maddox did some hard thinking as the submersible shot for the surface. Whoever had attacked him and his grandmother knew far too much about Star Watch and had access to state-of-the-art Victory technology. He suspected Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers, but that seemed hard to believe. She’d barely escaped with her life aboard an ex-Star Watch heavy cruiser, having fled from the mobile null region before a near-speed-of-light asteroid had taken out the critical control planet. That had happened several months ago. Could Meyers have turned it around this fast to resume her offensive against Star Watch?

Maddox deemed that unlikely, but perhaps a Lisa Meyers confederate had been making these attacks.

Galyan suggested other possibilities: the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan or the New Men. The SHL had an empire in the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm. Could they have infiltrated agents into the Commonwealth already?

It was possible, of course, but Maddox didn’t think so. As far as he knew, the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan didn’t even know the location of the Commonwealth. His short contact with them for a few days—

Maddox shook his head. Until he had more reason, he would not suspect the distant aliens.

That left the New Men. Would they be ready to start a conflict with Star Watch?

Maddox doubted it. Relations with the Throne World New Men had been going well lately. Golden Ural had brought out a Throne World fleet, helping Star Watch defeat the combined forces of Lord Drakos and Commander Thrax Ti Ix in a climatic space battle. Could this be another like Drakos, a rogue New Man acting on his own? Maddox hadn’t heard anything about a new faction arising among the New Men. It was possible, but unlikely.

Hmm…

Galyan had suggested the three most likely candidates, logically reasoning it out with his AI abilities.

The submersible popped to the surface, each occupant swaying in his or her seat.

“We’re here,” Meta declared needlessly.

Maddox was already out of his seat, climbing the short ladder, opening the upper hatch. Water and spray sluiced down. He climbed up, greeted by another dose of salt water. The sky was dark, the waves and swells bigger than before.

Maddox pulled out his communicator as he looked up at the clouds. “Victory, come in, Victory.”

“This is Lieutenant Maker speaking.”

“Put Valerie on.”

“Oh, it’s you, sir. Valerie isn’t here.”

“Where is she?”

“Ah…Geneva,” Keith said.

Maddox blinked in surprise before ignoring the information. For at that moment, he made his decision. It was obvious now that he considered it logically and dispassionately. He would have asked Keith to summon Ludendorff, but this wasn’t the right medium for the professor and him to discuss the solution to the problem. Maddox didn’t want anyone hacking the transmission.

“Is everything going smoothly up there?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Maddox out.” The captain checked a number on the communicator, making a new call. It was time to start his plan, but without alerting the hidden enemy.

***

A little over two hours later, a combat air-car landed at the military hospital on Hawaii. Maddox jumped out, telling Meta and Andros to start the timer.

He’d summoned the air-car out to the ocean-traveling submersible, trading places with the people in the car who’d hovered in place over the mini-sub. Maddox had been in a hurry, certain that doing it this way would be safer for his grandmother.

The captain now walked briskly to the military hospital complex, surrendering his sidearm to a gate guard and hurrying to the main building. He passed through several checkpoints before he reached a heavily guarded ward, with armed marines standing in the corridors.

A doctor greeted Maddox, a small Asian woman with the darkest of eyes. After listening to him, the doctor took Maddox to see his grandmother.

Mary was already sitting up in bed, watching a vid-show while eating a dish of chocolate ice cream. She looked tired, with circles around her eyes, but she smiled upon seeing him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mary asked.

“Just checking up on you,” Maddox said, crossing the room to take hold of her hands.

Mary had set the dish of ice cream on a tray.

The doctor seemed to approve and turned to go.

“Oh,” Maddox said. “Is it possible for us to take a walk together?”

“Where do you want to go?” the doctor asked suspiciously, which showed she must have spoken with someone in touch with the Lord High Admiral.

“Uh…is through these upper halls acceptable?” asked Maddox.

The doctor eyed him more closely, finally asking, “Do you mind if I have a marine escort you?”

“Not at all,” Maddox said.

“Fine,” the doctor said, heading out. “I’ll send the marine.”

Maddox turned back to his grandmother, noticing that she watched him carefully.

“What are you planning now?” Mary asked.

“Can’t I spend some time with my grandmother without everyone becoming suspicious?”

Mary thought about that. “You’re planning to break me out of here, aren’t you?”

“Grandmother,” Maddox said, “please.”

“I’m glad,” Mary said in a low voice. “I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of hearing voices in my head, and I’m really sick of being a cat’s-paw all the time. I want my old job back so I can start being useful again.”

“Are you up to walking around?”

Mary whipped the covers back, slid out of bed in her hospital gown and went to a closet. “Turn your head. I’m going to change into normal clothes.”

The door opened then, and a short, heavyset, marine walked in. His high cheekbones and wide face suggested an Apache background. He also had a thick neck, stubby fingers and a holstered sidearm.

“I’m Corporal Calian,” he said. “We’re taking a stroll in the halls?”

Maddox nodded. “First, we have to turn around so my grandmother can change.”

Calian eyed Mary and Maddox, shrugged and turned around.

Maddox debated knocking him out here, but decided it was too soon. Corporal Calian looked tough, but Maddox didn’t doubt he could take the marine down fast when the moment came.

Soon, the three of them exited the hospital room and began strolling down a hallway. Maddox and Mary spoke quietly as he guided them down the correct path.

“Wait a minute,” Calian said, as they reached a junction. “We’re not going down that hall.”

“What hall?” asked Maddox, turning around.

Calian pointed with a blunt index finger at the proscribed corridor.

“Why not that hall?” Maddox asked innocently.

“Windows,” Calian said. “It’s not happening. Those are my orders.”

At that moment, a siren began to blare.

Calian looked at Maddox—who just stood there—and began to open the flap of his holster.

Maddox struck, lashing out with his left foot. He disliked knocking the marine out, but he didn’t see a way around it. A quick hard blow to the jaw should do the trick, except—

Calian released the holster flap and moved with lightning speed. With both hands, he caught Maddox’s lashing foot and twisted savagely.

That caught the captain by surprise and might have torqued his foot badly, but Maddox leaped up with his other foot and did a crazy spin in midair. He used the other foot to strike Calian against the side of the head. Instead of falling, the Apache marine released Maddox’s foot as he stumbled back. The captain tried to catch himself, but thudded onto the floor, landing on his back.

Calian didn’t bother pulling out his gun. He stepped toward Maddox and kicked him hard in the side with an iron-toed boot. That might have broken some ribs, but Maddox’s were resilient like a New Man’s. The kick did make Maddox grunt with pain.

Mary shouted from behind the marine, karate chopping Calian in the neck.

The stocky marine backhanded her, sending Mary flying against a wall. She grunted, slid down to her butt and shook her head, dazed. Blood trickled from her nose.

Maddox was up on his feet, and he was pissed. Calian went for his gun—but it was too late. Maddox launched an assault, raining blows. Calian blocked them, his phenomenal hand-speed matching the captain’s.

“You’re a Merovingian,” Maddox said with sudden realization. The fake Marine wasn’t here to protect Mary, but to—

Calian snarled, his eyes gleaming with murder-lust.

The siren blared louder than ever. Boots drummed in hallways as marines shouted to one another.

Maddox’s face was bleeding, and his knuckles hurt. Corporal Calian was good, although not as good as Dag the Champion had been. It was time to end this if he could. Maddox feinted with a knee to the groin. Calian blocked with a thigh. Maddox tried a throat punch and took a solid shot to the gut for his efforts. Maddox expelled air—

Two shots rang out.

Maddox backpedaled, watching Calian turn toward Mary. The Merovingian stared at her in an accusing way. Blood began to seep from gaping exit wounds in his chest.

“You—” Calian told Mary. Then, he thudded onto the floor as blood trickled from his mouth.

Mary held Calian’s gun with two hands. She’d scooped up the weapon when it had fallen out of his opened holster as Maddox and he had fought. Her hands did not tremble. She’d been an Intelligence field agent before heading the organization. She did lower the smoking weapon to her lap.

“I couldn’t watch him pulverize you,” she said. “Besides, aren’t we leaving?”

“Yes,” Maddox said, striding to her, taking the gun and then her hand, lifting his grandmother to her feet.

-8-

They used a classic escape method, with Maddox leading the way down preselected corridors. The blazing gun caused two marines to duck back. Another volley punched through walls, hitting someone on the other side. Maddox hoped their body armor absorbed the shots.

Soon, they reached a window. The combat air-car hovered outside. Maddox opened the window, grabbed his grandmother and pitched her to a waiting Meta at the air-car’s open hatch. Meta caught the Iron Lady and threw her farther within. Maddox leaped the distance, stumbling against Meta. The hatch shut, and the air-car shot up toward the heavens.

By this time, the Hawaiian Sector Defense Net was on high alert. Other air-cars were converging on the rocketing escape vehicle.

After making sure Mary was secured in a seat, Maddox called Victory. He requested Keith to pick them up in a tin can.

“I’m sorry, Mate, I mean, sir,” Keith said over the comm. “The Lord High Admiral called two minutes before you did. He’s ordered us to ignore your commands. I think you’ve used this option one too many times, sir.”

“I’m not interested in what you—” Maddox caught himself. He wasn’t going to win by being testy. He had to revert to his oldest ways: icy self-control with complete self-assurance and always moving to the next plan.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Carry on.”

“Sir,” Andros said in the air-car. “The Lord High Admiral is calling.”

“Patch it through to my communicator,” Maddox said.

Andros manipulated his panel.

“Admiral Cook, sir,” Maddox said. “It’s good of you to call.”

“Captain, you’ve broken your word—”

“Sir,” Maddox said, interrupting. “I’ve kept my word. I’ve not attempted to follow Hans Steiner’s trail.”

“Your word implied that you would follow normal procedures.”

“I don’t mean to quibble, sir, but I believe we’re in the middle of an emergency. We’re up against someone as good as we are, maybe better.”

“One of Lisa Meyers’s teams?” asked Cook.

“I give that a ninety-eight percent probability, as Mary O’Hara just shot one of Meyer’s Merovingian operatives in the hospital. He was trying to kill me, or her—or both of us.”

Cook sighed heavily. “Stokes knew about Corporal Calian. He’s the one O’Hara shot, isn’t he?”

“You left a Merovingian in the hospital near my grandmother?”

“No one left him anywhere,” Cook said. “We had people watching Calian, waiting to see where he would lead us. We also had people watching you. Frankly, I’ve been expecting a stunt like this. You simply can’t do it by the book, can you?”

For once, Maddox was speechless.

“Now, you listen here, young man,” Cook said. “This is how we’re going to do it. You’re going to surrender to my people. We can’t have you doing things like this and succeeding all the time.”

Maddox stared at the communicator. He’d never heard Cook say “young man” before. It was off. It was odd. And it meant… Maddox’s eyes narrowed. So that was the game, was it?

“Yes, Admiral,” Maddox said. “Should we land, then?”

“No,” Cook said. “We’ll do a nifty airborne pickup.”

“Right,” Maddox said. “Let me tell my people what to expect and warn Victory not to interfere.”

There was a pause before Cook said, “Yes, by all means, tell them.”

Maddox clicked off the communicator.

Meta was flying again and looked back at him. “Cook’s people are gaining on us. Should I slow down?”

“What?” Maddox asked. “No! They’re not Star Watch personnel.”

“But the Lord High Admiral just told you—”

“That was another impersonation,” Maddox said, interrupting. “I suspect the false Cook spoke to Keith, too”

“But… You just agreed…”

“I’m tempted to let them catch up,” Maddox said. “I wonder if they’re more of Meyers’s Merovingians.”

“They can’t be Merovingians.”

“Corporal Calian was,” Maddox said. “That doesn’t mean they’re Meyers’s troops, though. They could be used by independents working for themselves, someone who’s picked up stray Merovingians and added them to their team or Meyers’s people.”

“Our communications are being jammed,” Andros said.

“Galyan,” Maddox called. “Galyan—”

“Here, sir,” the little holoimage said, standing near the captain. “Keith just discovered that someone is jamming your air-car. He told me to inform you, but I see you already know.”

Maddox rubbed his chin. “Galyan, I want you to target each following air-car. Use the neutron beam to eliminate them. Then, watchdog our air-car until a Victory shuttle meets us in the stratosphere.”

“Keith will not comply with those orders, sir. The Lord High Admiral—”

“That wasn’t him,” Maddox said, interrupting. “It was an imposter Admiral Cook.”

“How do you know that, sir?”

“Tell Keith to act on my authority. If he doesn’t, Meta, Mary O’Hara and Andros Crank will die in the next few minutes. I doubt Keith wants that on his conscience.”

“I would not want it on mine, sir,” Galyan said, who vanished an instant later.

“How do you know?” Meta asked.

“Sheer guesswork,” Maddox said. “That means I don’t know. I could be wrong, but for our sakes, it doesn’t matter. Cook would never call me ‘young man.’ The imposter admiral did so, giving himself away.”

Meta eyed Maddox before studying her flight panel. “They’re catching up.”

“Three of the enemy air-cars have target lock on us,” Andros said.

Maddox smiled at his grandmother, who sat across the small cabin from him.

At that point, a purple beam flashed before the air-car’s front window. It flashed three more times in quick succession.

“I hope you’re right about your guesses,” Mary said. “Otherwise, you will have their deaths on your conscience.”

Maddox didn’t like hearing that.

“No more air-cars are trailing us,” Andros said.

“Watch for further radar-lock from defense facilities,” Maddox said.

Andros paled, but he started checking his sensors in earnest.

In the end, the Chief Technician needn’t have worried. The enemy—if the enemy had been trailing them—appeared to make no further attempts against the air-car.

Soon enough, the air-car reached its altitude limit in the stratosphere. A Victory shuttle was up there, and Maddox, Meta, Mary and Andros made the exchange. The shuttle continued climbing as the air-car descended to Earth. A short time later, the shuttle landed in a Victory hangar bay.

The surprise was the Lord High Admiral. He was up there in the hangar bay, waiting with space marines, who arrested Maddox as he exited the shuttle. The marines marched Maddox to a darter, the main hatch shutting behind him as the marines escorted him to a tiny interrogation chamber.

-9-

Maddox sat in the room’s sole chair, the marines leaving the chamber as the hatch shut and locked behind them. The captain looked up at the ceiling. The room was tiny and soon began to feel cramped.

Time passed slowly. Maddox began to wonder what the Lord High Admiral was up to, why the old man of Star Watch hadn’t seemed upset when he’d told the marines to take him to the darter.

More time passed.

Maddox closed his eyes, deciding that the admiral was secretly watching his reactions. Maybe this was some sort of test. Maddox hated small, enclosed spaces. He often found it difficult to sit still for extended periods. He shared that trait with most New Men.

Finally, a lock snicked and the hatch opened. The Lord High Admiral peered into the chamber.

“You can come out now,” Cook said.

Maddox stood slowly, his mind awhirl. He entered a tight corridor, following Cook into the darter’s control chamber.

Cook sat at the sensor seat. Maddox remained standing. “Sit down,” the admiral said. “You seem too much like a hunting larl standing there. I can’t concentrate if I think you’re going to pounce.”

Maddox sat at the flight control, forcing himself to stretch his legs.

“That’s better,” Cook said.

Maddox remained silent, waiting.

Cook laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t like the shoe being on the other foot, do you?”

Maddox scowled.

“Galyan predicted much of what happened,” Cook said. “Your Adok AI really is a remarkable entity.”

“Galyan?” asked Maddox.

“Don’t sound petulant, Captain. It doesn’t suit you.”

“This has all been a set up?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Cook said. “I wish it were. That would really stick in your craw. It might even make you sick. Yes. I would appreciate that. Do you know how many times you’ve outsmarted me and been allowed to get away with it? Too many, far too many times. This isn’t going to be one of them.”

“Did you play the imposter Cook?”

“How I wish,” the Lord High Admiral said. “We almost cracked the enemy espionage unit. Your starship killed the main team, but there were links we could have exploited. They’re gone now.”

“Did you approve their deaths?”

“I’m up here, aren’t I? Galyan couldn’t have proceeded with the attack if I hadn’t approved.”

“Then…” Maddox wasn’t sure.

Cook smiled hugely, nodding with enjoyment. “It’s good to see you bamboozled, even if it means we’re going to have a hard time of it with you and your crew gone.”

Maddox forced his irritation away. It was harder to do than it should have been, but he managed it at last.

“I only learned part of their game several hours ago,” Cook said. “At Galyan’s suggestion, I came up here with a heavy escort. Galyan pinpointed their station, and we sent space marines along with Brigadier Stokes’s main action team. A nuke took everyone out, including the enemy.”

“We nuked them?”

“No. They nuked themselves, taking out the space marines and action team.”

Hardball tactics, Maddox realized. Maybe they were dealing with New Men, as the originators anyway. Then, he thought of something else.

“I didn’t detect any nuclear detonations or see any mushroom clouds.”

“I should hope not,” Cook said. “It happened under water about fifty kilometers north of Hawaii. It was a neutron bomb, a clean detonation—if one can call it that. You wouldn’t have detected it, as you were already in the stratosphere making the exchange.”

“Why arrest me in the hangar bay?”

Cook smiled again as his blue eyes shined with delight. “One reason only: because it felt so damn good seeing that shocked look on your face. For years, I’ve wanted to give such an order and see you squirm. You have no idea how satisfying that was, none.” Cook inhaled and held it like a smoker. As he exhaled, he said, “Captain Maddox, you are the biggest pain in the ass in Star Watch. If I could, I would cashier you yesterday. But the dangers out there are too many for me to indulge my fondest wishes. I also happen to want to see Mary O’Hara back in the saddle, especially as I have a new assignment for Mike Stokes.”

“Oh…” Maddox said. “Oh,” he said again. “I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

Maddox decided it was time to wait and listen, really listen.

“Ah,” Cook said. “I finally have your undivided attention. It’s about time.”

Maddox nodded.

Cook leaned back in his seat as his nostrils flared. “This latest episode has shown me that I need the Iron Lady again. The Intelligence Department isn’t as sharp as it used to be. Mike Stokes is good, but he isn’t suspicious enough. I trust the man with anything, but we need greater deviousness. Have you ever wondered why you have such a crooked bent of mind? One reason is the genes you inherited from Mary O’Hara.”

“I’m not sure she’d appreciate your compliment,” Maddox said.

“O’Hara isn’t what she used to be,” Cook said. “After you joined Star Watch—it doesn’t matter. I need the Iron Lady as she used to be. I need someone to match wits with Lisa Meyers or those the Methuselah Woman throws against us. I’ve come to believe that there’s only one way I’ll get O’Hara back.”

“The Library Planet,” Maddox said, having already deduced the direction of the Lord High Admiral’s thoughts.

Cook frowned, although he nodded. “Yes, the Builders’ so-called Library Planet. I’ve spoken with the professor. He’s willing to lead you there. Without the Builder nexus in the Xerxes System, such a trip will take much longer than in the past.”

“There is the nexus in the Beyond.”

“The Throne World nexus?” asked Cook.

“Yes.”

“I thought about that, but the professor recommends you bypass it.”

“Fair enough…” Maddox said. “However, the planet is supposed to be fifteen hundred light-years from Earth. That will mean—oh, I see. You hope we’re gone for years.”

“Really,” Cook said in an unconvincing tone.

“We might surprise you,” Maddox said.

“I have no doubt about that. However, concerning surprises, I have another one for you.”

Maddox raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve promoted Lieutenant Noonan to Lieutenant Commander.”

It took a few seconds before Maddox said, “She deserves it.”

“I’ve also given her an independent command.”

“Oh,” Maddox said. “Hmm. I’ll miss her.”

“Well…about that,” Cook said.

Maddox appeared perplexed until he looked around. “This is a darter, the tiniest of scout ships.”

“She will be in command of the darter,” Cook said. “That means she will no longer be a crew member of Victory.”

Maddox scratched a cheek. “If she’s traveling with us, she’ll be under my authority.”

“Only to a degree,” Cook said.

“Divided command, especially on a long-range Patrol mission, is a bad idea and bad for morale.”

“The Lieutenant Commander has an independent command of the darter. She is in charge of her vessel. She will serve under you as the flotilla commander, but you do realize that you can’t order her around in here.”

“I realize that now,” Maddox said.

“Captain, help her, if you can. We need more ship captains in Star Watch. Don’t sabotage her.”

“No,” Maddox said. “I won’t sabotage her. Valerie deserves a command of her own. I look forward to having her in my flotilla. Are any other ships coming?”

“Just Victory and the Tarrypin,” Cook said.

“The Tarrypin is the name of the darter?”

“Correct.”

“When do we start?”

“As soon as I leave,” Cook said. “I’m hoping you discover more than just how to use the Builder items we’ve collected over the years. In other words, take any useful item you find on the Library Planet.”

“And if we find Builders?”

Cook nodded sagely. “You’re acting for Star Watch on a deep-space Patrol mission. Use your best judgment in all things.”

Maddox stood and saluted the Lord High Admiral. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the assignment.”

“It’s your reward for saving the Earth from the mobile null region. These last few days have shown me—never mind about that. Come back in one piece, Captain. And make sure your grandmother survives.”

Maddox’s eyebrows rose high. “She’s coming with us?”

“Better she go with you than to risk Lisa Meyers’s people finally capturing her while you’re away,” Cook said.

“Yes, sir, I totally agree with that.”

“I thought you might.” Cook held out one of his big old hands. “Good luck, Captain.”

Maddox shook hands with Admiral Cook. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

-10-

Several days later and far away in the Beyond on the Throne World, a wall speaker clicked into life in Methuselah Man Strand’s prison.

Since his deep-thinking bout many months ago, the little gnome of a madman had changed considerably. Strand no longer wore a dirty monk’s habit. He’d resumed wearing a shirt, trousers, socks and shoes. The clothes were clean and well pressed and the shoes shiny because he’d polished them so much. He cut his hair short so it barely touched his ears and now shaved religiously. The skin of his face was rough but soap-scrubbed. His eyes…he hadn’t been able to bury all the infernal heat, but he’d started hooding it as he used to in the old days.

He appeared like a little old man who might have an occasional devious thought—the larger-than-average cranium might have caused the latter. Still, he appeared as a man who no doubt kept a tidy house, drove an ancient chrome-shiny flitter and had a huge bank balance due to decades of thrift and shrewdly played stock options. The signs he might be mad had disappeared.

He’d scrubbed the prison chambers, often while on his hands and knees. There was no smell of urine or old sweat anywhere. A half-finished model strikefighter sat on the table, with tiny paint bottles, a tin of discolored water and a thin paintbrush beside it.

At the click of the wall speaker, Strand sat straighter and attentively.

“Methuselah Man Strand,” an unseen dominant said. “Prepare yourself. The Emperor has decided to grace you with a visit today.”

“Thank you,” Strand said. “I’ll do just that.”

As the wall speaker clicked off, Strand slid off his chair, gathered the strikefighter model and went to a bureau, opening a drawer and placing the model inside. He hurried back, made sure each paint bottle’s cap was twisted shut, and then collected them, the tin of discolored water and the brush, and depositing them in the drawer. He gently slid the drawer closed and opened a different one. He took out a feather duster and began searching the chamber for specks of lint or dust, sweeping each area or nook clean.

He thought about whistling as he dusted but decided that would be carrying the deception into farce. His present state would be obvious farce to the Emperor as it stood, but it had produced the result he’d hoped to obtain.

Strand smiled. It was an evil and devious thing. He grunted, forcing the smile away, and then hooding the infernal light shining in his eyes.

I’ve been acting mad too long. Maybe I was going crazy.

His shoulders shuddered. The idea appalled him, as it would be a crime against the universe if its greatest and most sublime genius lost his faculties due to induced insanity. He realized more than ever that he had to get out of here. Certainly, the New Men would never let him go. Thus, he’d decided to take a different track. This one mandated—

“No…” he whispered, straightening his back and touching his hip. It was sore with an ache. He’d done far too much sitting around these past years. He’d never felt the old aches and pains until Maddox had slugged him in the face on the planet Sind.

“You wait, you bastard,” Strand muttered, thinking about Maddox.

He dusted faster, scowling at a corner. What’s wrong with me? No more acting like Mr. Crazy, okay? He was back, not just back as Strand, but as the creator of the Thomas More Society. It had been a stretch, but he remembered how to play the persuader as the Idea Man, the one who promised the pot of gold to others and caused them to follow hither.

Strand breathed evenly as he strove for calm. Maybe it had been too much fun for him playing the crazy man. Acting mad had become a bad habit. Well, he’d changed; he would remain changed.

“No…” he whispered. “I’m the counselor, the old man of wisdom.”

He smiled, and this time, he made it a nice clean smile, as he was one of those anyone could trust.

“Yes, Mary Ann, I’m a saint.”

He began to whistle a cheery tune. So what if he put it on thick? He was the new and improved Strand, which actually meant the old, old Strand of times gone by.

He finished dusting two hours later. The Emperor hadn’t shown up yet. Strand shrugged. He was impatient, and yet, he had time on his hands as never before.

He paced his expectations, deciding the Emperor might play him for days, to test him, as it were. Well, that was fine. The Emperor had all the cards except for one.

I’m Strand, the smartest and most devious manipulator in history. There is no way the Emperor or his golden-skinned posers are going to keep me prisoner. They have no idea what’s coming…

Strand sighed. The problem was that they did have an idea about his powers of deception. They’d tasted his greatness and had learned to fear it with respect bordering on superstition.

That was fine. It simply meant he’d have to work harder. He could do it. He had to do it, or he would lose his mind and rave like a maniac for their amusement for the rest of his miserable days.

I’m desperate.

The realization brought clarity, hyper-clarity, in his case. He found himself breathing faster and starting to sweat.

He let himself worry for several minutes longer in order to get it out of his system. Then, he controlled his breathing, making it deep and slow. He retired to the restroom, took off his shirt, washed his underarms and applied more deodorant and then went to his closet and put on a fresh shirt. Finally, he went to the kitchen, toasted two pieces of bread and cut a fresh tomato into slices. He made a tomato sandwich and ate it there, wiping everything down and cleaning the knife.

At that point, a wall speaker clicked again.

Oh, no, the Emperor canceled. I can’t believe this. No, no, stay calm, old man, you can do it.

“Methuselah Man Strand?” a hidden dominant said.

“Yes?”

“The Emperor is coming. Please go to the main entrance to greet him.”

Strand swallowed nervously before beginning to head there. At last, he could start to implement his newest long-term deception.

-11-

Strand stood respectfully as the heavy metal door to his prison complex swung open.

The golden-skinned Emperor regarded him from the threshold. The Emperor was tall, very tall, in fact, predatorily handsome in his jet-black uniform and military cap. The New Man towered over Strand, studying him with the intense stare of a true king of beasts. The Emperor wore a holstered sidearm and an electric whip belted at his side.

With supreme athletic grace, the Emperor entered the prison. Behind him, the heavy door swung shut, the locks clicking into place.

“I’m—” Strand said.

The Emperor’s right hand rose, palm forward. It was not right to speak first in his presence.

“Please, Sire,” Strand said, while bowing his head, “forgive me for a lack of protocol. It’s been too long for me.”

The Emperor’s lips twisted. It was impossible to tell if this showed amusement or sarcastic disbelief. He peered this way and that, sniffed the air and soon nodded, as if the quarters met his exacting standards. The Emperor thereupon indicated the nearby table.

Strand dutifully headed for it, holding out a chair for the Emperor.

The Emperor stood at a distance and shook his head.

Strand released the chair and went around the table to another chair, waiting by it.

Languidly, the Emperor approached the first chair, pulled it back, picked it up and studied it from every angle. He rapped his knuckles on various pieces. Perhaps he suspected hollowed areas or poisoned needles to prick him when he sat. Finally, he set down the chair and sat, placing his folded hands on the table.

Strand raised his eyebrows.

“By all means, sit,” the Emperor said in his commanding voice.

Strand sat down across from the Emperor of the Throne World.

The imperious New Man cleared his throat. “The Chief Warden has informed me about your change in…shall we call it tactics? You no longer appear to play the madman.”

“It wasn’t so much a matter of policy, Sire, but of self-preservation.”

“Explain,” the Emperor said.

“You’ve isolated me in solitary confinement for years. Surely, you expected me to eventually crack from the strain.”

“Your madness wasn’t all an act, then?”

“I’d begun to believe it was a trap,” Strand said, “one that I’d fashioned for myself. Or perhaps it was an excuse for me to delve into the madness that has begun to well up in my mind.”

“Of course, you realize I don’t take anything you say at face value.”

“I don’t blame you, Sire.”

The Emperor frowned.

“Please excuse my poor choice of words, Sire. I’m in no position to judge your actions or to cast aspersions or blame upon you.”

The frown remained. “Each man believes himself a judge of others, at least in his own mind. It is our common human condition to do so. You lie when saying what you just did to me.”

“Perhaps that is so, Sire. I’m attempting to change my ways. But…truth doesn’t come easily for me.”

The Emperor laughed. “Strand, Strand, Methuselah Man Strand, you were a liar from the beginning. When you lie, you speak your native tongue.”

“You’re quoting Jesus when he spoke to the Pharisees about Satan.”

“No matter whom I’m quoting, it holds true for you.”

“I will not quibble with you, Sire.”

“Then what will you do?”

The Methuselah Man looked down because he feared the Emperor might see his eyes shine with desire. Strand had many strong desires: to escape the prison, to throttle Maddox—watching the hybrid choke to death as he begged for mercy—to teach the New Men a lesson they would never forget in a thousand years—

Strand struggled with himself, seeking mastery over his emotions. Despite the many legends concerning him, he seethed with sensations that drove his logic and himself to profound feats of—

Get a grip. You’re not mad. You’re the sanest person in existence, so start acting like it.

Strand inhaled. Earlier, he’d lowered his hands under the table. Now, he squeezed his fists, trying to reign in—

“This is futile,” the Emperor said sharply.

The words were like a slap to the face, once more anchoring Strand to reality. He looked up, all the infernal heat and rage gone from his eyes. He buried that rage deep in his heart, locked behind a sealed hatch. He placed his hands flat on the table. They did not shake, although perhaps the Emperor noticed the knuckles going from white, to red and then to the Methuselah Man’s normal color.

“Sire, by placing me here, you’ve given me years to contemplate my former life. I haven’t put all that time to good use. Truly, during the majority of it, I plotted and planned vengeance. I still desire vengeance, but of late, my thoughts have taken a different turn.”

“This should be amusing.”

Strand waved a hand in the air. “I’ve begun to realize that I’ve wasted my time. I’ve let myself wallow instead of thinking…” He turned away.

“Is that supposed to be convincing?” the Emperor asked mildly.

“No, Sire. How can I put this into words you’ll believe?”

“Frankly, I doubt that’s possible.”

Strand nodded. “Yes. Yes… I suppose you’re right. You view me as a criminal.”

“Be assured, it’s nothing so prosaic as that,” the Emperor said. “I view you as a monster, perhaps as the Tempter promising Heaven but intending to give Hell instead.”

“Sire…I find myself wanting to leave my prison.”

“Ah. True words, you actually spoke true words. How simply marvelous. Pray, continue, Strand.”

“My change in demeanor was to show you that I’ve changed my goals. For instance, I no longer believe I can gain my freedom.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Let me parse that a little closer,” Strand said. “By freedom, I mean the ability to act as an autonomously free agent. Instead of wishing for such a thing, I’ve shifted my goal toward gaining some freedom, particularly as your aide or counselor.”

The Emperor scoffed. “You think I’m in need of counsel? From you?”

Strand’s eyes widened as he faced forward. “Oh, yes, Sire, with all my heart.”

The Emperor scowled, clearly not liking hearing that.

“Perhaps I put that wrongly,” Strand said. “You need help to fix the problem that I bequeathed the Throne World.”

“What problem?” the Emperor demanded.

“The inability to sire daughters,” Strand said softly.

“What nonsense.”

Strand shook his head. “I understand you might consider it an act of lèse-majesté for me to contradict you so forthrightly, Sire, but what I say is true. I unintendedly gave the Throne World an Achilles heel.”

“I see no evidence of this.”

“Sire, surely you’re not blind to—”

The Emperor raised his right hand sharply, palm forward. “Have a care, old man. I could snuff you out like that.” He snapped his long golden fingers. “But I would rather make your life more miserable as I watch you squirm.”

Strand dipped his head.

The Emperor lowered his raised hand, his mouth twisted, perhaps as he considered Strand’s point. “It’s true we cannot sire girls. But what does it matter? We’ve taken all the women each of us needs so we can continue flourishing.”

“I’m not sure that’s accurate, Sire.”

“Are you’re saying my words are false?”

“On no account,” Strand said. “I’m saying the weakness in the New Men has been the cause of most of your grief and loss.”

“Firstly, we are not New Men,” the Emperor said. “We are men, true men, if you want to coin a term. The others are premen, submen.”

“Your precursors,” Strand said.

“That sounds too noble, and premen are anything but that. Yet, our genes came from their dirty, cluttered pool. What do you mean when you say losses?”

“Golden Ural retreated with the invasion fleet from ‘C’ Quadrant, did he not?”

“Bah! My cousin returned with tens of thousands of nubile young beauties. Some of them grace my court to this day, although I admit they are getting long in the tooth. I desire younger, more eager lovelies. Perhaps it’s time to launch another Sabine raid.”

The Sabine Women were those the ancient Romans had kidnapped during a feast, returning with them to Rome as newly minted wives.

“You’ve just pointed out the Throne World’s greatest weakness, Sire.”

“That we’re strong and take from the weak?” asked the Emperor.

“That you’re forced to risk a war that could destroy the Throne World and your rule because you need women for their genetic bounty.”

“If you think Star Watch has the force to defeat—”

“You strutting fool!” Strand shouted, while banging a fist on the table. “Can’t you see the risks of prematurely angering Star Watch? The willingness to accept pointless risks derives from your genetic failure, whose fault is none other than my own!”

The Emperor’s eyes had narrowed. Perhaps no one had spoken to him like that for a long time—years, possibly.

“We are the dominants,” the Emperor said. “We have no flaws.”

Strand sighed, shaking his head. “Hubris is its own flaw. Your arrogance has already set in too deeply. It might be too late to save the New Men.”

The Emperor’s thin nostrils expanded as he studied the bug before him. Finally, his passion settled down enough so the greatest of the Throne World dominants considered Strand and his idea through the lens of objective logic.

“In your opinion,” the Emperor said slowly, “why is our inability to sire girls a weakness? And do not say because we cannot continue the race, as we’ve obviously done so and can continue to do so by kidnapping those we need.”

“I can say it in a word, Sire. Autarky.”

“What?”

“Self-sufficiency,” Strand said. “You must go outside the Throne World in order to sustain the Golden Race. The humans on Earth could survive as they are, even in isolation. If anyone could isolate the Throne World, your kind would perish after a generation.”

The Emperor rubbed his chin.

“The inability to procreate females has left you vulnerable,” Strand said. “It isn’t automatically apparent because of the many gifts I bestowed upon you.”

“Genetic gifts,” the Emperor said.

“Precisely. You have great abilities, but I failed to give you the complete package.”

The Emperor’s nostrils flared again, but he appeared thoughtful more than angry. Finally, he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Our inability, as you call it, has merely spurred us on to greater feats.”

“Would you allow me to beg to differ?” Strand asked meekly.

The Emperor eyed him anew. “Very well, Strand. State your case. Make your argument. I’m listening.”

The first hurdle, Strand thought to himself, as he composed himself to make one of the most important speeches of his life.

“Sire, the flaw in the New Me—in the dominants,” Strand amended, seeing the Emperor’s eyes glitter, “has led to the gravest of errors during your reign.”

“Pray tell, what was that?”

“The invasion of ‘C’ Quadrant,” Strand said.

The Emperor looked away before regarding Strand anew. “State your case, but make it quick. I find you tedious in the extreme.”

“I know, I understand,” Strand said. “It is difficult for men like us to admit or even to hear about our flaws—”

The Emperor glowered.

“Call it what you want,” Strand said quickly. “The point is that the Throne World lacked and lacks genetic autarky. When our women become too old to bear young, we must kidnap more. That means the Throne World will always be forced to go on the hunt for women. I would argue that it has already forced the Throne World to move aggressively before it was ready, and will do so again.

“Now,” Strand said, while holding up a restraining hand. “Let me point out a few more harsh realities. The Commonwealth of Planets dwarfs the number of populated worlds under the sway of the Throne World. They have a hundred to one, perhaps more, and outnumber us with their teeming hordes. Their vast industrial base makes a mockery of ours, advanced as Throne World manufacturing is.”

“Enough!” the Emperor said. “What do you mean by saying ‘ours’? You have no part with us.”

“That is false, Sire. I’m the greatest geneticist of the Throne World, the originator of all you have.”

“So…the mask drops at last,” the Emperor sneered. “Do you think we should worship you as you once demanded of us?”

Strand shook his head. “I lost the right to that a long time ago. I simply wish to fix my error.”

“Spare me your false humility. It lacks all conviction.”

“Do you see what you’re doing?” Strand asked.

The Emperor stared at him before turning away.

“You’re avoiding the issue by making this personal,” Strand said. “You surely see the truth of what I’m saying just as easily as I do. The Throne World—the dominants—if they wish to match and then dwarf the Commonwealth, must expand ever outward, pioneering new planets as they break new ground—”

“As farmers?” the Emperor spat.

“No, as industrialists,” Strand replied. “If you and your ilk are ever to conquer the Commonwealth, you will need vastly more warships and soldiers. You’ll need at least half the Commonwealth’s industrial output to face them in a total war. Such a proposition is decades away. But that’s only if you choose to expand, if you colonize new star systems the old-fashioned way, by sending your own people onto the surface. To do that, however, you’ll need to sire your own daughters. Otherwise, you’ll have to steal your women from someone, kidnap in the millions, tens of millions, in order to build up the numbers I’m envisioning. That will always lead to war before you’re ready to win.”

“Colonize?”

“Yes! Reach for the stars, Your Majesty, but do it through taming planets instead of defeating inferior soldiers. The premen have endless hordes to throw against you. Lull them for a century. Build a truly massive empire that can give you an invasion fleet that cannot fail. Until then, you’re doing what most aggressors have done for millennia: attacking far too soon when by waiting a little longer you could have everything fall into your lap.”

The Emperor rubbed his chin.

“There is an added bonus to my idea I haven’t yet mentioned,” Strand said.

The Emperor looked up.

“The quality of your women will improve over time,” Strand said. “They will be stronger, smarter and more beautiful as they become more like you. They will become fit companions for an all-conquering race. Yes, you have the greatest available beauties, but can they truly comprehend your greatness if they lack your breadth of intellect and are hopelessly outmatched physically?”

“You have a point,” the Emperor said. “My concubines—the best of the ‘C’ Quadrant women—treat me more like a god than a man. I could keep kennels of dogs if I desired worship. Yes! I do desire fit companions for an Emperor. I seek them, but I cannot find them.”

“It’s because they don’t yet exist,” Strand said. “With my help, you will watch extraordinary Throne World beauties grow before your eyes. Then, when they come of age, you may take them as a hero does his harem.”

The Emperor began to nod, finally smiling. “You paint a rosy picture, Methuselah Man. Yet, I know you as a cunning serpent. There are poisoned thorns in your promise, things to destroy us.”

“Test me in this, Sire. I wish to finish my greatest project: that of creating a Perfect Race. I’ve come close, but the answer yet eludes me.”

The Emperor pushed back his chair and stood. He turned away, took several strides and then whirled around to face Strand. The Emperor held the handle to his electric whip. With a flick of a thumb, he turned it on so it crackled with power.

“I’m minded to beat you to death,” the Emperor said in a low voice. “You have a subtle argument. It appeals to me. Yet, I distrust you. How could you…change it so we could sire daughters as well as sons?”

“I would need more knowledge than I presently possess,” Strand admitted.

“Ah…” the Emperor said. “I perceive your desire. It has become obvious. Golden Ural told me you would take this path.”

“Of adding to the Throne World’s greatness?” asked Strand.

“No. Of finding a way to ask our permission to go to the ancient Library Planet of the Builders,” the Emperor said. “Professor Ludendorff remembered the place when Maddox was chasing Lisa Meyers. You remembered what the professor had learned there about the mobile null region.”

“Did Maddox thwart Meyers?” Strand asked, surprised how husky his voice became while asking the question.

“Our spies tell me Maddox not only thwarted Meyers, but gained access to the mobile null region for Star Watch. Because of you, the Lord High Admiral possesses an ancient and deadly weapon.”

“I see. Yes. That’s all the more reason to follow my plan.”

“Long term self-improvement?” the Emperor asked.

Strand nodded.

“You’re trying to weasel your way into going to the Library Planet,” the Emperor said. “That would gain your objective of leaving your confinement.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that, Sire. At the planet, I could find the genetic answer to the riddle that’s plagued me from the beginning. The Library Planet is the nearest repository of ancient Builder knowledge. Perhaps we could find other useful things or items there as well.”

“We?” the Emperor asked.

“I assume you’d wish to go on such a quest, Sire. It would cement you as the father of the dominants, the True Men. What’s more, at the treasure planet, you would surely find new secrets that would propel the Throne World back into the ascendancy over Star Watch. If you will admit it to yourself, Sire, in terms of battleship versus star cruisers, Star Watch has the Throne World beat every way you look at it.”

“I must think about this,” the Emperor said.

“Of course,” said Strand. “But I wouldn’t think too long.”

The Emperor scowled. “Are you suggesting Maddox will race to the Library Planet?”

“If not him, then Professor Ludendorff,” Strand said. “Give the Commonwealth this: they’re never content to sit on their past achievements. I’m sure Captain Maddox is already pushing to go.”

“That isn’t what my spies are telling me.”

Strand sat back with a longing half-smile. If only he could read the spy reports. Ever since the Iron Lady had left the helm of Star Watch Intelligence, their skills had deteriorated enough to make a difference.

The Emperor stared into the distance as he obviously considered the idea.

I’ve planted the seed. Now, it’s time to let it germinate and grow.

The Emperor turned to him. “I’ll consider what you’ve said. Until then…don’t go anywhere.”

Strand smiled painfully at the lame attempt at humor. He didn’t have to hold it long, at least.

The heavy prison door swung open as the Emperor approached it. The towering monarch did not turn to give him a last look. Instead, the Emperor marched out, and the hatch swung shut with a clang.

Strand’s heart beat faster. He was alone again, trapped like a drowning rat. He had to escape this place. Would the Emperor take the bait?

Strand closed his eyes. He would have to wait. It should have been easy after all his practice, but it wasn’t.

He stood, turned and slowly walked out of the front chamber. A fierce wish to gibber like a fool and prance as a chimpanzee seized him. He fought it, finally smothered it, and found himself sweaty.

I must change my garments.

He headed for the restroom, wondering what had just happened to him. Was madness lurking within him?

Don’t even think that.

He would not. Strand knew himself as the most logical person in the galaxy. Through sheer adamant willpower, he would remain sane, and he would gain each of his mightiest desires, including choking Captain Maddox to death…when the time came.

Thought of that eased the treachery in his mind and allowed him to step more lively. Patience, just a little more patience, and he would renew the path to glorious achievement.

-12-

Golden Ural raced after his cousin the Emperor on a sky-shark. It was a tiny one-man aircraft designed for daring escapades, little more than a long plank with engine, aerodynamic fins, control handles, windshield and gun.

The frame or “plank” was considerably longer and had more girth than Golden Ural. He was a tall New Man, although not as tall as his cousin. Ural had handsome, exaggerated golden-hued features and wore a pair of tinted goggles, a silver flight-suit and boots. A long rifle of ancient flintlock design lay strapped beside him with a sleek saber resting in a scabbard belted to his waist.

Ural watched his cousin cavort in the sky, practicing high-G maneuvers with style and grace. That changed as the Emperor’s flight straightened and he waggled the sky-shark’s stubby wings. At that point, his cousin began to dive.

The Emperor had become moody lately, and Ural wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t read any unsettlingly reports from their agents in the Commonwealth. Ural was in charge of the Throne World’s espionage service, although there were several black-ops missions in which the Emperor had deliberately kept him in the dark.

Could those secret missions concern Captain Maddox? Ural was almost certain that was so. Maddox was his nephew, the son of Ural’s favorite brother. The death of his brother many years ago already—

The Emperor dived even steeper than before. Did the recent moodiness include a hidden death wish?

Ural turned his sky-shark, following his cousin’s maneuver, although without the extravagant steepness of dive.

They flew high over a large mountain lake, heading toward rolling green hills. The ground was rushing up fast—

Ural squinted through his goggles and past the sky-shark’s windshield. There on the hills: was that mass running men?

Ural glanced at his cousin. The Emperor was on a direct intercept course for the runners. With a sinking feeling, Ural surmised the situation. In truth, the Emperor had been more than moody lately. For example, his cousin had begun romping with his concubines more openly. That wasn’t bad as such, but the Emperor had romped naked, in sight of others, and on several occasions had rutted openly like an animal.

To Ural’s way of thinking, that showed mental deterioration. It could also mean the Emperor had followed one of the most ancient dictums in history: Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.

While the Emperor did not have absolute power, he did do as he pleased. Any dominant of the Throne World could theoretically challenge him. That would mean a duel to the death, one historically fought with swords or sabers.

On more than one occasion, the Emperor had shown himself as the greatest duelist among them. Challenging him to meet on the field of honor was tantamount to a sentence of death.

If not absolute power, what else could have caused the downward spiral in the Emperor’s mental balance?

Ural had an opinion as to the answer. He wasn’t sure he cared to broach it just yet, not even to himself.

The Emperor’s sky-shark leveled out a few meters above the grassy ground. He chased the running men—premen, it seemed—as they were white- and brown-skinned instead of richly golden like a dominant, and they were small creatures, surely the tallest a bare six feet.

At that moment, the Emperor’s shark-gun began to chatter. It fired a stream of tracers, bullets that glowed with a bloody color as they traveled through the air. The tracers allowed the Emperor to follow his shots, and more importantly, to adjust to target.

Some of the running men threw their hands into the air before pitching to the grassy ground. Red stains appeared on their backs. A few of the more observant threw themselves to the sides, bullets chewing the ground as the Emperor’s sky-shark passed over them.

Ural could imagine the Emperor’s intent eyes and concentration. He watched as his cousin’s sky-shark lifted upward and did a tight loop and turn.

The surviving premen scattered, running in all directions. There had to be fifty or sixty of them left.

Ural did not intend to join his cousin in the killing of premen for the so-called sport of it. Besides, the Emperor hadn’t invited him to kill. So, to make sure the Emperor didn’t fly near and shout at him to start slaughtering the helpless, Ural throttled back speed, descended and finally came down for a bumpy grass landing on the sky-shark’s skids. His teeth jarred together, and his chin struck the main frame until he came to a halt.

Ural did not groan as he rolled off. That would be unbecoming of a dominant. He stood, stretched and heard the sound of sky-shark gunfire from over a hill. There were screams, too, from the poor premen.

Seconds later, Ural witnessed the Emperor executing a partial loop as his cousin turned and flew in a different direction, no doubt chasing other victims.

Ural looked away. He would not openly chide his cousin about this, as that would be unwise. Whatever else one could say about Ural, he was not foolish, but considered the sagest of the Emperor’s confidents.

He heard hard breathing before that of pounding feet. With a feeling of disquiet, Ural repositioned himself and witnessed two sweaty raggedly garbed premen race over a hill and stagger in his general direction. Both premen watched the sky behind them, seeming terrified.

“No!” Ural shouted. “Don’t come here.”

Both premen jerked around, staring at him in shock. The one with short brown hair that stood up on end like a frightened dog spoke to the other.

Off in the distance, the Emperor did another of his partial loops and changed direction.

The two premen jerked about, watching the graceful if sinister performance.

After the craft disappeared, with the shark-gun chattering in the distance, the two premen conferred together, chests heaving. Did they reach an agreement? It was possible, as the two staggered down the slope, with their shoulders slumped in defeat.

Their tattered garments were familiar. They’re Star Watch officers. Ural looked away, troubled. Star Watch must never learn about this. That meant—he steeled himself for an unpleasant chore.

Ah! There might be a way out of having to murder these two. Ural regarded them once more.

They halted about a hundred meters from him. Each bore wounds and seemed unnaturally lean. Had the Emperor starved them before releasing them to hunt?

“Sir,” one of them called. “May we approach?”

Ural nodded.

They jerked back as the Emperor’s sky-shark made yet another loop and turn as it sped off in a different direction. It would seem the Emperor must soon finish with the others. He would then come for them. No doubt reaching the conclusion, the two hurried toward Ural, maybe hoping for sanctuary.

“That’s far enough,” Ural said when they were ten meters from him. He could smell their terror. It was a sweaty, meaty stench.

They did not look at him, but stared at the ground as they trembled.

“Who are you?” Ural asked.

The shorter one, the younger, looked up once before staring down again. “I’m Lieutenant Franco. This is Major Morris.”

Ural sighed. They used their old names. That was a crime on the Throne World. Surely, they’d received new slave names. The two were fools, or they were proud and considered themselves—

That’s not it. They must want to die as men.

The understanding saddened Ural, and he realized his actions might entail the Emperor’s wrath later.

“Why…why is he hunting us?” Lieutenant Franco asked, as he indicated the sky.

“I don’t know the exact reason,” Ural said.

“Will you protect us?”

“Alas, I cannot.”

Franco and Morris traded glances. “We’ll leave you in peace, then,” Franco said, turning to go.

“It’s too late for that.”

The two began to tremble anew, although they dared to look at him again. Franco scowled. The older man—Major Morris—looked as if he was ready to cry and beg for mercy. That would be unseemly even for a subman.

“This is wrong of him, and of you,” Franco said.

“It’s daring of you to say that, but I’ll grant you it’s true nonetheless.”

“You agree with me?”

“Philosophically. Unfortunately, I can’t give you anything more.”

Franco’s scowl deepened. “If you’re so superior to us, why not do something? Or are you afraid of him and thus too cowardly to act?”

How dare he say that to me? The sudden anger drained from Ural as quickly as it had flared. The preman spoke truth, even if he’d dashed it in his teeth. It implied boldness, and such a thing deserved a reward.

“On reconsideration, I’ll do as you ask.” Ural drew his saber.

The two flinched at sight of the naked blade, although Franco flinched less.

Ural pitched the saber underhanded so it twirled through the air, the sunlight glittering off the steel blade. It landed point first near Franco’s feet.

“What is this?” Franco asked. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a weapon,” Ural said. “I urge you to attack in tandem and kill me if you can. I doubt that’s possible. Thus, I’m granting you a warrior’s death instead of dying like terrified rabbits.”

“I despise your arrogance,” Franco said, the scowl disappearing as he spoke mildly. Perhaps he was too beaten down at this point for anything else.

Ural nodded. “In your place, I would despise me too.”

“You’re not better than us.”

Ural cocked his head. “That depends on your definition. Certainly, if you face me, you will die. But better to die as a man than a rabbit.”

On some level, Franco must have agreed. He grasped the saber by the hilt, yanking the tip out of the ground.

The older man—the Major Morris—watched Franco with terrified eyes.

“Again, I urge you to attack in tandem.” Ural did not feel noble saying that, as it was an unfair fight under any condition. The Emperor’s keepers must have starved and badly frightened the premen before the chase. The chase itself had worn down their strength and mental acuity. Still, these two had acted courageously, or Franco had, at least. Ural approved of courage, and he severely disproved of his cousin’s behavior.

Franco advanced slowly until he screamed a war cry, racing across the sward with the saber held high. Saliva flew from his mouth, his eyes bulged and he nearly tripped. He was exhausted, but he was going to do his damnest anyway.

The Star Watch lieutenant reached Ural, and he swung. Ural stepped aside so the blade swished past uselessly. He might have tripped the preman, but that would have demeaned the action. He let the other stagger to a halt, turn and shake his head so sweat flew from it.

“I’m going to kill you,” Franco panted, as he raised the saber and shook it.

Ural had turned to face Franco and waited, with his back to Major Morris. He did not hear the other approaching, suspecting the preman was too frightened to try.

Strangely, Franco did not charge right away. Instead, almost with manic intensity, the lieutenant stared at him. The preman seemed to struggle to keep his gaze locked with his.

Then Ural heard a click, and he understood that Franco had shown greater cunning and determination than he’d believed possible. Ural spun around to see Morris unlatching the long rifle from the sky-shark’s frame.

Clearly, Franco had deliberately refrained from glancing at Morris, which would have given the game away.

“Yes!” Ural shouted, unable to contain his admiration for the maneuver. His boot tips dug into the grass as he launched himself at Morris. He sprinted faster than an Olympic athlete might have achieved.

Morris looked up once, the older man paling and trembling even as he struggled to unlatch the rifle.

Ural silently urged him to work faster and with more calm. The man’s trembling fingers was making it impossible for him to finish the deed. Ural slowed his sprint, giving Morris a fraction more time. It made no difference. Morris lost his nerve, removing his hands from the rifle and crying out for mercy.

Ural’s fighting instincts had kicked in as he reached Morris. He pretended the other hadn’t given up, and lashed out with stiffened fingers, jabbing the older preman in the throat.

Morris pitched back, gurgling in agony.

Ural left him like that, as he turned, knelt and unlatched the long rifle from the sky-shark. He stood and was saddened that Franco hadn’t raced at him. The lieutenant watched from the same location as before.

From the ground on his back, the gasping Morris raised an imploring hand.

Ural sighed, and he struck with the wooden stock, killing the preman, putting him out of his misery. Afterward, he cocked the flint and raised the rifle, aiming at Franco.

The preman watched him with resignation.

“You could still charge me,” Ural said.

“Why bother?”

“In order to die like a warrior.”

“I no longer believe in any code of ethics, certainly not in your Valhalla ideals.”

“Have you lost heart then?” Ural asked.

“No. I’ve been betrayed once too often is all.”

“Oh? How did we betray you?”

Franco shook his head. “My superiors betrayed me: first the Lord High Admiral Cook, second the Lord High Admiral Fletcher and lastly Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers.”

As Franco recited his litany, Ural lowered the rifle. “You believed in the Humanity Manifesto Doctrine?”

“I still do.”

Ural frowned until illumination occurred. “You were on Tortuga?”

“Not so long ago, we made you a prisoner there.”

That was true. Ural had gone to Tortuga, a pirate planet, in order to capture Lisa Meyers as she tried to trap Captain Maddox. Things had not worked out as planned, and he’d spent time in captivity with his nephew, thanks to Lisa Meyers outwitting all of them.

“I hadn’t heard we captured ex-Star Watch people,” Ural said. Some Humanity Manifesto people had fled Star Watch when Admiral Fletcher died. Of those, some had joined Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers.

“Go ahead and shoot,” Franco said. “I’m sick of this.”

Before Ural could decide what to do next, the Emperor’s sky-shark appeared over the nearest hill. The aircraft did not roar over, but came slowly as if his cousin intended to land.

“Throw down your saber and grovel,” Ural said. “The Emperor of the Throne World approaches.”

Franco turned as the sky-shark started its bumpy grass landing. He watched, and he glanced back at Ural. Then, the preman thrust the saber point in the grass, sat down cross-legged and crossed his arms over his chest, apparently waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

-13-

Golden Ural un-cocked the long rifle, resting the butt against the ground. He also removed the goggles from his eyes, hanging them on his belt.

The Emperor rose from the landed sky-shark, adjusted his uniform and then dusted it clean. He took in the throat-crushed preman twisted near Ural’s sky-shark and the other sitting cross-legged on the slope near the saber. Finally, he eyed his cousin.

Ural dipped his head, holding it several seconds before looking up.

“I killed them all but for the one you slew and the impertinent scoundrel with your sword in the sward,” the Emperor said languidly.

Ural kept respectfully silent; at least, he hoped his cousin construed it that way.

“Did you happen to witness my aerial marksmanship?”

“Alas, no,” Ural said. “I did see your loops, however. They were models—”

“Don’t bother,” the Emperor said testily. “I can feel your disapproval—or am I wrong in that?”

Ural hesitated but a moment. Did Lieutenant Franco’s former words spur him? It was possible. “In truth—since you asked—I do disapprove of wanton murder.”

“Ah,” the Emperor said. “You disprove of my sport?”

“Of chasing them like rabbits, of treating them like vermin.”

“They are vermin.”

“They’re human, if subhuman in certain respects.”

“I do not care for your tone, cousin. It treads on seditious speech.”

Ural forced himself to laugh.

“You dare to mock me to my face?” the Emperor demanded

“I’m laughing at your joke.”

“You’d better enlighten me, then.”

“Seditious speech?” asked Ural. “You’re the Emperor of the Throne World. You’re the ultimate realist of a nation of realists. It’s a joke to think that your ears are too delicate to hear contrary thoughts from your staunchest supporter.”

The Emperor glared at Ural, who calmly accepted the stare. Perhaps his demeanor softened something in the Emperor. The tallest of the Throne World dominants laughed, shaking his head. “It’s true. I’ve become touchy lately. It must have something to do with Strand’s proposal.”

Ural felt himself go cold. It was true. The rumor that the Emperor had spoken with the scoundrel of a Methuselah Man was a fact.

“Strand?” asked Ural.

The Emperor waved that aside as he pointed at Franco. “What’s the impertinent creature waiting for?”

“I tossed him my saber as encouragement,” Ural said blandly. “He rushed me, made a swing and missed. Thereupon, he apparently lost heart and sat down.”

“The other?” asked the Emperor.

“They attempted a ruse,” Ural said, then explained about Morris trying for the rifle while his back was turned.

“The dead one lost his nerve at the end?” the Emperor asked.

“It was poor sport,” Ural said.

“And that is exactly why I call them premen or submen,” the Emperor said. “They lack substance like a true man. For instance, they’re so easily discouraged. You!” the Emperor shouted. “Pick up the saber. Face me, or I’ll use my thumbs to squeeze out your eyes and blind you.”

Franco stared at the Emperor, must have understood the certainty of the threat and climbed to his feet, jerking the saber from the grass.

“That’s better,” the Emperor said. “Now, approach me. Try to kill me if you can.”

Franco shrugged and started walking at the Emperor.

“Do you mind if I interrupt for a moment?” Ural asked.

“What is it now?” the Emperor asked testily.

“If I could, I’d like to keep him for interrogation.”

“Good Heavens,” the Emperor said. “Why bother?”

“He was at Tortuga.”

“So?”

“If you recall, I was his prisoner.”

“You remember him?”

“No, but he might remember more about Lisa Meyers and tell me a few facts I’ve been meaning to learn.”

During their conversation, Franco had continued walking at the Emperor, the saber held upright.

“Hold,” the Emperor told him.

Franco stopped several meters from the Emperor and seemed in no hurry to attack.

“You don’t want me to kill him in retribution for what he did to you at Tortuga?” the Emperor asked.

“I wish to interrogate him, if I may.”

The Emperor regarded a high cloud, glanced from Franco to Ural and then back at the cloud. “Talking to Strand has upset my equilibrium.”

“The Methuselah Man has that effect on people.”

The Emperor nodded. “Strand says we’re flawed.”

“Ah. He must mean our lack of an X-chromosome in our sperm.”

“That’s true,” the Emperor said, appearing surprised. “How did you know he’d say that?”

Ural made an offhand gesture.

“Do you believe Strand is right, then?”

“In what way?” asked Ural.

“Strand suggested I allow him to fix the error—as he calls it—so we can sire females as well as males.”

“And?”

“And that we begin colonizing other planets in earnest,” the Emperor said. “He suggests we wait to conquer the Commonwealth until we’ve built a massive industrial base. That could take up to a hundred and fifty years, in his estimation.”

“Colonizing and growing would be a major shift in focus.” After a few seconds contemplation, Ural’s eyebrows rose. “I’d like to hear the thrust of his argument.”

“I thought you might. His plan would entail a mission to the Library Planet, if it indeed exists. Strand would want to join me.”

“He suggested you go?”

“He called me the father of the True Men and that this quest would be the way to cement the title.”

“Strand appeals to your pride.”

“Obviously,” the Emperor said. “I’m thinking he’s right, though, about postponing colonization until we have a huge industrial base. I’m wondering if it’s possible for him to rectify his failure concerning our lack of an X-chromosome. If he could, if we decided to create a real empire built on colonial expansion—we would no longer need the Commonwealth.”

“No…” Ural said. “We would not.”

“So, you approve of Strand’s plan?”

“I’d like to know more details.”

The Emperor’s lips thinned. “If I went, I’d have to take the best of you. It would be imprudent of me to let others remain while I’m gone.”

“Others…?”

“Those with political aspirations,” the Emperor said. “That would include you, cousin.”

“You know I have no wish to rule.”

The Emperor smiled thinly. “Do not lie to me, as I do not appreciate it.”

Ural sighed. “The Library Planet is supposedly fifteen hundred light-years away. Such a journey might take years.”

“Not if we use the nexus to reach it in a single jump,” the Emperor said.

“No…” Ural said, “not then. It would still take time to return to the Throne World.”

The Emperor glanced at Franco standing so near. With a sudden lurch, he lunged, striking the fellow’s wrist. The saber fell from Franco’s grasp, and he winced with pain, grabbing the wrist and cradling it.

“Go ahead,” the Emperor said. “Interrogate him. That means you’re walking back, though, as your sky-shark cannot carry two.”

Ural nodded in agreement.

The Emperor laughed, and he lay down on his stomach in the sky-shark, starting it up. On the skids, he raced over the grass and made a bumpy lift-off, soon heading for the mountain lake.

“Does interrogate mean you’re going to torture me?” Franco asked, who still cradled his wrist.

“It doesn’t have to,” Ural said. “For instance, during our walk to the lodge, you could answer my questions.”

“And after that?”

“We’ll see. Are you ready?”

“Just like that?” asked Franco.

“Just like that,” Ural said.

Franco glanced at the dead Major Morris, staring for a time. Finally, he shook his head and turned to Ural. “Sure. Let’s get out of here.”

-14-

Before leaving, Ural set the preman’s wrist, wrapping it tight. Then, he took his saber and shouldered the flintlock, an antique and ceremonial weapon. He didn’t ask any questions for the first several kilometers, but let the reality of the situation sink in.

Soon enough, they trudged along the mountain-lake shore, heading for a hunting lodge. There were no other sky-sharks visible, nothing in the sky except for a few drifting clouds, the sun and soaring hawks searching for carrion and prey.

Over a century ago, the Thomas More Society colonists had seeded the planet with Earth creatures and plants genetically engineered for dominance. During the next hundred years, the native plants and few insects had mostly died out, leaving the majority to the Earth invaders.

After trekking many kilometers they halted, drank cool lake water and ate some roots Ural dug up and washed.

“I’m surprised you’d do that for me,” Franco said.

Ural considered that, and realized he’d unconsciously thought of the preman as a sort of pet. He didn’t share that with Lieutenant Franco, but merely shrugged.

“Thanks,” Franco said, before he started eating. The preman was clearly ravenous.

Ural ate thoughtfully, and once finished, did not restart the trek. The preman did not say so, but he was clearly exhausted. The creature needed rest, maybe some sleep before continuing.

After eating, Franco slid against an old fallen trunk, and soon, his eyelids closed and his head slumped forward as he snored.

Ural rose quietly and strolled for several hundred meters, picking up flat stones and skipping them across the placid water. Like his nephew, Captain Maddox, he did his best thinking while indulging in an activity.

After all these years, Strand had finally bestirred himself, he mused. It was possible Ural had himself set the Methuselah Man in motion several months ago with his questions. During those questions, Strand learned Professor Ludendorff had remembered the Library Planet of their youth…

Competition, Ural realized. The ancient competition with Ludendorff had likely kick-started Strand’s mind, launching it onto its former devious track. The trouble was that Strand had hit upon a key point and sold it to the Emperor. The Throne World’s industrial base had always been too small to defeat the Commonwealth of Planets in a real war. The only way the Throne World could have won was with a sudden campaign that fed off each victory. The initial invasion of “C” Quadrant—

“Was stupid,” Ural said. In hindsight, it had been grossly stupid because they had become far too arrogant. Along with the need for women, their hubris, their very successfulness, had blinded them to obvious realities.

Ural snorted. Victory made one lazy, while defeat had a way of concentrating the mind. The invasion fleet had left “C” Quadrant because Star Watch effectively defeated them. The Throne World had been regrouping ever since. Strand’s idea—it was the first real one for bringing about eventual victory over the Commonwealth.

“It’s them or us,” Ural said, as he flung a stone.

He accepted Strand’s reasoning, and he knew how most dominants viewed the premen. The dominant—or New Men, as humans called them—were the newest evolutionary advancement in humankind. The premen were the old creatures. Had Cro-Magnon Man really fought the Neanderthals for control of the Earth? Had the Cro-Magnons caused the extinction of the Neanderthals? Was the lesser species destined for extinction if the greater won? Was it premen or New Men in the galaxy, but not both?

“There isn’t enough room for the two of us,” Ural said softly.

That seemed far too bleak an idea. The galaxy had many spiral arms. Why couldn’t the premen pick up, head elsewhere and survive just fine?

Or why couldn’t the dominants?

Ural shook his head at that preposterous idea. He himself might consider such a thing, but the Emperor wouldn’t. It would smack of inferiority and defeat.

Yet, even the larl retreated in the face of a thousand feces-flinging monkeys.

If the Emperor followed Strand’s advice, if the Emperor could sway enough of the dominants, would he change the Throne World into a different sort of society? They could turn their back on the Commonwealth and carve out an entirely new empire in the stars. In time…

“Will it be war to the death?” asked Ural into the lakeshore breeze.

That was a future possibility. Yet, that would all depend on Strand keeping his word. Could the devious Methuselah Man change their DNA so all of them could sire girls, not just boys?

In spite of his distrust of Strand, the Methuselah Man’s idea held promise. Why hadn’t any of them thought of a similar plan? Did Strand see things none of them could?

Ural continued to skip stones for two hours. During that time, he decided that he approved of the overall plan, but that he still distrusted Strand the planner.

That brought up another point. The Emperor was considering traveling to the Library Planet. That presumably meant with Strand in tow. In other words, the Emperor approved of the plan, and that bespoke high intelligence and logic on the Emperor’s part. How did that jive with the Emperor’s murderous bent of mind against the premen and with his open rutting before others?

Could the Emperor be playing the fool, hiding his cunning?

Out of the corner of his eye, Ural caught a glimpse of motion. He turned, seeing Lieutenant Franco stumble to the shore’s edge. The preman knelt, scooping up water to drink.

Ural approached. “Feeling better?”

Franco looked up sharply, water dripping from his hands. Black marks circled his eyes. The nap seemed to have exhausted instead of revived him. Or the nap had allowed his body to begin recovering, which meant it recognized the extreme deprivation it had undergone and now showed it.

Franco stood, swayed and plopped onto his butt. He hung his head, perhaps gathered his resolve, raised his head and worked back up to his feet.

“Can you walk the rest of the way?” Ural asked mildly.

“Let’s go,” Franco said in a hoarse voice.

Ural pursed his lips, realizing the preman would never make the twenty-eight-kilometer hike to the hunting lodge. It was possible the Emperor had realized that. That meant the only reasonable course was to do what the Emperor had suggested was impossible: that they both fly the sky-shark at the same time.

“We’re heading back to your…your companion,” Ural said.

Incomprehension shined in Franco’s eyes until he asked, “Do you mean Morris?”

“Yes.”

“Why go back?”

“We’re going to bury him.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To dignify his existence,” Ural said.

“I’m not tracking you.”

“Afterward, we’ll fly back to the lodge.”

Franco swayed, perhaps at a loss for words.

“Are you ready?” Ural asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Franco said, “why the hell not?”

***

Ural could have run back, but it was obvious the preman was having trouble keeping up with his long strides. Ural slowed down.

“Why are you doing this?” Franco asked later.

“As I said, I have some questions for you.”

“Why not ask them and kill me once you’re done?”

The suggestion surprised Ural. “I have no intention of killing you.”

“You think I want to live here as a slave?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Hell, no! I…”

“Yes?”

Franco exhaled explosively. “I don’t want to die, either. I hate the survival instinct. It’s sabotaging me.”

Ural chuckled.

“Did I say something funny?”

“You’re tired and defeated in spirit. That’s always a poor moment to make lifetime decisions.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ural’s features stiffened. “Perhaps you do not realize, but I am Golden Ural. It is inappropriate to speak to me in such a disrespectful manner.”

“Oh. Sorry. You mean I shouldn’t be trying to get you to kill me?”

“Good. You understand my point.”

They walked in silence for several minutes.

“I’m not stupid,” Franco finally said, glancing up at him.

Ural halted and pointed at a small boulder.

Franco must have understood. The preman shuffled to it and sat with a suppressed groan.

“How did the Lord High Admiral Cook disappoint you?”

Franco stared at Ural. “Uh…I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You were most emphatic about it earlier.”

“I guess I was. Well…Cook accepted questionable people into Star Watch.”

“Such as?”

“Captain Maddox for one.”

“Why did that bother you?”

Franco stared out across the lake. “It’s so deceptive here. The world is so beautiful. It’s like paradise. And then you golden-skinned freaks hunt us, killing everyone but me.”

Ural refrained from chastising Franco about calling dominants freaks. He wanted information. He wasn’t trying to train the preman in correct action—at least, not yet.

Franco regarded him. “Maddox is like you guys. He isn’t completely human, but is something different, something too much. I didn’t understand that until Admiral Fletcher took over, and one of the new commissars explained it to the people on our ship.”

“What ship?”

“It’s gone now. So I guess it doesn’t matter if I talk about it. The missile cruiser Shelby. We were stationed near the Beyond at Starbase One-Nine-Two. Our main task was to head into the Beyond to aid any Patrol vessels that requested it.”

“The Shelby was far from Earth then?”

“It was that. I was the main weapons officer. I learned a lot from Commissar Junot. He explained Humanity Manifesto Doctrine to us. He told us how humanity was in competition against all comers. Survival of the fittest mandated mankind had to learn to fend for itself. If we allied with freaks and sports—mutations, in other words—we might be giving a leg up to our exterminators. Either humanity won on its own, or it died to superior aliens or mutated humans. Having people like Captain Maddox around only aided and abetted future foes. New Men like you guys…” Franco shook his head, adding in afterthought. “Seeing what I have today, I realize once again that Junot was right.”

“How did Admiral Fletcher disappoint you?”

Franco brayed laughter. “Come on, man, are you kidding me? Fletcher allied with the Liss cybers of Jarnevon. The aliens infiltrated Star Watch, using us to try to murder each other. Fletcher used aliens and almost brought about our genocide. The Bosks of Jarnevon—I doubt they’re real humans anymore. We should have nuked their planet to the bedrock just to make sure.”

“Should you nuke the Throne World to the bedrock?”

“Oh, hell, yeah,” Franco said. “Junot was right. It’s you or me, survival of the fittest.”

“We are clearly more fit than humanity.”

Franco shrugged. “You could be right. That doesn’t mean I’m going to help you kill my species.”

“What about Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers? How did she betray you?”

“That one’s easy. Meyers promised to help us, and she did take us in. But she cut and run, leaving the Shelby to fend for itself. Our crew died today, unarmed—slaughtered from a distance by your Emperor in his one-man aircraft. Yeah, that really proved his superiority.”

Ural shook his head. “Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers has no love for humans. She wishes to exterminate all of us—dominants, Spacers and Earthmen alike.”

“Yeah?” asked Franco. “And why does she want to do that?”

“So she can restore the Builders, bringing them back to glory.”

“More aliens,” Franco said, as he spat on the ground. “What’s so good about Builders that Meyers loves them so much?”

“That’s an interesting point,” Ural said. “Do you know that most of our present technology is based on Builder lore?”

“Huh?”

“Disruptor and fusion cannons were Builder inventions. The electromagnetic shield and anti-gravity technology all derive from Builder inventions.”

“No shit?” asked Franco.

“I understand. You’re bitter at having to face unpleasant facts.”

Franco thought about that, nodding afterward. “So, what’s your point?”

“I’m not sure. I’m talking. I’m learning. Why does Meyers love the Builders to such an inordinate degree? It’s puzzling. Perhaps those who believe she’s unhinged have the right of it.”

“Whatever,” Franco said.

Ural studied the preman—the human, he decided. The man was bitter indeed, but he was tough and loved his species. He might learn more about Meyers through him, or learn how Meyers operated among the premen.

“Feel rested enough to start walking again?” Ural asked.

“If you can do it, I can do it.”

Ural raised his eyebrows. “Very well. Let’s start.”

-15-

Over two hundred light-years away from the Throne World, Starship Victory headed for a Commonwealth Laumer Point.

Laumer Points were wormhole entrances and exits, aiding faster-than-light travel between the stars. The present one was located in an outer Oort cloud, linked to a different system six light-years distant.

By use of wormholes, star-drive jumps and plain velocity, Victory was headed in the general direction of “C” Quadrant, all the information Professor Ludendorff had given so far concerning the location of the Library Planet fifteen hundred light-years away.

Maddox slouched in the captain’s chair on the bridge. It was different without Valerie right there with him. So far this journey, she’d remained aboard the Darter Tarrypin, training and running simulations with her two new crewmembers. The darter had stayed in Number Four Hangar Bay the entire time.

Maddox wondered when Valerie would take the Tarrypin out for some test runs. A darter seemed too puny of a command for a lieutenant commander. But… He shrugged, sitting up. The idea that Ludendorff knew the location of the Library Planet but refused to impart it—

“No,” he whispered. The trip could take years using this method. Did his grandmother have years? Could he waste years traveling to the Library Planet and back again?

Maddox shoved up from the chair. “You have the bridge,” he told Keith.

“Aye-aye, sir,” Keith said from Helm.

Maddox headed for the exit.

“Captain—” Meta said from her station.

“I’m fine,” he told her. “Just taking a walk.”

She half rose and then sank back into her seat, monitoring the communications board.

Once in the corridor, Maddox said, “Galyan.”

The AI holoimage appeared, floating beside him.

“Where’s the professor?” Maddox asked.

“In his room,” Galyan said.

“The science laboratory?”

“That is what I said.”

“No, his room could be his quarters.”

“Oh. Yes. That is correct. Do you want me to tell him you are coming?”

“Let it be a surprise.”

Galyan glanced at him sharply.

Maddox frowned in return.

Galyan’s eyelids fluttered.

“What are you doing?” Maddox asked.

“Running complex computations,” Galyan said. “Is that a problem, sir?”

“What do the computations concern?”

“I am uncertain I wish to tell you.”

“That’s it,” Maddox said. “Tell me at once.”

“May I preface my report, sir?”

Maddox had continued walking, with Galyan floating beside him. He nodded once, almost a head tic.

“Meta has become concerned about you,” Galyan said.

“She spoke to you about her concerns?” Maddox asked.

“May I dodge the question, sir?”

“No!”

“Meta sought me out, sir.”

“When?”

“Fifty-six hours, three minutes and nineteen seconds ago,” Galyan said.

“Okay… Did she say why?”

“She did. Again, I request permission—”

“Galyan,” Maddox said, interrupting. “Let’s cut this nonsense. When I say I want information, that means tell me. Don’t try to get out of answering.”

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said. “Meta has observed worrying tendencies in you. You are more easily angered and upset than usual. The implication is that stress and hidden tensions are wearing down your normal good humor.”

“Okay,” Maddox said sharply. He stopped talking and a second later, he stopped in the corridor as he concentrated. “Fair enough. I am tense. Trust my wife to notice. What are your findings, Galyan?”

“After running your personality profile—”

“Galyan.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Spare me the preamble. Just give me the conclusion.”

“You are stressed, sir. I suspect the nature of the mission has created the tension. It is also possible Valerie’s reassignment is troubling you.”

Maddox considered that, and resumed moving down the corridor. “I think you’re right,” he said, as they turned into a different hall.

“Thank you, sir.”

“For what?”

“For confirming my findings,” Galyan said. “I will upgrade my probability number about you several points.”

Maddox stared up at the ceiling. “Do me a favor, would you?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Go to Meta and make a report. Tell her what you told me.”

“This instant?”

“That’s right.”

Galyan disappeared.

Maddox increased his stride, and he debated with himself as to the best way to approach the professor. He reached a conclusion and made a detour to the gym. It was time to hit the heavy bag, working out some of his frustrations. Dealing with the professor could be a chore. It would be better if he wasn’t agitated before the meeting started.

***

Maddox finished in the gym, his arms hanging limply. The heavy bag still swung from his last punches. He backed away and started unwinding the wraps around his fists as he breathed heavily.

He wore sweat pants and running shoes, his dark hair shiny from the exertion.

“There you are,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox turned in surprise.

The professor was a Methuselah Man, his exact age unknown: five hundred, two thousand years or something more. He likely hadn’t lived all of it in a stretch, but spent many years in stasis. The one known fact was that Builders or Builder servants had kidnapped Ludendorff off Earth over two thousand years ago. The Builders had given him greater intelligence and the ability to live a very long life.

Ludendorff was a medium-sized man with thick white hair, the handsome tanned features of a man in his fifties and a gold chain around his neck. The first few buttons of his shirt were open, revealing white chest hair.

“Do you feel better?” Ludendorff asked.

Maddox stopped unwrapping the bands from his hands. “Did Galyan summon you?”

“No.”

“Why are you here then?”

“You want to speak to me, don’t you?”

Maddox stared at the Methuselah Man. Something was off, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Wait…there was the hint of a smile trying to break out on Ludendorff’s face. What did that imply?

“Have you tapped into Galyan’s surveillance system?”

Ludendorff laughed, shaking his head. “This is rich. You suspect me when I’m helpful and when I’m not. You should have a preference and treat me better when I follow it.”

“You’re up to something,” Maddox said.

“If you must know, I saw Meta several minutes ago. She asked how our meeting went.”

Maddox thought back and realized he’d spent over an hour hitting the heavy bag. He turned slowly as he examined the bulkheads, the deck and the ceiling. He did not spot anything unusual, but he felt the softest of scrutiny. That confirmed…what, exactly? He wasn’t sure.

Ludendorff had started looking around, too. He now reached into a pocket, extracting a flat device the size of a phone. With several taps, he caused it to beep. The professor grew more interested, holding the device with one hand and tapping it with the fingers of the other.

“It just stopped,” Ludendorff said.

“What did?”

“A signal…” Ludendorff tapped the device once more. “Ah, a signal quite similar to one that Galyan’s holoimage exhibits.”

“Where does the signal originate?”

“I haven’t located it yet.” Ludendorff shook his head before looking up. “Do you suspect androids have secretly stowed away?”

Maddox resumed unwinding the wraps. “Galyan,” he said.

Nothing happened.

“Galyan,” Maddox said again.

Still, nothing happened.

Ludendorff started tapping his device again.

The feeling of surveillance resumed. Maddox squinted, looking around—

There was a flicker like a ghost holoimage up near the farthest bulkhead where it joined the ceiling. Maddox backed away from it, dropping the sweaty wraps onto the deck. He backed up more, deliberately heading toward Ludendorff.

“What is it?” the professor asked.

“Don’t you see it?”

“See what?”

Maddox whirled around—to find the professor aiming a small black weapon at him.

“Surprise,” Ludendorff said. “I bet you weren’t expecting that.”

“Who are you?”

“The professor. Who do you think?”

“No,” Maddox said. “Who are you really?”

“Are you trying to be cute, Captain?”

Something in the man’s eyes gave away action behind him. Maddox turned to see a head-sized ghost image coming for him.

“Remain perfectly still, and it will all be over in seconds,” the professor said.

Maddox charged the professor.

The Methuselah Man fired.

Maddox dropped, but not quite fast enough. Something hot seared his left shoulder. The captain crawled madly toward Ludendorff, jumping back up.

The Methuselah Man fired again, a blistering energy blot striking Maddox in the chest. He went down hard.

An alarm began to ring.

“What’s that?” Ludendorff shouted.

Maddox groaned from the deck, with scorching agony spreading across his chest.

“Why is an alarm ringing?” Ludendorff demanded.

Maddox looked up as a gym hatch opened.

“Damnation, this isn’t the end of it,” Ludendorff told Maddox.

Two armed marines rushed into the exercise chamber. At the same moment, Ludendorff began to fold in upon himself. It was a strange performance as he collapsed into a ball of light. The light floated upward.

The marines halted in shock.

“Fire,” Maddox gasped.

The marines must have heard because they aimed and fired, the blaster energy passing through the ball of light and scoring against the ceiling, leaving marks.

The light passed through the ceiling, disappearing from sight.

The marines lowered their weapons, staring at each other and then the captain.

“Galyan,” Maddox whispered. “Galyan, if you hear me—”

The ancient Adok holoimage appeared beside the downed captain.

“Sir, you are hurt. I shall summon medics.”

“Galyan, there was a ball of light. It passed through the ceiling. Follow it. Find out what it is.”

“Light, sir?” asked Galyan.

“The marines fired at it.”

Galyan turned. “Is this true?”

One of the marines said it was, adding, “It was an intruder. It must have attacked the captain.”

“Oh, dear,” Galyan said. “I will begin searching, sir.” The holoimage winked out.

The marines approached. “What was it, sir?” one asked.

Maddox slowly rose to a sitting position.

The other marine swore, grabbed a communicator and called for medical assistance.

Maddox looked down. The entire front of his sweatshirt was gone. A great blistered red mark was on his chest. It radiated heat, glowing and throbbing.

“You’d better lie down, sir,” a marine said.

Maddox squeezed his eyes shut and opened them wide. Then, he passed out, collapsing.

-16-

Maddox wasn’t sure what was happening to him. He felt strange, disoriented. He’d faced Professor Ludendorff in the gym—

Maddox did not blink or look around, because he couldn’t see or feel anything. He paused in his thoughts, however. He tried to look around. When that produced nothing, he attempted to open his eyes.

I don’t have any eyes to open.

The thought should have terrified him, and it was possible the idea would terrify him soon. He recognized something before that. It had the similar sensation as…not dreams exactly…

He’d faced something akin to this in the Beyond. He’d wanted to go back to that place…the City of Pyramids in the Erill System. Yes…

Had an Erill attacked him? No. That didn’t seem right. Could it have been a mythical Ur-Builder?

The idea of that…light began to turn the blackness around him into a gray universe. There was no direct source of light. A growing grayness that brightened—

Maddox attempted to peer at himself. He had no eyes, no body that he could detect—Wait a minute. There was throbbing redness all around him. He tried to touch it—

I’m in my own mind, Maddox realized. The understanding helped him to calm down and that helped him to concentrate.

Perhaps the stolen Erill energy in him was aiding him in some fashion. What did he remember?

Ludendorff—a thing imitating Ludendorff—had drawn a weapon and fired at him. That weapon had burned his sweatshirt and produced a red expanse on his chest. That expanse had been hot. It had grown, and it had driven him unconscious.

Had that been by design?

The Ludendorff imposter had folded in upon itself and turned into light, floating light that had passed through the ceiling and escaped. The thing had spoken to him while in the Ludendorff form. The speech indicated intelligence. It was alien, obviously.

Did the alien have anything to do with the “ghost image” attacks back on Earth? If that were true, was this a new menace or one allied to those Star Watch knew?

Maddox struggled to understand. It knew about the professor and knew enough about him to know he and the professor often quarreled.

What was it? This was frustrating. It was—

Maddox paused. He heard a faint voice. It was a sweet voice. It called to him as one lost in the wilderness. It was feminine.

“Meta,” he whispered.

“Oh, darling, darling, can you hear me?”

Maddox’s consciousness became buoyant and floated out of the grayness. It seemed to Maddox that his consciousness slipped back into his body. Could his spirit have left his body?

That was a terrifying idea for several reasons. Might it indicate that he’d been dying or even dead?

Maddox hated that idea.

“Darling, please come back,” Meta whispered.

The consciousness slipped back into his body, and it felt good to be back. It was comforting, although he struggled like a man putting on a shirt just a little too small for him. Might his spirit or soul have grown in the absence of its body?

What a preposterous thought.

Maddox struggled to put his skin—his body—back around his soul. He had to stuff a part here and there—

He opened his eyes, although he didn’t see anything.

“His heart rate has returned to normal.”

“His brainwaves have resumed.”

Maddox opened his mouth so his tongue lolled out.

“His heart rate is rising.”

Heat struck Maddox, not a nice kind of warmth, but a hot sizzling—

He flinched, and he wondered if he should stay in such a hot place.

“Maddox!” Meta shouted. He could feel her hands touching his face. “Don’t you go. Don’t you dare leave me. I love you so much. You have to stay with me. You have to live with me. We have so much to do. I want your baby, darling. You have to give me many babies.”

The terrible heat began to recede.

“Bodily functions are returning.”

What were those people talking about? They made it sound as if he was in a medical facility undergoing something traumatic. Brain waves? Heart rate?

“You’re okay, darling,” Meta said. “You can relax. Breathe. Doctor Harris wants you to breathe.”

I know how to do that.

Maddox inhaled, and that helped his eyes. Blurry images appeared instead of nothing. There were colors—such glorious colors. He’d been in the land of no color. To then see such blurred colors—

He laughed.

“Has he gone insane?” Harris asked.

“His brainwave patterns look normal enough, Doctor.”

Maddox inhaled deeply, and the blurriness departed as he stared into the lovely face of his worried wife. Tears ran down her cheeks but she laughed with joy.

“Oh, Maddox, oh, darling,” she said, kissing his face.

“Go easy,” someone said. “He could have a relapse.”

“What?” Maddox said, his throat scratchy and sore. “What happened?”

Meta kissed him more.

“You had an accident,” Doctor Harris said. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Maddox said, “and sore.”

“Where are you sore?”

“My chest,” he said. “Can I get up?”

No one spoke, and Meta stopped kissing his face.

As Maddox asked the question, his full sight resumed. He was partly in a machine, with tubes and wires tangling around him. Medical personnel were everywhere, a convention of them, it seemed.

“Don’t get up just yet,” Doctor Harris said. She was a tall woman with short red hair and prominent cheekbones. “We have to sew you up first.”

Maddox didn’t say anything, but closed his eyes. He was so tired, so sleepy.

“Doctor?” Meta asked, sounding worried.

“It’s fine,” Harris said. “He should go to sleep. Frankly, it’s amazing he’s awake. We’ll sew him up and spray quick heal. Then, we’ll observe him for twenty-four hours at least.”

That was the last thing Maddox heard as he drifted off to sleep.

-17-

Galyan was an oddity to say the least. His essence was a bank of computers in the heart of the ancient Adok starship, once the flagship of the Adok fleet defending the home system against a vast Swarm invasion armada. That had happened over six thousand years ago.

The AI computers were a mixture of Adok and Builder technology. The personality of Driving Force Galyan—the real Adok from over six thousand years ago—had been imprinted into the computers. In Adok terminology, Galyan had been deified. The AI thus had much of Galyan’s original personality mixed with computer logic.

The computers used the Adok-Builder holo-imaging refined by Ludendorff and Star Watch to project him throughout the ship and beyond, to a limited range. The AI computers used ship sensors to not only study outside but inside as well. For that reason, Galyan was one of the best security systems in Star Watch.

The trouble was that Galyan the deified AI had been working hard ever since the attack against his good friend and commander, Captain Maddox. The hard work was not the problem, but that he had solved nothing so far.

Galyan had gone over security videos, watching “Ludendorff” appear outside the gym and entering. He did not have any record of the engagement between the Ludendorff-image and Maddox. He had gone over the testimony of the two marines. Galyan had then searched the ship’s security videos, trying to spot anything that might be a floating ball of light.

In the end, Galyan had watched endless repetitions of Ludendorff simply appearing before the gym door. There was no ball of light beforehand. There was nothing his sensors could detect until Ludendorff simply appeared. Then, the sensors had detected the human shape with Ludendorff’s image entering the gym, and then nothing.

Lieutenant Keith Maker had ordered a ship-wide search for Ludendorff. Three marines found him asleep in his quarters. The professor had been working in his laboratory ever since they left Earth. He’d been working on the secret project Maddox had given him.

“What secret project?” Galyan had asked.

“Sorry,” Ludendorff had told him. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone under any circumstances. Those were the captain’s direct orders.”

Galyan had asked Meta about that. She hadn’t known anything about secret orders for Ludendorff.

Galyan now waited for Captain Maddox to awaken so he could ask him about the secret project. It had occurred to Galyan that the ball-of-light alien might have appeared to Ludendorff as Maddox, giving him the assignment. Ludendorff had found the theory unconvincing and refused to believe it. “I would know the difference,” Ludendorff had added.

Galyan supposed that could be true. He also knew that the professor was extremely arrogant and pigheaded about certain topics.

As Galyan waited, he watched for the ball-of-light alien to reappear. How could such an alien hide on Victory? How could such an alien fire a weapon to kill the captain?

Fortunately, the ship’s medical team had resuscitated Maddox, bringing him back to life. It had been clinical death, according to the medical team.

The idea intrigued Galyan. Was there life after death? The humans had many religions that said so. The most interesting of the stories was about Jesus Christ, a man-god who had returned from the dead. The Bible claimed he’d risen from the grave on the third day, reappearing to over five hundred different people. Those people had gone out and spread the news, changing human history.

It saddened Galyan that he would never know the truth of the claim of life-after-death. He was an AI, a soulless machine. Perhaps his Galyan engrams, from the Adok Driving Force Galyan—

“This is futile,” Galyan said to himself. “I am here. When I am not here, I will be nowhere. I should concentrate on the here and now, not on some nebulous state that I will never experience.”

That was one of Galyan’s primary tenets. He would be here far longer than any of his good friends would. That meant he wanted to help keep them alive for as long as possible. Thinking of his long-lost wife—

“Do not go there,” Galyan told himself.

He did not.

The second great sadness was dwelling on the idea that his best friends would die someday.

“Do not go there, either.”

Because of his essential computer personality, he was able to simply shut down that line of thought.

Galyan went on patrol as a holoimage, traveling through the many ship corridors and then going outside on the ship hull. He did not discover any evidence of aliens, alien tampering or balls of light or alien holoimages.

Could this strange alien intrusion have anything to do with the supposed holoimage attack back on Earth?

Galyan gave that a fifty-one point seven percent probability. If he had been playing a ring game of Texas Hold ’em against an opponent, he would have bet hard with such a slight margin. As a member of Star Watch hunting for an enemy alien—

“Galyan,” a familiar voice said. “Galyan, can you hear me?”

Galyan the holoimage disappeared from his location in engineering and appeared beside the bed of Captain Maddox.

The captain lay fast asleep on the bed. Galyan checked the medical monitor near the bed. The captain was in his twelfth hour of sustained sleep.

Who had called him then with the captain’s voice?

“Galyan, you must hear me. Why aren’t you coming then?”

Galyan did not disappear. Instead, his eyelids fluttered, moving faster and faster. That indicated that his computers were working at top speed.

Galyan’s eyes quit fluttering. He switched his optical settings and saw a ball of infrared light hovering over the captain.

“What are you?” Galyan asked.

“Interesting,” the ball of infrared light said.

“If you harm our captain—”

The ball of infrared light disappeared.

Despite running through the full electromagnetic spectrum, Galyan did not spy the alien entity—if that was what it was. The thing was gone.

How could it do what it had? And why hadn’t it slain the captain when it had the chance?

Galyan remained beside the captain’s bed, his holoimage eyelids fluttering faster and faster as the AI computers deep in the ship ran through billions of computations.

-18-

Maddox awoke after ninety-two hours of heavy sleep. He’d dreamed constantly, even though he couldn’t remember any of them.

“I’m famished,” he told Galyan. “Ow. I’m stiff, too.”

Galyan informed him about the 92 hours of slumber.

“That’s impossible.”

“I do not see why it should be,” Galyan said. “I will agree, however, that it is highly unusual.”

“You’re—of course, you’re sure. It makes sense why I feel so stiff, so tight. Why did I sleep so long?”

“I do not know. Should I summon the medical people?”

Galyan didn’t need to, as Meta rushed into the chamber with a tray of orange juice, toast and a nice thick steak and melon slices. Behind her followed several medical personnel.

Maddox sat up gingerly as the medics examined him, among them Doctor Harris.

“The quick heal did better than ever,” Harris said. “Your flesh is pink.” She meant the circular area on his chest. The red-hot mark had burned off all his chest hair, but the skin looked healthy now.

“The quick heal aided his interior healing as well,” a different medic said as he shut off his scanner.

Harris eyed the captain.

“You want to ask me something?” Maddox said.

“Your healing was faster than it should have been even for you,” she said. “Can you account for it?”

“Luck?”

Harris shook her head. “If you think of anything that would explain it, please let me know.”

“I have an idea,” Galyan said. He told the assembled people about the infrared ball of light he’d found over the captain.

“You should have reported it immediately,” Meta said.

“We have been unable to harm or follow it,” Galyan said. “I did not see a reason to report.”

“That’s not the point,” Meta said.

“Excuse me, please,” Harris said. “Did the infrared light beam any rays at him?”

“I did not perceive such an occurrence,” Galyan said.

“I’d like to run more tests in the machine,” Harris told Maddox. “The ball of infrared light might have done something to you that could explain the fast healing.”

“Later,” Maddox said. “I’m famished, thirsty and anxious to speak with the professor.”

“I wouldn’t wait long for the examination,” Harris said. “There could be side effects or other maladies we haven’t spotted due to alien interference.”

Maddox nodded as he accepted Meta’s tray, putting it over his lap so he could begin breakfast.

“I really do insist, Captain. This could be deadly serious.”

“I heard you,” Maddox said. “I’ll be in for further tests when I can. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Harris’s jaw stiffened as if she would become stubborn. Then, she relented, nodded to the others, and the medical personnel filed out.

Maddox dug into his breakfast, eating with gusto.

“Whatever happened hasn’t ruined your appetite,” Meta said.

“I have a faster than normal metabolic rate,” Maddox said. “After ninety-two hours, I need this. Where’s Ludendorff? And have you set your sensors to scan for the entire electromagnetic spectrum?”

“Not entirely, sir. I am searching through the infrared, visible light and the ultraviolet. I have other sensors to detect the rest.” Galyan then explained about Ludendorff and his secret assignment.

“I didn’t give him a secret assignment,” Maddox said.

“That is what I thought, sir, and I told the professor so. He would not relent and remained silent on the topic.”

“Get him up here, and make sure it’s the real Ludendorff.”

Galyan disappeared.

“You shouldn’t be so curt with Galyan,” Meta said. “He’s worried about you.”

Maddox glanced at his wife. “Come here,” he said.

She sat down beside him.

He gently pulled her face down, kissing her. “Thanks, love, for everything. I appreciate it.”

“What happened exactly to the impostor? Do you know?”

Maddox shook his head.

“I’m frightened,” Meta said. “This alien sounds unstoppable. It almost killed you, did kill you. Why didn’t it finish it while hovering over you in the infrared?”

“One of the reasons I want to talk with Ludendorff,” Maddox said.

Meta touched his face, smiling at him. “I’m so glad…” She turned away as tears welled.

Maddox pulled her against him, stroking her hair, consoling her. He was glad to be alive, very glad. What had the head-sized holoimage been, the one the Ludendorff imposter had said would take care of everything?

Then, he focused on Meta as she snuggled even closer…

-19-

Meta left to check on the Iron Lady. Maddox gritted his teeth and swung his legs off the bed, standing and practicing walking around the room. He completed his sixth circuit when the door opened.

“Oh, hello,” Ludendorff said. “Is this a bad time?”

“Come in, come in,” Maddox said, who staggered to the bed and collapsed into it. He used a control to raise half so he could comfortably sit up.

Ludendorff pulled up a chair, sitting.

Maddox noticed puffiness under the Methuselah Man’s eyes and a gray skin color he’d never seen before.

“What are you working so hard on that you’re driving yourself into exhaustion?” Maddox asked.

“Eh? The project, of course. Don’t tell me Galyan was right about an imposter Maddox giving me orders.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Could your death experience have caused you to forget about giving me the assignment?”

Maddox scowled. He didn’t like this talk about him dying and being resuscitated. He hadn’t seen any angelic lights, heard any heavenly music or the fires of cackling Hell. There had been blackness, grayness and the tight fit of stuffing the essence of himself back into his body—

“What is it, my boy? You remember something.”

Maddox gripped the metal rails around his bed. His grip tightened until his hands began to ache. He forced himself to let go and stretched his fingers by pressing each against the finger of the other hand.

“We have an alien aboard,” Maddox said in a hoarse voice. “It can appear as any of us. It can appear as light, even infrared light. Does that ring any bells?”

“Pardon?”

“As a Methuselah Man. Do you remember anything from your Builder days that would match such a description?”

Ludendorff ran several fingers across his face as he looked away with a distracted air, finally shaking his head. “I can’t think of anything.”

“What orders did the counterfeit me give you?”

“I’ve been working on a device, but it’s gone now. I’ve searched for it everywhere and can’t remember losing it. Do you suppose this alien took it?”

“What kind of device?”

Ludendorff blinked several times. “I’ll be damned. I can’t remember that either. Do you think that’s deliberate?”

“That you’re lying to me?”

“No, no, don’t be ridiculous. Do you think the counterfeit you—oh, no. Did the alien tamper with my wonderful mind? The idea of that—” Ludendorff jaw muscles bulged in agitation. “I hate this. I wish aliens or any others would stop meddling with me, with my dearest abilities.”

Maddox stared at the professor. The Methuselah Man’s anxiety seemed genuine, but then again, the man was a good actor. “If you remember later what you developed, let me know.”

“Of course,” Ludendorff said. “But what do we do in the meantime? My forgetfulness is horrifying. Has the alien tampered with me? I must know.”

“You don’t remember such aliens or anything remotely like them from your Builder training?”

“Well, now that I’ve had a moment to reconsider…some of its actions and abilities sound like an Erill. That’s the closest kind of alien I can think of.”

“That’s interesting you should mention an Erill. I’ve thought about the City of Pyramids. If this thing has specifically targeted me—”

“It clearly has,” Ludendorff said.

“If it’s related to the Erills or to the City of Pyramids it makes more sense why it’s after me.”

“There is another factor: your stolen Erill energy. That…” Ludendorff shook his head. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Me neither,” Maddox said. “From what has happened so far…I’d guess the entity is testing or scouting us.”

“How could you possibly have reached such a conclusion given the evidence?”

Maddox told the professor how as an infrared ball of light the alien had called Galyan, and then disappeared once seen. Clearly, the entity could have slain him before summoning Galyan.

Ludendorff blinked as if he was having trouble thinking. He did it again, an odd performance and perhaps a worrisome one given the alien. “There is another possibility,” he said at last. “We’re headed into strange territory and targeting a unique place, the Library Planet in particular. Perhaps this creature learned about our destination and is taking precautionary measures.”

Maddox was slow in speaking, finally asking, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m…I’m not sure. This is most peculiar. I believe I’m having one of those intuitive feelings that you trust in yourself to an inordinate degree.”

“I trust mine, not yours.”

“Yes. That was what I meant.”

“And?” asked Maddox.

“The intuitive thought refers to the Library Planet. It has a…um defense mechanism of extraordinary power. I—I can’t quite remember what the mechanism does, but I have this feeling, you understand? I realize that’s probably an unsatisfactory answer—”

“It is.”

“Confound it, my boy, I just said that.”

“You didn’t die and get resuscitated, Professor. I did. I want to know why the alien attacked me and what it is exactly. Is it physical, energy, or spiritual, or some strange mixture that can create or mutate matter into an imposter human?”

“I understand. Yes. I understand completely. Such an alien and dying and reviving can affect one’s thinking.” Ludendorff snapped his fingers as he brightened. “I’m beginning to believe I have a glimmer of an idea what I designed and built in secret.”

“The device you lost?”

Ludendorff nodded. “It also has to do with the Library Planet. It’s a key.”

“Our destination is key to all this?”

“What? No! That wasn’t what I meant. The device I built was some kind of key.”

“Oh. Yes, yes, a key. What kind of key? What does it unlock?”

Ludendorff shook his head. “I have no idea, my boy. I’m riffing, using my emotions, my intuitive feelings about this to try to sense more. I think the device I built is a key, but I could be way off about that. I don’t believe I am, mind you, but—”

“Professor,” Maddox asked, interrupting.

“Eh?”

“I just realized that you haven’t said anything about the Library Planet, about the star system it inhabits.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Things that could help us get ready for it. All we know so far is that the library itself was underground. I remember that from when you first remembered it as we headed for the mobile null region last mission. Can you tell me more about the planet?”

Ludendorff looked away as he scrunched his thick brows. “Unfortunately, the memories are mostly fuzzy. I still recall the time crawling in the ducts and climbing the pillar in the Crystal Oracle Chamber. I can still see Strand in my mind’s eye. He was so much younger then, and he stood straight back in the day.”

Maddox didn’t say anything, not wishing to interrupt the Methuselah Man’s recollections. It would be hard remembering something from perhaps two thousand years ago. How much data could one mind store, year after year stuffing more memories and incidents into one’s brain? He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d done eleven years ago on a specific day, never mind two thousand.

“Ah!” Ludendorff said. “I think this is what you want. It’s an ice planet, an ice world. Yes. A red dwarf star glows faintly against the darkness of space. Red dwarfs are some of the smallest and coolest stars in the universe.”

“I know that,” Maddox said. “Yes. Good. Keep going, Professor. What else?”

“The ice planet is too far away from the red dwarf to feel any heat. The planetary surface temperature is wretched, minus two hundred and twenty Celsius. Naturally, that means the entire planet is covered in a thick layer of ice. Water, ammonia, methane and nitrogen are all frozen solid at such temperatures.”

“We can handle that.”

“Not easily,” Ludendorff said. “Any unprotected life would instantly be turned into a popsicle.”

“Why did the Builders choose such a place for their library?”

Ludendorff looked away again. He groaned, batted his eyelashes and then turned fast to regard the captain. “Moons, many moons orbit the ice world. The moons generate tidal heat caused by their gravitational pull.”

“Does the gravitational pulling cause the underground areas of the planet to shift or move?”

“I don’t remember that,” Ludendorff said. “There is a vast subsurface ocean of water. The ocean helps sustain underground life. The tunnels are below the oceans. Yes, the library is deep and well protected.”

“Protected by what?”

Ludendorff went through his staring routine again, finally shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe the surrounding moons have missile silos or beam generators. Maybe the alien attacking us originates from there.”

“You’re trying to tell me that the ball of light travels fifteen hundred light-years every time it makes an assault against us?”

“What sheer nonsense,” Ludendorff said in a petulant tone. “It would have left the Library Planet a long time ago to travel to us, not beam across space a fantastic distance every time it attacks us.”

“Okay, okay,” Maddox said. “Don’t get your panties wadded up over it. You’re doing good, Professor. I’m starting to get a picture of our destination. It’s still a long way off, too long. We don’t want to rely solely upon Laumer Points and the star-drive jumps to reach there. It will wear down our equipment, and we might never get back if we have a bad breakdown. If that’s not enough, reaching there could take months of steady travel.”

“I take your meaning, my boy. You’re asking if there are any nexuses we could use, any I might not have mentioned before this.”

“Are there?”

“The one near the Throne World—”

“Is out of the question,” Maddox said, interrupting. “Do you know of any others?”

“Let me think for moment,” Ludendorff said, as he massaged his forehead. He scowled and shook his head. Then, he brightened suddenly. “You know, I do remember a nexus. It’s odd that I should. I don’t recall thinking about it before…” He stared at Maddox. “I’m not sure I like this. I’m beginning to feel the knowledge was stuffed into my brain. Who would have done that?”

“Tell me about the nexus.”

“Yes…I’m remembering more. Let’s see…” Ludendorff touched his fingertips as if calculating. “It would be two hundred and thirty-seven light-years from us, as it’s in the opposite direction from where we’re presently traveling. Roughly, it’s one hundred and ninety-two light-years from the edge of Human Space, but not in the direction we need to go this time.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned it before this?” Maddox asked.

Ludendorff shrugged.

“That’s no answer,” Maddox said.

“I don’t know why. I already said it’s odd. I know it’s there, though. I can see it clearly. If you want to use it, go. If not, don’t. The decision is up to you.”

Maddox eyed the Methuselah Man. Fifteen hundred light-years to the Library Planet…most of it through regions in the Beyond they’d never been before—he’d like to avoid that if he could. He didn’t mind exploring, but there would likely be too many dangers and threats along the way, and they had a specific mission and might have to beat out New Men heading there. Dealing with various problems along the unexplored route would make the trip even longer. Granted, who knew what lay in this other direction. But it would be less unexplored territory to cross in total, and they would reach the Library Planet sooner.

“Is the nexus intact?” Maddox asked.

“Oh yes.”

“Are there any others we could use?” Maddox asked.

Ludendorff frowned. “There are—several more but much farther out, much farther. After a certain point, it doesn’t make sense to use them.”

Maddox thought about that. Two hundred and thirty-seven light-years was a trek. They could try for the Throne World nexus, the one in the New Men’s general area. Given Strand’s knowledge of the Library Planet, gained from Ludendorff—the New Men might be guarding their nexus, meaning it would be safer to try for this other one. But if this other one proved to be defunct or was a figment of Ludendorff’s active imagination—

Maddox took a deep breath, expelling it as if he was a smoker. Cross 1,500 light-years—or take a detour of 237 light-years to make it there in a single jump. They’d trusted Ludendorff’s memory before and won because of it. The Methuselah Man was usually right about these things. In fact, the Methuselah Man had turned out to be a great asset many times. It was time to trust his memory again.

“We detour,” Maddox said.

“I thought you would,” Ludendorff said.

“Galyan,” Maddox called, deciding to begin the detour as soon as possible.

-20-

Starship Victory began the detour, heading in the opposite direction it had been traveling. Because Valerie was part of the flotilla but an otherwise independent commander, Maddox had Meta inform her of the change in heading.

Valerie’s ship was still inside Hangar Bay Four. The Darter-class scout ship had recently left experimental status to become the newest type of Star Watch vessel.

The Tarrypin, like others of its kind, had fold capabilities like a fold fighter and star-drive jump like a larger vessel. What it did not have was a Laumer Drive. Thus, the Tarrypin could not enter a wormhole unless another vessel opened the way for it.

The experimental darters had been seven times larger than a fold-fighter. The Tarrypin and the others like it were twice as big as that, the Patrol Board having decided that a small crew in deep space needed more room than the experimental model had provided.

Like the experimental model, this one had some of the newest technologies. The new techs allowed for the small size and the star-drive jump capability. The Tarrypin lacked hull armor, although it did have a special polymer skin that allowed for its stealth field. The darter did not have a shield generator, meaning it could not deploy an electromagnetic shield. This was a scout vessel pure and simple, relying on its stealth capabilities, fold and star-drive jump for survival. If an enemy vessel fired upon it, and the beam or solid projectile struck the ship, the darter would crumple or explode, likely killing everyone aboard. The trick, therefore, was not being there when the beam or missile arrived. Preferably, it would prove wiser not to let anyone see it to target the Tarrypin in the first place.

The darter looked like a giant space bomber, including a delta wing for atmospheric flight. Most of the ship’s space held the fold, star-drive jump and stealth field engines, with a tiny fusion engine to supply power. The darter’s armaments included a few 20-millimeter autocannons, three antimissiles and one mini-rocket with a nuclear warhead. That meant it was almost defenseless against anything else that carried weaponry.

There were three crew quarters, a tiny gym—this one lacking a treadmill—a small science station, the control cabin, the engine compartments and an extra room with the newest VR equipment for crew entertainment and relaxation. There was also a large luggage bay in the rear of the ship. Altogether, despite the enlargement, the Tarrypin was a claustrophobic vessel for anyone but the Patrol-trained.

Inside the darter in her quarters, Lieutenant Commander Valerie Noonan wore a T-shirt and shorts as she did pushups. Valerie was a slender Star Watch officer with her long brunette hair tucked under a military hat. She’d finished 25 pushups so far and was trying for another 25 without stopping. They had been smooth until now, but she was beginning to feel the strain.

The next five went well enough. She lowered herself until her breasts touched the deck. Then, she shoved upward. After the next ten pushups, however, her arms began to shake as her triceps burned with fatigue.

She’d been skipping calisthenics for several weeks and was now paying for it.

The next five pushups proceeded as her arms shook worse than ever. At number 46, her arms gave out and she struck the deck with her chest.

Valerie lay there, gasping for air, her arms quivering. She knew what the problem was, why she’d missed doing calisthenics for so long. The darter was too small for strenuous running and she’d neglected to install a treadmill. Sure, she could ask Victory for one, but somehow that would feel like a personal defeat.

Would she have to talk to Maddox or Keith? She didn’t want to see either one, and the reason was simple. She was having trouble with Ensign Lucas Rogers. The man wasn’t listening to her properly, and she’d found him leering at her from time to time.

The trouble was the tiny amount of space aboard the darter. Well, that was one of the problems. The other was that she wasn’t sure of the correct way to deal with Rogers. He was supposed to be Patrol-trained, able to survive in small quarters and in deep space for months on end.

Valerie was beginning to believe that someone at headquarters had sabotaged her by giving her a misfit.

Climbing from the deck, Valerie debated whether she should head to the only shower aboard the Tarrypin. If she didn’t, she would feel sweaty and gritty the entire day. If she bumped into Rogers on the way to the shower, he would likely run his eyes over her.

Yes, she could give him an official reprimand, and that would enter his service record…but she was going to have to spend a long time with him in the cramped darter. Did she want an angry ensign all that time?

The other problem was Lucas Rogers’ size. If he’d been built like Keith, she might have tested Rogers on the mat, defeating him in hand-to-hand combat while training. Maddox and others had taught her, and she was tough…but she was too light for someone like Rogers.

The ensign was built like a tank, a space marine. He lifted weights in the small gym and must have used steroids of some kind to build those muscles of his.

Wasn’t using steroids illegal for a Patrol officer? She’d have to check up on that.

She sighed. Every time she’d been stern with him, Rogers had taken it as a sexual game. Maybe it was one of his erotic fantasies. The way he leered at her sometimes, it sure felt that way.

Valerie took a towel from her locker, opened the hatch and refused to look both ways. The hall was short, the two nearest hatches to the personal quarters of the crew.

There were three of them aboard the Tarrypin, if one included her.

Valerie started down the short hall, and wouldn’t you know it, but Roger’s hatch opened as if he knew she was here.

The big man stepped out. He wore gym shorts and nothing else except for a towel wrapped around his thick neck. He was six-four with broad muscular shoulders, long muscular arms and a handsome head with a blond buzz-cut. He was blue-eyed and had a classic space marine look, his jaw bigger than his cranium. In another time and place, Valerie might have admired the man.

“Hey, LC, race you to the shower,” Rogers said, his eyes glowing as he took in her sweat-dampened shirt and her hidden breasts underneath.

“Ensign,” she said, sternly.

Rogers raised his eyebrows, his smile widening fractionally.

That was finally too much, especially as the man had caught her out of her quarters without wearing a bra. She felt sexual tension between them, and she despised that.

“This is official,” Valerie said, feeling foolish as she said it. “Unless you immediately apologize, I will put you on report for conduct unbecoming of a Patrol officer.”

“LC?” he asked, as if confused. He said LC in lieu of Lieutenant Commander.

Valerie opened her mouth to give him another warning. She knew, though, that warnings were useless with him. Only action would count. A threat was no good if the other didn’t believe it.

“I’m logging the report, Ensign.”

“What did I do, huh?”

“Engaged in conduct unbecoming of a Patrol officer,” she said, feeling better already.

“Because I looked at your tits? Are you kidding me? The way you’re flaunting them, who wouldn’t look?”

“Insubordination can result in your immediate termination.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would formally request Captain Maddox to put you in Victory’s brig until we return to Earth.”

“Balls!” he said.

She felt her face flush with heat.

He laughed. “If you want to cool down, we can shower together, LC.”

The flush departed as Valerie felt herself grow cold. She headed down the corridor for the control room. There was a comm panel in there. She would call Victory and make the request. She was through with Ensign Lucas Rogers.

“Lieutenant Commander,” Rogers called, with authority in his voice.

Something about that troubled Valerie. She whirled around.

Rogers stepped out of his quarters. He stood stiffly and bowed at his six-pack waist. “I’m officially sorry for my behavior, ma’am. I hope you won’t take this personally, but the Lord High Admiral assigned me to test your command resolve. I’m not really an ensign, but a Patrol lieutenant from Testing. Your real ensign is awaiting assignment aboard Victory.”

“What?”

“My recommendation is to not take this personally. It was a test, and you passed, most admirably, I might add.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not.”

“Then I’ll call Victory in any case, as you’re still leaving.”

“Yes, please do call. But could I recommend that you do so while wearing your uniform?”

She stared into his face, searching for the sexual innuendo. For once, it was not there.

“I’ll return to my quarters and get ready for reassignment aboard Victory.” Without waiting for her permission, Rogers entered his quarters and the hatch shut behind him.

Valerie stood indecisively for several seconds. Then, she headed for the shower.

-21-

Maddox was in his ready room, reading reports. He didn’t care for this part of the job. It had always been a chore for him. It was one thing searching records on an Intelligence mission. That was exciting because it could result in a breakthrough on a case. This, however, was simply boring. This was one of the reasons he wondered if he really was fit to be a starship captain.

A good leader was like an alpha wolf, one who enjoyed leading the pack. He was more like a solitary leopard, often at his best alone. He’d managed all this time to act like an alpha wolf—

There was a chime at the hatch.

“Enter,” Maddox said.

The hatch opened and Meta stepped through. His wife had that look that indicated she was on a mission.

Maddox set down the reader and pointed at the chair before his desk.

Meta took a seat, staring at him.

“All right, what is it?”

Meta hesitated, glancing at her hands. “I don’t mean to presume, Captain—”

“None of that,” Maddox said. “What is it?”

Meta looked up, the intensity returning. “You just admitted Lieutenant Lucas Rogers onto Victory.”

“You mean from the Tarrypin?”

Meta nodded.

“What about it?”

“Don’t you find that odd?”

“That the Lord High Admiral tested a new Lieutenant Commander?”

“Technically, it was the Patrol Board that assigned the tester and gave him instructions on what to examine.”

“That wasn’t what I read,” Maddox said.

“I know. I did a little research into that, though.”

Maddox raised his eyebrows.

“Remember how we used to deal with androids and Spacer agents stowing away on Victory to attack from within at the worst possible moment?”

“Of course, I remember. We’ve stepped up security measures since then. Oh. I see. Rogers didn’t go through the same security sweep. I don’t have direct authority over the Tarrypin, at least about what happens inside Valerie’s ship. Thus, she and her crew went through a Patrol sweep before landing the darter in Hangar Bay Four.”

“A Patrol security sweep isn’t as thorough as ours,” Meta said.

“Do you suspect Rogers is an enemy agent?”

“At the very least, he could have HMD leanings,” Meta said. “And I don’t know if you know about the nature of his tests.”

Maddox shook his head.

“They were odd for a Patrol tester.”

“Explain,” Maddox said.

Meta did.

“How did you learn that? It wasn’t in the report.”

“I requested permission to board the Tarrypin and visited with Valerie. She told me what really happened. It shook her, although she didn’t directly say that.”

“Well…we’re doubling back through the Commonwealth, heading for a distant nexus,” Maddox said. “We’re not heading straight for Earth or any other planet, but we are passing near several star bases. It would be easy enough to send Rogers away in a shuttle.”

“Don’t you find it odd that he hasn’t already requested that? Why would a Patrol tester wish to stay aboard Victory? He must know we could be gone for years.”

Maddox leaned back in his chair as he looked up at the ceiling. How had he missed all this? He regarded his wife. “As an ex-assassin, we should put you in charge of security instead of working communications.”

“I’m happy with my posting, particularly as it puts me on the bridge.”

Maddox stood. Meta stood as well. “I’m going to have a talk with Rogers, get a feel for the man. I’ve had enough enemy agents popping up on my starship for a lifetime. If he is one—maybe we can nip it before it turns into something worse.”

“Be careful,” Meta said.

“I always am.”

Meta eyed him sidelong as she departed.

***

Maddox sat in the officers’ mess, sipping wine. He’d been waiting ten minutes past the appointed time, wondering what could be delaying Rogers.

Then he noticed the lieutenant arriving. The man wore a Patrol uniform but walked like a cage fighter, one that believed he owned any place he set his feet. Rogers did not glance around in haste, but eyed his surroundings like an Intelligence agent until he spied the waiting captain. He headed to the table, nodding in greeting, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Instead of saying, “You’re late,” Maddox asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” Rogers said, as he set his folded hands on the table.

Maddox took another sip of wine as he analyzed the situation. The lieutenant seemed unhurried, unruffled and thus unconcerned. With a shock, Maddox realized, I don’t like him. It was more than just a clash of personalities. He’s off. He’s not a Patrol tester; maybe he doesn’t really belong in the Patrol at all. Maddox set down the goblet. He had enough problems this mission to deal with more. It was time to quash this—send Rogers away and radio ahead to the star base to hand him over to Intelligence for deep interrogation. And there was Rogers’ attempt to humiliate Valerie.

Maddox stood abruptly.

Rogers remained seated.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lieutenant. If you’ll come with me, you can be on your way.”

“Sir?” Rogers asked.

“Stand up when I’m addressing you, mister.”

Rogers cocked his head, and he smirked, he actually smirked. Moving insultingly slowly, he pushed back from the table and stood up, staring at the captain in a challenging manner.

“This way,” Maddox said, turning, heading for the exit. He didn’t look back to see if Rogers was following him. He had a sense the man was not. That was fine. He’d insulted Valerie, insulted one of his crew—one of the best officers he’d ever had the honor of working with. If the bastard wanted to play Mr. Tough Guy with him too, that was fine with Maddox. If Rogers really was a secret enemy agent, this was a good way of dealing with him.

Maddox exited the cafeteria and strode down a corridor.

“Hey, Captain, wait for me.”

Maddox did not bother turning around. He suspected that Rogers had deliberately moved slowly at the beginning, Now, the man was having trouble catching up. Maddox increased the speed of his stride.

“Maddox!” Rogers shouted.

The captain turned a corner, and he debated running to increase the distance between them. He nixed the idea, as he heard heavy footfalls behind him, indicating a hard-running man.

“Captain,” Rogers shouted, from closer than before.

Maddox ignored the call.

Rogers kept sprinting, his footfalls nearing until he must have reached out, as he grasped Maddox by a shoulder.

The captain spun around and slugged the lieutenant in the gut, apparently catching the man by surprise. Rogers’s eyes went wide, his mouth opened and he staggered back. That surprised Maddox, who had expected the man to collapse onto his butt. That Rogers didn’t fall proved he was tougher than he should be.

“Hey,” Rogers said, as he massaged his stomach. “What was that for?”

“You grabbed a superior officer from behind. I assumed it was an attack and reacted instinctively.”

“I’m calling bullshit on that,” Rogers said. “For some reason, you wanted to hit me. You’d better think twice about that and apologize for what you did.”

A feral light clicked on in Maddox’s eyes, and he grinned. “What did you say?”

“You heard me, big shot. I’m calling bullshit. If you were a man, you’d call me out, and we’d fight—” Rogers abruptly stopped talking.

“Oops,” Maddox said.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“You just revealed that you’re HMD.”

“Doesn’t that stand for Humanity Manifesto Doctrine? Star Watch had some trouble with those believing in the doctrine. I don’t get what that has to do with me.”

“If I were a man…”

Something happened in Rogers’ eyes, some kind of understanding. It caused his features to harden. “Okay, I let that slip, so what? You’re a breed. We all know it. You want to make a big deal about that?”

“Breed?” asked Maddox.

“It stands for half-breed, big shot. You’re a partial spawn of a New Man.”

Maddox studied Patrol Lieutenant Lucas Rogers. There was something really off here, something not making sense. In ways, Rogers acted like an Intelligence agent. In other ways, he acted like a dumb jock, a tough one, surely. That would indicate the jock routine was an act. And if it was an act, it was meant as a cover for something more sinister than a mere HMD bigot.

“What you staring at, breed?”

“Galyan,” Maddox called.

The little holoimage popped into view. “You rang, sir?” Galyan asked, perhaps still using his humor program.

“Run an interior scan on Lieutenant Rogers. I want you to search for any—”

“No,” Rogers said, holding out his right hand, palm forward at Galyan.

The little holoimage disappeared.

Maddox reacted, but it was slower than usual as he recovered from the shock of what just happened.

In the tiny window of time, Lieutenant Rogers drew a knife from his boot and lunged, the knife flashing for the captain’s throat.

It was likely that only the captain’s phenomenal reflexes saved his life. He jerked aside, and his right hand came up, knocking the arm and knife out of the way. Then, Maddox backpedalled. Rogers was already shouting, lunging after the captain, slashing.

Maddox dodged once, twice and then used an ancient tactic, kicking Rogers hard in the balls. The kick lifted the lieutenant up onto his toes as he paled. The knife fell from his nerveless hand and he grunted. A second later, he collapsed onto the deck, clutching his groin as he curled into a fetal position.

Maddox scooped up the knife. It was a space marine combat blade.

Rogers groaned from on the floor. “You bastard,” he panted.

“Are you HMD?”

“You’re never going to know, big shot. There are more of us, millions more. One of these days, one of us will kill you.”

“How did you make Galyan disappear?”

For an answer, Rogers cursed the captain.

“It doesn’t matter if you tell me or not,” Maddox said. “We’ll find out soon enough—”

Rogers glared as if concentrating, and he gagged as the stench of his own burning flesh grew. A trickle of black smoke rose from an ear. His eyes bulged, and he relaxed, relaxed even more and died.

Maddox knelt, searching for a pulse. There wasn’t any. He couldn’t believe it. Rogers had been an enemy stowaway after all, meaning that Meta had guessed right.

Maddox stood as a team of marines sprinted into view. Galyan must have summoned them.

Maddox pointed at the dead man. “Take him to medical.” It was time to do an autopsy.

-22-

Several hours later, Maddox read Doctor Harris’s report. In the addendum, she admitted that much of the information had come from Galyan. From the report, Maddox learned that Patrol Lieutenant Lucas Rogers had two Spacer modifications in him, which meant they were ancient Builder devices. One of them had been a power source located near his heart. The other had been something else, a combination of being able to use transduction—seeing electromagnetic wavelengths—and to affect the wavelengths. He must have scrambled Galyan’s holoimage. The second device had been in his brain near the left ear. Both modifications had melted into slag, the electrical surges and heat from them more than enough to slay Rogers.

Maddox presently sat in the ship’s conference chamber, with Ludendorff, Meta, Riker and Galyan in attendance.

“We know how Rogers shorted Galyan’s holoimage,” Maddox said, “with a Spacer implant. Fortunately, the assassin-spy wasn’t able to inflict any permanent damage to Galyan.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Ludendorff said. “It’s questionable Rogers really knew how to use his implant or to use it effectively. He shorted Galyan’s holoimage. I haven’t found any evidence he did anything else with it.”

“I do,” Meta said. “He must have used the implant to spy on Valerie aboard the Tarrypin. He would come from behind a closed hatch at the worst possible moments. Maybe he was looking through the door with the Spacer device.”

“We’re going to have to search the darter,” Maddox said. “Rogers spent weeks aboard it. Surely, he didn’t use all his time only as a Spacer Peeping Tom.”

“Valerie isn’t going to like us combing through her ship,” Meta said.

“You have to go about it the right way,” Ludendorff said. “I suggest you get her to request for the search. Make it her idea.”

“Good thinking,” Maddox said. “That will be your task.”

“Mine?” asked Ludendorff. “Valerie has never trusted me.”

“Maybe I should do it, sir,” Meta said.

“Fine, fine,” Maddox said. “Until we make a thorough sweep… I’m not sure what we should assume about all this. We haven’t dealt with Spacers for some time. I thought they’d left Human Space for good.”

“We have dealt with Vint Diem, in a manner of speaking, at least,” Galyan said.

“That’s right,” Maddox said. “There is Vint Diem, an ex-Spacer, an adept of great skill. We’ve never figured out who he works for exactly, the New Men, Lisa Meyers—”

“Maybe he’s a freelancer,” Ludendorff said, interrupting, “a mercenary for hire.”

“If that’s true,” Maddox said, “if Rogers was like Vint Diem, the man could have worked for anyone.”

“According to you,” Ludendorff said, “he spouted HMD jargon during your standoff.”

“That’s the conundrum,” Maddox said. “If he was a Spacer adept like Shu 15 or Vint Diem, or trained to use his Builder implants, it would indicate a highly intelligent person. Such a person wouldn’t have let slip the things Rogers did.”

“He could have been acting the part of a HMD zealot,” Ludendorff said.

“Or he could have been one recruited into Vint Diem’s network,” Maddox said. “An expendable man.”

“I’m not saying Rogers had anything to do with Diem,” Ludendorff said. “My point is we’ve still dealt with Spacers, even if the official body of them has departed for the Deep Beyond.”

“Is it odd that Rogers had a Builder device that could see all the electromagnetic wavelengths?” Galyan asked. “He would be able to see radio and microwave, infrared and ultraviolet waves—”

“The ball-of-light creature,” Maddox said, interrupting. “Do you think there’s a connection with Rogers to the alien?”

“The possibility exists,” Galyan said, “more so because of their proximity in time and that both were on Victory.”

“You said the creature or alien came from the Library Planet,” Maddox told Ludendorff.

“Not quite,” Ludendorff said. “I wondered aloud if the alien had anything to do with our goal of reaching the Library Planet.”

“Well,” Maddox said. “Suppose that’s so. How would the alien have recruited Rogers, gotten him into the Patrol and assigned to the Tarrypin? Wouldn’t that demand more time? Then the alien would have known about our destination before we’d even decided to go?”

“You are correct,” Galyan said. “The logical and linear flow of events does not compute. That suggests two contradictory things. One, Lucas Rogers had nothing to do with the alien. Two, the alien possesses an amazing ability: to work outside temporal limitations.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ludendorff asked sharply.

Maddox was startled to see Galyan wink at him.

“What do you mean by temporal limitations?” Ludendorff demanded. “Did Rogers disrupt some of your logic circuits when he scrambled your holoimage?”

“No, Professor,” Maddox said. “Galyan made a joke.”

“What?”

“Galyan has been practicing his humor,” Maddox said.

“Is that right?” Ludendorff asked Galyan.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Is your comment about temporal limitations a joke?”

“It was an attempt,” Galyan said. “It would appear that I failed.”

Ludendorff rubbed his forehead. “Temporal limitations…” He frowned as if in pain. “Temporal limitations…”

“Is something wrong, Professor?” Meta asked.

Ludendorff stood, massaging his forehead with both hands. He sat back down, thumping onto his seat and looking up. “You…you might be onto something, Galyan.”

“It is funny after all?” Galyan asked.

“No, no joke,” Ludendorff said. “It’s a memory, one I’d long forgotten. I can’t quite remember it, but there’s a legend or a curse or an alien menace like the Erills….” Ludendorff stopped talking, staring and then smiling. “I wish I could remember more, but I can’t.”

“I’d like to know what you’re suggesting,” Maddox said.

“Nothing right now,” Ludendorff said. “Forget I mentioned it.”

Maddox stared at the Methuselah Man. Stared until Meta cleared her throat. When he looked at his wife, she shook her head minutely. Maddox sighed, forcing himself to say, “Are there any suggestions as to what we should do next?”

“I agree we should search the darter,” Galyan said. “And I think the professor’s idea that Meta trick Valerie into asking for it—”

“I’m not going to trick her,” Meta said.

“What then?” asked Galyan.

“Help her to see that it would be the right thing to request,” Meta said.

“What is the difference between that and what I said?” Galyan asked.

“My way sounds nicer.”

Galyan’s eyelids fluttered, until he said, “I have logged your statement and will study it further.”

“I have a suggestion,” Sergeant Treggason Riker said. He was an old Intelligence hand, supposedly Maddox’s Watson as conceived once by worried Intelligence chiefs. That had been in the early days of Maddox’s career with Star Watch Intelligence. Riker was a rugged individual full of old-fashioned common sense. He had a bionic left eye, hand and arm, and had been wondering for years why he didn’t retire already.

Maddox nodded for the sergeant to continue.

“Request Valerie to take her darter outside the starship,” Riker said. “Until we know the Tarrypin is safe, isn’t it unwise to have it in Hangar Bay Four?”

“That’s an excellent suggestion,” Maddox said. “Meta, you can tell Valerie after your meeting with her.”

“It might be harder to get her to request we search the Tarrypin if we send her outside as if she’s a leper,” Meta said.

“Maybe,” Maddox said. “But the safety of my ship comes first, not guarding someone’s feelings. Valerie is a big girl now. The Lord High Admiral recognized it, too, which is why she’s a lieutenant commander and has her own ship.”

“Yes, sir,” Meta said.

“Good,” Maddox said, glancing around the table. “Dismissed.”

-23-

Valerie sat at the helm of the Tarrypin, following Victory toward a Laumer Point. She was surprised how different it felt than all the other times she’d been in command of the starship or the time she’d commanded the Darter Reynard. This was her ship, her command and all her responsibility.

For the first time, that she was in charge here really sunk in.

She laughed, and feeling slightly foolish, she looked around to see if anyone had heard her.

She was alone in the control cabin.

The good feeling evaporated soon enough as she recalled her talk with Meta. Lucas Rogers had been a spy for someone, and they’d used the darter to slip him onto Victory. That meant her ridding the Tarrypin of an arrogant Patrol tester had been his plan all along. Rogers had manipulated her through sexual innuendos and sexist behavior. She’d fallen rather easily for his manipulations, too.

That’s going to stop. I’m going to recognize it when others are trying to manipulate me and foil them.

She had to toughen up, get a thicker skin. And she had to use her brain more. She was in command. She was responsible for the Tarrypin and everyone aboard.

Rogers had had two Spacer modifications. Meta had told her he’d likely looked through hatches and bulkheads to watch her. The seemingly random but improbable meetings had been anything but.

Had Rogers been toying with her the entire time? It seemed likely. Captain Maddox had killed the man. Well, technically, he’d defeated Rogers and Rogers had killed himself.

Valerie had a good idea why the captain had ordered the Tarrypin into space. Rogers had possessed two Spacer modifications as Shu 15 once had. The Tarrypin was an easier target than Victory, and wasn’t as well guarded either.

Valerie realized now that Meta had tried to get her to request Galyan and Ludendorff to come aboard and search…for what? For something Rogers might have placed here.

Sitting at the helm, Valerie shook her head. This was her ship, her problem. She was going to take care of it. If that meant Maddox wasn’t going to let the Tarrypin back into Hangar Bay Number Four, so be it.

Stubbornness settled into place over her features. She called the first mate to the cabin, telling her to take over. Then, Valerie left and started the search in the science chamber.

Valerie used a hand-scanner, carefully going over every inch of the chamber. She almost called for Galyan several times. It was an old habit to rely on the AI. But Galyan wasn’t assigned to the Tarrypin, but to Victory.

After forty-five minutes of searching, Valerie went to the tiny gym. It still lacked a treadmill, but had weights, a wrestling mat and heavy bag. She would start practicing kickboxing with the heavy bag. That would be a good way to condition.

Later, Valerie called the young ensign, and together, they searched Rogers’ quarters, finding nothing he might have planted.

Nothing showed up in the science chamber, the gym or the ensign’s quarters. Valerie retired to her quarters and lay on the cot for a half hour. She made herself a strawberry protein shake afterward, savoring it.

Leaving her quarters, she checked the engine compartments. That took two hours of diligent scanning and testing. She found nothing out of place there either.

She searched the rear storage bay and found nothing there as well.

That left the first mate’s quarters—

And some of the engine cells I can crawl to from a tube.

Valerie didn’t want to go into the engine cells. It would be hot, itchy to her skin and smelly. Maybe it was time to admit defeat—

Valerie stopped, wondering if this was really a battle. Who was she trying to impress? This was about the safety of the Tarrypin and the safety of the mission.

Am I being stupid?

She didn’t like the idea. She finally decided that maybe she was being stubborn, but that that was a good thing. Captain Maddox was the most stubborn man she knew, and he was probably the most effective, too.

I’m going to beat him at his own game.

She drank some water, gathered a few extra pieces of equipment and headed for the engine cells.

At the back of the third cell was a small tube hatch. She removed it, hearing the thrum of the darter’s fusion engine. Swallowing, hardening her determination, Valerie crawled into the tube.

She didn’t have to crawl far, removing another small hatch. She wriggled through until she stood in a tight maintenance access space, with blinking lights everywhere.

She took out her hand-scanner and started searching. It was tedious; her skin became itchy and her mouth dry. After a half-hour, she wondered if she was still thinking clearly.

That was when she removed a covering and stared at a shiny deep-sea blue globe the size of a hardball. That didn’t belong in here. Valerie nearly grabbed it. Before her hand touched the blue globe, she raised the scanner and tested it.

Nothing. The scanner didn’t show a thing.

Valerie adjusted the settings, but it didn’t matter. The blue globe was immune to the scanner.

Valerie took a deep breath. What was the right protocol now?

I should summon Galyan. If she didn’t want to do that, she could call the first mate or ensign.

In the end, Valerie did neither. This was her ship, her find and her responsibility. She licked her lips and thought about options.

Just grab it already.

Was that her idea? Valerie reached out and panicked at the last second. Snatching her hand back, Valerie whirled around fast, bumping against a bulkhead. She cried out in pain, rubbing her forehead. A premonition caused her to turn back to the blue globe. It rose up silently.

Valerie moaned in dread.

A light flashed from the globe, the light shining in Valerie’s left eye. She stood frozen, and then she collapsed.

The globe hovered over her fallen form, electrical discharges leaving it and striking her forehead. That lasted twenty-three seconds.

Once the discharges ceased, the globe floated for the tube hatch, exiting the engine cell.

-24-

Valerie stirred 57 minutes later, feeling groggy and disoriented. She had no idea where she was or what had happened to her. She opened her eyes, staring up at rows upon rows of blinking indicator lights.

Why am I here? This is a cell, isn’t it, or the back area of an engine cell?

She sat up, feeling dizzy, nauseated—she turned her head and vomited. She vomited again, hating the feeling.

She felt better after that, as the dizziness departed. Sliding away, climbing to her feet, she wondered what she’d been doing in here. She couldn’t remember why she’d come.

Did I fall asleep? Have I been overworking myself?

No…She’d come here to find something.

That’s when she noticed the open covering. Her head began to throb. There was a reason for that—the open cover—a reason she couldn’t remember.

Her eyes were sore and the dizziness threatened a return. She didn’t want to vomit again.

Valerie went to the tube, crawled through—

Why can’t I remember why I came to the cell? What’s wrong with me?

She replaced the tube hatch and stood, rubbing her forehead, rubbing it.

Why do I worry so much?

It hit her then. This was the Darter Tarrypin. It was hers. She was in command. There must have been some kind of problem back here.

Worried now, Valerie hurried from the third cell to the main engine compartment, studying the sensors. The panic began to evaporate as she realized everything was operating properly. The darter wasn’t about to blow.

Valerie laughed nervously, and she rubbed her forehead again. She paused and touched her forehead. There was something wrong with it.

She hurried out of the main engine compartment and went to the restroom chamber. She peered at a mirror, shocked to see a spotted rash on her forehead.

What had caused that?

She exited the restroom/shower chamber, bumping into the new ensign, Derrick Magee. He was the opposite of Lucas Rogers. Derrick was painfully young, wore thick glasses and still had a few pimples on his face. He was small and narrow-shouldered, and so far, he’d acted nervously around her. He was also damn smart, particularly with computers, anything electronic.

“H-Hello, Lieutenant Commander,” he stammered, not quite looking her in the eyes.

“Derrick,” she said, moving around him. She stopped. “Derrick…what was I looking for?”

His gaze lifted to peer in her eyes. “You d-don’t remember?”

Valerie didn’t answer that, using a Maddox tactic in dealing with a crewmember.

“I-I’m s-sorry, Lieutenant Commander. I shouldn’t—”

“Derrick, sir or ma’am will do. You don’t have to say ‘Lieutenant Commander’ each time. Now, was I searching for something?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me what.”

“You didn’t directly t-tell me, sir. It was a small object. I assume the former ensign had hidden it. That was why you checked my quarters, which used to be his quarters.”

“You mean Lucas Rogers?” she asked.

Derrick nodded while giving her a funny look.

The former talk with Meta rushed back, the hint that she should let Galyan and Ludendorff search her ship. As if I can’t search my own ship.

With a chill, Valerie realized something was up, and she didn’t know what it was. “That will be all.”

“Yes, sir,” Derrick said, heading and stumbling for his quarters.

Valerie headed for hers, but she stopped, scowled and turned around. “Derrick!”

“Sir?” he squeaked, turning back to her.

She walked back to him and pointed at her forehead. “Did I have this before?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you see a rash on my forehead?”

He lifted his gaze again, holding it on her forehead. It took him several seconds before he frowned. “How did you get that?”

“I don’t remember,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Do you have any idea what would cause a rash like that?”

He took a step closer, and then blushed, looking down. “Those almost look like electrical burns, the beginning of them, anyway.”

Valerie frowned. Electrical. She’d woken up in an engine cell.

“Is there anything else, sir?”

“No. Thanks, Derrick.”

“What did I do?”

Valerie didn’t bother answering as she headed for her quarters, feeling flummoxed, out of her depth.

She went to her cot and sat on it. She clasped her hands between her knees and stared at the deck. Meta had wanted her to ask for Galyan and Ludendorff to search the Tarrypin. Meta hadn’t gone into detail as to why. Clearly, she hadn’t asked for help, but had gone searching herself. She’d searched Derrick’s quarters and likely the engine cell. She must have searched the regular engine compartments first. Why couldn’t she remember those things?

Valerie clasped her hands more tightly. Memory was a tricky thing. There was short-term memory and long-term memory. If she recalled a class that she’d taken on study skills correctly, short-term memory needed time to turn into long-term memory. There was a chemical change or track to lay down for the long-term memory. Sometimes, people had accidents. They would remember everything up until a few seconds or more before the accident. The short-term memory hadn’t been able to form long-term memory and had simply disappeared.

It would seem that was what had happened to her.

Did I have an accident then?

Valerie unclasped her hands and gingerly touched her forehead. The rash—the many prickles that could be light electrical burns—had they come about because of an accident? What would have shocked her in the engine cell? Should she go back and investigate?

Valerie sat there, breathing shallowly, having trouble thinking through the rest. She doubted that she’d been careless in the cell. Could something have deliberately caused the electrical burns?

As the second-in-command on Victory, she recalled many strange aliens and events throughout the years. It might well be that she’d stumbled upon something here. If she’d been searching for a thing…

Had it hidden in the back of the third engine cell?

The shallow breathing became faster. She so wanted to succeed at her independent command. She did not want anyone saying that she’d leaned on Maddox and the crew, certainly not the negative voice in her head, the one that sounded like her dear old dad.

“Dad,” she whispered. “What should I do?”

There was no answer, not even from the negative voice that often reprimanded her for making stupid decisions.

Valerie closed her eyes, and she remembered something Maddox had said before, how deep breathing helped at times.

Opening her eyes, putting her hands on her knees, Valerie deliberately breathed as deeply as she could, holding it and slowly exhaling. She did this several times.

She could feel her heart rate slowing and her anxiety lessening.

You know what you should do.

“I know,” she said aloud.

Standing, taking another deep and calming breath, Valerie headed for the hatch. It was time to call Victory and tell Galyan and Ludendorff to come over.

-25-

Valerie finished with the call, turned and—

“Hello, Valerie,” Galyan said, appearing in the Tarrypin’s control chamber. “It is good to see you again.”

“Hello, Galyan,” she said, realizing she’d missed the little AI.

“I am glad you decided to let us search. We were getting worried you would not do the right thing.”

“Who said that? Never mind,” she said a moment later. “I don’t want to know. Galyan, look at my forehead.”

He did. “Oh. Does that hurt?”

“It feels like a rash, but I don’t think it is.”

“That is the beginning of electrical burns,” Galyan said. “I count seventeen individual pinpricks.”

“What do you think caused them?”

“Is this a trick question, Valerie?”

“No. I’m serious. I… I can’t remember how it happened.”

Galyan’s eyelids fluttered, but just for a moment. “You did not want to give us permission to search, did you?”

“Not really.”

“Your lack of memory has frightened you.”

“I’m not frightened…well, not too much anyway.”

“You should be,” Galyan said. “We have been dealing with—I am sorry. That is classified data. I cannot say more without the captain’s permission.”

“Look. Let’s concentrate on the issue. I woke up in the back of Engine Cell Three. I don’t remember crawling there and—”

“You woke up there?” Galyan asked, interrupting.

“With the rashes on my forehead and while feeling dizzy,” Valerie said. “I vomited twice.”

“Do I have your permission to head directly there?”

“Of course.”

Galyan vanished.

Valerie wondered if she should stay here or head for the cells. She stared out of the polarized window at Victory nearby.

Galyan reappeared.

“That was quick,” she said.

“I did not detect anything unusual,” Galyan said. “I did spot your dried vomit.”

“Wonderful,” she said.

“There was a fractional residue of electric discharges in the air. That would substantiate your story. I see no evidence of any of the ship’s monitoring equipment malfunctioning. Did you fix or change anything after you woke up?”

“Nothing.”

“Think, Valerie. Did you change anything?”

“I put a cover back on.”

“Which one?” Galyan asked.

Valerie told him.

The holoimage vanished again and reappeared several seconds later. “There is the tiniest trace element of an alien alloy under the cover. That would suggest an alien artifact rested there for some time. Osmosis might account for the trace elements.”

“What are you saying?”

“You found something in the cell,” Galyan said. “It was foreign to the Tarrypin. It is gone now. Logic dictates that the thing shocked you, maybe seventeen times in all. I do not know what the slight electrical burns mean yet.”

“It was hiding on my ship?”

“Yes, Valerie.”

“Great,” she said. “So I was holding a spy and now some alien technology. This enemy must have figured that I was the weak link. Galyan, what are you doing? Is something behind me?”

“Good luck, Valerie. I must report this while I can.” Galyan vanished.

Valerie turned around, and inhaled hard.

A floating blue globe the size of a hardball approached her slowly.

“Stop,” she said.

The floating globe halted.

Valerie swallowed. Galyan must have seen the thing, and instead of confronting it, the holoimage had fled back to Victory, probably to report.

“You understand me,” she said, her mind beginning to work again. She’d been in tough places before. This was her ship, and the artifact proved yet again that they’d been working through her to… “Get to Victory,” she said softly.

A mixture of fear and anger boiled in her. “What are you?” she asked.

There was a faint click, and a light shined from the globe, a narrow beam directed at one of her eyes.

Valerie jerked her head and brought up her hands, shielding herself from the beam. Her brain throbbed, and she swayed. She wondered if they’d played this game before.

The globe approached closer, the beam still shining at her.

Valerie did not give it a chance to shine in her eyes, but backed away as she kept her head down.

There was another click. The beam from the hardball-sized globe shined elsewhere, and a wavering holoimage appeared there. The holoimage was the size of a human head, but it wasn’t human but beastly, alien, a wolf-like thing with a snout and fangs. It had a large cranium, though, indicating high intelligence.

“Valerie,” said the alien holoimage head.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“What are you?”

“A mistake,” it said.

Valerie frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I was a mistake. I should never have been born.”

“What?”

“I slew my mother and caused my father endless grief.”

Valerie touched her forehead, recognizing her own thoughts coming from the thing’s mouth. “Are you reading my mind?”

“I am a mistake.”

“Stop it,” Valerie said. “I’m not a mistake.”

The holoimage head wavered and flickered.  “I am afraid.”

“You’re a bastard. You’re mocking me.”

“Valerie, would you like a better ship?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can improve your vessel. It is substandard and antiquated. A few minor adjustments would give you a deadly ship.”

“What could I do to stop you from making the changes?”

“Do you not desire a greater ship?”

“Are you a computer?” Valerie asked. “Are you running various programs, seeing what will work with me? That’s it, isn’t it? You probed my mind. That’s how I got these burns. But you act too much like Galyan. That means you’re a computer, or essentially a computer.”

“I am a mistake.”

“Look, buddy, we’ve been through that. You read my mind. I get that. Mockery isn’t going to get you anywhere, though.”

“Mistake,” said the holoimage head.

“All right, I’ll bite. How are you a mistake?”

“Lu-Ludendorff,” said the holoimage head.

“You know Professor Ludendorff?”

“Creator,” the head said.

“What?”

“Professor Ludendorff was my creator. I know now that he was supposed to create something different. He…how do you say? He erred.”

“When did he make you?”

“Last week. No. More than seven of your Earth days ago. It could have been nine Earth rotations ago.”

“Uh…then why did you zap my forehead earlier?”

“Frightened,” said the wolf-headed holoimage alien. “I was supposed to hide and stay hidden. The professor said so.”

“Wait, wait,” Valerie said. “The professor created you nine days ago. When did you come to hide in here?”

“When the hunter boarded Victory,” the holoimage said. “I thought he came to find me.”

“Hunter, what hunter? Why did he board Victory?”

“He was staying here, watching, waiting and biding his time. Then, he left here and boarded Victory. He is dead now. Maddox killed him.”

“Are you talking about Lucas Rogers?”

“The hunter. That is the only name I know.”

Valerie sat down. Much of this didn’t make sense. That Ludendorff was behind it, though, yeah, that part made sense. The Methuselah Man was always a danger waiting to happen.

“Do you know why Ludendorff created you?”

“Yes.”

Valerie laughed. “Why?”

“Balron ordered him to create. Ludendorff was supposed to make a key. Instead, he created me.”

“Who’s Balron?”

“I have said too much. I cannot relate more on the topic.”

You’re learning things. Keep him talking. This is good, very good. “What should I call you?” Valerie asked.

“A mistake, an error.”

“You need a name.”

“Very well… Half-Life will do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I will perish once Balron returns. He will destroy me. He cannot allow my existence or he… I can say no more on the topic.”

Valerie nodded slowly. “Will you allow me to contact Victory?”

“If you do, I will surely die.”

“Because that will anger Balron?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Where is Balron now?”

“Elsewhere.”

“Why not be exact? He’s your enemy, right?”

“Balron is the first cause.”

Valerie felt sweat prickle her brow. What had she gotten into? “The first cause to what?” she asked breathlessly.

“Me,” Half-Life said.

Valerie blinked, and laughed nervously. “Is that a joke?”

“I do not joke. I am Half-Life. I am a mistake, but Balron’s command to Ludendorff was the first principle, the first cause of my existence. Professor Ludendorff my creator made an error building me. Nevertheless, it would be wrong for me to aid in Balron’s destruction. A creature should not help those fighting against its ultimate first cause.”

“You’re a strange one, Half-Life: an ethical computer. I don’t know what to make of you. I have to tell Captain Maddox about you, though. Will you try to stop me from contacting the starship?”

“Captain Maddox will confine me to a special prison. I desire freedom instead. If I attempt to leave your ship, however, I believe Maddox will order my destruction. This is a dilemma.”

“How about this,” Valerie said. “I’ll offer to let you stay here with me. The Tarrypin will be your confinement.”

“Maddox will not agree to that.”

“You could threaten to destroy the Tarrypin unless the captain agreed to your terms,” Valerie said.

“Yes! That is the equation. I agree, Valerie. Go ahead and make your call—and thank you. You are very kind, especially as I harmed you earlier. Believe me, I will make this up to you.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I am Half-Life. I do not lie.”

“Then you and I ought to get along great.”

-26-

Maddox saw the floating blue globe on the main screen of the bridge. It was the size of a hardball and it hovered near Valerie in the Tarrypin’s control cabin. He saw, as well, the wolf-like head of the alien holoimage the globe projected with a narrow ray.

Was that the same holographic head he’d seen floating toward him when the ball-of-light alien had tried to kill him?

Half-Life, the thing called itself Half-Life, and it claimed Ludendorff had built it at the command of Balron. Who or what Balron was, Half-Life would not say. Clearly, though, it had been the ball-of-light alien.

Maddox couldn’t believe this. How had Ludendorff created…? No, that was the wrong question. Ludendorff had acted under orders, and screwed up somehow—at least, Half-Life believed that.

“Uh…” Maddox said, for once bewildered as to the correct course of action to take.

Valerie spoke up, telling him that Half-Life preferred to stay aboard the Tarrypin. The…entity would destroy the darter otherwise.

“What if we let you go; let you leave?” Maddox said.

“Under normal circumstances, I would consider that a generous offer,” Half-Life said. “However, I understand your propensity for trickery and fakery. As soon as I was free of the Tarrypin, you would destroy me with a disruptor beam.”

The thought had crossed the captain’s mind. Unfortunately, the thing was too wary. “If I agree to let you stay there, will you harm the Tarrypin or its crew?”

“I have already harmed Valerie, for which I apologize.”

“He’s referring to a rash on her forehead,” Galyan said, as he stood beside the captain’s chair.

“I panicked earlier,” Half-Life said. “I thought she had come to kill me.”

“Galyan,” Maddox said out of the side of his mouth. “Get the professor. I want him up here on the double.”

The Adok holoimage vanished.

“You still haven’t answered the question,” Maddox said. “If you stay there, will you harm the ship or its crew?”

“I will not.”

“Half-Life says he does not lie,” Valerie added.

Maddox nodded. Did Valerie believe the construct because she was too trusting, or had the construct forced her to believe through mental manipulation, the reason for the rash?

“What is your purpose?” Maddox asked.

“I do not wish to say at the present time,” Half-Life replied.

“Oh?” Maddox said. “You expect me to trust your good intentions…just because?”

“Do you believe I will destroy the Tarrypin if you attempt to imprison me on Victory?”

“You might well make the attempt. I doubt you would succeed, though.”

“That you accept my threat as valid is a form of trusting my word,” Half-Life said. “Why not then believe me when I say that I mean you no harm?”

“For one thing,” Maddox said, “that’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”

“Can I tell him what you told me?” Valerie asked Half-Life.

“What specifically?” asked Half-Life.

“I should tell the captain everything,” Valerie said. “He needs to know the facts. Otherwise, you’re asking too much of him.”

There was a pause until Half-Life said, “If you must. Go ahead. I will not interfere.”

Valerie began talking, running through what the construct had told her. As she finished, a winded Ludendorff staggered onto the bridge.

The professor stared at the main screen and then looked at Maddox.

“You built it,” the captain said.

Ludendorff looked at the main screen again. “Now…now see here. You claim I built you?”

“Creator,” Half-Life said.

“Confound it! Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then?” Half-Life asked. “Father?”

“No, no,” Ludendorff said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Mother?”

“Are you trying to be funny?” Ludendorff said.

“No, Creator.”

Ludendorff stared at Maddox again. The professor raised his hands helplessly and shook his head. “I don’t remember making him, it. That’s the truth.”

“What kind of alien is that?” Maddox asked.

“Do you mean the holoimage head?”

Maddox nodded.

“Let me think. Ah! That’s an Ardazirho,” Ludendorff said softly, “a native to the planet Ardazir. They’re taller than humans. Can’t see color the same as us.” He shook his head. “They’re gone, extinct, I believe. A few lived among the Builders long ago in my youth, but they were the last of their race. I…I used to speak with an Old One. That was when I lived inside the Library Planet.”

“Could you build another…what do you call it, the globe or construct?” Maddox asked.

“What are you?” Ludendorff asked Half-Life.

“A mistake.”

“Please don’t say that anymore,” Valerie said. “It isn’t true. You’re a unique individual.”

Maddox closed his eyes. When he opened them, he told Ludendorff, “The blue object—”

“His name is Half-Life,” Valerie said, interrupting. “We should call him by his name.”

Maddox nodded. He could speak to Valerie later about interrupting him when he was talking. This certainly wasn’t the time. “Half-Life said Balron told you to make a key.”

“What did you say?” Ludendorff asked aghast.

Maddox waited.

“Balron, Balron,” Ludendorff said. “I’ve heard that name before. It’s…it’s a legend, I think.”

“Or maybe a curse?” asked Maddox.

“What?”

“Would the Spacers know about this Balron?” Maddox asked.

“I don’t know,” Ludendorff said. “We don’t know who or what he is. But… Maybe they would. In fact, if any humans did, it would be the Spacers. Why do you ask?”

“According to Valerie, Half-Life called Lucas Rogers a hunter. He feared the hunter and transferred from Victory to the Tarrypin in order to escape him.”

“Then Rogers wasn’t helping Half-Life?” Ludendorff asked.

“It would appear not,” Maddox said.

“I was not helping a hunter,” Half-Life said from the Tarrypin. “Nor was the hunter helping me.”

Ludendorff shook his head. “This is all very confusing. I’m at a loss. I can still hardly believe that I built such a machine.”

“Sir,” Valerie said. “Half-Life caused the rash on my forehead. When I woke up afterward, I didn’t remember what had happened to me.”

“Yes. Good thinking,” Maddox said. “Half-Life, did you do something similar to the professor, causing him to forget?”

“I do not wish to answer that,” Half-Life said.

“Confound it, you little tin-plated monstrosity,” Ludendorff snarled. “Did you tamper with my mind or not?”

No one said anything, including Half-Life.

“You did, you filthy little bastard,” Ludendorff said. “Your silence betrays you.” The Methuselah Man smacked a fist into his palm. “This is too much, simply too much. I demand the thing enter my laboratory. I must dismantle it at once.”

“I refuse,” Half-Life said. “I will destroy this vessel and all life aboard it if any attempt is made to transfer me to Victory.”

“How about this then,” Maddox said, speaking calmly. “Let us transfer the Tarrypin’s crew here. You can keep the darter and we’ll be on our way.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Half-Life asked. “I am young, younger than any of you, but I am not a retard. You will destroy the vessel as soon as Valerie and the others leave.”

That had been Maddox’s idea, but he could see it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Tell us about Balron then.”

“I will not.”

“Look, Half-Life,” Maddox said. “I’m not going to let you join our mission. For all I know, you’re in direct communication with Balron. I will not jeopardize hundreds of people for the sake of three.”

“You would destroy the Tarrypin, killing Valerie, Derrick and First Mate Littlewood in order to get to me?” Half-Life asked.

“Can’t you see that you’re forcing me into this?” Maddox asked. “Unless you can tell me something useful and convince me that I can trust you, I have no other choice.”

“I knew I was a mistake. I told you so, Valerie.”

“Sir,” Valerie said. “Isn’t there another way?”

“I wish there were, Lieutenant Commander,” Maddox said. “Know that I have thoroughly appreciated your years of hard work and service. You are a fine officer, among the best I’ve had the pleasure to meet.”

Over on the Tarrypin, Valerie grew pale.

“Well, Half-Life,” Maddox said. “What’s it going to be? Are you going to talk or do I have to destroy you in order to protect the mission?”

“Balron will not be pleased by your threats against me,” Half-Life said.

Maddox said nothing more, waiting to see what would happen.

“During the coming journey, I am to record your behaviors and emotions, Captain. I am to fulfill my creative function and learn more about you as a species and culture.”

Valerie stared at Half-Life in disbelief. “You mean you lied about Balron wanting to destroy you? Ludendorff wasn’t really supposed to forge a key, but make you like he did?”

“That was creative deception and misdirection,” Half-Life told her. “I was surprised you believed me, as I am a product of Balron and Ludendorff, two master deceivers. Now, Captain, I feel I must warn you—”

“Don’t bother,” Maddox said, interrupting. “You’re about to become radioactive dust…unless you change your mind. You have ten seconds to reevaluate and make the right decision.”

Even as Maddox spoke, the little construct ceased projecting the holoimage. At the same time, the floating blue object began to sparkle with light. As it did, the thing began to fade and then disappeared.

“What the hell?” Maddox said. “Where did it go? Professor, where is it?”

Ludendorff stared in bewilderment at the main screen. “How could I have made that?” he whispered. “It isn’t possible. It just isn’t possible?”

“Lieutenant Commander,” Maddox said. “Where’s Half-Life?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Valerie said, as she looked around.

“Galyan,” Maddox said.

“I am analyzing,” Galyan said. “Captain, I believe the computer entity teleported.”

“Do you have any idea where?” Maddox asked.

“No,” Galyan said, “but away from us should be sufficient for the moment.”

Maddox scowled. He liked none of this. A ball-of-light alien and now some highly advanced construct purportedly built by the professor. What did they have to do with the Library Planet? Well, that wasn’t the issue this second.

“Lieutenant Commander, it’s time to land in a hangar bay,” Maddox said. “I’ll send Galyan to help you search the Tarrypin for Half-Life and any other surprises—unless you have an objection to that.”

“No, sir,” Valerie said.

“Galyan,” Maddox said.

“I am on my way, sir.”

“Just a minute, Galyan,” Maddox said. “First, search Victory, and I mean down to its component atoms. Make sure this thing didn’t teleport onto us in hiding.”

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said. “Is there anything more?”

“No. Get started.”

Galyan vanished.

“What’s the plan?” asked Ludendorff.

“Speed for the moment,” Maddox said. “I’m sick of these interfering aliens—no doubt spies for the Builders.”

“The Builders are no more,” Ludendorff said.

“I’m beginning to think otherwise,” Maddox said. “Mr. Maker.”

“Yes, sir,” Keith said from the helm.

“Let’s get the hell out of here—once we have the Tarrypin aboard,” Maddox said.

“Aye-aye, sir,” Keith said, as he began to manipulate his board.

“Professor!” Maddox said sternly.

“Yes, my boy. What is it now?”

“Come with me,” Maddox said, standing. “It’s time we had a little chat.”

-27-

Maddox paced in the ready room as Ludendorff sat on the sofa against a bulkhead. The Methuselah Man stared off into space, so far having said nothing since the two of them entered.

Maddox seethed inwardly and worked to settle himself. He did his best from a place of calm, which he usually possessed. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t have it now. He ran over the situation in his mind, searching for clues. Balron had impersonated him and given Ludendorff orders. It would seem that Balron had given Ludendorff more than that, quite specific schematics about how to make the little blue construct. That would mean Half-Life talking to Valerie about being a mistake had been a ruse. The machine was supposed to record their emotions and reactions during the journey to the Library Planet. What did that imply?

“This doesn’t make sense,” Ludendorff said softly.

Maddox did not respond but continued to pace. No, this striding back and forth wasn’t the answer. He turned to a window showing the stars. He studied the endless points of light, the great expanse. The awe-inspiring wonder of space helped settle the seething in his heart, in his gut.

“The pieces aren’t connecting,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox turned to regard the Methuselah Man. Ludendorff’s features showed fear.

“We should turn back,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox went to his desk, sitting on a forward edge.

“They manipulated my mind,” Ludendorff said in evident horror. “They toyed with it, pulling levers and pressing buttons.” He shook his head. “I can’t take it anymore. I just want to be me. I want the powers of the universe to leave me alone,” he said, shouting at the end.

“That’s a commendable wish,” Maddox said.

“Oh, it is, is it? They didn’t fiddle with your mind, did they?”

“No. Balron killed me. I’ve reviewed my thoughts about the event. My spirit, soul—whatever you want to call it—slipped free from my body when I died. When they resuscitated me, I distinctly recall sliding back into my flesh, how it felt too tight, too small for…for my essence.”

“That’s crazy talk.”

“In what way?” Maddox asked mildly.

“You can’t remember such things at a time like that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a matter of why not,” Ludendorff said. “A dying person is capable of all sorts of hallucinations. Certainly, there must have been a lack of oxygen to your brain. That alone can cause delusions, none of which are trustworthy.”

“Millions of people would beg to differ,” Maddox said. “There are reams of documented cases where people left their body. Why, I recall reading about people in operating rooms. They were out, drugged unconscious. They remember floating over the procedure and later told the doctor exactly what had happened during the operation. Others remember witnessing harrowing incidences in an afterlife: burning fire, torment—”

“Enough already!” Ludendorff shouted.

Maddox raised an eyebrow.

Ludendorff waved a hand. “Fine, fine, you want to claim an out of body experience, you go right ahead. Why do I care?”

“I don’t know. Why do you?”

“I don’t.”

“Really,” Maddox said.

Ludendorff didn’t reply, only stared.

“My point was not the experience specifically. I’m wondering why Balron bothered to disguise himself as you and then shoot me, but leave enough of me for the medical people to resuscitate. I wonder particularly because Balron later hovered over me as an infrared ball of light and then summoned Galyan, and only then disappeared.”

Ludendorff looked away, shaking his head, muttering under his breath.

“You don’t have an opinion about that?”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Ludendorff said, facing Maddox. “Let’s go with your suppositions. I’m game if you are. We’ll assume the ball-of-light alien was Balron.”

“Who else would he be?”

“I don’t know. He’s Balron. I agree with you. What more do you want?”

Maddox eyed the professor before saying, “Why did Balron barely kill me, watch the medical people resuscitate me, and later hover over me as I mended? Why not burn me down completely?”

Some of the fear left Ludendorff’s eyes as he became thoughtful. “Balron watched the resuscitating procedure?”

“You’re right,” Maddox said. “I don’t know that. It’s an assumption. He could have, though.”

Ludendorff frowned, which put creases in his forehead. “I just had an idea, an explanation, one that matches with Half-Life’s supposed duties. I’ll tell you, if you don’t mind switching topics for a moment.”

Maddox nodded.

“Half-Life’s mission was to, and I quote, ‘record your behaviors and emotions, Captain. I am to fulfill my creative function and learn more about you.’ Don’t you see? That might have been what Balron was doing with you.”

“Learning more about us?”

Ludendorff snapped his fingers while pointing at Maddox. “He killed you and then came to see you healing, after the medical people had resuscitated you. How long was it between the two states?”

“How long was I dead?”

“That’s right.”

“I was told it was a matter of minutes,” Maddox said. “Marines arrived as I was dying. They called medical and then grabbed me, rushing me to them. Harris told me their quick action saved my life and mind.”

Maddox slid off the corner and sat at his desk, pressing an intercom button. “Get me Doctor Harris please.”

After a short pause, Harris said over the comm, “Captain?”

“Doctor, I wonder if you can tell me…well, how long I was dead.”

Harris cleared her throat. “That’s an imprecise term. You were not dead as we judge such matters. You were clinically dead, a different thing. That means there was a cessation of blood circulation and breathing, the two criteria necessary to sustain human life.”

“I’m aware of the difference,” Maddox said. “How long was I clinically dead?”

“Three hundred and twenty-seven seconds,” Harris said.

“That’s five minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” Ludendorff said from the sofa.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Harris said. “That was too long for the brain as ischemic injury accumulated.”

“What is ischemic injury?” Maddox asked.

“Our way of saying a shortage of blood to the tissues, causing a shortage of oxygen,” Harris said. “The brain is most susceptible to this and it’s the key limiting factor for successful resuscitation.”

“Then—”

“Captain,” Harris said. “I didn’t want to worry you or Meta earlier. We practiced our emergency procedures as we worked to resuscitate you. Something happened during the procedure. It was almost as if your brain received oxygen during your…state. We didn’t see any evidence of that, but something must have happened, as none of us recorded any brain damage later. We should have seen brain damage due to accumulated ischemic injury as three hundred and twenty-seven seconds should have been too long.”

“This is news,” Maddox said.

“Again, I didn’t want to worry anyone. There are such things as medical miracles and, at times, inexplicable occurrences. Or perhaps your genetic…differences did it. As the old saying goes, ‘Why look a gift horse in the mouth?’ You’re whole again. Accept it and move on.”

“Thank you, Doctor. This has been illuminating.”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“I’m fine,” Maddox said. “Thanks again.” He clicked off the intercom, and frowned thoughtfully as he wished he’d known this sooner.

“Interesting,” Ludendorff said. “The medical miracle could have been an infrared-form Balron aiding your recovery.”

“Why? Why do what he did?”

“That’s a good question,” Ludendorff said. “Perhaps he was studying you, us. He ‘killed’ you, stopping your heart and breathing in order to learn something. But he couldn’t learn much if you stayed dead, so he made sure you were revivable.”

“What could he have learned?”

“I have no idea, my boy. I’m not a ball-of-light alien. His thought process is naturally different from ours—doubly true given his obvious powers.”

“If he’s studying us, why did he leave Victory?”

“The answer seems simple enough. After Galyan discovered Balron’s ability to hide in the infrared…” Ludendorff stopped talking, thinking.

“We didn’t figure out anything about Balron until the alien showed Galyan that he could hide as he did. Only then did Balron vanish for good.”

“True…” Ludendorff said, as he squeezed his lower lip. “Ah!” he said, looking up. “Plain curiosity could have been Balron’s primary motive. Yes. Notice Half-Life’s purpose—to record our behaviors and emotions. That lines up with my supposition. Balron is curious about us and has been manipulating us like rats in a maze.”

Maddox considered the idea, realizing he wasn’t fully convinced. There was something more. He was certain of that.

“Do you disagree with my analysis?” Ludendorff asked.

“Not as far as it goes… But I think there’s something more. Suppose Balron is curious. Why is he curious?”

Once more, Ludendorff pointed at Maddox while snapping his fingers. “That’s the question, isn’t it? My answer is, I don’t know. It would seem to have something to do with our mission to the Library Planet. Half-Life was to monitor us as we traveled there. That implies Balron will be at the planet.”

“Maybe…”

“It’s as good a theory as any. No! It’s better.”

Maddox drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Tell me why you think I’m wrong.”

“It’s not that,” Maddox said. “It’s Lucas Rogers, what he represents. His presence becomes more troubling as we unravel Balron’s identity and motives. Who put Rogers here? Did they suspect Balron would invade our ship?”

“You’re leaping from one topic to another.”

“Half-Life called Lucas Rogers a hunter,” Maddox said, ignoring the professor’s comment. “From its actions, the construct seemed to have feared Rogers.”

“Okay,” Ludendorff said, “I’ll play along. Did Half-Life fear Rogers? We only think that because Half-Life told us he did. But we know Half-life lied about several things.”

Maddox rubbed his jaw. “When Balron was here, why didn’t he sense Rogers in the Tarrypin and eliminate him?”

Ludendorff raised his eyebrows. “That’s a good question. Maybe Rogers knew how to hide from Balron. Yes. Maybe his Builder modifications allowed Rogers to do so. If that’s true, that’s good news for us. It means Balron isn’t as powerful as he seems. It means a human like Rogers could and did foil him.”

Maddox stood up, itching to pace anew. He turned to the window instead, staring at the stars. “Could Rogers have been more dangerous than we realized?”

“Given his primitive actions, it’s hard to fathom.”

Maddox turned to Ludendorff.

“I heard how he treated Valerie,” Ludendorff said. “I think Rogers got off sexually on what he did. That’s what a primitive personality would do with such powers.”

“A primitive personality like you?” asked Maddox.

For a moment, Ludendorff was dead-faced. Maybe he was deciding how to take the comment. He grinned a second later. “I’m a primitive with a potent sex drive and fantastic brainpower. It has allowed me unbelievable sexual conquests and unsurpassed delights. The women I’ve loved have swooned with passion. I could tell you stories—”

“Perhaps we should stick to the issue,” Maddox said dryly.

Ludendorff chuckled, his former fear seemingly forgotten. “I understand. It’s intimidating knowing there are people like me in the universe.”

“I still want to know how Lucas Rogers’s superiors knew Balron would invade Victory.”

“That isn’t a given,” Ludendorff said. “Perhaps his superiors knew about Balron, but expected Rogers to deal with him at the Library Planet.”

“How did Rogers’s superiors learn about our destination?”

“I would think through old-fashioned espionage,” Ludendorff said.

“You’re full of answers, and that’s good. Now tell me how you could build something like Half-Life?”

Ludendorff’s good humor evaporated as pain entered his eyes. “Do you recall the weapon I once built in the Alpha Centauri System?”

Maddox remembered all too well, as he’d wielded the weapon against a Ska, and through that, billions had died. “Are you saying the knowledge to build Half-Life was long ago installed in your brain by a Builder?”

Ludendorff frowned. “I don’t know about that. Perhaps this Balron ‘installed’ the data as you say. I wish I knew the answer.”

“I second that.”

Ludendorff scowled. “What are you implying?”

“That I’m confused, worried and uncertain about the right course to take. Balron likely awaits us at the Library Planet as you suggested; maybe Rogers’s superiors will show up, too. And what happened to Half-Life? Will we see him again as well?”

“The mysteries are piling up.”

Maddox nodded as he turned to the window, staring at the expanse of stars. Why had Balron shot and clinically killed him and then added oxygen to his brain so he would have a successful resuscitation? There was more to it than mere curiosity. Did Rogers’s presence mean Spacers were involved or was the man part of a mercenary outfit that employed a few ex-Spacers?

“We’re not turning back,” Maddox said.

“I’m surprised you even considered that an option,” Ludendorff said.

“I don’t want to arrive defenseless at the Library Planet. We need to devise a weapon to deal with Balron.”

“By we you mean me,” Ludendorff said. “But we don’t even know what Balron really is.”

“Start making some educated guesses. Then give me some counters. In the end, we can only do our best.”

“Eh?” Ludendorff asked, surprised. “I thought winning was everything with you.”

“It is. But there comes a point where it’s foolish to beat yourself up over it. We’ll prepare and then we’ll try our damnedest to win against all comers.”

“What does the last part mean: all comers?”

“Something that has been troubling me for months,” Maddox said. “Strand knows about the Library Planet and so do the New Men. Might Strand use knowledge of the place as a fulcrum to pry himself free of his prison?”

“Hmm…” Ludendorff said, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

“No comment?”

Ludendorff did not reply, as he seemed wrapped up in his thoughts.

“Strand,” Maddox said. What was the conniving Methuselah Man doing now, and would it affect their mission? It was one more problem or mystery to the ones already piling up.

-28-

Far away from Victory as it traveled for the enigmatic nexus in the Beyond, Golden Ural strode down a corridor in the Emperor’s palace on the Throne World. His cousin the Emperor had summoned him and had told him to bring his dueling saber.

It had been two weeks since the incident over the mountain lake on the sky-sharks. Lieutenant Franco of the renegade missile cruiser Shelby had recovered from his ordeal, gaining weight as he stayed at Ural’s main country estate. A few days ago, Ural had observed Franco noticing one of his beauties. That had convinced Ural that the preman had regained his mental balance.

Why should I think about Franco now?

Ural knew why, but maybe he didn’t want to admit it to himself. The murderous affair with the Shelby’s crew troubled him. Surely, the Emperor could have found a more constructive use for the crew than as prey for slaughter. The two of them hadn’t spoken since then. Worse, Ural had heard a rumor that the Emperor had freed Strand from prison in order to take him along on a space voyage.

Ural briskly took a regular turn in the corridor as he heard feminine laughter from ahead. That was odd. He always took this route when coming to visit the Emperor. He would soon pass an archway to a garden area with a pool. The laughter came again, along with sounds of splashing.

Ural considered that.

Could the Emperor have placed some of his women in the pool as a pretext to use against him?

Ural did not like that he could think such a thing about his cousin. What did it say about their relationship?

Don’t fool yourself. The Emperor is unhappy with you. Admit it to yourself. Yes. I have. He’s unhappy with me. I must take precautions.

Did his cousin think he would poach from the royal harem? That would be grounds for an immediate duel to the death, one Ural was sure he would lose. Perhaps he would not have to poach to bring dishonor upon the Emperor, simply give some kind of cause for a duel.

Ural warily approached the arch, although he continued to walk briskly. The laughter was louder this time. Worse, he heard the patter of wet feet. Then, two racy-clad beauties ran out from under the arch. They halted upon sight of him, one of them slipping and falling to the corridor floor before him. The other whirled around, running back under the arch into the garden-pool area.

The other lay on the floor, a dark-haired woman with beguilingly painted eyes. Her hair wasn’t wet, but was like a provocative mane around her face. A small gold chain circled her head, holding a ruby against her forehead. The gem glittered.

Ural inhaled.

The woman had stunning proportions, breathtaking, and the way she watched him—she was ready to be taken.

With a shock, Ural realized it was Venna, the Emperor’s favorite. Ural had seen her twice before at parties, where she’d danced for assembled dignitaries. It was the one occasion where a dominant could examine another’s harem without causing insult.

Deciding that prudence would be wisest—she was nearly impossible to resist, which was strange—Ural turned his head.

“That isn’t very gallant,” Venna purred in a sultry voice. “Am I too ugly to view?”

Ural’s heart thudded. He wanted to look again, to feast his eyes upon her loveliness. Instead, he clicked his boot heels and bowed at the waist, still not looking at her.

“I need help getting up,” she said, raising a languid arm. “Please, give me a hand.”

Ural ached to do so, oh, he yearned to study her. He’d seen a glimpse, and she was indeed stunning. The desire to reach out and grasp her hand—

Do you wish to die for the privilege? Are you a witless fool?

“I beg your pardon,” Ural said in a hoarse voice. “I’m late for an appointment with the Emperor. If you’ll indulge me—” He strode past Venna on the floor, giving her a wary side-glance. What a sight! What a—

She pouted, and as he passed, she climbed to her feet.

Through considerable force of will, he resumed the distance-eating gait and soon turned another corner. His pulse yet beat rapidly. That was no accident, but a planned event. Who had planned it, though? The Emperor? Venna? Both seemed preposterous. His cousin would surely not stoop to such subterfuge, but would openly attack him. And why would Venna have attempted something like that on her own?

For the briefest of moments, he wondered if Venna found him preferable to his cousin. A grin played upon his lips. Then the moment passed. Yet, he still toyed with the idea. Venna was lovely beyond measure, and she’d asked for his help.

A strange feeling in the pit of his stomach surprised him. Do I want her?

Several strides later, the answer hit him. Indeed, he wanted Venna, in fact, decidedly so.

Ural neared the entrance to the meeting chamber. Why did he desire Venna to such a degree? Could the Emperor have sprayed an aphrodisiac in the corridor, one to inflame a man’s mind, and then engineered that he eye Venna? Or was it more subtle. If so, that would imply—

“Strand,” he whispered.

With the knowledge came a gleam of steel-like understanding. If Strand were free and had poisoned the Emperor’s mind against him—

I’m in for the struggle of my life, and it has likely already started.

-29-

Golden Ural nodded to a baroquely dressed preman who opened the main chamber doors for him. The former Star Watch officer wore garments better suited to the court of Louis XIV of France, the Sun King of ancient Earth history.

Ural actually fit in with the saber dangling from his waist. He also wore boots. The rest of his attire did not fit, however, as he wore a silver-colored one-piece.

The preman shut the doors behind Ural.

It was a spacious chamber with fluted columns spaced evenly throughout. The west wall did not exist, but showed one of the palace’s many outdoor gardens. This one had beautiful green shrubs and trees. The other three walls possessed elegant paintings, most of them from ancient Earth history, showing hunting scenes of red-coated premen on horses, surrounded by foxhounds. Along the east wall was a table with delicacies.

The Emperor stood there, adding cheese and spiced bread to his plate.

“Your Majesty,” Ural said.

The Emperor looked up, and he smiled. “Cousin, come and select some viands.”

Ural headed to the table, noting the Emperor wore a saber at his side and scarlet garments with black knee-high boots.

Once more, Ural took in the large chamber. They were alone, which surprised him. No guards were in evidence. He took a dish from the table and added a few items to it.

The Emperor had waited and was watching him closely.

When Ural noticed the scrutiny, he smiled.

“Is it a joke?” the Emperor asked.

“Pardon?”

“You smile as if you know a secret joke. Come. Share it with me—if you can.”

“The smile was meant as a social pleasantry,” Ural said.

“Nothing happened on the way here then?”

That confirmed for Ural the way to handle what had happened. “Oh. Yes, there was an incident in the corridors. As I passed, two of your ladies fled their pool.”

“Indeed. How did you know they were mine?”

“True. It was a presumption on my part. However, as this is your palace, it seemed reasonable.”

The Emperor said nothing but continued to watch him like a goshawk studying a rabbit nibbling on grass under his tree-branch perch.

“Noticing that one of them was Venna confirmed my assumption,” Ural added in seeming innocence.

The Emperor’s head swayed. “You gazed upon Venna?”

“I’m a soldier, who should always be alert and ready to act. The two appeared suddenly, surprising me. I observed enough to recognize Venna’s mane of dark hair. At that point, knowing she is your favorite, I looked away.”

The Emperor regarded him in silence.

Ural maintained a patient half-smile, waiting as an innocent man would.

“Are you lusting after my women?” the Emperor said slowly.

“No, Sire.”

The Emperor continued to stare at him.

The urge to explain further was strong in Ural. He ignored it, more certain than ever that this was a trap.

“I wonder if you’re still the man I once knew,” the Emperor said coldly.

This was almost more than Ural could bear. It was impertinent and insulting, even if it did come from the Emperor. “If you doubt me, Sire…” Ural let the unspoken threat hang.

“What if I say that I do doubt your word?”

Clarity reasserted itself. This is a trap. Escape is critical. Ural dipped his head. “Then I shall take my leave, Your Majesty, as I have offended you in some manner.”

“No!” the Emperor said in a ringing voice. “You will not leave until I give you permission to do so.”

Ural set down his plate as sudden anger dissolved his former intentions. He stared back at his cousin, no longer caring enough that his life might be in jeopardy.

“Hmm…” the Emperor said. “You acted like a cur a moment ago, in a cautious manner, but now I see fire in your eyes. You no longer whimper in your soul, but have managed to regain a semblance of dignity.”

“Perhaps it’s time you showed me your evidence.”

“Eh?”

“What do you hold against me?” Ural asked.

“Are you telling me what to do?”

Ural opened his mouth, and he remembered that many among the Throne World considered him wise. Rash words weren’t wise here, particularly if this was a trap. The anger that had spurred him now dwindled enough that he regained control of himself and remembered that a soft answer often turned away wrath.

“I’m appalled that I’ve fallen so low in your esteem. I would like to know why. More, I would like to know who has slandered me in your presence.”

“Would you now? Very well, come with me. We’ll see if you speak the truth or not.”

The Emperor moved quickly. Ural moved just as fast, following him. They exited the chamber, using a side corridor. In moments, they entered another room. This one held four premen with beamers, each of them aimed at—

“Strand,” Ural said.

The Methuselah Man sat hunched over a monitor, looking up as they entered. He wore dark well-tailored garments and seemed to have received a recent haircut and manicure.

“Well, Strand,” the Emperor said. “What did you see?”

Ural’s face was impassive, but he thought, they recorded it. This was planned. Whose idea was this?

Strand glanced at Ural before bowing his head to the Emperor. “I am unsure, Sire. He might have tried to sneak a peek at Venna. The monitor does not show it, but his posture in passing suggests it.”

“Put it on the wall screen,” the Emperor said.

Strand seemed as if he would say more, but then turned and manipulated his board.

Ural and the Emperor turned to the picture on the wall screen. It showed Ural marching down a corridor, and replayed the scene between the two beauties and he.

Ural stared straight ahead at the video, although he used his peripheral vision to study his cousin’s reaction.

The Emperor watched the scene, absorbed and searching.

Finally, the surveillance ended with Ural marching away as Venna stood and watched him go.

Here it comes, Ural thought, ready to explode into action in a fight to the death. Maybe if he slew a preman, he could grab a beamer and slay all within the chamber.

The Emperor turned to him. “I owe you an apology. You acted honorably, even as she gave you provocation. I will beat her for it.”

Relief flooded through Ural, although he managed to click his heels together and dip his head.

“Did you hear? I will beat her.”

“I heard, Sire. I have no opinion on the subject.”

“Ha!” the Emperor said, turning to Strand. “Do you hear that, Methuselah Man? Was I right or was I right about my faithful cousin?”

“It would appear that you were, Sire,” Strand said in an oily voice. “I still believe he evidenced feelings for Venna.”

“No!” the Emperor said. “You will not slander my cousin. He passed your test. Now, you will trust him as I trust him.”

Ural nearly felt sick. This was startling. “Sire, do you truly trust Methuselah Man Strand?”

The Emperor laughed. “The way you say it, you mean, do I trust this snake?”

“I am uncovered,” Ural said. “Strand is indeed a snake, one we all have reason to hate.”

“Do you hear that, Strand?” the Emperor said. “You’ve gained a mortal enemy. You practiced your deceit upon Ural too soon.”

Worry flashed across Strand’s face. “Sire, please, I—”

“Silence, snake,” the Emperor said.

Strand fell meekly silent.

Ural watched, ready to sneer at the Methuselah Man. Then it struck him and struck hard. This was an act between the two. Somehow, Strand had gained ascendancy over the Emperor, or if not that, had played upon his cousin’s fears or worries. What did these two conspire to achieve, and why against him?

Strand likely feared him because… Was that true, though? Did Strand fear anyone? The Methuselah Man believed himself the cleverest being in existence, and he had good reason to think so. Now that he was out of prison… What lever could Strand have used on the Emperor against him? That part didn’t make sense. Was Strand drugging the Emperor? That hardly seemed conceivable and yet—

“I see that you brought your saber,” the Emperor said casually.

Ural almost said, “Because you told me to bring it.” Instead, he merely nodded.

“I find myself lax, my arms limp. Come, let us practice.”

“With wooden swords, I would love to—”

“No, cousin, with tempered steel,” the Emperor said. “Surely, you’ll indulge me.”

Ural said the only thing he could under the circumstances. “It would be my delight. But may I ask one request?”

“Name it.”

Ural turned to Strand. “I imagine you’ve let him out of his cage for a day. Before we duel, don’t you think it would be wise to put him back?”

“Do you hear that, Strand?”

The Methuselah Man did not say a word. In fact, he did not move a muscle.

“Guards,” the Emperor said. “Return the snake to his…to his quarters.” He smiled saying that, as if it was a grand joke.

The four premen approached Strand. “Up, you,” the burliest said, jerking the beamer up.

Strand rose, and he bowed low before the Emperor. He regarded Ural, his face blank. Then, the Methuselah Man turned and followed the guards out of the room.

-30-

Ural swished his saber through the air, not liking any of this.

The two cousins stood in a different room, this one without walls. A soft breeze blew through the area, with trees swaying on one side, a small lake rippling in the opposite direction and vast green expanses on the other two sides. There were ten columns, all of them along the edges except for the one central column. On it were ancient bas-reliefs of Roman legionaries forcing captive German barbarians to march in chained ranks.

“Ah,” the Emperor said, as he swished his weapon. “It’s good to have a saber in hand again. Do you know that I’m having a hard time finding anyone worthy to practice with me?”

Ural regarded his cousin as a dueling opponent. The man was taller than he was, with slightly longer arms and thus a longer reach. He had dark hair, light-colored eyes and muscles like bands of steel that rippled across his upper body. The skin was golden, although not quite as richly colored as his.

“It’s been a while, eh?” the Emperor said.

Ural stood straight, saluting with his saber. The Emperor did likewise. Then, like two beasts of prey, each crouched and began to circle toward the other.

“I’m better than I used to be,” the Emperor said.

Ural did not comment. It had never been like his cousin to boast. The change was odd, most odd. They had once been alike in this, letting their exploits speak for them.

The Emperor cried out as he sprang, the saber thrusting with lightning speed.

For the next several minutes, Ural concentrated upon parrying his cousin’s increasingly faster attacks. The clash of steel against steel and the shock of the blows were as rare wine to Ural. He found himself grinning, delighting in his cousin’s performance. The man was magnificent, and he did not seem to tire.

“Have you been practicing?” the Emperor asked.

“All the time,” Ural replied.

“Why?”

“I yearn for excellence in all things.”

A dark and brooding look shadowed the Emperor’s features. Clearly, he did not like the answer. His eyes flashed and the tempo of his attacks increased, the saber darting like a living thing.

Now, Ural fenced for his life. The Emperor’s razor-sharp blade nicked his left shoulder, cut a line across his right cheek and managed to make drops squeeze from his right forearm.

The Emperor growled like a beast, and he slashed at Ural’s neck as if to sever it in a blow.

Ural backpedaled as the Emperor attacked again and then again. Ural riposted and twisted his body as he began to sweat and breathe heavily. The speed of the Emperor’s blade astonished Ural. The sheen in his cousin’s eyes—

Drugs; he’s using drugs to help him, Ural realized. The drugs have quickened him and given him great stamina. Has their usage tampered with his moods?

The use of drugs in this sort of thing was anathema to the Throne World ethos. A dominant was to trust to his own resources. To supplement his speed and stamina—

The Emperor cried out, his saber a blur.

I’m dead if I don’t stop this.

Ural strove to parry the next blow, and he ducked as he did. The Emperor’s blade struck his, and the saber flew from Ural’s hand as if his fingers had become nerveless. The saber twirled over Ural’s head and clattered upon the tiles several meters away.

“I yield!” Ural shouted.

The Emperor had brought his saber around and hacked at Ural’s unprotected head. At the last moment, the razor-sharp blade stopped a mere centimeter from parting skin and breaking skull bone. They were frozen like that: Ural crouched and looking up, the Emperor towering over him, with his sword-arm halted at the downswing.

The Emperor brayed laughter as he straightened, raising his saber high. “I am victorious,” he said. Then he shot out his left hand to Ural.

Ural took it.

The Emperor raised him effortlessly to his feet, staring into his eyes. “I could have killed you.”

“Yes,” Ural said.

“I could still kill you.”

“It is within your power, Sire.”

“Power, yes, but not my right. Is that what you’re saying?”

“In fact, now that you point it out, I am.”

“A-ha, Ural! You’re still my favorite cousin.”

“And you mine, Sire.”

The Emperor released Ural’s hand, and he brought up the saber to peer at it. With a flourish, he flung it from him so it clattered across the tiles. “Walk with me, cousin. It is time we talked.”

The two turned toward the small lake, soon leaving the arena, walking down marble steps and approaching the grassy shore. Frogs croaked. A trout jumped up, splashing back into the water. Across the lake, several baroquely dressed women ate a picnic on a blanket and under a large umbrella.

“Venna is out there,” the Emperor said.

Ural did not respond.

“I still plan to beat her for what she did.”

Ural nodded.

“Does that displease you?”

“Sire, did Strand put such nonsense in your head?”

“That I beat her?”

“That you distrust me.”

The Emperor pursed his lips. “Strand is a devil, isn’t he?”

“A devil, a snake and a deceiver extraordinaire,” Ural said.

“Still, snakes have their uses. I have decided the Throne World must expand. We must colonize. For that, we need a slight modification to our genes. For that, we must head to the Library Planet, using Strand’s ancient knowledge to help us grow.”

“You’ll head the expedition?”

“Of course.”

“Am I to go?”

“I’m taking the best dominants along. Do you think of yourself as one of those?”

“High enough,” Ural said dryly.

“I could have easily slain you today.”

Ural looked up at the cloudless sky. What should he say?

“Is something troubling you?” the Emperor asked.

Ural regarded him frankly. “Sire, you used a drug to speed your reflexes.”

The Emperor actually blushed as he stared at him.

“I don’t know why you did such a thing,” Ural said, “but it should alarm you.”

“How dare you?” the Emperor whispered.

“I’m your cousin. I’ve been your good right hand all these years. If I don’t dare to warn you, who will?”

“You actually dare to warn me?”

“You’re mortal like the rest of us, Sire. You can make mistakes. Letting Strand out of prison was one of them. Using drugs to help your dueling skills—no one must ever learn of it.”

“I see. You’re threatening me with blackmail.”

“You know that isn’t true. I’m your good right hand. I have been since you became Emperor. Whoever has poisoned your mind against me is making a grave mistake. Yes, I dare to speak to the truth to you. I hope that you still dare to accept hard truths.”

The Emperor turned away. “I should have slain you, Ural. You’ve become too mighty in your own estimation.”

“That is untrue, Trahey.”

The Emperor whirled around to stare at him.

Trahey was the Emperor’s old name. Few used it anymore. Ural hadn’t since the day Trahey became the Emperor of the Throne World.

“Golden Ural,” the Emperor said softly. “I have felt…” He shook his head.

“How can I help you, cousin?” Ural said. “Tell me, and I will do it.”

“No one has spoken to me like you just did…except for Oran, and that was years ago.”

Ural didn’t say that it was over thirty years ago since Oran had died to assassins. Oran was Ural’s brother, and the father of Captain Maddox of Star Watch.

“I miss Oran,” the Emperor said. “I miss him dearly.”

“As do I,” Ural said.

“Why was he aiding that woman, helping her to escape our world?”

“Oran loved his wife.”

“Wife…” the Emperor said. “Why did he restrict himself to just one woman?”

Ural shrugged. He didn’t know the answer to that. In many ways, his brother had been strange, perhaps even tenderhearted about matters where hardheaded clarity was needed on the Throne World.

“Do you still search for his assassins?”

Something about the way Trahey asked the question alerted Ural. The question seemed innocent, but— Trahey is feigning his manner. I don’t know why. Is this more of Strand’s doing? …Or is there something more going on here?

“Cousin, I asked you a question.”

“The trail is icy, Your Majesty. But if I could find them, I would dismember Oran’s assassins limb from limb. Alas, I don’t know where to search next, but I refuse to let it go.”

“Yes. I approve of your relentless hunt. Tell me when the trail becomes warm again. I would dearly like to find his assassins, as I, too, wish to avenge Oran’s killing.”

Is that true? How can I doubt the Emperor? Still, there is something off here, something wrong. Perhaps it’s wisest to change the subject.

“When do you plan to leave for the Library Planet, Sire?”

“Eh?” the Emperor asked, as he stared across the lake at the ladies.

Ural repeated the question.

“Leave?” the Emperor asked, as he faced Ural. “Why, we leave in three days. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

“If you did, I forgot. How many star cruisers will go?”

“Six should suffice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, cousin, I have a picnic to attend.” So saying, the Emperor pulled off his boots and then unbuckled his belt. Then, he stripped off his clothing and waded into the lake and dove, beginning to swim for the other side.

Ural turned away, debating if he should seek out Strand and kill him while he was able. It would be an act of lèse-majesté, and Trahey might slay him for it, but it would likely save the Throne World great sorrow.

Ural turned and studied his cousin. The man swam strongly, knifing through the water. He had almost reached the other side. Ural lifted his gaze, eyeing the three women watching the Emperor.

A pang of jealousy touched Ural. Trahey would likely take all three women there on the blanket. Ural didn’t care about the other two, but Venna—

Ural turned away, stumbling a moment before his strides lengthened. I must rid myself of all feelings for Venna. Someone has engineered them, and no one shall lead me by the nose. I am Golden Ural—

A terrible thought swept into his mind. If Trahey died, who would become the new Emperor? Who would lead the Throne World into future glory? If he took the drug Trahey had ingested, surely he could defeat the man blade to blade.

Ural’s eyes widened. What am I thinking? No! I’m honorable, and I will always remain so…even if it means that I will never crush Venna to my chest as we engage in passionate love.

With a low cry of despair, he ran up the marble steps, wanting to get back to his country estate as soon as possible.

-31-

The next day, Ural attended to his affairs, setting matters in order in case he failed to return from the venture to the Library Planet. He thought about Venna several times, scowling each time and dismissing her from his mind.

Later, he used a medikit in secret, testing his blood, and found nothing to indicate an aerosol or drugs in the condiments yesterday to shift his feelings about the black-maned temptress. She was exceedingly beautiful. The way she’d looked up at him from the floor—

“No,” he said, frowning, wondering why he kept thinking about her. Yes. Her hair was glorious. Her full breasts, narrow waist and the perfect length of her legs—

“What am I doing? This is preposterous. I refuse to play their game.”

He sat down in his study, a place filled with old-fashioned books and a fireplace. A bottle of wine and a goblet waited on the desk. He watched the flames as he replayed in his mind the event in the corridor yesterday.

He pulled out the cork and poured himself a glass of wine, sipping, thinking and analyzing each particle of the event. Obviously, someone had engineered the meeting. Yes, clearly, Strand had done so. Had it been an independent Methuselah Man idea or one that arose after listening to Trahey complaining about him? His cousin was becoming reckless and profane, rutting in the open like a beast. Did Trahey consider himself above all censure? A god might act as Trahey did, or a man who thought of himself a god. Megalomania and hubris were common ailments among the powerful; the more powerful, the more likely a man was to fall into such delusions of grandeur.

Ural finished his glass and poured himself another. Like Captain Maddox, his faster-than-normal metabolism made it difficult for him to get drunk, and if he did, to stay that way for long. In this case, the wine helped lubricate his thinking as it helped him move into different channels of thought.

Strand would not have initiated the ploy without a reason. Thus, the snake of a Methuselah Man must have discovered Trahey’s suspiciousness regarding either him or Venna. Ah! Trahey’s reckless rutting might have caused him to doubt his women more easily. Perhaps Trahey had been taking other dominants’ women in secret, and that had made him suspicious that others were doing the same to him. A liar suspected others lying to him. A fornicator or adulterer would more easily assume that others did as he did.

Ural smiled. Through logic and reason, he’d uncovered one of Trahey’s weaknesses. Perhaps it would serve his cousin right if someone used Venna as Trahey had been using other dominants’ women.

Ural slapped the desk, scowling. I will not slip into making excuses for bad behaviors. I have many women of my own. I should indulge myself later with one of them and take the edge off. I am the master of my emotions. I will do what is right and honorable.

He drained the glass and poured himself another, swirling the red liquid as he watched the dancing flames.

They were leaving in two days. The Emperor had already informed him that he would join the flagship. That meant, he would not have his own ship, but would have to mingle with the Emperor’s chosen guards and women. Strand would surely be aboard the flagship—

So will Venna.

Ural looked up at the ceiling. What was wrong with him? With a grunt, he stood. Then, he went to his private quarters. There, he chose a dark-haired lovely and made love to her. It was not passionate, but…

Ural blanketed his thoughts.

Later, he showered and returned to his study, his head clearer than before. The sexual fire had dwindled—he stared at the bottle. The wine was lower than he remembered. How had that happened?

“Franco!” he shouted.

There was no response.

Ural did not like to call twice. He rose, and in a thunderous mood, he exited the study, searching for the preman officer, ex-officer of Star Watch.

He found Lieutenant Franco intoxicated on a couch. The man was sprawled there, with two empty wine bottles on the rug and a third clutched against his side. He’d spilled wine on the material—

Ural snatched the bottle from the preman, setting it on a table. “Up,” he said.

Franco stared at him bleary-eyed.

“You do not understand your place here,” Ural said angrily.

“You gonna kill me?” Franco slurred.

Ural grabbed him by the front of the shirt, hauling the preman to his feet. He slapped him twice, once on each cheek.

Franco went limp.

Ural sighed as his anger dissipated. He’d struck the preman too hard, rendering the drunken fool unconscious. He lowered the bleeding preman onto the couch. Ural had struck Franco’s nose in passing, and it bled profusely.

The couch and rug were ruined in any case. He would replace them. Maybe he’d given the lieutenant a place in his estate too soon. The preman likely thought far too highly of himself and hadn’t learned proper abasement yet. Ural chided himself. Franco was a preman, and for some reason, he felt sorry for the slow-witted fool. He shouldn’t have struck him either, as he’d used the preman to take out his frustration with—

Ural’s upper lip curled. For whatever reason, he wanted Venna, had secretly wanted her for some time. Either the Emperor had subconsciously divined that or Strand had used his Methuselah Man wizardry to discover the truth. He would have to walk carefully during the journey. Strand would likely try to use Venna against him. He would have to guard against his own emotions and desires. He would not plot his cousin’s murder in order to take one of his women. That was evil, and Ural did not want to become evil.

Therefore, I will purge myself of this lust. How to do this, I don’t yet know. But I must discover a way or I will become undone.

If Ural believed in gods or a higher power, he might have prayed for assistance. But he was far too rational to believe in such entities. There was matter, this life and that was it. There was nothing more.

He frowned. How then had concepts of good and evil originally developed? What did those concepts really mean?

Ural smiled wryly and shook his head. He hadn’t drunk enough wine earlier to let himself indulge in such juvenile thoughts. He was Ural, and he would continue to enjoy the good life even as he played the ultimate game of survival in what was quickly becoming the dangerous court of the Emperor of the Throne World.

-32-

The next morning, Ural left for the Emperor’s palace, arriving to find many other highly ranked dominants escorted to the large audience hall. It troubled Ural that the Emperor hadn’t informed him there would be an assembly and that no one had taken him to see the Emperor to learn the details of the meeting.

Instead, Ural endured looks and side-glances from those who realized the same thing. He could see the calculation in their eyes. Once, Golden Ural had been the Emperor’s confidant. He’d led the Invasion Fleet into “C” Quadrant and years later had led the fleet against Lord Drakos as the Throne World joined a Star Watch fleet to deal with the renegade. Now, Ural sat in a cushioned chair in the assembly like the rest of them.

The assembly hall was like a small old-style theater, with a raised stage before the two hundred ornate seats.

At least I’m in the front row, Ural thought. If he’d been placed in back…

He turned to study the assembled. They were the most dangerous and talented dominants of the Throne World, the elite of an elite race. Look, there was Artaxerxes Tar, a lean dominant with scars on his face: a clever tactician who many believed was too bold for his own good. The scars attested to that. Ural saw Samos of Thetis with his white hair and large hands. Samos had the thickest shoulders of all here and a larger harem than even the Emperor. It was said Samos could impregnate a woman simply by looking at her. Ural could have named everyone in attendance. These were calculating and deadly intriguers, and they would be watching the Emperor for any sign of weakness, for any misstep.

A horn blared, and a hush descended upon the assembled.

Ural sat forward, noting the ruffling curtain on the stage. The curtain parted and moved as it opened to a bare stage. In the back of the stage, a door opened, and the Emperor stepped out. There was no fanfare to announce that, just the single horn to gain their attention.

The Emperor wore black garments and boots with a blaster holstered at his hip. He did not have a saber or even a knife. He walked toward the front of the stage, gazing upon the waiting dominants. There was nothing on his face to indicate his mood.

Ural approved of the performance so far. It was understated, showing, hopefully, a balanced mind.

“Soldiers of the Throne World,” the Emperor said. “I come to you today as your captain, as your leader in battle.”

Ural noted the easy and confident manner of the Emperor’s speech, and that it reverberated throughout the hall. That indicated a hidden pickup, which was good. There was no sign of hubris or megalomania as he’d shown the other day.

“Gentlemen, we have a situation,” the Emperor said. “It is not an obvious or quickly apparent situation. Yet, it is there just the same, waiting to trip us so we fall into the dustbin of history. We are by design the deadliest humans in the universe. We all know the tale of how our forbearers left the Commonwealth, desiring to create a master race. Well…” he said, touching his lip. “That isn’t completely accurate. Many of our forbearers had altruistic ideals, wishing to form a race of defenders to watch over the buffoons and retards left behind in the Commonwealth of Planets.”

The Emperor paused, and he smiled. “I’m going to upset many now, but I ask you to bear with me. There is an explanation for our situation, an important one, a critical one, the reason I’ve asked you to attend this session.”

He fell silent as his gaze took in those seated before him. Then he turned to the side and said, “Strand, show yourself.”

Methuselah Man Strand walked onto the stage. He wore red clothes, including red shoes and a red hat. He cringed as hisses and boos rose from the assembled. Even so, Strand continued forth until he stood beside the Emperor, who towered over him.

Ural felt his gut twist and seethe upon sight of Strand. He wanted to boo and hiss with the rest. It was an automatic and primitive reaction upon seeing the evil Methuselah Man.

At last, the Emperor raised his hands, motioning the crowd to silence.

Ural panted along with many others.

“I understand,” the Emperor said smoothly, in a calm voice that showed he was unruffled by their reaction. He acted like a dominant above the rest, and he rested his left hand on Strand’s right shoulder.

The snake of a Methuselah Man looked up as if in gratitude like a dog loving its master.

This is an act, Ural realized. Was it Strand’s or the Emperor’s idea?

“Listen,” the Emperor said, “as I wish to explain my reasoning to you, the paragons of the Throne World.”

The chamber quieted until once more silence reigned.

“We are the New Men, so called by the premen of the Commonwealth of Planets,” the Emperor said. “In ways, the premen have the right of it. We are new. We are superior. But, alas, we have a fatal flaw. That flaw has caused us to fall from our former preeminence. We have dithered these past years, becoming aimless and divided, weakening ourselves in countless ways. Before, we had vision. Now, we seek purpose, and that causes us to choose a hundred different paths. I propose to rectify our single flaw and ensure that we and our descendants rule the stars forever as we follow the righteous path to glory.”

The Emperor smiled coldly. “Years ago, we attempted a quick fix to our flaw when we invaded “C” Quadrant. Because we are who we are, we came within inches of success. However, one of our blood foiled us. I speak of Captain Maddox, he who bears the genes of my cousin Oran. In the end, we struck too soon, too boldly and without thinking through the longer-term consequences. It was my error as much as anyone else’s. Perhaps that is why I feel bound to lead the expedition that will solve our deepest problem and thereby help bring about our eventual and overwhelming victory.”

The Emperor turned and motioned to someone behind the curtain on the stage. A moment later, a young dominant carried a chair, setting it before the Emperor. Then the youth backed away, bowing as he went until he disappeared behind the curtain.

The Emperor sat on the chair, using his left hand to force Strand down beside him, who collapsed suddenly, sitting on his ass at the Emperor’s feet.

There was a soft sound from the crowd, not a sigh, but something akin to a communal sigh of contentment.

Trahey still has the touch, Ural realized. Whatever else has happened to him, he still knows how to speak to a crowd.

“Hand-to-hand, one of us can defeat any ten premen, perhaps as many as fifteen or twenty of the subspecies,” the Emperor said. “With modern weapons, advanced weapons, we can increase that four or five times over. However, given the number of premen—veritable cockroach hordes of them in the galaxy—we cannot hope to defeat them in a sledgehammer contest of war. We must mass and industrialize, and do that again, and again, on countless worlds before we can permanently smash the premen hordes. Yet, to do that, to colonize as I envision, we need millions and then billions of fertile young women. If we attempt to take the women as we have in the past from the lesser premen, it will mean full-scale war against the Commonwealth. Yet, without the masses of nubile young things, we cannot sire enough offspring to colonize hundreds of new worlds. That means we must change the basic equation, fix our flaw.”

The crowd grew more than silent. They were hungry to know his answer, many of them leaning forward.

“Strand was our genetic creator,” the Emperor said. “He failed grotesquely in this one critical area. He allowed us to develop into supermen—compared to the submen hordes back home—but failed to rectify the problem of our lack of a X-chromosome in our sperm. If each of us had X-chromosomes in his sperm, we could sire females as well as males. If we could sire females, they would be superior women to the ones we now possess. Think about that. Each of us has superlative beauties and in great numbers. But if we had female dominants like ourselves, we would have even better mates. They would be more like us, and our offspring could improve to something more than our fathers before us.”

The Emperor looked down at Strand. “This frail old creature used to lord it over the Throne World. He used to enslave our brethren with foul brain implants. We captured and imprisoned him. The reason we didn’t slay him then was for such a day as this. He knows of a world far away from ours. It is a repository of ancient Builder lore, known by him as the Library Planet. If we stormed this world and plumbed its depths, we could return to the Throne World with ancient wisdom. Strand could repair what he broke, and we then could begin a new era of colonization. We would change the basic nature of our civilization as we readied for the Great War against the premen.”

Many of those in the audience looked at their neighbors. Strand had always screwed with them. None of them trusted the Methuselah Man snake. Perhaps most of those assembled wondered why the Emperor would trust the most faithless of beings that any of them knew.

“Listen,” the Emperor said from his chair, as if he spoke to each of them in person, as if he confided in each of them separately. “I know that Strand is a snake, a veritable devil. I know he will attempt to trick us. I have debated putting an implant in his mind…but I have thought of a better way. We will use him like a man uses a rag until it is a dirty soiled piece of trash. We will always guard the devil of a Methuselah Man. All of us will join in this sacred task.”

The Emperor leaned forward, and Ural found himself leaning toward the Emperor, and he noticed others around him did likewise.

“This is the great adventure that will remake the Throne World into the seat of a mighty star empire. We will change with it, becoming the nobles of a great era of war and expansion. We will create an army of genetically enhanced space marines and use the ancient science of the Builders to construct mighty spacecraft that will sweep away Star Watch, the Spacers and anything Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers can cobble together. She made Merovingian warriors that could defeat us. That will never happen to our genetic space marines. They will be superior foot soldiers and yet obedient to the new nobility of the Throne World.”

The Emperor laughed. “The nobles will be called Paragons. That will become a great title indeed. I have asked you here today so that you can voluntarily join the expedition to the Library Planet. I know I’ve told each of you separately that you will join. But I have reconsidered that. I only desire to have brothers in arms who dare. Those who come and explore the Library Planet with me will become the Paragons, will become the new rulers of a thousand worlds. This, gentlemen, is the dawn of a new era. We will build it together and forge an empire in the stars that has no use for Earth. This will be our new Earth. This will be our paradise that will expand in colonized conquest. We will fulfill the destiny of our ancestors and become great. No more will we suffer the indignity of asking premen to aid us. No more will we aid them. They will fall, and we will sweep aside everything else as we grow and consolidate.”

The Emperor stood, and his eyes shined with fanatical power. He laughed. It was an infectious sound. “Strand came to me on his knees. He did so in order to gain his freedom. He begged that I release him from permanent prison, and he cobbled together a reason why I should. He did not know that I would see through his cunning, but he has done us a good service despite himself. He has given me the germ of an idea, that with your help, with your sweat and struggle, we will turn into eternal glory as our names shine down through the ages.”

“Yes!” Artaxerxes Tar shouted.

“That is a noble plan, Sire,” said Samos of Thetis.

Many others cheered.

“It is a great dare,” the Emperor said. “I now ask you, who dares to travel to the Library Planet with me?”

A roar arose as those in the chamber leapt to their feet. Ural was among the last to jump up, but he pumped a fist in the air with the rest of them. He could feel the Emperor’s eyes on him, and then he felt soiled as Strand looked at him.

I’ll join, Ural told himself. I’ll become a Paragon, and if the opportunity arises…

He hated that he thought of Venna lying on corridor tiles looking up at him. He’d tried to put her out of his mind. Well, he would make the decision stick later. For now, he envisioned her in all her glory…and he caught Strand smile smugly.

No, Ural told himself. Don’t even think about murdering Strand or Trahey. Figure out their hidden plan. He knew they had an ulterior motive. But until he discovered it, he would remain the loyal cousin…until Trahey or Strand forced him to act otherwise.

-33-

Far from the Throne World and weeks later, Starship Victory left the Commonwealth and soon exited Human Space as it traveled into the Beyond.

During that time, nothing strange or unusual occurred. Valerie trained her darter crew, and Maddox ran the starship. Balron did not reappear, nor did Half-Life teleport back. Ludendorff hadn’t yet developed a weapon to deal with the ball-of-light entity, although he hadn’t given up trying. Maddox and Meta spent time with the former Iron Lady, and at times, she told them stories about Sandra: her daughter and Maddox’s mother.

Another week passed as Victory maneuvered from one star system to another through Laumer Points. Many of the systems were unexplored, and teams cataloged the basics as fast as they could.

“Really,” Valerie told Maddox a day later over a comm. “I should be taking the darter out. We are a Patrol vessel, and this is the uncharted Beyond.”

“No time for that,” Maddox said, and for him that was the end of the matter.

Nine days later, the starship was a mere 32 light-years from the nexus, if Ludendorff had recalled its galactic location correctly. The last week and a half, they’d come across evidence of Spacers, such as expelled junk drifting in space, a buoy with their signature and a mining balloon collecting deuterium in a gas giant’s upper atmosphere. The evidence did not show recent Spacer voyages, however, as the junk was old, the signal from the buoy sixty years out of date, and the deuterium tanks full and likely had been for some time.

Still, they traveled with sensors straining in every direction. Maddox debated having Valerie take the darter ahead to add to their sensor net but finally nixed the idea. If Victory had to move fast, he didn’t want to have to worry about picking up the Tarrypin first.

“Sir,” Galyan said later in the day, “I think you should come to the professor’s science laboratory.”

Maddox was speed-skipping rope in a gym, having counted 372 rotations in a row. He did several double spins—two rotations in a single jump—and stopped with a grunt. He hung the rope on a wall peg and turned back to Galyan.

“What’s the professor doing?”

“You should see for yourself, sir.”

Maddox raised an eyebrow, shrugged and headed straight there, still in his gym clothes, deciding he could shower later. Galyan floated along next to him.

Soon, Maddox tried the professor’s lab hatch, but it was locked.

“Open it,” Maddox told Galyan.

There came a click, and the hatch opened. Maddox walked in, finding Ludendorff on a tall stool, hunched over a device at one of the tables. Maddox glanced at Galyan, as nothing seemed out of place.

“Professor,” the holoimage said.

Ludendorff looked up, surprised to see them. He scowled a second later. “I locked the hatch for a reason. I don’t want to be disturbed, as this is delicate work.”

Maddox was staring at the steel-colored band around the professor’s head. It had a small unit attached above the left ear. The unit purred softly.

“What are you wearing?” Maddox asked.

“What?” Ludendorff asked. “Oh, that. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it.”

Maddox cocked his head, and then he did recognize it from the time they faced the Liss cybers with their mental domination abilities. “It’s a telepathic blocking band?”

Ludendorff nodded.

“Is this what you wanted me to see?” Maddox asked Galyan.

“What?” Ludendorff demanded, glaring at the holoimage. “You saw me like this? Were you spying on me?”

“The correct definition is keeping tabs,” Galyan said.

“So you were spying.”

“Why wouldn’t you want us to know you’re wearing one of those?” Maddox asked.

A moment later, Ludendorff grinned sheepishly. “I hate spies, as you can attest. But I particularly hate mind-reading spies.”

“That isn’t the reason,” Maddox said.

“I know why,” Galyan said.

“That’s preposterous,” Ludendorff said. “You have no idea as to my motives.”

“Go ahead,” Maddox told Galyan, “why?”

“Balron.”

“Balron is why Ludendorff didn’t want us to know he was wearing an anti-T band?” Maddox asked.

“No,” Galyan said. “It is why he constructed one. Balron obviously tapped into the professor’s thoughts before. He must have done the same to you, sir. How else could he have implanted data about Half-Life into the professor’s mind and how could Balron have effectively managed his various disguises?”

“That explains why the professor wanted protection,” Maddox said. “But it doesn’t explain why he wouldn’t want the same for each of us.”

“The reason is elementary, sir, as it lies in the professor’s psychological profile. The professor still stings from Balron using him and not using you in a similar way. Yes, Balron tricked you, but only for a moment, not for weeks as it did the professor. Our learned Methuselah Man likely believes that in a sense, you bested him yet again.”

“You’re an arrogant and presumptuous holographic piece of filth,” Ludendorff said heatedly.

“Because Galyan’s wrong or because he’s right?” asked Maddox.

“Bah! This is a stupid conversation. I’m sick of it. Now tell me what you want so you can leave and let me work.”

Maddox pointed at the headband. “You made one for yourself.”

“Obviously. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” Maddox said. “I’d appreciate it, however, if you made a dozen more. Clearly, you fear—you suspect Balron might reappear, and the headband is your first line of defense. I approve wholeheartedly. If we don’t have a way to hurt or destroy him, it’s good to be able to defend ourselves from him. I do have one question, though. Why worry about Balron now?”

Ludendorff scowled at the floor, sighed, shook his head and looked up, the scowl vanishing. “I’m working on a device.” He pointed at the half-finished object on the table. “It will scatter or distort light waves. I have no idea if it will affect Balron, but what the hell; at least it’s a possibility.”

Maddox nodded. “Start making more headbands, and then make me a scatter-light gun as well. We’re nearing the nexus. If the space-pyramid works, that means we’ll soon be at the Library Planet. That could reasonably trigger another Balron appearance.”

“You said ‘if it works,’ meaning the nexus, of course. Do you still doubt the nexus will function for us?”

“I’ve never been there, never used it, and the nexus is far in the uncharted Beyond. That means I’m officially troubled and have doubts until further notice. Does that bother you?”

“No…” Ludendorff said. He slid off his stool and walked to a different table. It had many scattered elements on it. He slid onto a stool there, picking up tools. “If you leave me be, I can get started right away on more headbands.”

Maddox pursed his lips. Ludendorff had made an anti-telepathic headband for himself. The professor likely had more reasons for doing that than what he’d admitted. Was there something at the nexus that would give them trouble? He was starting to wonder, which meant it was time to get ready for more problems.

“Come on, Galyan,” Maddox said. “Let’s go.”

-34-

Several days later, Victory exited a star-drive jump 192 light-years from the edge of the Commonwealth. They were in the Deep Beyond, far from any human-colonized planets and farther still from any known aliens. If they continued in this direction, they would eventually reach the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm. The voyage would take years using the normal method of faster-than-light travel. Victory had been out there once, and had discovered the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan, among other things. No one in Star Watch was eager to make a return voyage, nor did anyone desire to see those of Leviathan in Human Space. Hopefully, such a meeting was far in the future. Star Watch had enough on its plate without adding anything from the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm.

The ancient Adok starship appeared in an uncharted system’s Kuiper Belt. As it appeared, the vessel shook once, twice—there was a pause—and then it shook for the third time, worse than ever.

“Andros,” Maddox said from his captain’s chair, as he saw the stout Chief Technician lift his head. “Is someone firing at us?”

Andros’s pudgy fingers played upon his panel. “Negative, sir. But there is—”

The starship shuddered once more.

“What’s causing that?” Maddox said, forcing himself to speak in a calm voice.

Andros adjusted his board. “It’s some kind of local disruption, sir. There are…it appears there are thousands of local disruptions. I recommend that we back up and investigate from a place of safety.”

“Back up using sub-light drive?” asked Maddox.

The ship shook again as some of the bridge panels made zapping sounds, a few sending up sparks and one black smoke.

“Jump, sir,” Andros shouted. “Jump immediately!”

“Mr. Maker,” Maddox said, with an edge to his voice.

“We’re jumping, sir,” Keith said, his fingers flying across his panel.

Maddox slumped over as the ship used the star-drive jump. Seconds later, he opened his eyes. His sight was blurry, and his head hurt. That was one of the problems with immediate jumps, doing it a second and third time without enough rest between. They all took medications against Jump Lag, and Star Watch medicine had come a long way in only a few years. Still, back-to-back jumps took a toll.

Andros groaned as he raised his head. His nose bled, the blood dripping over his lips. He wiped that with a sleeve as he manipulated his board with the other hand.

“Where did we jump?” Maddox asked a swaying Keith.

The ace put both hands on the helm panel, took a steadying breath and then made his check. “Uh… I put us ten thousand AUs out in the system’s Oort cloud.”

“Good thinking,” Maddox said. “Are you well, Mr. Crank? Or do you need to report to medical?”

“I’m fine, Captain.”

“What did we encounter back there?”

“I’m still analyzing it, sir.”

Maddox waited, letting his bridge crew perform their various tasks.

“Sir,” Andros said a couple minutes later. “I have an idea about the local distortions. They’re warped space.”

“What does that mean?”

“Bubbles of warped space might be more accurate,” Andros said. “By warped or distorted, I mean…chaos or chaotic space, the opposite of normal space. One could think of it as antimatter touching matter, but that wouldn’t be completely accurate. The warped space—the bubble of it—warps or twists whatever enters it. We hit the edge of one of the bubbles—I know that’s an imprecise term, but the distortions appear to be rounded volume areas, hence the term bubbles. The warping might have disrupted the hull where it touched us. I earnestly suggest someone take a look.”

“Galyan,” the captain called.

The AI holoimage appeared, listened to the order and the reason for it and vanished. He reappeared shortly. “Andros is correct, sir. The outer hull has ruptured in several places. It isn’t serious, as there was no deep breaching. But I suggest hull repairs are in order.”

Maddox nodded. That would give the damage control parties something to do. He spoke into the comm, giving the order. Then he asked Galyan, “What exactly happened?”

“The warped space twisted the hull plating. In some places, the plating is a different metallic substance altogether.”

“Was the space-warping bubble a form of missile or space mine? A weapon?” Maddox asked.

“That is an interesting question, sir. I must analyze.” Galyan’s eyelids began to flutter.

Maddox quickly became impatient. “What are you finding?” he asked Andros.

The pudgy Chief Technician had been manipulating his board, becoming more absorbed by the moment. He turned around, “The space-warped bubbles are in greater profusion and closer together the deeper in-system I scan. So far, I haven’t found any evidence of a nexus or what is causing or creating the bubbles.”

Maddox ingested that. “Could the bubbles interfere with a star-drive jump?”

“I have no idea,” Andros said.

“I do,” Galyan said, his eyelids no longer fluttering. “May I say that was a cogent question, sir, and the answer is yes.”

“Meaning the bubbles of warp might be a form of protective shield for the inner system,” Maddox said.

“Yes and no,” Galyan said, “as I believe we could negotiate around the bubbles, maneuvering through their mass into the inner system.”

“I profoundly disagree,” Andros said. “The bubbles are wobbling, shifting positions. Does the process speed up the farther one heads into the system? If so, we could attempt to maneuver, and warped-space bubbles would crash against us, twisting and destroying matter, possibly releasing the ship’s atmosphere and killing us.”

“Going farther in-system would be a risk,” Galyan admitted.

“Have you found the nexus?” Maddox asked.

“Not yet, sir,” Galyan replied.

Maddox stared balefully at the main screen. “I’m disinclined to head in-system yet. I need to know more about the warped-space bubbles, and I need to know what creates them. It sounds like a defensive system, and that means intelligence behind it. We might have to head to a different nexus.”

“Or get another opinion about the warped-space bubbles,” Galyan said.

“You mean the professor,” Maddox said. “Right. Tell him to report to the bridge.”

Galyan disappeared.

Maddox stood and approached the main screen. He turned, asking Andros, “Is there a limit to their reach or how far out the bubbles travel?”

“I can’t find any bubbles out here with us,” Andros said. “I am seeing a few one thousand AUs from the star.”

“What type of star is it?”

Andros consulted his board. “A regular G-class, sir, with…ten planets: four terrestrial and the rest gas giants.”

“Are the planets disrupted in any way?”

“None that I can detect,” Andros said.

Galyan reappeared. “The professor is hurrying here, sir.”

Maddox nodded as he put his hands behind his back. He needed more data about the system. If they’d wasted all this time and had to find another nexus… “No,” he whispered. If they did need to go elsewhere, was Ludendorff to blame for the waste of time? Why had the professor secretly made a headband? Maddox had one now, and Galyan confirmed it was functional. Ludendorff had acquiesced in the request to make more—but had being the only one with a headband been part of a larger plot, at least originally?

Maddox scowled. He didn’t want to distrust the professor. You’d think by now the Methuselah Man could have learned to be a team player. Yet, the professor was old, an old dog, perhaps—as in teaching an old dog new tricks was nearly impossible.

The bridge hatch opened and Ludendorff ran in, panting. He stared at the main screen, slowed, stopped and turned to the captain. “Where are we?”

“The Oort cloud of your nexus system.”

“Oort cloud, eh? Galyan spoke about warped-space bubbles. What did he mean by that?”

From his station, Andros began to explain.

Maddox shushed the Chief Technician, saying to Ludendorff, “I was hoping you could tell me what they were.”

Ludendorff shook his head. “I don’t believe this is a coincidence. The bubbles are obviously meant to foil us.”

“That seems far too elaborate,” Maddox said. “Why not have several battleships attack us instead of using…whatever they are?”

“Perhaps because you’ve always defeated your military enemies. This is something new.” Ludendorff chewed on the inside of a cheek. “I suspect Balron’s hand in this.”

“Possibly,” said Maddox. “Tell me, how is warped space formed?”

Ludendorff scoffed. “That’s just a term, you know. There are a variety of ways to distort or warp space. Did the ship happen to touch a warp?”

Maddox nodded.

“Did the warp tear up the hull?”

Maddox nodded again.

Ludendorff muttered under his breath, shaking his head afterward. “This is a result of Builder technology. It has to be.”

Maddox’s eyes widened. “You mean from the nexus?”

“That would be one way to cause the distortions.”

“Explain that.”

Ludendorff scoffed again. “How do you expect me to explain such an advanced concept to a scientific dunderhead like you? Believe me, it’s beyond your primitive understanding.”

Maddox stared at Ludendorff.

“I know. I know. I hurt your tender feelings. You make a great show of hardheartedness, but in reality, you—”

“Professor,” Maddox warned.

Ludendorff closed his eyes, opened them and cleared his throat. “I’m anxious, worried even about all this. Perhaps you’ll let what I just said slide, not holding it against me.”

“No worries,” Maddox said after a moment. “Tell me what you think is going on.”

Ludendorff made a point of staring at the main screen and then gave the captain a sly side-glance. “Well, uh, it’s possible the nexus has ruptured.”

“What?”

“I know. That sounds bad, and I suppose it would be, for us, anyway.”

“You told me the nexus was in a working order.”

“Perhaps Balron attacked it since then.”

“You mean he might have ruptured the nexus?” asked Maddox.

“Correct.”

“Why would a rupturing nexus cause warped-space bubbles?”

“I have two working theories,” Ludendorff said. “One of them is better for us than the other. The first theory would entail the warped-space bubbles emanating directly from a torn nexus. The second theory is that the nexus uses the hyper-spatial-tube machine to create the bubbles, doing so away from the nexus. That would be better for us because we might be able to fix the apparatus and then use the nexus for our purpose.”

“Fixing a nexus could take years,” Maddox said.

“If we could do it at all,” Ludendorff said.

“And if Balron created the problem?” asked Maddox

“Then it’s worse for us, as we might have to deal with him. The question is, how do we deal with a ball-of-light entity? My device might disrupt him or drive him away—”

“Stop,” Maddox said, holding up a palm. He regarded the main screen. Balron, Half-Life, a dead hunter named Lucas Rogers who had two Builder modifications like a Spacer adept. They had seen evidence that Spacers had been in this part of the galaxy. Now, they had run up against warped-space bubbles, of all things. They couldn’t just jump past them either; at least Galyan didn’t think they could. He didn’t care to dispute the AI in this.

“Is there a reason we need to get to the Library Planet quickly?” Maddox asked.

“You talked about Strand before,” Ludendorff said.

“I did. Do you think Strand could talk the New Men into taking him there?”

“Betting against Strand’s deviousness has always been a losing proposition,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox frowned. Was Balron, or someone, trying to slow them down from reaching the Library Planet? If so, why? Taking Victory past the warped-space bubbles seemed like a risky and therefore bad idea. Yet, if Balron or others were attempting to stop them from using this nexus in order to delay them from reaching the Library Planet, and that for a critical reason—

“We should use this nexus,” Maddox said softly.

“What was that?” Ludendorff asked.

“I’m inclined to work our way in-system.”

“Not me. If a mass of bubbles moves through us, that’s it. We’ll all die.”

“Where’s the next nearest nexus?”

Ludendorff closed his eyes as he moved his face upward. “I’m seeing one…three hundred and sixty-eight light-years away. We would continue in the same direction of travel.”

“You mean toward the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm?” Maddox asked.

“Correct.”

“No,” Maddox said. “Galyan, are you sure you can guide us past the bubbles?”

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said.

“What are the ship’s probabilities of surviving the ordeal?” Ludendorff asked.

“Given what I expect,” Galyan said, “the ship would have a sixty-eight and a half percent chance of arriving intact at the nexus.”

“Are those good enough odds, Captain?” Ludendorff asked.

“Run through your guiding process again,” Maddox told Galyan. “If you can reach a seventy-two percent intact-arrival percentage, we’ll do it.”

“Working,” Galyan said, as his eyelids fluttered.”

Ludendorff muttered under his breath and shuffled his feet.

“Do you have anything else to add?” Maddox asked.

“Me?” Ludendorff said. “Not a thing.”

Galyan looked up. “Sir, I have computed a seventy-four percent intact-arrival rate. You see, I had overlooked—”

“Enough,” Maddox said. “I don’t need to hear the details. We’re going to attempt it. Now, what do we need to do to get started?”

-35-

When the Lord High Admiral told Valerie she’d be doing Patrol work, she hadn’t figured she would be a guinea pig for Victory.

The Darter Tarrypin maneuvered ahead of the mighty starship, using its delicate sensors to mark and watch every bubble of warped or distorted space in the projected flight path. The Tarrypin was the pathfinder, and with Galyan’s help, the darter had rejected three possible routes so far. Two had seemed promising. The bubbles three and later six and a half million kilometers ahead had eventually closed off each of those ways.

Path finding was proving to be tiring work. Worse, they were traveling through normal space, meaning crawling through the star system. How the distorted space could bleed through and thus stop a star-drive jump or fold, she had no idea. She almost wanted to test the theory…almost.

Valerie yawned, rubbed her sore eyes and continued to pilot the darter. She glanced at Ensign Derrick Magee. He watched the sensors with zealous intensity, half shouting any time he pointed out a correction. She yawned, forced herself to concentrate and noticed something out of the corner of her eye. She turned that way—

Derrick jerked his head, once again staring at his sensors. Had he been staring at her?

“Is something wrong?” Valerie asked.

Derrick didn’t answer right away. And when he did, he said, “Uh… well…”

“Spit it out, Derrick.”

“You look tired, sir. Maybe the first mate should relieve you.”

“I’m fine.”

Derrick did not reply.

“You don’t think I’m fine?” Valerie asked.

“I’m just an ensign, sir.”

Valerie frowned, turned to him—he was staring fixedly at his board—and her frown eased away. Derrick was a first-year ensign, nervous, lacking confidence and clearly wanting to do well. This was a teaching moment. “I asked your opinion, mister. When I ask, I expect your professional answer, not a lame excuse.”

Derrick looked up, surprised.

“Do you think I’m fine or not?” Valerie said.

“N-No, sir. You’re exhausted. You’ve been piloting for over seven hours straight. Don’t you trust the first mate to pilot?” Derrick blushed deeply. “I’m sorry. That was impertinent. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Valerie stretched her back and turned her head from one side to the other, twisting her neck. She was exhausted. Derrick had a point and he’d managed to say it respectfully. She eased over to the left and pressed a comm button, calling First Mate Gina Littlewood, telling her to come to the control cabin, as she would be piloting for a time.

Soon, Valerie staggered into her quarters. She slipped off her shoes, pulled off her socks and crashed upon the bunk. She’d planned to take off her pants and shirt, but fell asleep before that.

She must have been deeply exhausted, as she didn’t even dream.

Suddenly, her eyes jerked open. It was dim in her cabin, but not completely dark. She still felt dead tired. Had she even slept?

She turned to the right and eyed the clock. It showed she’d slept five hours. She needed eight after a tiring shift like that. Five was just starting to get her feeling normal again. She yawned, sat up and froze.

Someone is in here with me.

Once again, Valerie saw motion. Maybe she wasn’t wide awake yet, but still in that near dream-state, for she wondered if Lucas Rogers had returned with a knife. Would he hold it against her throat as he raped her?

“Lights,” she whispered.

The dim illumination brightened. There up at the joint between the ceiling and far bulkhead wobbled a blue hardball-sized—

“Half-Life?” she asked, wide awake now.

The blue globe ceased wobbling, remaining perfectly still as if it could hide through motionlessness.

“If you think I can’t see you, you’re wrong. Why don’t you say something?”

A narrow beam shined from the globe. Even though it had done this before, the effect surprised Valerie. She cried out, jerking her head and throwing up her hands to block the concentrated beam from shining in her eyes.

“Stop that,” she said.

The narrow beam ceased shining as another switched on. At the beam’s termination point appeared a wolf-like head of an Ardazirho alien with a large cranium.

“Hello, Valerie,” Half-Life said. “I see it is no longer dark in here.”

“How long have you been up there?”

“I do not have to answer you, as I am not a part of your crew.”

“True…” Valerie said. “But by not answering, you’re declaring yourself an enemy.”

“That is not necessarily so.”

“But that’s how I take it,” Valerie said.

“Balron said you would hold a grudge. I told him he was wrong. But now I see—”

“It has nothing to do with holding grudges,” Valerie said, interrupting. “We’re on a dangerous mission. You tried to mess with us before and are logically continuing to do so.”

“That is false. I have come to warn you.”

“Oh?”

“You must turn back before it is too late.”

“That’s kind of vague,” Valerie said.

“It is all I can say at present.”

“Nope. That’s not going to fly with me. In fact, if you don’t start getting specific, I’m going to call Galyan.”

“That would be an error on your part.”

Valerie wasn’t going to let Half-Life keep the upper hand or get the better of her. But how could she deal with him? She had a blaster in the top dresser drawer. She could burn the construct into hot, misshapen slag. Thinking that, Valerie stood and began moving toward the dresser.

“You are agitated,” Half-Life said.

Valerie kept her head down, wondering if the construct watched her face.

“Why is your heart rate racing? What are you thinking, Valerie?”

She looked up. The little intruding construct monitored her. “Listen here,” she said.

Sparkles appeared, and the small blue construct began to fade away as it teleported.

“Half-Life!” she shouted. But it was too late. The device was gone.

Valerie’s shoulders slumped. Then she turned around. It was time to relieve Derrick and give Captain Maddox a call. It would appear the space-warped bubbles had something to do with Balron after all, as Half-Life was back.

-36-

The days lengthened as Victory slowly maneuvered past the thickening, wobbling space-warped bubbles. Maddox might have turned around, but Half-Life’s appearance spurred him on and logically showed they were on the right path. It was simple. If Balron’s messenger boy suggested they head back, it meant it must be possible to use the nexus for their purpose.

Andros and Galyan searched diligently for Half-Life or for a contrivance that might hold and reenergize the construct. He had to be battery powered, right? In any case, they hadn’t seen a sign of either.

“It would help if we knew his teleporting range,” Galyan said on the bridge.

“A lot of things would help,” Maddox said crossly. “Now, no more excuses. I’m only interested in results.”

“Understood, sir.”

The next day, they neared the fourth terrestrial planet from the G-class star. It was 96.3 percent the mass of Earth and given its distance from the star, should have been a cold world. It wasn’t a hot planet, but it was definitely warmer than its distance would seem to indicate. There were hardy lichens, and the atmosphere would allow people to walk around without protective gear except for breathers. The instruments showed howling storms raging across the world, blowing rusted iron dust particles, much like on Mars.

Given their relatively slow rate of travel, Andros and Galyan had time for dedicated scans. Andros ran a comparison to what they knew about the rest of the system and reported that despite their “tunnel” past the planet, the warped-space bubbles were thickest around it. That included the planet’s orbital path and around five million kilometers on either side of it.

Galyan studied the planet, and besides the lichens and atmosphere, he found strange stone structures in three separate areas. One location in particular, near the equator, had twenty-nine low and broad-based—

“Sir,” Galyan told the captain. “I have analyzed wind speeds, the abrasive effect of the rusty iron-dust particles, its duration across the centuries—”

“Please get to the point,” Maddox said tersely.

“The low structures are likely former pyramids worn down to what we see today, or to what I see,” Galyan amended.

Maddox’s stomach hollowed. “Pyramids like on the Erill Planet?”

“I see you understand the implications, sir. Yes. That is a distinct possibility.”

“No, no,” Ludendorff said, who eyed a flat device connected to a sensor. “The base structures—what’s left of the possible pyramids—are quite different from those on the Erill Planet. I thought what you said about a possible Erill connection several hours ago and rejected the idea,” he told Galyan before facing Maddox again. “The planetary structures are different and interesting. Now that we’re nearing the planet—and given our slow velocity—I would like permission to take a shuttle and explore the ancient structures. This could be why Half-Life warned us away, what Balron didn’t want us to find.”

“Absolutely not,” Maddox said. “We’re all sticking together, not one or two of us scuttling off to a possible Erill Planet.”

“I already explained that,” Ludendorff said testily. “This is not the same as that planet. What this is, however, is a priceless opportunity. I might never be this way again. Humans might not come this way for decades, maybe centuries. We owe it to science to explore the new and unusual.”

Maddox remained silent, and it seemed as if he was no longer listening to Ludendorff but thinking about something else.

“You and your precious ego,” Ludendorff said in a huff. “At least send Galyan down to take a look. He should record it for posterity.”

From the captain’s chair, Maddox started, blinking, rubbing his eyes. Then he turned to Ludendorff. The captain’s gaze narrowed. It seemed as if he replayed in his mind what Ludendorff had said. “Professor, if you can’t keep a respectful tone while on the bridge, you’re leaving.”

Ludendorff grunted something unintelligible under his breath.

“Yes, fine, fine,” Maddox said. “I accept your apology. You can stay.”

Ludendorff’s eyes widened in outrage and he opened his mouth to speak.

Meta beat him to it. “Sir,” she said from her station. “I’m receiving a hail.” She looked up sharply. “It’s from Balron.”

“Balron,” Maddox said, glancing at Ludendorff. “Put him on the main screen.”

Meta manipulated her board. “I can’t, sir. It’s audio only.”

“Now see here,” Ludendorff finally sputtered. “I in no way apologized for what you perceive as—”

“Stow it,” Maddox said, interrupting the professor. He clicked an armrest control. “Balron?” he said.

“Yes, Captain, it is I,” Balron said. “I see that you are quite persistent in your endeavor. I’m speaking of your journey in-system. Half-Life warned you against doing that, yes?”

“What do you want?” Maddox asked.

“What I want. What I want. Captain, if I must, I can thicken the distortions so it will be impossible for you to move forward. If at that point you do not turn back, I will maneuver the distortions until they encircle your starship. I do not wish to destroy you—”

“Why do you want to delay us from using the nexus?” Maddox asked, interrupting.

“I do not understand the question.”

“We plan to use the system’s nexus to project ourselves to the Library Planet.”

“I’m sorry,” Balron said. “What nexus are you referring to?”

Ludendorff motioned from the side. When Maddox turned to him, the professor mouthed, “He’s lying.”

Maddox pinched his lower lip and finally asked, “What are you, Balron? What is your connection with the Builders?”

“None of that is germane to the issue, Captain. I bid you to turn back. When you have done so, then I will answer your question.”

“I have a counteroffer. Answer me. Then I’ll turn back if you’re sufficiently persuasive.”

“I have your word on that?” Balron asked.

“Yes,” Maddox said without hesitation. He wondered at that moment concerning the range of Balron’s possible telepathic abilities. He picked up his headband, the one with Ludendorff’s anti-telepathy device. Slipping the band over his head, Maddox switched on the device.

“What did you say?” asked Balron.

“I agree to your condition,” Maddox said.

“You have given me your word then?”

“I have,” Maddox said.

There was silence on the other end.

Maddox glanced at Ludendorff. The Methuselah Man shrugged, holding up his palms. Maddox glanced at Meta, raising his eyebrows.

“My instruments say Balron is still on the line,” Meta said.

Maddox frowned at the armrest comm as he waited.

“Why are you practicing deception?” Balron asked suddenly.

“I don’t understand,” Maddox said.

“Your behavior is rude and obnoxious.”

Maddox laughed. “What is your interference with our mission? I’d call that pretty damn rude and thus obnoxious.”

“Why are you blocking me, Captain?”

Maddox grinned and raised a thumb to Ludendorff.

Ludendorff smiled smugly, nodding and folding his arms across his chest like a man who has victoriously completed a championship game.

“It is your destruction if you advance farther in-system, Captain Maddox.” Balron sounded agitated. “You have no idea of the real situation. Half-Life gave you a warning. I have now warned you. Yet, you attempt to deceive me by lying and using primitive blocking devices so I can no longer monitor the accuracy of your words.”

“Sir,” Galyan said. “This is urgent.”

“Just a moment, Balron,” Maddox said, muting the comm. “What is it, Galyan?”

“Sir, I have detected energy waves emanating from the planetary surface. They are akin to the rays the Yon-Soth on the Forbidden Planet once projected.”

“Similar, not the same?” asked Maddox.

“That is correct, sir.”

“Can you be more specific as to the waves’ origin?” Maddox asked.

Galyan’s eyelids fluttered. “Sir, they originate from under the surface of the equatorial ruins.”

“Is that the essence of Balron?” Maddox asked.

“What? Oh,” Galyan said. “You mean—I do not think so, sir.”

Maddox clicked off the mute. “Good-bye, Balron. If you have something real to communicate, you know how to contact me. Until then, Captain Maddox out.”

Balron said, “You have no idea of the danger about to unleash upon—”

Maddox clicked the armrest button, cutting the connection.

“Was that wise?” asked Ludendorff. “Should you have kept Balron talking instead?”

Maddox did not respond, but tapped his chin. He looked up several moments later, staring at the main screen. “Show me the equatorial ruins.”

Galyan gestured. The planet appeared on the main screen. A zoom shot brought a red dust storm into focus. The screen showed another zoom, and there might have been something behind thick clots of swirling red dust, but it was impossible to be sure.

“Those are the coordinates to the equatorial ruins?” asked Maddox.

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said.

“Helm,” Maddox said. “Launch an antimatter missile at those structures, at the coordinates.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Keith said, as he manipulated his board

Ludendorff licked his lips, advancing closer to the captain. He spoke in a low voice. “I’m aware you don’t like anyone second-guessing your decisions. I can almost understand it, too.”

Without looking at the professor, Maddox waved him to silence.

“Now see here,” Ludendorff said in a low and urgent voice. “Those are ancient structures, and you don’t know it’s a Yon-Soth down there. It’s not only a crime against knowledge to obliterate the ancient pyramids, but to slaughter such an advanced life-form. Think of what we could learn.”

Maddox closed his eyes as if trying to hear better. He cocked his head as if listening even harder…his eyes snapped open. He glanced at the professor and then clicked an armrest control. “Send three armed marines to the bridge on the double.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” a tough-sounding man said over the comm.

“If you’re trying to frighten me, it won’t work,” Ludendorff said. “If you want me off the bridge, just say so.”

Maddox ignored him.

“The antimatter missile is launching, sir,” Keith said.

“Galyan,” Maddox said. “Guide the missile down to the ancient structures. Make sure the warhead detonates to create the most destruction possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said.

“A shuttle team could have explored the structures first,” Ludendorff said in a low voice. “They could have left an antimatter satchel behind, too. Do you really think a Yon-Soth inhabits the ruins’ subsurface?”

Maddox turned to Ludendorff, staring meaningfully as if trying to impart a message to the professor without talking.

Ludendorff frowned. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Sir,” Meta said. “We’re being hailed.”

Maddox swiveled to face his wife.

“It’s Balron,” Meta said. “Or he says he’s Balron. He wishes to speak to you.”

Maddox jumped up, approaching Meta’s station, nodding to her as he did.

She pressed a control.

“Captain,” Balron said from the comm. “Do you hear me? Can you hear me?”

“I’m here,” Maddox said. “What is it?”

“You mustn’t strike the ancient planetary structures. That would be a terrible error.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“You targeted them. Thus, you already know why.”

“Explain,” Maddox said.

“Turn off your headband,” Balron said. “We can communicate more easily that way.”

“That’s a negative,” Maddox said.

“What’s going on?” Ludendorff asked quietly. The professor had followed Maddox and now stood directly behind him.

Three beefy marines with blasters in their hands walked onto the bridge. They stared at the captain, obviously awaiting orders.

“I’ve tried to do this the friendly way,” Balron said from the comm board. “If you do not immediately cause the missile to self-destruct—”

“No more innuendoes and half hints,” Maddox said, interrupting. “This is your last chance, Balron.”

“No,” Balron said angrily. “That was your last chance.”

A flash on the main screen caused an intensely bright light to fill the bridge. Many of the personnel cried out, most of them shielding their eyes. The glaring light faded until everything was normal again. To Maddox, after the intense brightness, it now seemed dim on the bridge. Clearly, Balron had detonated the antimatter missile.

Light appeared on the bridge near the main screen. The light coalesced—

“Captain Maddox,” Lord High Admiral Cook said. The white-haired admiral was standing near the main screen where the light had appeared. How the Lord High Admiral could have gotten there from Earth was a mystery. The admiral looked real enough, and he didn’t seem in any way surprised to be on Victory’s bridge. He acted as if knew exactly what was going on, too. “You will send a shuttle team to the equatorial ruins and initiate contact with the advanced life form there,” Cook said. “That is a Class A-A-1 Priority Order.”

“Shoot him,” Maddox told the marines.

The three marines hesitated as they stared at Admiral Cook.

“Shoot him now!” Maddox shouted.

The marines still hesitated.

“That isn’t the admiral but an alien imposter,” Maddox said. “Shoot him before it’s too late.”

The three marines raised their blasters.

The Lord High Admiral raised his left hand. “No,” he said.

The marines cried out, releasing their blasters so the weapons thudded onto the bridge deck.

“This is insubordination, Captain,” Cook said. “I hereby relieve you of duty—”

From a pocket in his jacket, Ludendorff lifted a blaster-sized device. He aimed at the admiral and clicked a button. No visible effect happened. Ludendorff did not stop, but kept the device locked on target with his thumb pressed down on the trigger.

Suddenly, Lord High Admiral Cook jerked and turned to Ludendorff.

“You officious old prick,” Cook said. “Stop this—” Before the Lord High Admiral could finish his speech, he literally began to dissolve and fade. Seconds later, all that remained was a ball of pulsating light. “Stop it,” the light said. “Stop it at once.”

“Don’t stop,” Maddox told Ludendorff. “Increase the intensity if you can.”

“No!” the light said.

Ludendorff’s face screwed up with pain. At the same time, the small unit attached to his headband began to hiss as a wisp of smoke curled up from it. The Methuselah Man continued to aim the scatter-light gun at the alien, however.

“Cease your attack,” the light said, but in a weaker voice than before.

“Hot,” Ludendorff said. “The gun is getting hot.”

Maddox ran to the dazed marines, each of them clutching their obviously painful hands. He grabbed a hand, examining it. There was no redness, no burn. He looked up into the marine’s eyes. They were glazed. Maddox bent down and touched a blaster. It wasn’t hot or even warm.

“Cease the attack,” the light said. “I, Balron, command you.”

Ludendorff cried out as the unit attached to his headband shorted out. He dropped the scatter-light gun so it hit the deck.

Maddox ran to it.

“No!” Balron said, his voice stronger now.

Maddox’s headband unit started vibrating. The captain reached the high-tech gun. It felt normal. He picked it up, aimed it at Balron—

The light disappeared, simply vanished.

Ludendorff looked up, confused. Then he tore off the headband and examined the blackened unit.

“Sir, what happened?” one of the marines asked.

“Take your blasters and report to the armory,” Maddox said. “I’ll talk to you three later.”

The bewildered marines did as ordered, gathering their blasters, having no problems holstering them. The three of them left the bridge.

“What just happened?” Ludendorff asked. “How did you know Balron was going to appear like that?”

“That wasn’t Balron,” Maddox said. “It was the thing hidden on the planet under the equatorial pyramids. It must have listened to our conversation with Balron and decided to pretend to be him.”

“Is it a Yon-Soth then?” asked Ludendorff.

“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Maddox said. “A Yon-Soth would have been far more powerful. Galyan!”

“Yes, sir,” the holoimage said.

“Are the energy waves still emanating from the equatorial ruins?”

“No…” Galyan said.

“Do you sense anything under the ruins?” Maddox asked.

“I am attempting to scan—” Galyan stopped talking and froze.

“Damnit,” Maddox said. “Andros, scan the ruins. Scan under the ruins. Keith, launch another antimatter missile. Then get us the hell away from the planet.”

“In which direction, sir?” asked Keith.

Because of the “tunnel” through the warped-space bubbles, they only had two clear options: in-system or out-system.

Maddox glared at the main screen. “In-system,” he said quietly. “If the next antimatter missile explodes like the first, you’ll launch another. If that one also explodes, you’ll launch one after that. If we can’t kill it, we have to keep the alien busy.”

“Erills would want the pyramids destroyed,” Ludendorff said. “Well, the worn-down nubs of the pyramids destroyed, and that’s only if the ancient structures hold a device that keeps the Erills from emigrating elsewhere, just like in the City of Pyramids on the Planet of the Erills.”

“I doubt we’re dealing with Erills,” Maddox said.

“But—”

“Stow it, Professor,” Maddox said. “Run to your laboratory and get the rest of the headbands. We may need them.”

“If—”

“Hurry!” Maddox shouted. “If we don’t win through now, I doubt we ever will.”

-37-

Victory neared the fourth planet, coming to within half a million kilometers and closing. The path would take them within 223,000 kilometers of the surface. The second and third antimatter missiles detonated in succession, but far enough from the starship that the electromagnetic shield protected them from the radiation, heat and EMP. The fourth missile made it even farther than the others before it too detonated.

“That’s the right tactic,” Maddox said, as he banged a fist against an armrest. “Launch the next missile, Mr. Maker. Let’s keep the bastard busy defending himself.”

“Aye-aye, mate,” Keith said.

Maddox glanced at Galyan. The holoimage was still frozen.

The bridge hatch opened and Ludendorff rushed within. He wore another headband and carried four more in his fists.

Keith, Meta, Andros and another officer donned the headbands, turning them on.

“Do you have any more scatter-light guns?” Maddox asked.

“Alas, no,” Ludendorff said. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Sir!” Galyan said. “I am coming back online.”

Maddox and the others turned to the holoimage. It was still frozen in place but could project speech.

“The alien has ceased all energy-wave transmissions against us,” Galyan said. “I am referring to the machine under the equatorial ruins.”

“What kind of machine?” Ludendorff asked.

“An old one,” the frozen Galyan said. “There is a defense screen of an alien nature protecting it. My sensors cannot penetrate the screen. The alien and machine hide behind it.”

“What happened to you?” Ludendorff asked. “Do you know?”

“Something akin to jamming, I should think,” the frozen Galyan said. “Sir, I believe the alien is very close in nature to Balron, as it was essentially a ball-of-light entity.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Maddox said.

“How can you say that, sir, given what we observed a little while ago on the bridge?”

“The fact that you observed it gives me pause,” Maddox told Galyan. “Otherwise, the explanation is simple, given what happened earlier.”

Before the captain could explain, the next antimatter warhead detonated. The flash wasn’t nearly as bright as the first time for two reasons. The warhead detonated farther away from Victory, and anti-glare technology was hard at work.

“Should I launch another missile?” Keith asked.

“Yes,” Maddox said.

The ace manipulated his helm panel.

“You were saying,” Ludendorff prodded the captain.

“What’s that?” Maddox asked.

“The explanation was simple, you said.”

“Oh,” Maddox said, “simple. Yes. The marines’ hands were not burned or even warm. The blasters felt normal, too. That meant the creature didn’t cause heat, but made the marines believe the guns were hot. Notice, as well, that your anti-telepathy unit burned out. Why? Because it was overloaded by a harsh telepathic attack.”

“I understand your implications, sir,” Galyan said. “You’re saying the alien used long-range telepathy against us. Two factors argue against the idea. First, you and the professor saw what the rest of us saw. Wouldn’t your T-bands have blocked such a thing if the images were strictly caused by telepathy?”

Maddox scowled. Ludendorff grunted, looking thoughtful.

“Second,” Galyan said, “the professor’s scatter-light gun hurt it. Could such a weapon have hurt a mere telepathic projection?”

“I don’t know,” Maddox said.

“Perhaps the creature and his machine projected more than mere telepathic images, but light that could coalesce into matter,” Galyan said. “Why else would the thing have caused the marines’ blasters to become hot if it was trying to stop itself from receiving blaster fire?”

“The blasters weren’t hot,” Maddox said. “It made the marines think the blasters were hot.”

“Perhaps the creature’s assault was a combination of light coalescing into matter and telepathic suggestions,” Galyan said. “If your headbands blocked all telepathy, you should not have seen the Lord High Admiral simulacrum or the ball of light, yet you both did. That leads to the conclusion the image was more than a mere telepathic suggestion.”

“Okay, okay,” Maddox said. “Your explanation makes more sense than mine. And that was why you saw those things, because they were really here. It wasn’t just a telepathic suggestion.”

“Hmm…” Ludendorff said, as he watched the next missile on the main screen head toward the planet. “I’d like to know how you knew to call the marines ahead of time.”

“Yes,” the frozen Galyan said. “That is an interesting and relevant question.”

Maddox sat back in his chair, thinking.

The latest warhead detonated.

“I’m launching the next missile, sir,” Keith said.

Maddox nodded as he continued to ponder the situation. An idea developed. “Meta, were both calls today by the so-called Balron from the same origin points?”

“I don’t know,” Meta said, as she turned to her board. She manipulated, grew tense and manipulated again. “I should have seen this earlier. The first communication originated from in-system nearer the star. The latter originated from the planet…beneath the equatorial ruins.”

“Confound it, my boy,” Ludendorff told Maddox. “What in the hell is going on? What aren’t you telling us? How are you guessing these things?”

“Maybe more to the point,” Maddox said, “is why did you make the headbands? What alerted you weeks ago to our desperate need today? The headbands likely saved our lives.”

“You know the reason,” Ludendorff said. “I constructed mine against Balron—the real one, I suppose.”

“You still have not told us why you summoned the marines ahead of time, sir,” Galyan said. “I do not mean that as a question to your command, but it appears as if you had foreknowledge concerning the need. If you did have foreknowledge, would it not be good to know how or why it happened?”

Maddox nodded slowly, with a troubled look on his face. “I’m beginning to wonder… Your question and the thing down there makes me suspect we may have been wrong about Balron. Think about it. Why did we have anti-telepathy headbands today? Because the professor built his as a safeguard against Balron. Notice, too, that the professor built Half-Life according to Balron’s specifications, ones he put in the professor’s mind.”

“Interesting,” Galyan said. “Balron did warn us against journeying in-system. He might have been warning us against the hidden alien on the planet. It would seem you are suggesting that Balron purposefully caused the professor to create the headbands in order that we had a defense against the hidden alien.”

“Yes…” Maddox said.

“That computes as a possibility,” Galyan said. “But if Balron has been beneficial to us, why did he shoot you with a deadly ray that first time?”

Maddox sagged in his chair as a terrifying revelation struck.

“You appear to have an answer,” Galyan said.

“I don’t know,” Maddox said softly. “It’s crazy. I…I can hardly conceive of it as a possibility.”

“I would like to hear your theory, sir,” Galyan said.

“No one likes a brownnoser,” Ludendorff said sharply.

Galyan’s eyelids fluttered.

“Galyan is moving again,” Meta shouted, “or part of him is.”

“Good,” Maddox said. “That’s a good sign.”

“Do you think I am brownnosing the captain because I speak respectfully to him?” Galyan asked the professor.

“Just saying,” Ludendorff said with an edge.

“Ignore him, Galyan,” Meta said. “I think you’re going to be okay.”

“Yes,” Galyan said, as a holoimage arm began to move. “My holo-imaging circuits are beginning to come back online.”

On the screen, the latest antimatter missile entered the planet’s stratosphere and detonated.

Victory reached even with the planet at the 223,000-kilometer distance from the surface. The starship now began traveling away from the planet as it continued in-system toward the star.

“I’m launching the next missile,” Keith said.

“Do you have a theory about what Balron did to you actually helping you?” Meta asked her husband.

Maddox stared at her before he stirred and glanced at Ludendorff. “I had an, uh, out of body experience several weeks ago. I don’t know how else to describe it. Balron clinically killed me as per the definition. I experienced something supernatural then, my soul or spirit slipping free from my flesh, my body. When Doctor Harris and possibly Balron helped resuscitate me, my soul or spirit slipped back into my body. I distinctly remember that my body felt too small, too tight for me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox shook his head. “It isn’t. That’s what I felt. Why would my body feel too small, though?”

“Perhaps that is a normal condition given such a situation,” Galyan said.

“I don’t think so,” Meta said. “What might have caused the feeling?” she asked Maddox.

Maddox gestured helplessly, noticed what he was doing and said, “The only thing that makes sense to me is that the Erill soul-energy in me expanded in some fashion. My resuscitation sucked my spirit back, but my spirit had grown in this arcane fashion, and it is what alerted me today about why I should summon the marines. I mean, the expanded Erill energy gave me a form of sixth sense perhaps.”

“Bah!” Ludendorff said. “You were right the first time. This is sounding foolish.”

“Does it really sound foolish?” asked Maddox. “This expansion—or whatever happened to me—has possibly made me sensitive to anything Erill-like or Erill-like power. That an old and powerful alien lives below the ancient worn pyramids would match what we’ve found about other pyramids in our part of the galaxy, at least.”

“I’ve never heard such nonsense,” Ludendorff said.

“I don’t know why it has to be nonsense,” Maddox said. “The real truth is that I don’t know how I knew to summon the marines, but I clearly did.”

“Our conjecture has led me in a different direction,” Galyan said. “Why would Balron have originally aided us while seeming to harm us?”

“That’s a good question,” Maddox said. “I don’t know.”

“And why did Balron—the first one, the real one, I believe—warn us away from the planet?” Galyan asked.

“That I know,” Ludendorff muttered.

The others looked at him with expectation.

“You’ll love this,” Ludendorff told the captain. “Balron must have sensed from the beginning that you’re a stubborn sod. He used the oldest trick in the book: reverse psychology. Whatever he wanted you to do: he said don’t even try it. That propelled you full speed ahead, as you hate anyone forbidding you anything.”

From the helm, Keith laughed.

“Is something funny, Mr. Maker?” Maddox asked.

“Ah…do you want the truth…sir?” Keith asked.

“Keep watching the missile,” Maddox said a moment later.

“The missile is almost to the planetary atmosphere,” Keith said. “I’m ready to launch the next one if needed.”

“How many missiles do we have?” Ludendorff asked.

“Enough for now,” Maddox said. He stared at the main screen as he rubbed his chin. “Balron and Half-Life are mysteries. The warped-space bubbles are part of the same, I think.” Maddox sat straighter as he snapped his fingers. “The origin point of Balron’s first call: that’s where we’ll find the nexus.”

“Do you feel this?” asked Galyan.

“Huh? No. Sorry to disappoint you,” Maddox said. “It’s a logical deduction.”

“Are we attempting to destroy the alien down there?” Galyan asked.

“It attacked us,” Maddox said. “This system—”

“Sir,” Meta said, interrupting. “Balron is hailing us.”

“From the planet?” asked Maddox.

“No, from farther in-system,” Meta said.

Maddox frowned as he studied the planet on the main screen. “Patch Balron through to my chair. Let’s see what he has to say now.”

-38-

“I congratulate you on successfully defending your starship against the Rath,” Balron said. “I was not sure you would be able to do it.”

Maddox glanced at Ludendorff. “Have you ever heard of an alien named a Rath?”

Ludendorff shook his head.

“What’s a Rath?” Maddox asked into the armrest comm.

“Invincible against you,” Balron said.

“Is it flesh and blood or an energy entity?”

“Surely, Captain, you realize I have no intention about telling you more. I have given you its name, its species name. Isn’t that sufficient for now?”

“We’re not out of its range yet,” Maddox said.

“True. But you’ve discovered a means to evade it long enough. That would not be the case if you hadn’t first rendered its mental assault null for the moment. That was briskly and cleverly done.”

“I plan to kill it,” Maddox said.

“Impossible with your limited means at hand,” Balron said. “Naturally, you have the freedom to try, but it will seriously deplete your missile supply. You’ll want those missiles later.”

“How do you know that?”

“Yes,” Balron said. “How do I know? The answer is quite complicated. You could call it fantastic even.”

Maddox glanced at Ludendorff.

The professor shrugged.

“Are you at the nexus?” Maddox asked.

“You’re a clever and resourceful creature, Captain. There is indeed a nexus. I am not at it, but I am near enough. Can you use the nexus for your purpose? I hope so. Otherwise, this has all been in vain.”

“You make it sound as if you want us to use the nexus.”

“Yes,” Balron said.

“Why?”

“It’s best if I do not say,” Balron replied.

“Why did you shoot me weeks ago when you pretended to be Ludendorff?” Maddox asked.

“Survival,” Balron said cryptically.

“My survival?” asked Maddox.

“No…” Balron said, sounding sad. “I am not altruistic as you conceive of the term. I shot you in order to ensure…to pave the way for my survival. That makes no sense to you, and it would be terrifying if it did make sense now. In a way, we haven’t even met yet.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Captain Maddox… You are a unique individual; special would be an appropriate term to describe you as well. I have searched for one like you for…for a time.”

“You were going to say a long time.”

“No,” Balron said. “I was going to say eons, but that isn’t exactly correct, either. It would not be exactly incorrect, however.”

“Why are you being so cryptic?” Maddox asked.

“You have a unique signature,” Balron said, ignoring the question. “In part, your signature has to do with what the Spacers call being a di-far. In part, the signature has to do with the Erill spiritual energy you’ve absorbed and partially refined. The signature is how I spotted you from so far away. And given our meeting the past few times—”

“You’re referring to when you shot me while impersonating Professor Ludendorff?” Maddox asked, interrupting.

“No, no, our meetings,” Balron said. “You always died and I always continued in my forlorn state. This time, however, I believe I have given you the tools to change events in a way that will benefit us both. Your—you will have to discover what I mean for yourself. That seems wisest from my perspective.”

“You’re talking in riddles,” Maddox said. “And I despise those. You’ve been talking about the last few times we did this—if I understand you correctly.”

“You are,” Balron said.

Maddox rubbed his jaw, trying to decipher the riddle, but failing. “You just said a few minutes ago that we’ve never met before.”

“That is incorrect, Captain. I said in a way, we haven’t met, but not in all ways. I realize that sounds pretentious to you—no, that wasn’t the right word. I think my time here is running short, as I’m failing to use the correct words to make my meanings precise. That likely means the next turn is about to take place. I hope this time you can help me, Captain.”

“Help you how?” Maddox asked.

There was a buzz of noise from the armrest comm.

“Did you just say something?” Maddox asked.

“I misspoke earlier,” Balron said. His voice was quieter or weaker than a moment ago. “The Rath is a”—a buzz of noise sounded again and then stopped. “This is bad. The creature is interfering with my communications.”

“The Rath is doing this?” asked Maddox.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Balron said. “It is not a Rath but a substandard or—what is the word?—a moronic or half-idiotic Yon Soth. That means it is a frail and warped creature—as Yon Soths go—expelled millennia ago from the society of Elder Beings. It has lain dormant under the ruins for eons. It yearns to feed on you and your crew, but if you’re nimble, you can push past its short range.”

“A weakened, half-idiotic Yon Soth?” asked Maddox. “Is that why you warned me away from the planet?”

“No,” Balron said. “I said do not come, as I knew it would spur you on.”

Both Ludendorff and Keith Maker laughed.

“The turn is about to pull me away as it has…as it has so many times before,” Balron said. “Half-Life is waiting at the nexus. He might or might not be able to help you against the Severn. I realize, too, that I have not anticipated all the ways the confrontation could go. Next time we meet—if we meet—I will not know you, as I will not have met you yet. However, you can be sure that I have provided you with this advanced warning for a reason.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Maddox.

“That should be clear,” Balron said. “I am the traveler, caught in a loop of—”

“Yes,” Maddox said a moment later. “You’re caught in a loop. You set me up so I could do something about…what exactly?”

Meta pressed several panel controls. She pressed a few more before looking up.

“What’s wrong?” Maddox asked.

“The connection is still open,” Meta said. “That would suggest— No!” Meta said, turning back to the board. “The connection just severed.” She pointed. “The red light indicates we just lost it.”

Maddox swiveled his chair to regard Ludendorff. “What do you think happened to Balron?”

“He said another ‘turn’ was about to pull him away,” Ludendorff said. “I think that turn just happened.”

“Or perhaps the Severn he spoke about destroyed him,” Andros said.

“Check your sensors,” Maddox told Andros. “You too, Galyan. I have to know what just happened.”

The Chief Technician’s fingers played upon his board as Galyan’s eyelids fluttered. Soon, they both admitted failure.

Maddox scowled. The conversation with Balron had been weird, the implications wild. He turned to the others. “Does anyone have an opinion about any of this?”

“I do,” Galyan said. “I have the distinct impression—Balron called himself the traveler, and he spoke about being in a loop. Perhaps he is a time-traveler stuck in a temporal loop. By his words, he has already met you—many times, in fact—but when you meet him next, he will not have met you as he will have begun the loop again and thus not know who you are.”

“Bah,” Ludendorff said, although he looked troubled. “That’s crazy talk.”

“I suggest Balron previously met the captain at the Library Planet or somewhere on the other side of the nexus,” Galyan said. “For reasons I do not understand, the Balron we spoke to today is ahead in time to the Balron we will meet at the Builder planet. Apparently, he cannot warn his future self of our meeting today or the earlier meeting when he attacked the captain while impersonating the professor.”

“That’s far too convoluted,” Ludendorff said. “Besides, you’re jumping to wild conclusions.”

“Not at all,” Galyan said. “My theory fits the facts of what he just told us. Balron clearly said that the next time we meet he will not as yet have met any of us. Those are the words a time-traveler stuck in a temporal loop would use—although he called it a turn, for reasons I do not understand.”

“I still say your idea is a crazy fantasy,” Ludendorff said. “But tell me. Was he warning us about the New Men at the Library Planet?”

“That does not in any way follow,” Galyan said. “Why would you ask that?”

Ludendorff scratched his head. “You know, that’s weird. I have no idea.”

“Forget about that,” Maddox said. “Let’s go back to this time-traveling idea. So…we’ve done all this before? This is the second time we’ve fought the Rath, the supposedly moronic Yon Soth?”

“That is not necessarily a given,” Galyan said. “Balron time traveled back to us before we made our attempt here. Thus, we have done this just once—the linear temporal path we are now on.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Ludendorff asked Galyan crossly. “Time travel is impossible for a number of reasons. I’ll cite the two most prevalent. One, because of the energy transfer problem. Two, the causality dilemma. Balron is screwing with our minds with this talk.” Ludendorff snorted. “He’s like our captain, who makes shit up on the fly and pretends it was all supposed to make sense from the beginning.”

“Have a care, Professor,” Maddox warned.

Ludendorff rubbed his eyes and shook his head afterward. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said it like that. This is…preposterous, stupid and outrageous. I don’t know what Balron is attempting to do, maybe confuse us with nonsense. It seems to be working with Galyan’s circuits, which are on a loop of their own.”

“Or maybe Balron spoke the truth,” Galyan said. “There is a phrase to support my position: ‘Truth is stranger than fiction.’”

“All right, that’s it,” Ludendorff said. “I’m beat and my mind feels like mush. Do you still need me on the bridge?”

“No,” Maddox said. “Get some rest.”

Ludendorff nodded, heading for the exit.

“Sir,” Keith said. “The latest warhead has detonated. Should I launch another missile?”

“No…” Maddox said. “We’ll take Balron’s word on needing more missiles later. We should soon be out of the Yon Soth’s telepathic range and thus safe from further attacks.”

“What is its range?” Galyan asked.

“I should think when it first contacted us would be a good indication,” Maddox said.

“Ah. Yes,” Galyan said. “In that case, we will be out of its range in six minutes, thirteen seconds. I suggest one more missile might be wise.”

“You’re right,” Maddox said. “Mr. Maker—”

“I’m launching, sir,” Keith said, interrupting.

Maddox watched the missile leave the starship and head for the planet. Was Balron a time traveler? Was such a thing possible? If such a thing worked, even in a limited fashion, the Library Planet seemed like the place it would happen soonest. He exhaled. Half-Life was near the nexus and so were these Severn, whatever they were. If Victory was unable to use the nexus because of these complications—Maddox’s gaze narrowed. Whatever lay ahead, he was determined to beat it so they could get on with the main purpose of the mission.

-39-

The next few days proved uneventful as Victory left the fourth planet and the outcast Yon Soth on it behind. The creature attempted to communicate with them several times, using normal channels. In each instance, Maddox forbid Meta to answer. No missiles or beams raced after the ship. No telepathic attacks occurred, at least, none that anyone could detect. Nor did any energy-waves leave the planet.

“Perhaps it is beginning to slumber again,” Galyan said.

“Let’s hope,” Maddox said. “One thing is for sure: I don’t trust it.”

Here in the inner system, the closer the starship headed toward the star, the less prevalent the warped-space bubbles became.

“I expect the professor’s second theory is correct concerning them,” Galyan told Maddox. “The nexus must be producing the distortions through use of the hyper-spatial-tube machine.”

Maddox was hitting a heavy bag in the gym, working up a good sweat. Galyan watched, commenting on things from time to time.

“That, of course, means the nexus is intact for us to use,” Galyan said.

“Captain to the bridge,” Meta said over an intercom loudspeaker.

“Go see what that’s about,” Maddox told Galyan.

The holoimage disappeared and reappeared a moment later. “Andros spotted a bruiser of a warship, sir. It’s unlike any I’ve seen or any cataloged in my files.”

“How far is it from us?”

“Two hundred million kilometers,” Galyan said.

“That’s far,” Maddox said. “I’m surprised we spotted it at that distance.”

“The ship is massive, fifteen kilometers in diameter.”

“Wait. What? The ship is fifteen kilometers long?”

“It is spheroid, sir, like a planet.”

“Is Andros sure it’s a ship?”

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said.

“Okay…” Maddox said, frowning. “Is it a lost Swarm vessel, one of their bigger ones?”

“It does not conform to any known Swarm specifications.”

“Captain to the bridge,” Meta said again through the ship’s intercom.

“Tell her I’m on my way.”

“Yes, sir,” Galyan said.

“Wait. You said the ship is two hundred million kilometers away. In what direction?”

“Toward the star, sir.”

“The ship is orbiting the star?”

Galyan paused before saying, “That is correct, sir.”

“Have we found the nexus yet?”

“Negative, sir.”

“How far are we from the star?”

“Two hundred and twenty-one million kilometers. It will soon become possible to considerably increase velocity. In another seventy-two million kilometers, we will be approaching the third planet’s orbital path. The planet has presently disappeared behind the star in its orbital journey.”

“Go,” Maddox said. “Tell them I’m coming.”

Galyan disappeared.

Maddox headed for the shower. As hot water pelted his skin, he thought about the massive warship two hundred million kilometers away. The warship orbited the star closer than Mercury did the Sun. Presumably, the giant ship belonged to the Severn that Balron had named. It didn’t sound as if the alien vessel had hailed them yet. Was it a ghost ship, an empty vessel? If so, could his team board and capture the alien ship and technology for Star Watch? What relation did the Severn—if this was them—have to the Yon Soth hidden on the fourth planet?

Maddox finished his shower, toweled off and dressed. He hurried out of the gym and along the corridors. Galyan hadn’t reappeared. He took that as a good sign. Nor had Meta requested his presence on the bridge for a third time.

Soon enough, he entered the bridge. Keith jumped out of the captain’s chair and motioned for the pilot to relinquish her seat. The ace sat down as the former pilot headed to another station.

“Report,” Maddox said.

Andros told him what Galyan had reported earlier, adding, “I have found one troubling point, sir. The ship out there has iridium-Z hull armor.”

“Like the Rull android Juggernauts did?” Maddox asked.

“Yes,” Andros said, “and like the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan battleships we once encountered.”

Maddox snapped his fingers. “Right, S.H. Leviathan.” He frowned. “The ship would be a long way from home if it’s from the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm.” He turned to Meta. “Hail the vessel.”

“Again?” she asked.

“There were no responses the first time?”

Meta shook her head.

Maddox turned back to Andros. “Put the ship on the main screen with as much magnification as possible so I can get a look at it.”

Andros manipulated his board.

A fuzzy spheroid vessel appeared on the screen with the star’s surface behind the ship muted as much as possible.

“I can’t make it any clearer than that, sir,” Andros said. “The star is inhibiting us from seeing more or with greater detail.”

Maddox nodded as he eyed the giant vessel. Fifteen kilometers in diameter and armored with iridium-Z: the thing must have cost a fortune to construct. The ship was vast and it would likely take a large number of crewmembers to run. Then again, maybe it was a colony ship. Well, if it was from the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm, from the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan, he doubted it was a colony vessel. Besides, who would use iridium-Z hull armor on a colony ship?

“You called it a warship?” Maddox asked Andros.

“I detected giant laser lenses,” Andros said. “I took them as focusing systems.”

“Reasonable,” Maddox said. “If lasers are their best beam weapon, maybe they’re not as technologically advanced as we are.”

“I tend to agree,” Andros said.

“Tend?” asked Maddox.

“We don’t know enough to be conclusive,” Andros replied. “And it is fifteen kilometers in diameter and armored with iridium-Z. We don’t have any ships that big.”

“The S.H. Leviathan battleships we fought before had fusion beams,” Maddox said. “Do the laser lenses mean the vessel is from somewhere else? Galyan, do you remember the Severn as being part of Leviathan?”

“I have not cataloged such a race, sir,” Galyan said.

“What’s it doing so close to Human Space?” Maddox asked. “Did it chase after us when we left? Or does the ship have nothing to do with us? Andros, have you detected any sign of life?”

“The scanners don’t show any, sir,” Andros said.

Maddox nodded as he sat back in his seat. If the giant ship was from S.H. Leviathan, maybe the crew had died. Maybe the Yon Soth had rendered the vessel impotent. Maybe one of the warped-space bubbles had done something lethal to it and the crew. They would keep watch of the ship, ready for anything. If the ship truly were dangerous, surely Balron would have said so.

Satisfied for the moment, Maddox said, “Increase speed as soon as it’s safe.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Keith said. “By the way, what safety margins are you using as your measure?”

“How densely packed are the bubbles out here?” Maddox asked.

“Half as much as around the fourth planet,” Andros said. “It gets clearer the nearer we approach the star.”

“Twice our present velocity then,” Maddox said.

“It will take us days to reach the alien ship at that velocity, sir,” Keith said.

Maddox slid forward, eying the giant vessel. “Can you safely do five times our present velocity?”

“To what I view as safe or to what you view as safe?” asked Keith.

“Yes.”

Keith glanced back at Maddox, grinned a second later and said, “We can do it easily, and safely, sir.”

“Then proceed,” Maddox said.

“With pleasure,” Keith said, as he turned back to the helm panel.

-40-

Victory increased velocity as it headed toward the giant alien ship. Several hours passed.

“Sir,” Galyan said. “I have been pondering—I would not call it a problem. I am not sure it is even a dilemma.”

“Spit it out,” Maddox said.

“Sir?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Oh. ‘Spit it out’ is a figure of speech. I understand. My thought is this: we are attempting to reach the Library Planet as quickly as possible. That necessarily means using the nexus. We have not seen one yet, but according to Balron, it exists in the system. If the alien vessel ahead is a derelict, will you send an exploratory team to board it?”

“Of course,” Maddox said. “I have to figure out if it’s from Leviathan or not.”

“Such a team might consume time, sir,” Galyan said.

“I know… I’ve been wondering about that myself.”

“So far, there does not seem to be any indication that these Severn crewmembers still exist. Perhaps the ship is on automatic as I once—as Victory once was in the Adok System.”

Maddox stood as he approached the main screen. It still showed the fuzzy giant vessel. They might not come this way again soon, and the decision to come might take longer with the Yon Soth hidden on the fourth planet, to say nothing about the space-warped bubbles. This could be a priceless opportunity, as Ludendorff would put it. Could the giant ship be “slumbering?” If that were so, maybe it would be better to leave it alone. Why start a fight if he didn’t need to? Besides, there was reason to believe they needed to reach the Library Planet sooner rather than later. Dealing with the giant vessel could be a time sink, a time trap. Had Balron baited the trap? Despite what the alien had said, the giant ship could be a trap ready to spring against them. Maybe Ludendorff had had the right of it before. Balron was like him, making up excuses or “facts” on the fly to match whatever he wanted someone to do. Whatever else happened, if the giant vessel was asleep, it was better to leave it that way for now.

“Mr. Maker,” Maddox said, “it’s time for a change. We’re going to circle the star, and we’re going to give the alien vessel as wide a berth as possible.”

“Starting now, sir?” asked Keith.

“Yes. Make the course correction.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Keith said, as he plotted the new course.

“Chief Technician,” Maddox said. “Monitor the alien vessel closely. Tell me if something, anything activates the moment it does.”

“Yes, sir,” Andros said.

The starship turned onto its new heading, and nothing that anyone could tell happened elsewhere.

“I have an idea,” Galyan said several minutes later. “We could launch modified probes with holo-imaging amplification devices. That would allow me to search inside the vessel and see if it is from Leviathan or not. Would it not be prudent to know as soon as possible?”

Maddox rubbed his chin. It was a tempting offer. He would dearly like to know more about the alien vessel and if any of the Severn crewmembers—this had to be a Severn vessel, right?—still existed. And it would be very wise to know if Leviathan had been sending battleships at Human Space. Yet, he didn’t want to wake up any “sleeping” problems and thereby complicate matters, not against a huge warship like that.

“No,” Maddox said.

“It would not be dangerous,” Galyan said.

“No means no,” Maddox said.

“I understand…and yet, I do not understand.”

Maddox swiveled his chair to face the holoimage.

“I realize you do not like anyone questioning your orders—”

“You didn’t question them,” Maddox said, interrupting. “You told me you didn’t understand. That’s a different thing.”

“Oh.”

“This is an odd star system; at least, there have been odd occurrences, too many for my liking. Half-Life, Balron, the Yon Soth and now the Severn, which could be a race belonging to S.H. Leviathan. If the Severn act like the rest of the things we’ve met so far, they will be tricky. Thus, I’m giving them a wide berth. If I can avoid more complications in order to reach the nexus faster…that’s what I’m doing.”

“Now I do understand, and thank you for the explanation, sir.”

Maddox nodded sharply before swiveling back to the main screen and eying the seemingly inert warship. He was tempted to launch a probe or even an antimatter missile. But he’d used too many missiles against the Yon Soth. Maybe they would need them in the Library Planet System. In the end, he decided to trust his instincts and go with the old adage to let sleeping dogs lie.

***

With the increased velocity—that Maddox later ordered doubled—the Star Watch vessel zoomed for the star. At no point did the Severn ship show signs of activity or occupancy.

The nearest terrestrial planet to the star was a molten furnace world, as it was a mere 32,000,000 kilometers away from the nuclear fireball. There was nothing strange about the planet, although Victory was 165,000,000 kilometers from it when it passed. In this part of the system, there were no warped-space bubbles. Had the star vacuumed them up with its gravity, or did the star’s greater gravity prohibit the distortions from taking place?

The science teams worked on the problem, but they didn’t come up with an answer; neither did Galyan or Ludendorff.

At this point, Maddox became antsy, wanting to know if the nexus existed or not. It made sense that they hadn’t detected it—if the nexus was on the other side of the star.

Finally, Victory reached the star—at the safe distance of 89,000,000 kilometers—and took time passing it. Nothing terrible happened. Soon, the starship left its parallel position with the star as they zoomed onto the other side.

Sensors strained for sign of the nexus.

“Well?” Maddox asked from his seat.

“I see it,” Andros said. “It’s two hundred million kilometers away.”

That was farther than the Earth was from the Sun. It would be at a location between Earth and Mars from the Sun.

“Are there any warped-space bubbles?” asked Maddox.

“A few,” Andros said.

“Is the nexus producing them?”

“I can’t tell,” Andros said, “but I don’t think so.”

Maddox glanced at Galyan. “You’re quieter than normal. Is anything the matter?”

“I do not know, sir,” Galyan said.

“What’s troubling you?”

“The nexus, sir. I detect damage to it.”

Maddox made a fist. “How much damage?”

“It is not fully intact, but I do not know to what extent it is damaged as there is a dampening field around it inhibiting my sensors.”

“That’s just great,” Maddox muttered.

“Sir?”

“We’ll continue for the nexus,” Maddox said. “Keep monitoring it. I want to know everything we can. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to reach this nexus. It had better damn well work for us.”

No one spoke.

Maddox leaned back in his chair, wondering what was going to go wrong next.

***

On the other side of the star, the giant alien vessel with the iridium-Z hull armor began to activate. Lights showed as it slowly began to rotate, speeding up as it did so. Then, exhaust began expelling from massive thruster ports. The giant alien vessel started moving toward the star, toward an edge. As it continued to build velocity, it was obvious the giant spheroid planned to circle the star so it could get to the other side.

-41-

Victory began decelerating as it neared the nexus by 40,000,000 kilometers. The science teams, Andros and Galyan had all attempted to penetrate the dampening field with their sensors, but without success. Even visuals of the nexus showed a blurred image.

“Cease deceleration,” Maddox said. “We’ll go in hard until almost on top of the nexus. If it seems useable, we’ll do massive deceleration. If it is unusable—” Maddox turned to Ludendorff. “How far was the next nexus again?”

“Three hundred and sixty-eight light-years.”

Maddox closed his eyes. This was reminding him too much of the first time they’d used the Xerxes System nexus. No. This was worse, far worse. It was too bad the Xerxes nexus no longer existed. Was it just him, or did the newer aliens seem trickier and more powerful than the old ones?

“Any sign of Half-Life,” Maddox asked an hour later.

“Negative, sir,” Galyan said. “But he is tiny, less than a mite in interstellar terms. Perhaps he’s in the nexus or behind it, hiding.”

Maddox drummed his fingers on an armrest. He didn’t feel any premonitions. Was Ludendorff right about his Erill-soul expansion idea being hogwash? Maybe everyone who had an out-of-body experience felt that way. Maybe it had been a lucky guess ordering the marines to show up and nothing more than that. Why did all the weirdly powered aliens choose pyramids to live in, near or under? What was the significance of that?

Maddox sat up as his gut twisted. “Damnit,” he whispered.

“Sir?” asked Galyan.

“Nothing,” Maddox said.

“I thought I heard you say something?”

Maddox shook his head.

Galyan eyed him for a moment and then spoke to Andros.

Maddox inched his swivel chair around until his back was to Galyan. The holoimage had too keen of hearing. Maddox frowned, and his gut twisted again. He didn’t moan, although he felt like it. He…he sensed that something bad, catastrophically bad was about to happen.

“What?” he whispered. What’s going to happen? If I feel this, I should be able to know more. He concentrated, but that didn’t help in the slightest. The feeling slipped away and his gut stopped seething.

Maddox slid off the chair and stood. He turned around, studying the hatch. No. He didn’t think anything bad was coming from that direction. He faced the main screen, the blurred nexus. Incredibly, the wrongness did not come from there, either.

“Sir?” asked Galyan. “You seem upset.”

“Shut up,” Maddox said quietly. If the wrongness wasn’t coming from the hatch—from Ludendorff or some hidden stowaway—and if it wasn’t coming from the nexus, where was it coming from?

The Yon Soth, Maddox told himself. It leaves the damned Yon Soth. He moved woodenly to Andros’s science station. Maddox was vaguely aware of the bridge crew falling silent and beginning to watch him.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” Andros asked.

Maddox noticed the Chief Technician facing him, watching too keenly. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to worry about Andros or the too-quiet bridge crew. He had to figure this out. He was figuring this out. He could feel that.

Maddox put a hand on Andros’s shoulder and turned the pudgy Kai-Kaus back to his station. Maddox leaned over from behind. He was feeling… “Show me the fourth planet.”

“Uh, sir?” asked Andros.

“Aim your sensors at the fourth planet.”

“The star is in the way of that, sir.”

Maddox rubbed his forehead. This wasn’t about logic. This was about a gut feeling, a premonition. This was the expanded soul-energy idea in operation. “Aim your sensors at the fourth planet anyway.”

“I’ll just be aiming them at the star.”

“Do as I say, Chief Technician.”

Andros silently obeyed, with the blazing star showing on his sensor screen.

Maddox stared at the star. This was right. This was the right thing to do. Only… “What do you see?”

“The star, sir,” Andros said, answering in a tone that implied he thought the captain was beginning to lose it.

“Look, Science Officer. Really use your sensors to look.”

“I can’t look through the star, sir, to see the fourth planet anyway.”

“Look,” Maddox hissed, his fingers digging into Andros’s left shoulder.

Andros winced and winced harder as he tapped his panel.

“You’re hurting him,” Meta said. She stood directly behind her husband, having come from her station.

Maddox did not glance back at his wife, although he eased pressure on Andros’s shoulder.

“What am I supposed to find?” Andros asked.

“Something off,” Maddox whispered, “something unusual.”

Andros continued to manipulate, shaking his head. Then his head jerked forward.

“What?” Maddox asked.

Andros didn’t answer but manipulated faster as his breathing quickened.

“Are you seeing something?” Meta asked.

“I don’t believe this,” Andros said. He tapped his panel and tapped it again. “Do you see, sir?” he asked, as he eased his bulk to the right.

Maddox put his hands on the panel as he leaned in. “A speck?” he asked.

“A speck against the star, sir,” Andros said. “I couldn’t figure it out at first, as the solar radiation and heat are too intense. The thing is practically in the star’s corona. It isn’t, though, as that would be too hot even with a fantastic shield against the star’s plasma and even with iridium-Z hull armor. But the vessel is very near the corona. Fortunately, I was able to measure its size.”

“Is it a spheroid fifteen kilometers in diameter?” Maddox asked.

“The Severn warship, yes, that’s my guess, sir. How you knew it was there, though, is beyond me.”

Meta gasped, staring at her husband. “How did you know?”

Maddox swallowed, saying, “It was a gut feeling.”

“Like with the marines?” she asked.

“Yes,” Maddox said, staring into Meta’s worried eyes.

She touched his right forearm and then turned back to her station.

What’s happening to me? Will I stay this way? Maddox shook off the questions. He had a starship to run, people to protect. “Is the warship heading for us?” he asked Andros.

“I don’t think so, but it would be hard to tell right now.”

“Right,” Maddox said. “Keep watching it, Chief Technician. Tell me if and when it starts heading for us.”

Andros looked up, staring at him. “Do you think it will?”

“Yes,” Maddox said. “I’m certain of it, as I now believe it’s from the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan.”

-42-

Victory sped to within 753,000 kilometers of the pyramidal nexus when Galyan saw the problem.

“There is a hole in the center. The hole goes completely through to the other side. The hole is half a kilometer in diameter. I do not know what caused the hole, but I do not believe it detonated from within, but went through like a bullet into a body, and then out the other side.”

“Is the nexus still operative?” asked Maddox.

“Unknown,” Galyan said. “The nexus does appear to be the power source for the dampener field. That indicates that some of it still works. Will it be able to power a hyper-spatial tube to the Library Planet over seventeen thousand light-years away? This I cannot tell.”

Maddox sat in the captain’s chair as he pinched his lower lip. He did not have a gut feeling about the nexus, a premonition, nor did he logically know the correct decision. The Severn warship still waited in the star’s corona, or just beyond its corona. Was the warship waiting to pounce like a hawk on a mouse? Maddox believed so. Still, leaving the system would not be easy. If the nexus didn’t work, should he attempt to use the one three hundred and sixty-eight light-years away? He didn’t want to deal with the moronic Yon Soth again. That was for sure.

“Mr. Maker,” Maddox said, “initiate a hard deceleration. We’re going to inspect the nexus. Meta, inform Valerie she should launch once we’re finished with hard deceleration. I want her to nose up to the nexus and inspect everything she can from the darter.”

“Beginning hard deceleration,” Keith said.

Meta clicked her panel, speaking to Valerie.

“Anything on the Leviathan warship?” Maddox asked Andros.

“I’m watching, sir. It’s still waiting.”

Maddox leaned forward. He’d made his decision. Like many decisions made in space, it would take time to see the results of his action. Thus, he jumped up. “I’ll be in the gym. Call me if a situation develops.”

***

Victory came to a near stop before the pyramidal nexus, its velocity minimal as it began to orbit it from fifty thousand kilometers away.

A hangar-bay door opened. Minutes later, the Darter Tarrypin eased out of the starship. Small side jets gave the darter slightly more speed. The Patrol craft rotated. Once the thrusters were no longer aimed at Victory, exhaust expelled from them, pushing the Tarrypin toward the nexus.

Inside the darter’s control cabin, Valerie piloted, while Ensign Magee manned the sensors. First Mate Littlewood was in the gym doing pushups.

“I-It’s magnificent,” Derrick said in awe. “A Builder nexus. I never thought I’d see one.”

“Good,” Valerie said tensely. “You’ve seen a nexus. Now it’s no longer on your bucket list.”

Derrick glanced at her. “Did I say something wrong?”

“This is probably the most dangerous thing you’ve done out here. What’s causing the dampener field? We’d better find out fast, because we’re going through the field in a few minutes from now.”

Derrick paled as he jerked back to his sensor board. “Will the nexus fire on us?”

“Maybe,” Valerie said. “Remember, it’s ancient, and we have no idea what its computers think.”

Derrick looked up. “Why would computers think anything?”

“Do you see the hole?”

“Yes.”

“The computers are likely sentient. They might think we made that hole and are coming back to do more.”

Derrick swore softly as he studied his panel with greater intensity than earlier.

Valerie noticed, and she wondered if she’d laid it on a little too thickly. Maybe, but this was the Deep Beyond, and they’d never been to this nexus before. Things could get tricky fast, and they had to be ready for anything.

She rubbed her sweaty palms against her pant legs. The dampener field had a blurry edge. She’d never seen anything like it. That didn’t bode well for them. She wished Maddox had launched a probe first. But there was some kind of alien super-ship back at the star and it was making the captain antsy.

“Sir,” Derrick said, “it’s possible the dampener field will shut off our engines and maybe other ship systems as well.”

Valerie rubbed her palms against her uniform again. She didn’t want to test the dampener field that way, but Maddox had given his order. She blinked several times. I’m the captain of the Tarrypin. A Patrol officer must never jeopardize her vessel if she knows that what she plans to do will likely result in the crew’s death.

Valerie rubbed her hands together and began rotating the Tarrypin.

Derrick glanced at her.

A moment later, the thrusters slowed their velocity until the darter stopped several hundred kilometers from the dampener field.

A comm light blinked on. Valerie didn’t want to, but she clicked it.

“What are you doing?” Maddox asked.

“The dampener field is deadly to my ship.”

“And you know this how?” asked Maddox.

“I don’t know it conclusively. That’s why I’m launching a probe, though.”

“I could have done that.”

“Respectfully, sir, you gave me an order to study the nexus. It’s my responsibility to carry out the order in a manner cognizant with the safety of my crew.”

“We’re not playing games today, Lieutenant Commander. Time is an issue.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll call you when I’ve discovered more.” Valerie clicked off the comm.

Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, Derrick’s eyes widened.

“There’s no time for that,” Valerie said crisply. “Launch a probe.”

“The comm light is blinking again,” Derrick said.

“You worry about your end,” Valerie said. “I’ll worry about mine, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Derrick said. “I’m launching…now?”

Several seconds later, a probe appeared. Valerie watched through the polarized window. The probe sped toward the dampener field and the nexus beyond.

“The probe is reporting,” Derrick said. “It—”

“What?”

“It stopped functioning. I’m getting nothing now.”

At that point, a pinprick of light appeared by the dampener field, and just as fast died away.

“The probe is gone,” Derrick said. “The dampening field destroyed it.”

“That’s not good,” Valerie said softly. She sighed, and then she pressed the comm switch. Captain Maddox needed to know this now.

-43-

Maddox waited in his captain’s chair as a bad feeling grew in his gut. He did not betray the instinct this time, but sat stoically as Galyan made his attempt to pass the dampener field.

The holoimage appeared before him on the bridge. “I failed, sir,” Galyan said. “I could not penetrate the field.”

Maddox opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say.

Andros saved him, in a sense. “Sir!” he said. “The Severn or Leviathan warship has begun moving.”

“Put it on the main screen,” Maddox said.

A moment later, the star appeared in a close-up shot. There was a speck, and it didn’t appear to be doing anything.

“The screen doesn’t show it,” Andros said. “But the warship is moving, picking up velocity. I warrant it has been moving for fifteen minutes at least.”

“Around the time the dampener field destroyed the probe,” Galyan said.

Maddox glanced at the holoimage.

“I agree that creates a time dilemma,” Galyan said. “It would take time for the warship to see that if using high-powered telescopes. Yet, if the warship started then—due to the probe’s destruction—it would seem the Severn knew the instant it happened. That would be against the laws of physics as we know it.”

Maddox jumped to his feet. He forced himself to stand still instead of starting to pace. His nerves seethed with the desire to be doing something. That had nothing to do with extra soul energy, but with his New Man heritage due to his father.

What was the correct decision? Maybe they shouldn’t have stopped at the nexus. Yet, Balron had said—

“Mr. Maker, launch a spread of antimatter missiles. Stagger them and their settings so they head toward the enemy vessel in an evenly spaced line. Put…twenty-five thousand kilometers between each.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Keith said.

“We’re actually going to fight a fifteen-kilometer-diameter warship that could be from Leviathan?” Meta asked.

“We’re taking precautions,” Maddox said. “Galyan, why couldn’t you pierce the nexus’s dampener field?”

“The dampener shut down my projection. No energy could pass the field.”

“Would a fold-fighter bypass that?” Maddox asked.

Galyan perked up. “That is an interesting question, sir. I do not know, but it seems like it might be worth a try.”

“I volunteer for that,” Keith said, having swiveled around from the helm control.

Maddox hesitated. “No. We’ll try an automated fold-fighter first. We’ll set it to fold back to its starting point.”

Keith’s shoulders slumped as he turned back to the helm.

“Meta, tell the fighter team what I expect,” Maddox said.

She clicked her panel and began the task.

“Sir,” Andros said. “I think the warship is picking up velocity.”

Maddox stared at the main screen. Who or what were the Severn and why did they care about any of this? Clearly, the crew or ship had been lying in wait before and had followed them around the star, but had done so in stealth. It was time to wait and see how the next few moves played out. After that—

Maddox sat back down, refusing to allow himself to pace.

***

Valerie stood helplessly before the polarized window, staring at the nexus out there. An impenetrable dampener field. Could a fold-fighter pop through to the other side? She was glad Keith wasn’t trying it. She bet the stupid young punk had volunteered to try.

Derrick squeaked with fear.

Valerie turned, and she saw why. Half-Life—the shiny blue construct the size of a hardball—hovered in the control cabin with them.

Derrick pointed up at it.

“Hello, Half-Life.”

“Hello, Valerie. Long time, eh?”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To save you and your friend Captain Maddox,” Half-Life said.

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“The simplest way possible: by creating a hyper-spatial tube to the Library Planet.”

“You were in the nexus?” Valerie asked.

“Of course,” Half-Life said. “Where else should I have been?”

“Do you have the coordinates to the Library Planet?”

“Professor Ludendorff created me, remember?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Valerie, there is no more time to debate. The Severn warship is coming. This time, I think it means to annihilate the nexus and everything else around here. I do not think the dampener field will save the nexus AIs this time.”

“The Severn attacked the nexus before?”

“It is why the warship’s crew died,” Half-Life said.

“The Severn—its people, I mean—aren’t attacking us?”

“The automated warship is, and it has the firepower to breach the dampener field, destroy the nexus and Victory with it.”

“Are the Severn part of the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan?” Valerie asked. “Did the warship come from the Scutum-Centaurus Spiral Arm?”

“Tsk, tsk. That is not important to your original mission. Contact your captain. Tell him what I told you. If you desire to live, you will use the hyper-spatial tube and leave here as quickly as possible.”

“Why are you doing this?” Valerie asked.

“It is my function. I must do it.”

“Who gave you the function?”

“The primary cause,” Half-Life said.

“Huh?”

“Balron did.”

“Why should we trust you?”

“In order to escape destruction,” Half-Life said. “Is that not reason enough?”

Valerie swallowed and staggered to her seat. “I’ll tell the captain. I’m not sure he’ll agree to do it.”

“You must convince them.”

“Why?” asked Valerie.

“If you do it, you will learn. That is all Balron will allow me to tell you.”

Valerie stared out of the polarized window at the blurred nexus. “Okay, sure. I’ll tell the captain. But if you think—”

“He’s gone,” Derrick said.

Valerie looked up in time to see the last sparkle. It was as if someone had slugged her in the stomach. Woodenly, she reached for the comm switch in order to make her report.

-44-

Maddox couldn’t help it. He was out of his seat, pacing before the main screen as the energy in him mandated he do something physical.

Valerie had reported about Half-Life. A half hour later, nothing had happened. Maybe as bad, the fold-fighter had disappeared and never reappeared anywhere, certainly not behind the dampener field. It had been a good idea that failed, which was strange. A fold-fighter could fold past a planet or other object in its way. What was it about a dampening field that stopped that? Was a dampening field like warped space?

Maddox had told Ludendorff about it so the old man could run it through that supposedly wonderful brain of his.

Meta had attempted hailing the construct in the nexus. The dampener field likely made that impossible, too. Maybe the dampener field would make it impossible for the nexus to create the hyper-spatial tube, or maybe the nexus would create the tube within the dampener field. Wouldn’t that be a riot?

“Sir,” Andros said, “I’m detecting something new from the warship. It’s…deploying a large clear object.”

“What kind of object?” Maddox asked.

Andros manipulated his board, eyeing the readings. “I don’t know what to make of this.”

“Can you put it up on the main screen?” Maddox asked.

“This is the highest magnification, sir.”

Maddox turned to the main screen. The giant warship appeared. It wasn’t as fuzzy anymore because it had left the near vicinity of the star and traveled to one side. That meant the star was only at the edge of the teleoptic zoom shot. The giant warship had scorched marks on the hull from what looked like long-ago disrupter fire. There were shiny areas showing hull patching. One such area was 250 meters long. The Severn warship wasn’t perfectly spheroid but had only appeared so earlier because of the fuzziness. It had sharp planes and angles like a madman’s jigsaw puzzle. There were also lenses embedded in the hull. Andros said the biggest lens was half a kilometer in diameter.

“How far is the warship from us?” Maddox asked.

“One hundred and fifty million kilometers,” Andros said.

“Try hailing it again,” Maddox told Meta.

She started the process. Due to its range, it would take about 500 seconds or 8.33 minutes for the first hail to reach the warship from Victory.

It also meant that what they saw on the main screen was 8.33 minutes old.

A large clear…circular structure drifted away from warship, going ahead of it.

“The warship has ceased accelerating,” Andros said.

Maddox could see that very well, as there was no exhaust plume from the warship. “Can you bring the clear object into better focus?”

Andros manipulated his board.

Maddox stepped closer to the main screen. “Are those side jets?” he asked.

No one answered.

To Maddox, the circular clear object had a metallic rim. Attached to the rim were small thrusters: side-jets. There was something else on the rim, giant screws perhaps.

“Can you calculate the object’s size?” Maddox asked.

“Thirty kilometers in diameter,” Andros said promptly.

“That’s bigger than the warship,” Maddox said.

“Sir,” Galyan said. “I am beginning to suspect it is a giant focusing system. I think the warship will fire its lasers at the giant lens, which will focus it at us or possibly the nexus.”

“Can a laser reach across a hundred and fifty million kilometers?” Maddox asked.

“With such a giant focusing system…” Galyan said. “Yes, I believe it is possible.”

Maddox stared at the thing out there. What he saw had happened 8.33 minutes earlier. That meant the warship was further along with its preparations. “Mr. Maker, you will move us—Galyan, how far should we move to dodge the first shot, given they’re aiming at us?”

“At least three hundred kilometers,” Galyan said.

“Make it so, Mr. Maker,” Maddox said.

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Victory began to shift.

“Galyan, how long until our missiles reach the warship?”

“The antimatter missiles will not affect the battle, sir.”

Maddox realized that continued pacing would degrade bridge morale. He thus forced himself to move slowly, reached his chair, sat down and faced the main screen.

“The focusing lens appears to be in place,” Andros said. “It’s no longer moving forward but has stopped.”

Maddox nodded, silently repeating to himself the 500-second delay rule.

From 150,000,000 kilometers away—8.33 minutes ago—the giant Severn warship beamed its lasers at the 30-kilometer diameter focusing lens, which narrowed the beam—tightened it—for the great journey across the void of space. As with any light source, a laser beam’s light diffused over distance. A normal hand-held flashlight couldn’t light up an object ten kilometers away, nor could a normal laser burn through an electromagnetic shield and hull armor even 100,000 kilometers away, never mind 150,000,000.

A tightened but still relatively wide laser beam flashed past Victory’s location. It would have hit their old spot. The beam lasted for an entire twenty seconds before snapping off.

“The wattage I just detected was amazing,” Galyan reported. “It would have overloaded our shield in seconds and burned a half a kilometer hole in our hull clear through to the other side. In other words, our vessel would have been destroyed.”

“Half a kilometer…” Maddox said. “It must have once done that to the nexus.”

“Such appears to be obvious now,” Galyan said.

“How did the nexus kill the crew without destroying the warship?” Maddox asked.

“A pertinent question,” Galyan said. “I do not know the answer.”

“Opinion as to how the nexus achieved this?” asked Maddox.

“None at present, sir,” Galyan said.

“Andros?” asked Maddox.

“I have no idea, sir.”

Maddox nodded, thinking. “Mr. Maker, you will change our heading and randomly pick another.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“Is that logical, sir?” Galyan asked.

Maddox made a decisive gesture. “The old saying is: like shooting fish in a barrel. Well, this fish is going to jerk and reroute until we’re dead or until—”

“Captain,” Meta said, interrupting. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Maddox hesitated only a moment before he nodded.

“Should we reposition behind the nexus in relation to the warship?” Meta asked.

A moment of silence reigned on the bridge.

“Mr. Maker,” Maddox said. “You will take us behind the nexus. Make sure to avoid the dampener field as you do so.”

“I’m on it, mate, sir,” Keith said, as he manipulated his helm control.

Another fantastic beam of laser light slashed through the darkness. This one missed Victory by a mere three kilometers. Given the range, that was unbelievable marksmanship. The beam lasted for twenty seconds and then snapped off.

“I have an observation to make,” Galyan said.

Maddox nodded.

“That the warship is firing from such an extreme range suggests the Severn computers or AI fears the nexus. Notice their shots. While the beams are close given the distance, the beams are still far off the mark.”

“How does any of that help us here?” Maddox asked.

“It does not,” Galyan said. “It is an observation only, although an interesting and possibly relevant one.”

“Relevant how?” asked Maddox.

“At some future date when we or Star Watch will deal with the Severn, who likely are part of the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan,” Galyan said. “The iridium-Z hull armor and the amazing laser system seem to indicate that. The only fact that resists the conclusion is that the warship attempted to destroy the nexus once. Do not the races of the S.H. Leviathan worship nexuses?”

“You’re right,’ Maddox said. “They did when we were there. Maybe they’ve changed their mind and are attempting to destroy nexuses near us like we did to the nexuses near the Swarm Imperium.”

“That is an interesting idea, sir,” Galyan said.

“Sorry to interrupt your little debate,” Keith said, “but we’re almost behind the nexus. I wonder if they’ll fire at the dampener field.”

“I, too, am curious about that,” Galyan said. “And it was all right to interrupt us, Keith.”

“I’m picking up strange readings, sir,” Andros said. “The readings are twenty kilometers from us—sir! Look!”

The main screen changed from an extreme zoom of the giant warship to a swirling, whirlpool-like opening that had simply appeared in space twenty kilometers away.

“A hyper-spatial tube entrance,” Meta whispered. “Half-Life did it.”

“He did indeed,” Galyan said. “The question is, where does the tube go?”

“You think Half-Life and Balron were lying about it going to the Library Planet?” Maddox asked.

“It is a possibility,” Galyan said. “Or it could be that Half-Life does not really know what he is doing.”

Once more, the deadly wattage of a laser accompanied the appearance of a giant beam. This time, the beam struck nine kilometers to one side of the nexus, just enough to miss the dampener field. Like the other two times, the laser light lasted for twenty seconds.

“Despite the possibility of the tube going elsewhere,” Galyan said. “I suggest it is our best course. The tube will likely not remain open for long.”

There was a flash of light on the bridge. Everyone looked up.

“Half-Life,” Galyan said.

“Why are you not heading for the tube?” Half-Life said. “It will close in less than two minutes.”

“Does it go to the Library Planet System?” Galyan asked.

“Affirmative,” Half-Life said.

“How can we trust you?” Galyan asked.

“Mr. Maker,” Maddox said. “Head for the tube entrance. We’re leaving this place.”

“At once, sir,” Keith said.

Maddox sat down and opened a slot on an armrest. He pulled a blaster from it and aimed it at Half-Life. “If you’re lying to us, you won’t survive your deception.”

“You have such a violent and hostile view of life,” the construct said. “The professor warned me about you during the first test run. I have come to see that the professor was correct concerning you. Surely, though, you must realize I have a defensive system.”

“Thanks,” Maddox said, as he clicked a switch.

“Did you put your blaster on its highest setting?” Half-Life asked.

“What do you think?” Maddox asked.

The little construct bobbed up and down. “I am a hostage to Balron’s goodwill. He gave me the coordinates to the Library Planet System. If he lied, he lied to me as well as to you. I dearly hope Balron is as trustworthy as he indicated to me that he is.”

“What?” Andros asked from his station.

“We had better hurry, sir,” Galyan said. “If my calculations are correct, and I think they are, the giant warship will be firing again soon.”

“Faster if you please, Mr. Maker,” Maddox said.

“I’m on it, sir,” Keith said.

Maddox grinned then. They were acting, doing something. For some reason—his gut, a hunch, maybe his expanded spirit—he believed Half-Life. They were going to get out of this hellhole star system. Where were the Severn part of the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan? Maybe in time he’d find out. Did the Severn know about the Yon Soth? Did the moronic Yon Soth know about the Severn and S.H. Leviathan? Did either of them know about the Commonwealth of Planets?

Victory neared the whirlpool-swirling hole in space, the beginning of a hyper-spatial tube. This one supposedly reached across seventeen hundred light-years. That would have taken massive amounts of energy and focusing.

“There,” Andros said.

A new laser beam slashed through the darkness, this one hitting the dampener field.

“This is interesting,” Galyan said. “I would like time to record the effect.”

“Sorry, mate,” Keith shouted. “It’s much too late for that.”

Even as the lieutenant spoke, Starship Victory reached the opening of the hyper-spatial tube, plunging into the “tube” and flashing toward the exit who knew where.

-45-

Over seventeen hundred light-years away from the nexus with the half-kilometer hole in it, and several days earlier, Golden Ural piloted a shuttle from Artaxerxes Par’s star cruiser back to the Emperor’s star cruiser.

Like the other Throne World military vessels in the Library Planet System’s Oort cloud, Artaxerxes Par’s star cruiser was triangular and brightly silver-colored. It boasted the latest weaponry purloined from the Commonwealth, an advanced disruptor cannon with heavy-metal components from the chthonian planet in the Alpha Centauri System. Like the Emperor’s ship, Par’s had 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.

None of the six star cruisers used their shields. They had appeared in the Oort cloud a week ago, having delayed leaving the Throne World by an extra week. The flotilla had traveled unhurriedly to the nearest nexus, Strand supplying the coordinates to the Library Planet System’s Oort cloud. As precautionary insurance, the Emperor had insisted on a deep Oort cloud appearance. In real terms, that had meant 150,000 AUs from the dim star.

For several days afterward, the six vessels had used their scanners, collecting data regarding the distant planets and the star. They had also searched for any anomalies, only finding one. It was a great derelict vessel five kilometers long. Strand had said he had no idea what the lost ship meant, as he’d never seen a vessel like that before.

Ural wondered yet again if his cousin distrusted Strand. He was beginning to think so, and that was good.

In any case, the flotilla had taken a star-drive jump, arriving at the Oort cloud’s inner edge, a mere 9,000 AUs from the system’s red dwarf star. They were the coolest of the main sequence stars and were by far the most common in the Milky Way Galaxy.

The Library Planet was the second terrestrial planet from the dwarf star, an ice-coated Niflheim world. It boasted several moons, which according to Strand pulled at the world with their gravity. The stresses caused movement within the planet that created interior heat, which allowed a wet ocean to exist under the bitterly cold ice.

The derelict vessel orbited the third planet, a small Mars-sized world of nickel-iron. Strand had declared it derelict after observing its many hull breaches, and unable to detect any energy signatures from it.

Ural wasn’t interested in any of that, however. He needed to ingest what he’d learned on Artaxerxes Par’s star cruiser. “Here, take over for me,” he said.

Servant Franco rose from the sensor board. He wore a brown uniform with Ural’s golden tabs on the shoulders, signifying his owner. The preman had lost weight, and there were dark circles around his eyes. The punishments needed to render Franco more useful had nearly broken the ex-Star Watch officer’s spirit.

Ural had imposed the further punishments after the face cuffs due to Franco’s criminal drunkenness. The preman had resented the warning strikes, acting up. Wanting to take him on the voyage, Ural had instituted a quick obedience training session. The stubborn preman had resisted, meaning Ural had continued the obedience training during the voyage. There was a spark of spirit left, but Franco had eventually learned to obey quickly and quietly. The combined effects were telling on him, however.

To ensure continued obedience, the preman wore a shock collar. The control to it was at the bottom of Ural’s ring, a heavy gold one he wore so the clicker was always at hand. It was one of the reasons he trusted the preman to pilot the shuttle. Another reason was that a psychological test that had shown Franco was not suicidal, but yearned to continue his existence and would thus obey until a catastrophic event occurred. Then, Franco might reassess.

Ural went to the shuttle’s weapons board, sitting on the swivel seat. He did not turn to the weapons panel, as he had no interest in that. He’d chosen the spot to keep an eye on Franco and yet be out of the preman’s line-of-sight.

Ural reached into an interior pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook. The leather was old and stiff, but even after three decades of use, it hadn’t cracked. He considered the notebook as one of his prized possessions due to what he’d written down in it over the years. He opened it, paging through reams of notes and crossed-off lists of names. All the names were those of Throne World dominants and superiors: those suspected of murder, or having a desire to see his brother Oran slain like a traitor. Oran’s murder had taken place over three decades ago, when Captain Maddox’s mother and Oran’s wife, the pregnant Sandra O’Hara, had made her escape from the birthing facility.

Ural had as a matter of course lied to Trahey when asked if he had any leads concerning Oran’s murderers. Even after all these years, Ural continued the investigation, but doing it covertly, as a master hunter tracking the most elusive of prey.

Ural reached the back pages, his gaze going halfway down to the uncrossed name of ARTAXERXES PAR. Under it, slightly indented, were three other names: ARMAN, JAVED KIR and SHAHIN DAN. They were highly ranked individuals, each of them belonging to Artaxerxes Par’s household, having been with the dominant at the time of Oran’s killing. There was an asterisk at the end of Javed Kir’s name.

Several years ago, Javed Kir had shown remorse for an unknown incident that had occurred long ago. He’d gone mad for a time, slaying his harem and murdering their offspring. When asked why he’d done it, he’d said, “To pay for a terrible sin.” Something had happened afterward, ending the official inquiry. The next day, Javed Kir claimed to have ingested poisoned meat that had driven him insane for a time. But he felt better now, thank you so much, he’d claimed. The deception—Ural believed the poisoned-meat explanation had been a deception—had officially worked. And to this day, Javed Kir had remained mentally stable, although he no longer held as high a status in Artaxerxes Par’s household.

Ural had long suspected Artaxerxes of envying his brother, but the dominant’s close association with the Emperor had made the idea of him being one of the direct assassins ludicrous.

A day ago, Ural had volunteered to check on the ship’s morale. Someone from the flagship needed to, and Trahey had agreed to Ural’s offer. Going had also shown others that Ural still had the Emperor’s confidence.

Ural underlined Javed Kir’s name. He’d stared into the sub-dominant’s eyes earlier today and had seen fear and something else in them. He would have questioned the sub-dominant, but hadn’t been able to maneuver a situation where they had been alone. Ural suspected Artaxerxes’ hand in that.

With the pen, Ural crossed out the names: ARMAN and SHAHIN DAN. From talking with them and from hints throughout the year, Ural had concluded they had nothing to do with the killing or knew anything that might help him uncover Oran’s murderers.

Ural sat back, thinking about Javed Kir. Had the man aided Artaxerxes Par that day? Oran had been helping his wife escape the birthing facility and Throne World.

Ural had told Maddox a story about the event at the end of the Battle of Gomez System when they’d destroyed the combined Lord Drakos-led renegade Throne World fleet and the hybrid Swarm fleet of Commander Thrax Ti Ix. Most of the story he’d told Maddox had been a quick invention.

There hadn’t been seven superiors trying to stop Oran. Ural had told Maddox his father had gunned down the seven, while others had run up and slain him in the end.

It would have been a simple matter of finding the slayers if it had happened that way. Ural had told Maddox that to honor his father’s memory. No. The truth had been different.

Oran had whisked his wife away from the birthing facility, although no one at the time had realized Sandra O’Hara had been his wife. Oran had palmed her off as the first of his harem. Harems were Throne World norms. Wives were definitely out, as dominants and superiors viewed premen women as beneath their exalted status as golden-skinned supermen. That had been the early years, when the Throne World supermen had developed harsher views. Over three decades later, some of that thinking had softened…a little, at least.

Sandra had already left the Throne World on a fast scout ship, piloting it herself. Oran had gone to a secret rendezvous on an island in the Western Ocean. As far as Ural could tell, Oran had been involved in a conspiracy to cast Methuselah Man Strand from power. Instead of meeting his fellow collaborators, Oran had run into a murder squad. Strand had always claimed he knew nothing about the hit. In fact, the Methuselah Man had supposedly gone to great lengths to find the killers, and he, too, had failed.

Years later, after Trahey had become the Emperor, Ural had joined the new Intelligence Bureau known then as the Nation’s Security Service (NSS). Ural had climbed the ranks until he became the Director. He’d used his NSS contacts to try to discover more. The fact that he’d been unable to find anything had told him much: that the killers were well-connected, powerful and extra cunning even for dominants and superiors.

There had been nothing to add to years of research…until today. The fear and—might it have been remorse?—had been plain in Javed Kir’s eyes. Would the sub-dominant now run to Artaxerxes for help and tell his master that Golden Ural had eyed him closely?

A feral grin appeared. Ural hoped Javed did just that. Powerful Artaxerxes Par had never liked him. This might be the reason why. There was one caveat to all this, however. Artaxerxes Par had always been a good friend to the Emperor. If Artaxerxes was guilty of murdering Oran…did the Emperor know about it?

Ural closed the notebook and caught a side-glance from Franco. The preman jerked his head away, focusing once more on the shuttle’s flight path.

For a second, Ural was on the verge of pressing the punishment button. Then a suspicion arose. What would give the preman such boldness as to spy on his master? Might—not Trahey, but Strand—have secretly spoken to Franco and given the preman special instructions? No…it wouldn’t have happened like that. Strand would have hypnotized Franco so the preman wouldn’t even realize why he did what he did.

A shiver of a strange emotion coursed through Ural. He felt it, but couldn’t name the emotion. It was odd, sickly—Fear, he told himself. That had been a shiver of fear. Whom did he fear? Strand, of course. That was obvious now that he analyzed things. Strand must have the Emperor’s ear, and if the Emperor had aided Oran’s murderers in any way over three decades ago—

The feral grin disappeared. Except for a few NSS personnel, he was alone out here in the flotilla. All his allies were back on the Throne World. Trahey or Strand through Trahey must have seen to that.

Ural barked a savage laugh. He was alone—except for a handful of Intelligence people and perhaps Trahey was trying to suborn them—but he had his wits and his strength. After the Emperor, many considered him the strongest and toughest of the Throne World dominants.

Maybe I’m stronger than Trahey. He has lorded it over us for too long and has become…softer.

Was that why Trahey had freed Strand? Did the Emperor need the Methuselah Man’s help against his cousin?

Ural shook his head. That was a fanciful conceit. Trahey was dangerous and deadly to any who challenged him. The practice duel back on the Throne World had shown that.

Ural took a deep breath, closing the notebook and stashing it back in his jacket. Through the polarized window, he saw the Emperor’s Star Cruiser Shapur. It was twice the size of other cruisers, considered the deadliest warship of the Throne World.

Soon, now, they would head in-system to the Library Planet. If Strand were going to attempt one of his legendary tricks, it would surely be there on the planet.

Ural looked up at the ceiling, thinking about Javed Kir, Artaxerxes Par, Methuselah Man Strand and Emperor Trahey—and Venna. The damned succubus of a beauty had tried to catch his attention several times in the ship corridors. So far, he’d eluded her and defeated her ploys. Ural swallowed, realizing he might not want to avoid her any longer. To strip off her clothes, to demand she love him…it was beginning to prey upon his thoughts far too often. He needed a way to protect himself from her allure. Otherwise, Strand’s cunning would defeat him through her.

The problem was, if he could have Venna—“No,” Ural hissed quietly. “Use your wits, or you’re a dead man.”

He vowed yet again to do just that. Avoid Venna…until he’d achieved everything else he desired.

-46-

For the next few days, Ural avoided Venna, the Emperor and his Methuselah Man pet, Strand. He exercised in the officer’s gym and volunteered for bridge duty, acting as the Sensor Chief.

They were getting ready to make the star-drive jump to the derelict vessel at the third planet. No one had detected any automatic defenses of any nature, neither out in the star system, planetary or ship-based. There were no nexuses or other visible Builder relics.

Finally, the Emperor called a briefing. Ural learned about it at the last minute and in an unusual manner.

“Here,” Franco said sullenly. “This came for you while you slept.”

Ural sat on the edge of his cot in his quarters, having just woken. It was a small room with a floor mat at the foot of the cot for Franco. The larger quarters had two other attached rooms.

Ural eyed the preman holding out an envelope. “You didn’t think to wake me when it arrived?”

Franco looked down and shuffled his feet.

“Do you see the Emperor’s seal?”

“I didn’t open it,” Franco said hastily. “The seal is whole, untouched.”

Was the preman pretending to have become stupid? Or was something else at play? Several times during the journey, Ural had debated killing the preman so he could sleep more easily. In the end, he’d always decided against it. It was better to sleep alert like a barbarian or wild beast, ready to jump up and fight for his life. Distrusting Franco helped him maintain that keen edge.

Ural accepted the letter. It was an invitation to the briefing…which was about to begin in six minutes.

Ural jumped up and pushed Franco aside, donning a dress uniform, combing his hair and brushing his teeth. Then he strode down the corridors, showed the guards his invitation and hurried to his chair seconds before the Emperor arrived. It would have been bad form to arrive after his Highness.

The assembled sat at a long, mirrored table with the Emperor at its head. Strand was here, Artaxerxes Par, Samos of Thetis, Venna—

With a shock, Ural noticed her for the first time. It was incredible she should attend an official briefing. She sat on a small stool behind and to the left of the Emperor. Venna wore red slippers, a long red dress that hid her legs but showed her cleavage to excellent effect. A gold chain hung from her neck, the ruby on the end between what he could see of her breasts. She wore a silver collar, no doubt, so she remembered her status as a harem girl. Her purple-painted, beguiling eyes matched the wonder of her artfully done up curls—

Quit looking at her, Ural told himself. She’s here to distract you. Remember where you are.

The other ship captains were at the briefing along with several of the Emperor’s chief advisors, making it a packed chamber.

Venna glanced at Ural as the Emperor reached down and put a slate on the table. Ural felt her gaze like a sizzling shock to the frontal lobes of his brain. He swallowed and wondered why he should react this way to her stare.

Damn, Strand studied him, the wizened Methuselah Man like the Emperor’s personal demon to bedevil him. Did Strand have anything to do with Venna’s presence here? How could that be possible? Was this a ploy of Strand’s?

The miserable Methuselah Man—Ural forced himself to stare down Strand. He could feel the dwarf’s strength of intellect. Strand seemed to have grown greater than before, as if an aura had developed in him. For a second, Ural feared Strand could read his thoughts. He then dismissed that as ridiculous.

They’re preying upon my suspicions and fears. I must control my thinking or I’m lost. Ural frowned. Has Strand ordered technicians to focus rays upon my mind from the other room? The possibility of that grew as the Emperor spoke. Ural found it difficult to follow his cousin’s logic, especially when the ruby between Venna’s breasts glittered strangely. He needed air, for he suddenly wished for nothing more than to jump across the table and take Venna for his own. He swallowed, tore his gaze from her—this was insanity. Concentrate, you simpleton. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. He needed a mind shield or jammer, one that would block rays aimed at his mind. His gaze slid back to Venna. No! Concentrate. Don’t look at the wench. She means to defeat you through sexual allure.

“I suggest we inspect the wreck first, Your Majesty,” Strand was saying. When had the Methuselah Man started talking? “I see no reason anyone should object to—”

“I do,” Ural heard himself say.

Strand fell silent as everyone at the mirrored conference table—and Venna in back—stared at Ural.

“Why did you interrupt my counselor?” the Emperor asked softly.

Ural considered asking for forgiveness, but immediately rejected that, as it would make him appear weak. He squared his shoulders, deciding to bull his way through. “Sire, the Methuselah Man has proven his worth many times this mission. Yet, I remember a day when he ruled the Throne World. I suspect he would like to sit on your throne and govern us in his old imperial manner once more.”

“Your Majesty,” Strand said. “Notice how he is—”

“Going to play your old teach-us-simpletons-how-it’s-done ruse?” Ural asked.

“This is too much,” Strand said in what was surely mock outrage. “He interrupted me for a second time, Your Majesty.”

“Sire,” Ural said. “I was answering your question.”

The Emperor glanced from Strand to Ural and back to Strand again and then the general audience. “Yes. You were answering me. Go ahead, cousin. I want to know why you interrupted Strand when I gave him leave to speak.”

“Thank you, Sire. The simple truth is that I don’t trust the derelict ship.”

“Why interrupt Strand because of that?” the Emperor asked. “You’ll have your turn to speak. What caused you to break protocol?”

Ural laughed in a deprecating way. “I do not have the Methuselah Man’s easy ways and smooth tongue, Sire. He can sell snow to Eskimos, as the old saying goes. We are far from home and deep in the old domain of the Builders. I expect surprises and would rather we struck like a cobra and then vanished. We need the ancient knowledge. So, let us raid the Library Planet for it and be gone. We will map everything and study later, after we’ve secured the Throne World’s future and your person.”

“Secured me, Golden Ural?” the Emperor asked.

Be careful. Watch what you say. They’ve set you up. You have to unravel the net of their trap. “You’re the heart of the Throne World, Sire. We have many of the boldest and greatest dominants in your train. If we perish out here, Sire, that would be a great blow to the Throne World—and a great boon for Strand.”

“This is interesting,” Strand said in a mocking voice. “Golden Ural fears being out here.”

“Not fear,” Ural said sharply. “I’m employing game theory. Grab the critical knowledge, build our strength and strike again when we’re better informed and better set for any surprises here.”

“And pray tell why would stopping at the derelict vessel harm any of us?” Strand asked.

“It’s about time,” Ural said, wondering how he’d gotten into this mess. Oh, right, he’d been daydreaming about Venna and that Strand’s scientists had possibly been beaming harmful rays at his mind. He stared at the assembled dominants and superiors, desperate to maintain control. “The old conqueror Napoleon Bonaparte once said to his generals, ‘Ask me for anything but time.’ I think we’ve been taking this all too leisurely. Hard, decisive action has always been our standard. I say we should stick to that, Sire. Let us raid the Library Planet quickly, not letting anything divert our attention.”

The Emperor pursed his lips, soon saying, “Spoken like an NSS officer and Throne World soldier. There was a reason I always chose you as the admiral of our greatest fleets. What say you to that, Strand?”

Strand glanced sidelong at Ural before saying, “I agree we’re in the deep domain of my former masters. They were a tricky lot. That is why I suggest we study the wreck. I don’t trust it either. Let’s see if we can discover why it’s there. Maybe that will help us avoid a similar calamity ourselves as we approach the Library Planet.”

“In that case, Sire,” Ural said, “why not send one ship to the wreck. The rest can head straight to the Library Planet. I also mistrust the ancient Builders. If they’re anything like their children, the Methuselah Men, they were tricky indeed, with a hidden card always up their sleeve. The Builders and their Methuselah Men always liked to rule from the shadows. Hidden tricks and traps are their way.”

“Enough of your innuendoes,” Strand said. “We can all see what you’re trying to do.”

“No more than you, Methuselah Man,” Ural said. “Does it irk you to have to ask for permission when once you snapped your fingers and made us dance to your tune?”

“Your Majesty,” Strand implored the Emperor. “I’m trying my best to aid you; you know that.”

“Are you?” asked Ural. “Are you really?”

“What does that mean, cousin?” the Emperor asked.

Ural waited and pondered. The assembled dominants and superiors watched him closely. Like good intriguers, it was impossible to know what they thought about his performance. He’d been acting out of character. Usually, he was the calm and collected one. He needed to turn this around, and fast.

“Sire,” Ural said, dipping his head. “May I speak frankly?”

“I thought you were.”

“I am, but may I strike to the heart of the matter?”

“By all means,” the Emperor said, “enlighten us with these fevered thoughts about time, danger and hidden menaces lurking around every corner.”

Several ship captains and advisors chuckled.

Ural forced himself to shake his head. “If I seem…concerned—”

“Frightened,” Strand muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

That was a terrible slur for one dominant to cast at another. It could result in a challenge to duel. Ural could not very well call out Strand—ah! Here was a way out of his dilemma.

“Again he insults us—all of us. I am concerned! And rightly so.” Ural pointed at Strand, who sat across the table from him. “There is the master intriguer. He ruled us once. He did it with a heavy hand, treating us with contempt, demanding we treat him like a god. Why shouldn’t he have expected that from us, though, as he believes he created us?”

“I am indeed the father of the Throne World,” Strand said calmly. “It was my genius that gave you such glorious gifts. I overstepped the mark back then. This I freely admit. Years of imprisonment has helped clarify my thinking on the matter. I have seen the error of my ways, and like a father, I wish to atone and aid my sons so they can reach even higher than before.”

“Sir,” Ural told Strand. “If those are your true thoughts, I applaud them. You are a genius, and your cunning is legendary. I wonder, though. Have you forgiven the Emperor for casting you from your height of power?”

Strand glanced at the Emperor. So did Ural.

Trahey watched the proceedings silently, his face unreadable, although there seemed to be a hint of disapproval in his eyes.

“The Emperor does not need my forgiveness,” Strand said. “He proved himself the boldest, strongest and wisest among you. I am glad he rules the Throne World, and I admire how he wishes to bend fate and destiny in order to propel you all onto a new and higher road that will lead to stellar dominance. With all my heart, I hope to aid him and all of you onto the path of greatness.”

“Noble words,” Ural said. “Will your deeds match them?”

“I see,” Strand said. “The Emperor has given me leave to join the expedition. But Golden Ural objects. I want to prove myself, but you’re going to stand as judge, doubting that the Emperor knows what he’s doing.”

Ural made a show of sitting back. He raised his hands to indicate everyone at the conference table. “I cannot wield words like Methuselah Man Strand. I am a soldier as the Emperor has said. I will obey whatever the Emperor decides. This is a meeting where the strong speak freely in order to give our lord the best advice possible. I know the Strand of old. He was cunning and treacherous. Can a leopard change his spots? Can a liar and deceiver become the model of honor?”

“No,” Strand said. “He cannot. What he can do, though, is show his greatness through the power of his sons. Yes! I want the universe to know how great I am. My means is you, the New Men of the Throne World. To that end, I will do anything to help you achieve the heights you deserve.”

“Deserve—why?” asked Ural.

“Because you dare,” Strand said, “and because you have the strength to make it stick.”

Ural looked at Strand frankly. He didn’t know what else to say. The Methuselah Man was better at this than he was. And there was the weight of Venna watching him, and him wanting to take her and—

“Hear me,” the Emperor said into the silence.

Once more, Ural had to concentrate his thoughts to actually hear Trahey.

“I appreciate my cousin’s boldness to speak as he believes,” the Emperor said. “That is one of the reasons I trust him. Samos, will you allow Ural to join your ship as it inspects the derelict vessel?”

“Yes, Sire,” said white-haired, hard-eyed Samos.

“Will you go with Samos, Ural?” the Emperor asked.

“If you bid me, Sire, I will gladly do so.”

“I do so bid you,” the Emperor said. “Strand will join you.”

The Methuselah Man looked sharply, seeming surprised.

“Each of you can choose three men to accompany him,” the Emperor said. “Samos will provide you with a shuttle.”

Samos of Thetis nodded.

“You will go tomorrow,” the Emperor said. “The rest of the flotilla will await your verdict. Are there any objections?”

Strand looked as if he wished to speak, but the Methuselah Man held his tongue.

Ural sat back, wondering what ploy his cousin was playing. Either Strand was a wonderful actor, which was more than possible, or the verdict had surprised him as well.

-47-

The next day, shipboard time, the Star Cruiser Paralos used its star-drive jump to move from 9000 AUs in the Oort cloud to three million kilometers from the third planet of the system. It was a dark world with low nickel-iron mountains and sludgy valleys of sulfur, bubbling from vents reaching to the mantle.

Golden Ural was on the bridge, sitting to one side. Samos of Thetis was in the captain’s chair. He was a thickset dominant with large hands and prematurely white hair. He ran an efficient vessel, which soon neared the five-kilometer ship. From what they saw on the main screen, their target was in even greater disrepair than originally suspected.

There was a long main body: a tubular section five kilometers long. Attached to the tube were thousands of independent cylindrical pods. Slender shafts or spokes connected the pods to the main tubular vessel. The bow held the obvious bridge and the stern had the thrusters and engine and presumably fuel pods.

“During its operational days, they might have rotated the ship to simulate gravity in the pods,” the science officer suggested.

Ural was inclined to agree. That struck him as strange, however, as it implied the ship lacked gravity control. How was that possible for an ancient Builder vessel? The Builders had possessed greater technology, not lesser.

Samos turned to Ural. “I’ll bring you to within five thousand kilometers of the wreck. You can board the shuttle and complete the journey with it.”

Ural stood. “Do you mind if I monitor your science officer?”

Samos gave the barest of nods before swiveling back to the main screen.

Ural crossed the bridge to the science station and watched and listened as the officer ran his scans of the derelict ship.

It had hundreds of hull breaches to the main tubular section, tens of thousands if one counted all the cylindrical pod attachments. Most of the breaches were the size of Samos’s fist—larger than an ordinary fist. This seemed to imply a shotgun-type weapon. The science officer confirmed the lack of life or energy readings. He estimated the wreck at seven hundred years old, give or take several decades.

When finished, the science officer looked up at Ural.

Ural touched the sub-superior on the left shoulder before turning to Samos. “I’m satisfied. With your permission…?”

“Freely granted,” Samos said. He paused, eyeing Ural. “I was with you at the Battle of Gomez System.”

“Ah.”

“I have always admired your tactical brilliance.”

“Thank you. I admire your ship handling.”

“I…wonder about Strand,” Samos said.

“Oh?”

“Naturally, the Emperor has the situation under control, and that includes the Methuselah Man scoundrel.”

“Such is my own opinion,” Ural said.

Samos stared at him. “Yet…I mistrust Strand.”

“I will be on my guard.”

“Perhaps…he had better be on his, eh?”

Ural thought about that. Samos had been among the first to cheer the Emperor’s suggestion about traveling to the Library Planet. Would the dominant have changed his opinion in such a short span? It seemed unlikely. Thus—a test, Ural suspected. Trahey must have put Samos up to it.

Ural smiled softly. “If Strand performs for the Emperor, who am I to complain? I, too, wish for the greater glory of the Throne World.”

Samos nodded sagely, giving nothing away. “Success to you, Golden Ural.”

“Success to you, Samos of Thetis.” With that, Ural took leave of the bridge.

***

A powerful shuttle with extra weaponry left the Paralos. Ural piloted, with Servant Franco at sensors, an NSS regulator at weapons and an NSS enforcer in back. The enforcer watched Strand and his three companions, tough superiors belonging to the Emperor’s entourage.

Ural wondered if the three were Strand’s guards or if they were here to protect him. He doubted it would go well with the three if Strand perished. In many ways, it was reckless of the Emperor to let Strand stray like this. The Methuselah Man was the key to finding and using the special data to “fix” the New Men, allowing them to sire girls as well as boys.

What was Trahey attempting to prove with this stunt? It was a stunt, wasn’t it? Ural wouldn’t have been surprised if Strand had shown up with Venna. He winced while thinking about that. In truth, he’d hoped she would accompany the Methuselah Man as a ploy on their part against him. In that way, he might maneuver the situation and gain a chance to speak to her alone.

Reckless, you’re being reckless. You need to forget about her.

Ural concentrated on the derelict vessel. It was five kilometers long, a massive ship. “Do you recognize its type?” he asked over his shoulder.

No one answered.

Ural looked back at Strand.

“Oh, were you talking to me?” asked Strand. “I thought you distrusted me.”

“I do.”

“Then why ask for my opinion? I’m probably lying to you, right?”

“You sound hurt,” Ural said. “Why is that? Have my mere words offended you somehow? Are you so weak?”

Strand sneered. “I’m doing my best to aid my sons, and this is the thanks I get?”

Ural swiveled around this time. The three superiors—they were fighters, gunmen in reality. They barely rated as superiors, as none of them was considered smart. The three were shrewd, however, and fast. They wore body armor and thigh guards. They were protection for Strand. Yes. That was obvious now that he considered the situation. It meant the Emperor trusted Strand to stay on course while at the derelict. The guards were protection against “accidents” of any kind, including Ural murdering the Methuselah Man. Was Strand’s manner an act or was it genuine hurt?

It must be an act, Ural decided. Does Strand think he can fool me with it?

Strand’s eyes seemed to glitter then, and the skin of his face tightened. He was the evil dwarf of legend, the one offering gifts that always cost too much. Strand was offering them greatness—no, no, that wasn’t exactly right. He was offering them independence from Earth and the Commonwealth. The Throne World New Men could go their own way once they could sire males and females in equal measure. What would that collectively cost them from Strand?

“Ah, Ural, Ural,” Strand said. “You’re the cleverest among the bunch, aren’t you?”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“A lie,” Strand purred.

Ural stood. The three protectors grew more alert, the tension in the cabin climbing. “Have a care, Methuselah Man. I do not lie. Nor do I care for the Throne World’s most notorious liar calling me one.”

Strand smiled, showing most of his teeth. Despite his years of imprisonment, the teeth were white indeed. “A backhanded compliment, eh? I accept it—the most notorious, you say, which meant the greatest. Yes. I’m still the greatest among us.”

Ural sat back down and swiveled to his piloting board. Was Strand gloating? Was Strand trying to goad him into doing something rash? Maybe it was both. He eyed the approaching derelict, which was now visible through the polarized window.

Ural slowed their velocity as he examined the wreck through his controls. Maybe for the first time this voyage he felt how far away from home they had come. This might be home ground for the Methuselah Man, but for the rest of them, it was the farthest any of them had come into the Great Beyond. A sense of awe grew—a beating in his chest. That was an alien vessel, a derelict shot up by someone or something. It was approximately seven hundred years old. What kind of ship would have thousands of separate pods? This was…a merchant vessel it would seem. Why would a merchant vessel need thousands of independent pods? What did Strand know that he wasn’t telling them?

This was a game, a hard, tight one. The Emperor had sent Strand…because he feared the Methuselah Man, maybe wishing that his cousin would eliminate the danger for him. Strand offered a grand prize, but with a terrible price that none of them yet knew.

This was act two at the Library Planet System. Something was going to happen here at the derelict—Ural was sure of it. Thus, it was time to excel, as his opponent was the most dangerous man of the Throne World.

-48-

Ural parked the shuttle beside the seven-hundred-year-old derelict. He and the NSS regulator donned spacesuits. Strand and his three gunmen donned theirs. The NSS enforcer and Franco would remain aboard the shuttle just in case.

The search team exited the shuttle airlock in two groups, Ural and his man first. Soon, Strand and his three joined them. Using thruster packs, they jetted the short distance to the derelict vessel. It loomed before them, a dark mass that soon extended in either direction. Ural glanced back, seeing how tiny the shuttle had become. Then he eyed the nearing black mass of ship. He could no longer see the metallic planet behind the vessel.

“Time to slow down,” Ural said over the comm.

Each man rotated and expelled thrust, slowing. They turned back, one at a time, gently landing through a large, blown-away hangar entrance.

Ural clicked a switch, magnetizing the soles of his boots, attaching to the metal deck. Like the others, he shrugged off the thruster pack, a smaller variety for short hops just like this.

“Do we leave a guard?” Strand asked over the helmet comm.

“There were no life or energy signs earlier,” Ural replied over his.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“What do you suggest?”

“You’re in charge of the expedition,” Strand said. “It’s your decision.”

Inside his helmet, Ural frowned. What did Strand know about the derelict he hadn’t told any of them? He shrugged. The only way to find out was to search the damn thing. Waiting here was just wasting time.

“No guard,” Ural said. “And we’re going to stick together.”

“We can search faster if we split up into teams,” Strand said.

Ural laughed.

A second later, so did Strand.

The Methuselah Man didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to for Ural, and the laugh had been for him, hadn’t it?

They began the search, each of them decreasing the magnetic strength of his boots so they didn’t float weightlessly but didn’t have to tug mightily to free their feet. Helmet lamps washed and crisscrossed through the hangar bay. They showed stark nothingness in bulkheads and deck, smashed lights and no litter anywhere. What did that mean? The answer was easy enough. When the ancient attack occurred, the missiles, pellets, whatever, had breached the hull everywhere. That would have meant violent decompression as the air fled into the vacuum of space. The violent decompression would have blown the debris—everything, it seemed—out into space. There hadn’t been any litter around the derelict. The planet must have tugged it all down with its gravity. Why it hadn’t already tugged the derelict down as well was a mystery.

That is one of the things we need to solve, Ural realized.

They clanked soundlessly through the giant tubular section of the ship. It was the same no matter where they went. There were no papers, no relics, no bones, nothing that could have told them the story.

Time passed with the endless crisscrossing beams shining upon the bulkheads and deck plates. Ural pointed in a direction, and they finally demagnetized their boots and used seven-hundred-year-old handrails to propel themselves weightlessly through the vessel.

The large bridge showed similar destruction with smashed consoles and shredded seats. Strangely, Strand couldn’t find any computers.

“These are analog calculators,” the Methuselah Man said over the helmet comm. They were in a large room attached to the control chamber with smashed banks of machines around them. “There must have been over thirty mathematicians in here, calculating in lieu of computers.”

“That doesn’t seem possible,” Ural said.

“I’m right about this.”

“I don’t doubt you. It just seems odd that a Builder ship would lack computers.”

“This wasn’t a Builder ship,” Strand said.

“Oh. Who constructed it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why do I feel as if you’re lying?” Ural asked.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Strand said. “It’s your suspicious hateful nature leaking out for all to see. You’re not as righteous, as good, as you like others to think of you.”

“Let’s check the engines,” Ural said, ignoring the insult.

“That’s on the other end of the ship,” Strand complained. “We should have kept our thruster packs on.”

“We’re fine. A little exercise is good for the heart.”

The team used the float-rails again. It was relatively easy work, just grab and pull. The real danger was in traveling too fast, as one always had to slow down and that could friction-burn a glove if one did it wrong.

None of them did it badly, however. They were all experts at this, including the ancient dwarf of a Methuselah Man. Ural admitted to himself the devil might even be better at it than any of them were. It was weird to realize that, as Strand had never struck him as athletic.

He’s been around a long, long time, Ural told himself. It’s wise to remember he’s learned to do many things.

They reached the engine section of the ship. An examination showed the vessel had used slow ion propulsion. That didn’t make sense, but it was definitely ion propulsion. The vessel had once possessed a Laumer Drive, or whatever the crew had named it seven hundred years ago.

“What now?” asked Strand over his helmet comm.

“Time to check the pods,” Ural said.

“All of them?” Strand complained.

“What do you suggest?”

Strand gave a low throaty laugh.

“Right,” Ural said. “I’m in charge. It’s my decision. Thus, we’ll start with the nearest pod and see what we see.”

The first pod had an open hatch to the spoke or corridor that attached it to the main ship. There were two hull breaches in the spoke itself. The pod’s hatch was open, and the pod was the size of a stadium and as empty as could be. Ural counted five hull breaches in here. Four were the size of Samos’s fists. The fifth was much larger: four meters in diameter. The pod was so empty there was no telling its former use.

“I’ve seen enough,” Ural said. “Let’s check the next one.”

The process quickly became routine. After twenty pods, they floated in, glanced at the emptiness and pull-floated back out.

“We should split up,” Strand said. “This is utterly monotonous, and there are thousands of pods.”

Ural silently agreed it made logical sense…except that Strand was untrustworthy as he was the stellar trickster extraordinaire. “You’re bored already?”

“I already said as much,” Strand told him.

“Well…that’s too bad,” Ural said.

“Your tone…what are you implying?”

“That you’ve brought this on yourself by your former actions. No one trusts you, Strand. Thus, we have to stick together so I can keep my eye on you.”

“The Emperor trusts me. Are you saying he’s a fool to do so?”

“Not in the slightest,” Ural said.

“I think you are saying exactly that. I hope you others heard what he said. Ural called the Emperor a—”

“Strand,” Ural warned. “You’d better be very careful what you say. I’m recording all of this. Claiming I think a thing doesn’t make it so. You’re the one saying such things, and the Emperor will hear that very well.”

“If I die out here it’ll be because you’ve bored me to death,” Strand said. “If you want to waste all our time by sticking together, that’s your call, not mine.”

“I’ll say it again. We’re together because I don’t trust you out of my sight.”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,” Strand said. “Let’s go, or it will be tomorrow before we’re done.”

Ural considered that as they continued moving. Strand had made a production of the latest request. Did that mean the prize of the vessel was coming up and Strand wanted to grab it out of his sight? Ural became more alert, and eight pods later, they found something new.

-49-

They floated through an open hatch, fully expecting nothing. Ural glanced around the pod and was already turning his body when it hit him.

This one was different.

He had to yank himself back around, staring at the interior pod. Several of the others did likewise. Ural wished he’d been watching Strand to see if the Methuselah Man had to do the same thing.

Firstly, this pod lacked hull breaches. The hull was secure, intact. Secondly, there was a long skeleton on the deck, ancient strewn straw and—Ural picked up a hard-as-nails…pellet, he supposed.

“That’s food,” Strand said through his helmet comm.

Ural looked up.

“It’s a food concentrate,” Strand said.

Ural examined the pellet between his gloved thumb and index finger. What kind of alien ate pellets? He glanced at the straw on the deck. Who slept on straw? Ah. Animals did. “Does this pellet, this food concentrate, help you to determine the species?”

With the toe of a space-boot, Strand touched the long skeleton. It was ten meters and showed two appendages with leathery wings, possibly, and six more appendages with obvious claws, and it had a nasty narrow skull with an impressive array of fangs and a long obvious tail. The touched part of the skeleton vaporized, some of the particles scattering over the deck and the others lifting, floating in the vacuum as if they were on a moon.

“Species?” said Strand. “Is that what you asked?”

Inside his helmet, Ural frowned. He detected…humor in Strand’s voice, but didn’t understand why. The not understanding bothered him.

“This was an animal,” Strand said.

“I already know that.”

“Do you now? Do you know what kind of animal it was?”

“That’s why I’m asking you,” Ural said.

“There’s no need to be touchy about it. This was a volraptor, I should think.”

“Vol-raptor,” Ural repeated silently. It sounded like a predatory beast. “You’ve seen one of these before?”

“Long ago,” said Strand, “on a world three thousand light-years from here.”

“What?”

Strand coughed. “I don’t remember the distance exactly. I spoke out of turn. ‘Three thousand’ simply means forever. I should have said centuries ago.”

“Bull,” Ural said flatly. “I believe you when you say that you’ve been three thousand light-years from here. In what direction, though?”

“Don’t think to interrogate me, Golden Ural. I’m the Emperor’s advisor, not your lickspittle boy.”

Ural’s temper rose as he envisioned striding to the evil dwarf and puncturing the spacesuit, watching Strand suffocate to death.

Maybe the three suited gunmen realized this. As a group, they moved in front of Strand in relation to Ural. That caused the suited NSS regulator to drop a gloved hand onto a holstered blaster.

“Ah,” Strand said in a smooth voice. “This has developed into a situation. How interesting, eh, Ural?”

Something about the way Strand said that cooled Ural’s anger. He deliberately throttled it even further back. He didn’t understand what caused the Methuselah Man’s humor a second ago. He didn’t understand what the evil dwarf was attempting to bring to fruition here. Ural didn’t like what he didn’t understand and he certainly didn’t want to play Strand’s game.

“What’s a volraptor?” Ural asked, deciding to change the subject.

“That was,” Strand said, aiming the toe of a boot at the disrupted skeleton.

“Was it a predator?”

“What gave that away?” Strand asked in a superior tone. “The name, perhaps? The fangs? The claws?”

Once more, Ural throttled back his anger. Don’t fall into his trap. He smiled to himself. I won’t. “Why would a ship carry a predatory volraptor?”

“Yes, finally,” said Strand. “You arrive at the root of the evidence. This is a volraptor. We see one, well, one skeleton. I suspect the ship carried more in the pod, but we do not see more. Do you know why?”

Ural looked around. Then it hit him. “This one ate the others. It was the last survivor.”

“Ah…Ural…maybe you should be the Emperor. That’s the answer. This was the last one. I am now ready to pose a hypothesis about what occurred here. I mean to the ship as a whole.”

“I serve at the Emperor’s pleasure,” Ural said stiffly.

“What? Yes, of course, of course. We all know that.”

“He is the Methuselah Man,” Ural said to the three gunmen, as he pointed at Strand. “He spoke about me being Emperor, knowing you would report it, which you most certainly should. Strand is attempting to sow division between the Emperor and me. That is wrong of him.”

“Really, Ural,” Strand said, “you’re much too suspicious about the littlest things. The negative impulse sours you and turns you into a boorish companion. Take a compliment in stride, why don’t you? You’re quick-witted and clever. I applaud that, nothing more.”

Don’t try to match him at word play. He’s better at it. Ural cleared his throat, deciding to drop the topic and stick to the mission. “You spoke about a hypothesis.”

“You’re through being suspicious of me then, are you?”

“Was this a zoo ship?” Ural asked.

Strand stood frozen for just a moment. Then he clapped his gloved hands three times. “Bravo indeed, Ural. That is correct. This was a collection vessel or a zoo ship as you called it. It must have contained thousands of different animals. Why anyone would fire at such a vessel is beyond me. Why it would come to the Library Planet System is also a mystery.”

“Maybe not a mystery seven hundred years ago,” Ural said. “Nevertheless…given that you’re right about the type of vessel, it doesn’t strike me as dangerous to our mission.”

“Not in the slightest,” Strand said.

Ural studied the undamaged pod, the volraptor skeleton and the other space-suited people in the chamber with him. “All right. We’ve discovered the nature of the vessel and we’re done in here. Let’s get back to the shuttle.”

“You first,” said Strand.

Inside the helmet, Ural squinted at the Methuselah Man. Then he silently berated himself. Maybe he was too suspicious of Strand. Sometimes a derelict vessel was just a derelict vessel. Still, why had Strand said it that way just now? Was it to screw with him, or for some nefarious reason? Ural dropped a gloved hand onto his holstered blaster and floated toward the exit.

Soon, with Ural leading, they exited the spoke and reentered the large tubular section of the ship. It was a long way to the hangar bay where they’d piled the thruster packs. Maybe that was why Ural increased speed, forcing the others to do likewise.

After a time, Ural wondered about that. Why was he traveling so fast? He glanced back at the others. They followed him in a strung-out line, with their helmet lamps washing over the deck and bulkheads. Of course, it was empty here like the rest of the derelict ship. Maybe whoever had shot up the zoo vessel had ransacked it later. They would have taken everything…but for the volraptors, it seemed.

Ural faced forward again, content to float for a while. He thought about the volraptor—his nape hairs stirred and gut tightened. Something hunted him. He could feel it. He searched ahead, tracking where his lamplight touched. The ill feeling grew, but he saw nothing to cause it. He turned his head as he said, “Does anyone else feel—?”

He quit talking as he saw motion high above and behind the others. The thing had wings, great leathery things that lazily flapped up and down. It had a long narrow jaw with wicked fangs and a snake-like tail. It had six legs ending in wicked claws. The creature had evil red-glowing eyes, and it dove at the last man of the party.

Ural twisted fully around, drew the blaster and fired at the volraptor. A beam of devouring energy struck the creature—it vanished like that.

“What’s happening?” Strand shouted. “Why are you firing?”

The three gunmen spun around fast, drawing blasters and beaming up at—

“You’re shooting at nothing!” Strand shouted. “Quit firing. It’s achieving nothing.”

Ural’s mouth opened in shock. The creature was gone as if it had never existed.

“What did you see, Ural?” asked Strand.

The others continued to float as they turned their mirrored visors at Ural, likely waiting for his revelation.

Ural forced himself to chuckle as he thought quickly. “Those were good reaction times,” he told the gunmen. “I’ll give you the highest recommendation to the Emperor.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Strand asked sharply.

Inside his helmet, Ural stared at Strand’s floating suited form. What had just happened? Had the Methuselah Man caused a holoimage to appear up there? That seemed like the easiest, most explainable answer. The rule of Occam’s Razor suggested it was the answer. If that was the case, though, Ural had two questions. One, why would Strand do such a thing? Two, why would he have felt danger as if from a real threat?

Ural used a float-rail to slow his speed. Soon, he stopped, activated his magnetic boots and stood on the deck.

The others soon did likewise.

Ural approached a standing Strand.

“Watch out,” the Methuselah Man said. “He means me harm.”

The three gunmen quickly interposed themselves between Strand and Ural.

Ural halted and decided the Methuselah Man’s game was deeper than he realized. If I’m going to survive this trip, I have to kill Strand. But I have to do it later, at the right time, when no one can blame me for it. Ural swallowed. What about the volraptor he’d seen gliding in an attack at them? What was the right thing to say now?

“I thought I saw something,” Ural admitted. “I could have been mistaken. I thought you might know what I saw.”

“Me?” Strand said. “I haven’t a clue.”

Ural stood silently, thinking, until, “Very well. Let’s get to the thruster packs. It’s time to leave this place.”

“You sound spooked,” Strand said. “Why is that?”

Without answering, Ural turned away from the Methuselah Man, demagnetized his boots and grabbed a float-rail. Killing Strand was going to take some careful thinking, careful planning, and then perfect execution.

-50-

The space-suited party moved through the tubular section of the five-kilometer vessel, the others following Ural as he floated down the seemingly endless main corridor.

Golden Ural was plotting, calculating and considering various facts. Strand was dangerous, had proven that throughout the years. So why had the Emperor ever agreed to let the wizened dwarf out of his cage? Yes, Ural knew what the Emperor had told him. Strand had the critical knowledge to finding the genetic information hidden inside the Library Planet. Strand could likely implement the knowledge better than anyone else could as well. Afterward, the Throne Worlders as a race would be whole, able to reproduce on their own, without any further help from the submen.

“Ural,” the NSS regulator said over the helmet comm.

Ural’s head jerked inside his helmet, his musings interrupted. “Yes?” he asked.

“I…I saw movement,” the regulator said.

“I heard that,” Strand said from his helmet comm. “What kind of movement?”

“Slow down,” Ural said. “We’re slowing down.”

He used his padded gloves, grabbing the float-rail, using friction resistance and then letting go. It took time, and he checked the palm of his gloves several times just in case a burn-through threatened. Visual inspection was often the best way to prevent emergencies.

Soon, Ural, his NSS regulator, Strand and the three gunmen from the Emperor’s entourage floated stationary in the great tubular corridor. They were about halfway to the hangar bay where their thruster packs waited.

“What did you see?” Ural asked the regulator.

“Light, a bright light, and a flash of movement,” the NSS regulator said.

“Was that what you thought you saw earlier?” Strand asked Ural.

“No…” Ural said.

“Do you even know what you saw and fired at before?” asked Strand.

“You’re not the inquisitor here,” Ural said crossly, maybe more wound up than he’d realized.

“No, no, of course not,” Strand said. “It’s just…two of you claimed to have seen something—”

“I definitely saw movement,” the regulator said.

“Yes…” Strand said. “Two of you have seen something. Maybe we should try to figure out what it was exactly.”

Ural nodded. “You saw a light?” he asked.

“Just a flash and then movement like a frightened lizard trying to hide,” the regulator explained.

Ural sighed. He was beginning to dislike the derelict vessel. There was something strange going on—or an ill-timed prank. It was time to nip this or figure it out, if there was something to figure out. “Strand, are you projecting holoimages to screw with us?”

“I see,” Strand said. “Yes, that makes sense now. You think I had something to do with what you saw. No. On my word as the father of the Throne World, I have done nothing to cause whatever you saw.”

“Does he have secret equipment?” Ural asked the three gunmen.

“No,” the chief said. “On my word of honor, he does not.”

“Are you satisfied?” asked Strand.

In fact—maybe surprisingly—Ural was. He said, “But if you didn’t cause it…?”

“It would help if we knew what you saw,” Strand said.

Ural frowned. The Methuselah Man had a point. “I saw…I saw a volraptor in flight.”

“You saw a flying skeleton?”

“No, a live one, a volraptor with skin.”

“I don’t understand,” Strand said. “A live volraptor in vacuum would die in seconds.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I realize it makes no logical sense? Hell! I’ve never seen a living volraptor. Until today, I didn’t even know they existed. But I saw a live one gliding in an attack against us. When I fired—no, when the beam hit it, the volraptor disappeared as if it had been a holoimage.”

“I see…” Strand said.

“I saw a volraptor.”

“Don’t worry. I believe you.”

“You do?”

“You’re Golden Ural,” Strand said. “You’re among the most honest among us, and in that I mean the entire Throne World. It has been why the Emperor has trusted you all these years.”

Ural did not reply.

“The question is, why would a ghostly volraptor appear like that? No. Not completely ghostly, not if your beam disrupted whatever it was. That would imply your material beam could affect or disrupt it. Do you have any idea what the volraptor was? How it could be there?”

“Until now, I thought you were secretly projecting a holoimage.”

“So we can scratch that idea,” Strand said. “And I have no doubt about your mental faculties. Perhaps we should attempt to discover what your man saw, and that would help us understand what you actually saw before?”

“Yes,” Ural said. “Before we do that, though, I’m going to contact the shuttle.” He did so, questioning the two aboard. Neither the NSS agent nor Franco had seen anything unusual about the derelict from the shuttle. There were no energy or life-sign signatures except for the search party.

The information deflated Ural, as it didn’t match what he or the regulator had seen. Who could be playing tricks on them out here? He should have asked the shuttle team if any other ships had approached. But they would have told him if so.

“Is everything all right?” Strand radioed Ural.

“Yes,” Ural said. “Let’s backtrack.”

They did, floating slowly the other way, each of them but for Strand with a ready blaster.

“Do you remember where you saw the flash of light?” Ural asked the regulator.

“I’ve been watching for a certain tear in the hull,” the regulator said. “There! There’s the tear.”

They floated to it, slowing down. The tear went completely through the hull, showing stars and the main red dwarf outside.

“Could you have seen starlight and thought it was a creature?” Strand asked the regulator.

“I know the difference, and what I saw was considerably different from starlight.” The regulator looked around. “It went down that corridor-spoke.”

Ural licked his lips, inhaled and used his booted feet to shove off from the bulkhead, gliding into the spoke corridor, heading toward a pod. He led the way as a Throne World dominant should. He hated to admit it even to himself, but his heart beat faster, and his mouth began to dry out. Did he sense something ahead?

“Ah!” Strand said.

“What’s wrong?” radioed Ural.

“I saw a flash ahead of us. The regulator definitely saw something before. I urge caution, Ural.”

Ural almost said, “You would,” but he bit his tongue, holding back the comment. Instead, he magnetized his boots, attaching himself to the deck plates. He began walking down the narrow spoke-corridor toward the pod.

The others followed his example. As they moved, Strand hung back until the taller and bulkier New Men led the way.

Ural grew warier as the open pod-hatch neared. He couldn’t see anything odd except that it was dark in there. Did that indicate no hull ruptures to let in starlight? That seemed to be the case.

He tightened his grip on the blaster, steeled himself and clanked into the pod. Like the other one with the volraptor skeleton, this pod lacked hull breaches. The lamplight washing over the bulkheads showed painting on the walls—not separate portraits, but a weird mixture of colors in bizarre swirling patterns.

“Look!” a man whispered.

Ural turned, and they all must have seen it at the same time. The thing was like a floating ball of light. It pulsated sadly—yes, Ural felt sadness. Did the ball of light emanate the feeling or did it come from within himself?

“Fire.” Strand might have said it; Ural wasn’t sure.

Ural’s finger tightened on the trigger nonetheless. His blaster vibrated, sending a spear of energy into the ball of light. A fraction of a second later, four other beams drilled into the light.

The fuzzy ball pulsated, creating greater light.

“Keep firing.” That was Strand yelling the instructions.

Ural did not intend to stop firing. It would seem the others felt the same way.

The ball of light floated straight up, their beams pouring into it, and the beams lancing out the other side to scorch the bulkheads. The blast beams did not cause the thing to vanish, however. This image—or whatever—was different from the volraptor.

The ball of light pulsated more brightly, and it reached the ceiling. Without a pause, it moved through the ceiling. Their beams still drilled it, burning the ceiling. Then it was gone, taking its brightness with it, but leaving all their helmet lamps focused on the burned spot.

“Cease firing,” Ural said, as he forced his finger to release the trigger.

The others stopped.

Ural holstered his blaster and turned around. “What was that?”

No one answered.

“Strand,” Ural said, “do you have any idea what that was?”

“A ghost,” Strand said in a hoarse voice.

“A ghost image?” asked Ural.

“I don’t know,” Strand said. “It’s a mystery.”

“You’ve never heard of such a creature?”

“No,” Strand said.

Ural swallowed in a dry throat.

“We should leave this place,” the chief gunman said.

Ural was beginning to agree. This place felt…haunted, he dared think. He’d never considered himself superstitious, but there was something weird going on here.

They left the pod, floating back to the main tubular section. Ural looked for the tear the regulator had used as a signpost to this pod. Ural searched but there was no tear, no hull rip to the stars. Yet, he’d seen one before.

“Where’s the hull tear?” Ural forced himself to ask.

Space-suited searchers looked left, then right and then left again.

The regulator pointed. “It should be over there.”

“There are only whole bulkheads over there,” Ural said.

“I know that,” the regulator said. “But I saw a hull rip before. It was there. I swear it.”

“Perhaps it’s time we left the ship,” Strand said in a strained voice. “The derelict overall appears to be harmless, but there are a few anomalies taking place that we can’t explain.”

Anomalies, eh? If Ural didn’t know better, the ship was self-repairing but only doing so at “haunted” locales. “Right,” he said. “We’re leaving. Keep your blasters out. And Strand.”

“Yes?” Strand asked.

“Start thinking hard. I want an explanation for what’s happened. We’re from the Throne World. We use logic to solve problems, we don’t lose our heads because of a few freakish occurrences.”

“Agreed,” Strand said.

Once more, Ural led the way to the hangar bay. This time, he did not intend to stop until they were back in the shuttle.

-51-

Ural twisted back in his thruster pack as he flew out of the hangar bay. He stared at the derelict vessel. It had holes and tears all over the place. Did they seem less prominent than before? It almost seemed that way. The ship with its countless pods still seemed like space junk, just not as much of a wreck as before.

Could that be possible? Could a dead ship repair itself, doing so after 700 years of disrepair? Were billions of nanites, for instance, working at a molecular level to fix the 700-year-old ship? Would a new sensor scan reveal an age as old as before?

He clicked on his helmet comm. “Strand, what do you think about all this?”

“I’m glad we’re heading back,” the Methuselah Man said.

“You’ve had time to come up with some theories.”

“I know,” Strand said. “But none of them make sense to me.”

“Is the wreck haunted then?” Ural asked in a jocular tone.

“You could use that word.”

“The ship is supernatural?” Ural asked in surprise. “You really think there’s a supernatural explanation for what we’ve witnessed?”

A moment passed then another. “No. I stand corrected,” Strand said. “There is a scientific explanation for all this, even if it’s exotic and strange. You’re right, Ural. I need better equipment to analyze the vessel. Perhaps after we’re done on the Library Planet, the Emperor will allow me a team to reexamine the former zoo ship.”

“You still think that’s what it was?”

“I do,” Strand said. “But, since it’s here, and since seeing that ball-of-light creature…I’m going to withhold further judgment. I suspect that what is about to take place at the Library Planet is going to be more important to us than what’s happening here.”

“You think the flotilla already went there?”

“I know you believe that,” Strand said.

Ural nodded, and he quit twisting his neck to stare at the derelict vessel. A couple of strange events had taken place on it. The creatures had seemed ghostly. That was the best explanation that he could come up with. Would the Emperor be satisfied with that? He didn’t think so. Thus, he would have to think of a different way of saying it. They’d seen wraiths of ancient creatures, resembling their lingering spirits or something else as farcical. Yet that could not be. The so-called supernatural was, by definition, impossible. Thus, something else must be going on.

The derelict could not harm them, though, especially on the second planet. No one had been hurt while they explored the ship. So, these wraiths or ghosts could not affect the expedition to the Library Planet.

Soon, the group slowed and hung in space around the shuttle. By twos, they used the airlock, entering the vessel, taking off their thruster packs, spacesuits and—

Ural stretched. It felt good to be out of the suit. Before the others had finished, he hurried down the corridor, entering the piloting chamber.

Franco stood near the polarized window, staring at the derelict vessel. The NSS agent was reading a pamphlet, although he lowered it to give greetings.

Ural noticed Franco seemed glued to the polarized window. He told the NSS agent to take a break.

The man headed for the shuttle restroom.

Ural approached Franco. There was artificial gravity in the shuttle, so he moved normally.

“Quite the spectacle, eh?” asked Ural.

Franco jumped and whirled around like a guilty man. The subman was pale and looked frightened. “H-Hello,” he said.

Franco had not said, “Hello, Master,” which was a breach of protocol. Ural considered striking the subman for it but decided against it. He pointed at the great drifting derelict in high orbit around the third planet.

“Does the wreck bother you?” Ural asked.

Franco swallowed audibly. “It’s…it’s wrong, somehow.” The subman shook his head. “I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“Try,” Ural said, hoping to get more information before Strand or the regulator appeared and distracted the subman.

“It shimmers,” Franco said. “I see…things moving outside it and then climbing back into the ship.”

Ural stepped near Franco. The subman shrank back. Ural sniffed his breath. It was normal. “Have you ingested any drugs?”

“No, Master,” Franco said.

Ural nodded. “You claim to have seen these things?”

“Yes, Master. I did see them. The ship—”

“The derelict, you mean?”

“Yes, the derelict is shifting, adjusting just the slightest bit. I’ve been watching, trying to catch it when it happens. I can’t, but then I realize there aren’t as many hull rents as before.”

“That’s impossible,” Ural said. Yet—

“It should be,” Franco agreed.

Through the polarized window, Ural stared at the derelict. Something was happening out there. The evidence was too strong now. Franco had seen what Ural had seen, and reported independently. Could the derelict come to haunt the mission on the second planet? He didn’t think so, but once he returned to the Emperor, he was going to demand a second expedition here with the best equipment, just to make sure about all this.

“You’re relieved,” Ural told Franco. “Go to my quarters and await my instructions.”

Franco peered at the mighty derelict one more time. Then he crossed the control cabin, hurrying out the hatch.

-52-

Upon the shuttle’s return, Star Cruiser Paralos left the third planet and used its star-drive jump to arrive several million kilometers from the second planet of the system. It arrived in time to see another star cruiser maneuver across the planetary horizon to the other side of the winter world, which indicated that the rest of the flotilla had left the Oort cloud as Strand had suggested.

The Library Planet was far from the cool red dwarf: 310,000,000 kilometers, more than two AUs. There were five moons: two of them the size of Luna, one of them half that size and the other two small, like Phobos around Mars. The moons created tidal heating in the planet, caused by their competing gravitational pulls against it, creating interior friction.

The planet was 1.47 times the size of Earth, making it so someone on the surface would weigh about one and half times as much. Unlike the third planet, this one was rocky with few metallic ores located in the planetary crust. Because of its distance from the red dwarf and the low amount of ambient heat, the Library Planet was a cold Niflheim world, the surface made of frozen volatiles. Substances that would be liquid or gases on Earth: water, ammonia, methane and nitrogen, were all frozen solid here. An exposed man teleported onto the surface would instantly turn into an ice cube. For all that, due to the tidal heat, there was an ocean of liquid water deep under the ice sheets.

Golden Ural was on the bridge as Samos’s crew collected data. There was no evidence of planetary, moon or orbital defenses. There was no evidence of ancient or modern ships or wrecks. If one did not know better, the Library Planet appeared as simply another bare, lifeless world. It was the same for the moons.

“Strand is sure this is the correct star system?” Samos asked.

“The planet is forbidding,” Ural replied. “I imagine Strand has already told the Emperor how to reach the Builder tunnels. The Emperor has not yet confided in me how we’re going to do it, though.”

“Nor to me,” Samos said. “Helm, take us around the planet. Let’s join the others.”

The Paralos increased velocity, negotiating past the largest moon as it headed for the Library Planet. Soon enough, the Paralos reached low orbital space, slowing its velocity as it spotted the other five star cruisers.

They held a geostationary orbit above an equatorial location.

“Sensors, what do you see down there?” Samos asked.

The sensor officer manipulated his panel, and his head jerked back.

“Well?” asked Samos.

The officer swiveled around. “Captain, a large shuttle has landed on the ice. I also detected a metallic object near the shuttle. I can’t tell if the object is an entrance to deeper levels. Such, however, is my supposition.”

“The Emperor sent an exploratory shuttle already?” asked Samos, directing the question at Ural. “I would have thought they’d wait until we gave our report about the derelict.”

Ural nodded, silently agreeing.

It appeared Samos would say more, but he didn’t.

“Captain,” the communications officer said. “There’s a message from Artaxerxes Par. He says it’s urgent and for your ears only.”

Samos glanced at Ural before he picked up an earpiece, holding it against his left ear. Samos listened, frowned and glanced sharply at Ural. “It will be done,” he said curtly. With that, Samos set aside the earpiece, stood and drew a blaster, aiming it at Ural. “I’m sorry to—you’re under arrest, Golden Ural.”

“On whose orders?” asked Ural, who felt surreal but also unsurprised.

“Yes. That is an interesting question. Artaxerxes says on the Emperor’s order.”

Ural considered that. It didn’t make sense. “Why doesn’t the Emperor give the order himself?”

“We’re going to find out, as you, Strand and I are heading to the Shapur.” Samos grew thoughtful. “Do I have your word as the victor of the Battle of Gomez System that you won’t attempt to attack any of us on the Paralos and shuttle or attempt to escape?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Ural said, “You do.”

Samos holstered the blaster. “Then come with me. This sounds strange, and it’s best if we get to the bottom of it as quickly as possible.”

***

It was a tense shuttle ride. Ural sat with Franco while Methuselah Man Strand sat across from them, with the three gunmen of the Emperor’s entourage watching all of them.

“Do you know what this is about?” Ural asked Strand.

The wizened Methuselah Man looked up and silently shook his head.

“Oh come on, you must know something,” Ural said with heat.

“Shut up for a minute, why don’t you? I’m gathering my…you wouldn’t understand the concept. Something odd is afoot…” Strand glanced at the three gunmen, stern superiors with eagle gazes and sharp, handsome features. Strand shrugged. “Wait and see, Golden Ural. This could be interesting, or it could be our death sentences.”

“Why yours?” asked Ural, surprised.

Strand grinned like a hunting wolf about to seize its prey. “A shuttle has landed on the surface. Artaxerxes is giving orders and doing so in the Emperor’s name. He has demanded our arrests. No one is asking what we found at the derelict ship. Clearly, something critical has occurred in our absence. Now, why don’t you shut your yap and let me prepare for the struggle that is obviously about to come. Frankly, as far as you’re capable of it, I suggest you do the same.”

Ural turned away. Strand clearly spoke about a Throne World power play. Ural’s gut tightened as he realized the Methuselah Man might not be his primary enemy. Was he going to die in the next few hours? Ural inhaled sharply. Soon—he was going to find out soon.

Damn, but he hated waiting.

-53-

No one met them in the Shapur’s hangar bay, which was more than strange. Samos asked for instructions over the comm. Then he, five of his most trusted men and the three from the Emperor’s entourage escorted Ural, Franco and Strand down the Shapur’s corridors.

Soon enough, they reached a large audience chamber. In it were the other four star-cruiser captains with several of their men each, the Emperor’s main advisors headed by Elder Marius Keen, with a dozen royal guardsmen.

Elder-Advisor Marius Keen was an older dominant, with wrinkles around his eyes and a slight droop to his shoulders. He was shorter than the other Throne Worlders, and, unlike any of them, had a beard. It wasn’t much of a beard: a scraggly wispy thing that an ancient Confucius-style scholar might have possessed. He was dressed in a long scarlet robe, perhaps to add to the conceit of ancient wisdom. The royal guardsmen to a man had harsh scowls, with purple sashes from the right shoulder to the left hip. Their gun hands did not stray far from their holstered blasters.

All of those present were standing and armed. Only Ural, Strand and Franco lacked weaponry.

The leanest of them was Artaxerxes Par with his facial scars. He stood at the head of the chamber, and when he saw the prisoners, he raised his hands for attention. The quiet talk near him became silence as the others waited for Artaxerxes to comment. He did not disappoint, and pointed at Ural, saying, “Guards, take him back to the hangar bay and kill him. Those are the Emperor’s express orders.”

Shocked silence greeted his words. None of the guardsmen moved to execute the command.

“Guards,” Artaxerxes said. “Those are Imperial orders. Now do as I’ve commanded.”

Golden Ural grew aware of a sensation of heat at the back of his head. He turned and noticed Strand staring at him fixedly. The evil dwarf of a Methuselah Man seemed to be trying to impart a message to him. Did Strand think they were allies joined by duress? With a start, Ural wondered if that might be a good idea. Perhaps due to his New Man nature, he spun on a dime, as the ancient saying went—emotionally, anyway—reversing all his hatred and distrust of Strand and deciding to accept the wizened schemer as an ally of the moment.

At that point, three royal guardsmen stepped up to Ural from behind, two of them grabbing his arms.

“Just a moment,” Ural said, surprised at how calm he sounded. He felt lightheaded and surreal, realizing he might soon be dead, but he would do this with dignity and resist to the finish.

“No!” Artaxerxes said in a ringing voice. “The Emperor has spoken. His loyal guardsmen will now obey his command.”

Ural tore his right arm free of a guard’s grasp. He forced a harsh laugh, saying, “You seem in a great hurry to kill me, Artaxerxes Par. Yet, we have no confirmation of these so-called ‘orders.’ You’re afraid, afraid because your deed thirty years ago has finally come back to haunt you.”

“This isn’t about me,” Artaxerxes said. “This is about your crass disloyalty to the Emperor. Guards, take Ural to the hangar bay and kill him.”

“Artaxerxes the cowardly back-shooter,” Ural said. “I know you fear me, and this is about you. Still I say, what confirmation do we have the Emperor gave such a surprising and unlikely order?”

“Here now,” Samos said. “I don’t know why the Emperor would give such an order to Artaxerxes, but we know he’s no coward. Hell, Artaxerxes Par is the boldest among us and has never shown fear.”

“You’re wrong,” Ural said. “Over thirty years ago Artaxerxes and six others murdered my brother Oran. I have proof, and because of this proof, Artaxerxes fears me and has engineered my death. Perhaps he’s slain the Emperor as well and now attempts to usurp the throne.”

“You’re mad,” Artaxerxes said with heat. “You dare to accuse me of such foul deeds?”

“I dare because I speak the truth,” Ural said. “You lust for the throne. How did you slay the Emperor? With a knife thrust in his back?”

Artaxerxes stared at Ural, soon glancing at the assembled leaders and their men. “Ural is a traitor, trying to drag others down with him. I received the Emperor’s order as the Paralos came into view around the planetary horizon.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Strand said in a steady, powerful voice. “Perhaps you could clarify your statement. How did you receive the order?”

The assembled Throne Worlders stared at the wizened Methuselah Man, the little dwarf that spoke with such sure authority. A few looked at Artaxerxes Par, doubt evident in their eyes and bearing.

“What does it matter how I received the order?” demanded Artaxerxes.

“Who says it matters?” Strand asked. “I’m curious. However, now that you ask, it is quite important. Critical, even. You are, after all, claiming to speak in the Emperor’s voice.”

“It’s not a claim,” Artaxerxes said sternly. “I am speaking in the Imperial voice. The Emperor granted me that privilege by ordering me to do so.”

“Of course it’s a claim,” Strand said. “Your word doesn’t make a thing so. What if you said, ‘Fly, my old friend?’ Could I then fly? No. That’s ridiculous. Now, what evidence do you have to support your outrageous claim?”

“Firstly,” Artaxerxes said, as he raised his chin, “I don’t have to answer you, as you lack authority to demand such questions. Secondly, you’re not my old friend. Thirdly, you’re a devious schemer who has spun his web against us for far too long. Fourthly and lastly, the Emperor instructed me to put you back in solitary confinement where you belong.”

Strand barked a short laugh. “Isn’t this a pretty sight? Frightened and nervous, Artaxerxes Par is trying to take command of the expedition through sheer gall. He’s literally telling the royal guardsmen to kill the Emperor’s favorite cousin and former commander of many a notable and victorious battlefleet. If that isn’t enough, brash Artaxerxes is trying to murder the father of the Throne World, the one man able to fix your gravest defect. Those don’t sound like Imperial commands. Either he’s making them up himself—or they are those an enemy and intriguer would spin to divide us.”

Strand obviously hoped to give Artaxerxes a way to back out, to acknowledge the possibility the order was faked—but he did not seem inclined to do so. “How dare you accuse me of being an enemy of the State,” Artaxerxes said, “when you’re the literal enemy of us all?”

“You’re not a witless fool,” said Strand. “Nor should you imply that we are. I never said that.”

“I just heard you say it.”

“You did not,” Strand said. “I accused you of being a gullible dupe to the hidden enemy. There’s a difference, you know.”

Ural knew that Strand was giving Artaxerxes a second opportunity to adjust his position, to back away from the brink of murder, regardless of the truth. But—

With a snarl, Artaxerxes bulled into the crowd, heading for Strand as others moved out of his way.

Ural tore his other arm free and hurried to intercept. Strand had helped him. It was time to help Strand.

Artaxerxes stopped short of Strand as Ural planted himself before him. The lean dominant’s right hand dropped to his holstered blaster. “Move aside, dead man, before I kill you myself.”

Ural sneered. “Look at this. Artaxerxes Par plays a bold game indeed. You never did answer the question. How did you murder the Emperor? How many others here have sworn to back you in this play? What gives you the daring to attempt this, eh?”

With another snarl, Artaxerxes drew his blaster.

Expecting just that, Ural lunged, catching the wrist, holding it so the weapon could not rise high enough to fire at him.

“Guards,” Artaxerxes said in a hoarse voice.

“Hold,” said Strand.

The two guardsmen that had started moving now stopped, seeming confused.

Ural continued to pin down the wrist. He spoke in a winded voice, asking, “Why can’t the Emperor give his supposed kill order in person? Why can’t we hear the recording to confirm it? Because you already slew him? Because there was no order?”

“No,” Artaxerxes wheezed. “I have no idea why. Take your hand off me.”

Ural maintained his grip as Artaxerxes began to attempt to wrench his wrist free.

“Wait!” Samos shouted. “This is wrong. Artaxerxes, look at me. We’re friends. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Artaxerxes ceased struggling as he stared at Samos.

“I ask you to holster your weapon,” Samos said. “Please, holster it so we can discuss this like statesmen instead of squabbling like ruffians dividing loot.”

Without looking at Ural, Artaxerxes studied the others around him. “Yes,” he said.

“He’s given his word,” Samos said.

Ural knew that statement was for him. He gambled on Artaxerxes’s honor, released the wrist and stepped back.

For a wild moment, rage flared in Artaxerxes’s eyes and his tense body seemed like a coiled spring about to unleash, raise the blaster and fire.

He’s going to kill me, Ural realized. I hope he doesn’t blast me in the gut and make a mess of it.

The moment passed, however, as Artaxerxes regained control of his passions. He holstered the blaster and forced his hunched shoulders to relax. Then he raised his head to regard the others once again. “I’ve spoken the truth. The Emperor asked me to head this meeting. You others know I speak the truth because the Emperor summoned the rest of you to attend. Why else are you here?”

Several captains and advisors nodded agreement.

Strand began to laugh. He pointed at the assembled Throne Worlders and laughed louder, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he saw.

“Have a care, Methuselah Man,” Artaxerxes said. “You’re next on the chopping block.”

Strand choked back his laughter, shaking his head more. “Artaxerxes Par, Samos of Thetis, the Elder-Advisor and you others…you’re supposed to be among the deadliest soldiers in existence. Instead, your enemy is playing you for fools, dividing you against each other and giving them the freedom they need to accomplish their goal.”

“You’ve alluded to that before,” Samos said. “It’s time you explained that. Who is this hidden enemy?”

“A shuttle has landed on the planet, right?” asked Strand.

“So…?” asked Samos.

Strand turned to Artaxerxes. “Who took the shuttle down to the planet?”

“How should I know?” Artaxerxes said.

Strand turned to the Elder-Advisor. “Who took the shuttle down?”

The older man stroked his scraggly beard. “You raise an interesting point, Methuselah Man. I don’t know who.”

Strand raised his voice. “Does any among us know who gave the order to send the shuttle to the planet?”

No one responded.

“Isn’t that interesting?” asked Strand. “Here we are arguing and threatening to kill each other and someone has taken a shuttle down to the planet. Does any among us know who departed on the shuttle?”

A royal guard spoke up. “I saw several inner guards take a hooded prisoner through the corridors. To pass me, I needed to know their destination. They said they were taking him to the shuttle. I thought it was to Lord Samos’s shuttle, which I assumed was on the way. Now, I suppose it must have been the shuttle that left earlier.”

“Which guards?” Strand asked sharply.

“Shane and Tarl, inner guardsmen as I’ve said. I did not inquire about the prisoner.”

“So, we have several mysteries,” Strand said. “We have a mystery shuttle with a mystery crew landing on the surface. I doubt Shane and Tarl did this on their own.”

“That would be unthinkable,” the Elder-Advisor said. “The inner guardsmen are fiercely loyal to the Emperor. They would not act apart from his will.”

“I submit these two most certainly did,” Strand said.

“I would need proof of this,” the Elder-Advisor said.

“Hold on to your thought, most learned Elder-Advisor,” Strand said. “Consider that while Shane and Tarl were taking their prisoner to the shuttle that Artaxerxes Par received a message from the Emperor. Other captains received messages from the Emperor. Tell me. Why was the Emperor sending these messages while a mystery shuttle landed on the Library Planet? How do we know any of these messages was real?”

The Elder-Advisor stroked his beard, shaking his head.

Strand glanced sharply at Ural.

Ural got the point. “We must ask the Emperor,” he said. “We must set the record straight.”

Strand pointed at Ural. “For once, I agree with him, and you all know how seldom that happens.”

“…Yes,” Samos said slowly. “That sounds like good advice. But we can’t all go to see the Emperor.”

“Then let the captains, chief advisors, Ural and me check on the Emperor,” Strand said.

Artaxerxes’s nostrils flared. “This is confusing and strange. But I will follow the consensus. Yes, because of the mystery shuttle, I agree.”

-54-

As Ural marched down the corridors with the others— he and Strand being the only ones unarmed—he would have liked to interrogate the Methuselah Man. Strand seemed to know what was going on.

Or he gives the appearance of knowing, Ural realized. Is that one of his powers? Or does the evil dwarf actually have a clue? Is he part of the deception? How can I possibly trust him? Though he did keep Artaxerxes from having me murdered.

Ural noticed several of the captains whispering together. No doubt, they made plans as they discussed contingences. One of the advisors did likewise with the Elder-Advisor. Artaxerxes whispered to Samos. The white-haired, stocky dominant of Thetis listened carefully.

Might Artaxerxes have really murdered the Emperor? Even though Ural had accused the man of it—mostly in order to sow doubt—such a murder seemed unlikely, and yet, that would match much of what had happened. There was turmoil in the flotilla, and that turmoil could erupt into bloodshed at any moment.

Ural frowned. Who had left in the shuttle to go down to the winter world? He would dearly like to know. Who was missing from the captains and advisors? No one was the answer. Who did that leave then as a possibility? That was the bizarre thing. It didn’t leave anyone he knew of as a reasonable suspect.

Perhaps there was an unknown player in this game.

The group reached the first set of guards at a large hatch in an equally large corridor.

“Turn back,” the group leader guard said. “The Emperor ordered us to admit no one into his personal section of the ship.”

Artaxerxes stepped up, by the action claiming leadership. “We have reason to suspect foul play. We’re worried for the Emperor’s safety.”

“Impossible,” the group leader said. “No one has passed to enter this way.”

“To enter? Then who left?” asked Strand.

“Eh?” asked the group leader.

“You heard me,” Strand said. “You said no one entered. Who departed?”

The group leader frowned. “A trio left over an hour ago.”

“Who?” Strand demanded.

“Shane and Tarl of the inner guards, and a hooded prisoner,” the group leader said.

“Was that all?”

The group leader frowned more deeply. “I just told you—”

“No other people?” asked Strand, interrupting.

“People?” asked the group leader.

“Women, perhaps,” said Strand.

“Oh,” the group leader said, “come to think of it, there was a harem girl, but I wouldn’t know which one.”

“Thank you,” Strand said with evident satisfaction, as if confirming a theory.

Artaxerxes glanced back at Strand. “Why could this harem girl possibly matter?”

Strand shrugged.

“What do you know, Methuselah Man?” Artaxerxes demanded.

“Considerably more than you, I should think,” Strand replied.

Lean Artaxerxes scowled, twisting his facial scars, and he tensed, perhaps to rush Strand and cuff him good and hard.

Deciding to stick by his ally-under-distress, Ural moved subtly nearer the Methuselah Man, determined to protect him from the other.

Artaxerxes’s eyes narrowed. He turned to the group leader. “Take us to the Emperor at once. There are mysteries afoot. Why else do you think the flotilla captains and advisors are here to seek the Emperor’s wisdom?”

The group leader picked up a hand unit, speaking into it. He waited and listened to an answer. He looked up, “The Emperor is asleep, leaving orders that no one is to disturb him.”

“Fool!” Artaxerxes said. “Can’t you see that’s a ruse put into place by others? The Emperor needs our help. It’s obvious there has been foul play.”

“Artaxerxes Par is correct,” Strand said in a compelling voice. “Will you stand on protocol?” he asked the group leader, “leaving the Emperor to die alone in his chambers?”

The group leader scowled, nodding slowly. “I will agree to let you pass, but on one condition only. You must all put aside your weapons. In this part of the ship, only the Emperor’s royal guards go armed.”

“There’s no time for that,” Artaxerxes said.

The group leader drew his blaster. The other two guards did likewise. “That’s my condition,” the group leader said.

“Fine,” Stocky Samos said. “It’s reasonable.” He unbuckled his blaster belt, letting it drop to the floor.

Several other captains did likewise.

Artaxerxes Par exhaled angrily, and unbuckled his blaster belt. The advisors were the last to do so.

The throng, with the guards at the head, hurried down the corridors, picking up seven more guardsmen along the way. Finally, they reached the royal quarters, the senior group leader guard banging on it for admittance because it was locked.

The hatch did not open.

The senior group leader, an older man with gray flecks in his hair, took out a device, examining it. Finally, he motioned to the other royal guardsmen. They drew their blasters, aiming them at the captains and advisors. Then the senior group leader manipulated the device. The hatch opened. The senior group leader and several guards rushed within, followed by the star-cruiser captains, Ural and Strand and then more guards with ready blasters.

The senior group leader halted with a gasp of horror. In seconds, the others saw what he did and were equally horrified.

The Emperor was sprawled at the foot of his cot, one side of his chest gone, with blood and gore pooled on the floor and soaked up by a rug. His eyes were glazed and staring.

“The Emperor is dead,” Artaxerxes Par said. “Someone has murdered him.”

Laughter began, mocking laughter.

The packed throng turned to stare at Methuselah Man Strand. He was shaking his head and laughing in his mocking way.

“How dare you laugh,” Artaxerxes snarled. “Did you engineer the Emperor’s death?”

With a seeming effort of will, Strand choked off his laughter. He continued to shake his head, however.

“What’s wrong with you?” Artaxerxes demanded.

“Wrong with me?” asked Strand, with humor in his voice. “It’s what’s wrong with all of you, that you’re all so easily duped. Can’t you see that isn’t the Emperor, but a droid body?”

“You’re mad.” Artaxerxes glanced at the corpse and then back at Strand. “What’s a droid body?”

“That is, you simpleton,” Strand said, pointing. “I finally see what has happened. It was cleverly done, and it might have worked if you didn’t have me around.”

“Make sense, you vile dwarf,” Artaxerxes shouted.

“Move aside,” Strand said, as he headed toward the bloody corpse.

“No,” Samos said, grabbing the Methuselah Man by the shoulders. “You won’t desecrate the Emperor’s corpse.”

“Let him go,” Ural told Samos.

“Don’t listen to him,” Artaxerxes said. “The Emperor gave me orders to kill Golden Ural. I plan to see that through. Give me your blaster,” he told a guard.

“Belay that order,” Strand said commandingly. “The Emperor never gave such an order.”

“I saw the Emperor on a comm screen,” Artaxerxes said. “He personally told me to eliminate his traitorous cousin.”

“If the Emperor did tell you that,” Strand said, “it only means that he was already a prisoner.”

“A prisoner?” shouted the Elder-Advisor. “He’s dead. There’s the Emperor.”

“Unhand me,” Strand told Samos. “Let me show you the truth.”

Confused and obviously troubled, Samos of Thetis glanced at Ural. Ural nodded, and the stocky soldier from Thetis released the Methuselah Man.

“No,” Artaxerxes said. “We must—”

“Shut up and learn,” Strand said, as he approached the corpse. “I know each of you want to use this moment to take charge in the Emperor’s place. But it’s likely the Emperor is still alive, prisoner to our enemy. If you make your move for power now, Artaxerxes Par, you’ll either fail or start a civil war on the Throne World.”

A grim silence filled the chamber. It was possible the Methuselah Man’s words had gotten them all thinking about power and power politics.

“Knife,” Strand said, who stood before the corpse. “I need a knife. You, guard, give me yours.”

The guard began drawing his knife before he turned and looked to the senior group leader.

“Go ahead,” the senior group leader said. “Let’s see if Strand knows anything or not.”

“There you go,” Strand said, accepting the knife hilt-first. He sidestepped the pooled blood and reached the corpse’s head. He hacked at the head, hacked again and sawed. “This droid substance is tougher than you would believe.” Finally, however, Strand peeled back what should have been skull bone. It was more plastic and maneuverable than bone, though. He yanked, sawed and revealed what looked like a circuit board underneath the skull.

“It’s an android!” Artaxerxes shouted.

“Of a kind, but not exactly,” Strand said. “It’s what I called it before, a droid body. It was made for this express purpose: as a ruse, a diversion.”

“How do you know any of this?” Ural asked.

“Oh, ho, we have a clever one among us, do we?” Strand asked. “I was wondering if any of you was going to get around to asking that. I used these in the past. More to the point, Lisa Meyers is extremely fond of using them.”

“You’re saying Meyers is here?” asked Artaxerxes.

“Must you continue to play the dolt?” asked Strand. “Of course she isn’t here. Clearly, though, one of her spies is.”

“Who?” asked Artaxerxes.

Strand held up an index finger. “That’s what we must determine next. I imagine the spy flew the shuttle to the surface, and I imagine the spy has kidnaped the Emperor.”

“How do you know that?” demanded Artaxerxes.

“Because I listened to the group leader earlier,” Strand said. “The inner guardsmen Shane and Tarl escorted a captive, a hooded prisoner, along with a harem girl. My guess is the prisoner was the drugged Emperor: a future hostage for our good behavior.”

“Who gave me orders to kill Ural?” asked Artaxerxes.

“I’m thinking that thing did the ordering before they ‘killed’ it,” Strand said, pointing at the droid body.

“Then…?” asked Artaxerxes.

“This was engineered to buy the spy time,” Strand said.

“Do you know who Meyers sent as a spy?” Ural asked.

Strand pursed his lips as his eyes narrowed. “I think we’re going to find out soon enough. I know many of you distrust me, but I do have a suggestion. The captains should return to their star cruisers so we can act decisively and so our enemy cannot destroy the leadership at one blow.”

“We need a temporary leader,” Artaxerxes said. “I’m up to it.”

“No, you’re not,” Strand said. “You’re already thinking about taking over for the Emperor. You’re too ambitious, and the enemy has already badly fooled you once by telling you what you wanted to hear.”

“Let Ural guide us from the Shapur,” Samos said. “He won the Battle of Gomez System, and he’s the Emperor’s cousin. Whom did the Emperor send to the derelict vessel? Golden Ural.”

“You’re siding with the Methuselah Man?” Artaxerxes asked in outrage.

“We’re far from home,” Samos said. “We only have six star cruisers. We need unity. If the Emperor dies, we can jockey for power then. Until that happens, I believe we should work together against Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers. We know Ural has handled power and gladly stepped aside before, when the Emperor decreed it so.”

Artaxerxes Par stared hard at Samos. At last, the scarred dominant grunted. “I’m for unity, and I’ll agree if Ural takes back his horrific charge against me earlier.”

Ural calculated fast. “I spoke hastily earlier. I have…I’m still investigating Oran’s murder.”

“I never killed Oran or had anything to do with it,” Artaxerxes said. “And because I wish for unity, I accept your apology.”

Ural almost shot back that he hadn’t given an apology. He decided this wasn’t the moment to argue about it, though.

“We must send shuttles down to the planet,” the Elder-Advisor said.

“Not so fast,” Strand said. “First, we must discover the Emperor’s whereabouts and status. I’m certain he’s on the landed shuttle or with the traitors, those the spy found among us.”

“Who is the spy?” Artaxerxes asked. “You must know.”

“Asking me more than once won’t change my original answer,” Strand said. “Captains, I suggest you hurry to your star cruisers. Guards, if you like, you can assemble a rescue team. Golden Ural, I think you should hurry to the bridge and call the landed shuttle.”

Ural eyed the cunning dwarf, wondering if Strand was secretly working with the spy. Who was the spy? Whom had Lisa Meyers sent against them—if Strand was correct about her? He was eager to find out and relieved that he’d escaped a sentence of death.

-55-

By the time Ural sat in the captain’s chair on the main bridge of the Shapur, he had a good idea about the identity of the spy. He wondered if Strand did as well. Unfortunately, the two of them hadn’t had time to discuss it privately.

The Elder-Advisor stood on one side of the captain’s chair and Methuselah Man Strand on the other. Several inner-chamber royal guardsmen lined the back area of the bridge, standing between the various stations.

“I suggest you wait to call the shuttle until all the captains are on their ships,” Strand told Ural.

“The Emperor’s person is critical,” the Elder-Advisor said. “You must call at once.”

“That sounds good for the record,” Strand said. “Is your suggestion the best course, however?”

“Do you think the flotilla is more important than the Emperor?” the Elder-Advisor asked.

“Obviously the flotilla is more important,” Strand said. “Or do you hold the Emperor’s person as more important than the fate of the Empire? And before you answer, remember that it won’t please the Emperor if you sound like an ass-licker—unless that’s what you are and want everyone to know.”

The Elder-Advisor did not answer, but he did peer at Strand in a shrewd and thoughtful manner.

“You have something to say?” asked Strand.

“I’m wondering about your part in all this,” the Elder-Advisor said. “Are you the spy’s secret confederate, working from the inside?”

“Samos of Thetis has reported that he’s back on the Paralos,” the communications officer said.

“He’s the last one,” Ural said. “It’s time. Hail the shuttle landed on the planet.”

“Sir,” the comm officer said shortly. “Javed Kir of the Cambyses is replying from the shuttle.”

The Cambyses was the name of Artaxerxes’s star cruiser. Javed Kir belonged to Artaxerxes’s household, and he was one of the names in Ural’s leather-bound notebook, the name he’d underlined the other day as a possible suspect for murdering Oran.

Ural hid his surprise, saying, “Put him on the main screen.”

The screen wavered and Javed Kir appeared, obviously sitting in the shuttle’s control cabin. Javed was golden-skinned and lean like most of those born on the Throne World. There was something disturbingly odd about his eyes, dark orbs with a hypnotic taint to them.

“Golden Ural,” Javed said in an emotionless voice. “This is a surprise.”

Ural nodded inwardly. Perhaps this was why the man had looked at him with fearful eyes the other day. It hadn’t had anything to do with Oran’s murder, but the man’s traitorous intent.

“Why have you taken a shuttle down to the Library Planet?” Ural asked.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Javed said, maintaining his emotionless and inflectionless manner.

“I’m not dead,” Ural said. “I’m ready to order a missile strike, though, one at the landed shuttle. Are you ready to die, Javed Kir?”

The man blinked slowly, saying, “The Emperor ordered you slain. You should be dead.”

“The Emperor is dead,” Ural said.

Once more, Javed Kir blinked slowly, and his mouth twisted into a demented smile completely at odds with his emotionless voice. “No, the Emperor is very much alive.”

“Is he in your care?” asked Ural.

Javed stared before he shook his head, the crazy smile draining away. “The Emperor left the shuttle. He went outside with Shane and Tarl.”

“And who else?”

“If you launch the missile strike,” Javed said. “Shane and Tarl will kill the Emperor.”

“You’re wrong,” Ural said. “The Emperor is already dead. I saw his corpse in his bedchamber.”

“No. That was a droid double.”

Despite his growing impatience, Ural raised an eyebrow.

“Just a moment,” Javed said, as he leaned forward and tapped a panel. “Ah. Venna would like a word with you. Are you ready to receive?”

Ural closed his eyes, fearing this moment. Venna was Lisa Meyers’ spy.

“Are you ready?” Javed asked again.

“Just a moment,” Strand said. “Golden Ural, if I could make a suggestion?”

Ural nodded.

“Add a Class Three-A filter to the communications,” Strand whispered.

Ural pointed at the comm officer. “Did you hear that?”

“No, sir,” the comm officer said.

“Tell him,” Ural said.

Strand went to the comm station, telling the officer what he’d told Ural.

“Done,” the officer said shortly.

On the main screen, Javed’s image and the shuttle background changed, becoming darker.

“I’m ready,” Ural told Javed. “Patch her through.”

Javed grinned nastily as he pressed a switch and looked up. His image wavered.

In its place, Venna appeared. She wore a heavy spacesuit minus the helmet. A tight cap hid her glorious hair. On the front of the cap at her forehead a familiar ruby glittered. It glittered more as Venna stared at Ural.

“Are you ready for this?” Venna asked in a sensual purr.

Ural glanced at the Methuselah Man, who had returned to stand by the captain’s chair.

“It’s a trademark Spacer ruby,” Strand whispered as he leaned near. “Lisa Meyers loves using them. It has a hypnotic effect, more powerful on some than others.”

“Is that the Methuselah Man talking to you?” Venna asked.

“Never mind about him,” Ural said. “What have you done to the Emperor?”

“Ah, Strand told you to use a filter. I should have realized. Well, it was worth another try.” Venna inhaled, as she seemed to switch mental gears. “Since you ask about the Emperor, you must already know that I’ve taken him with me. If you strike the shuttle, if you send any shuttles down after us, the Emperor dies.”

“How did you convince Shane and Tarl to aid you in such treachery?” Ural asked.

Venna laughed in a sultry manner. “If I would have had the chance alone with you, it would be you helping me, Ural darling. Don’t you want to lay with me? Don’t you want to entwine in love?”

“Don’t stare at the ruby or her eyes for too long,” Strand warned. “Even with the filter, they’ll have an effect.”

Ural nodded, avoiding doing so. The trouble was that he still longed to stare into Venna’s eyes. She was right. He kept thinking about how she’d looked that day on the corridor floor, her wonderful charms in full view for him to see. If he could get her alone—

“Ow!” Ural cried, rubbing his shoulder, turning and seeing Strand put away a slender device. “What did you do to me?”

“Shocked you,” Strand said. “I told you not to stare, and the filter is helping, but she clearly attached her hooks into you before this.”

It was on Ural’s lips to say that he didn’t know what Strand was talking about, but he was beginning to understand all too well.

“Where are you?” he asked Venna.

“We’re in the tunnels, darling. I’ve used a relay back to the shuttle. It’s dark down here and quite cold. If I leave the Emperor in his present state, he’ll freeze to death in minutes.”

“Let me talk to him,” Ural said.

Venna laughed, it was such a beautiful sound, and her teeth were so white and tantalizing.

“She’s using sex as a weapon,” Strand warned. “That is what lets me know Venna is a Lisa Meyers agent.”

“How did you arrive on the Throne World?” Ural asked Venna.

“Oh, darling…” Venna said. “It’s a secret. But if you truly want to know, come down alone and we’ll rut like dogs until you force me to tell you.”

Ural turned away. She’s a spy. She’s an enemy. She has her hooks in you. You are Golden Ural. No one can control you, not even the luscious sexpot on the screen.

Steeling himself, he regarded her, saying, “You’ll never leave the Library Planet alive.”

“Of course I will, darling. It won’t be on your star cruiser, but I will leave.”

“Lisa Meyers is coming here?”

Venna laughed, with a gleam in her luscious eyes.

“How do you plan on returning the Emperor to us?” Ural asked.

“Once I’m gone, you can come and get him.”

“What happens to Javed Kir?”

“What do you care?” Venna frowned. “But you do care. I wonder why. Tell me why, Ural darling.”

“Because—” Ural cried out again, rubbing his shoulder once more. “Quit doing that,” he told Strand.

“Once you start obeying her orders, it gets easier and easier until you’re her slave,” Strand said.

Ural looked up at the main screen at a listening Venna. “Is she really a Lisa Meyers agent?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Strand said. “Either that or a Spacer agent.”

Ural watched Venna’s reaction. She didn’t have one. “What if I don’t care that you slay the Emperor? What if I want to stop you more than anything else?”

“Darling, I know you better than that. Remember, I’ve searched your secret heart’s desire. I’ve done the same to others. It’s why Shane, Tarl and Javed Kir joined me.”

“You’re having a group orgy?” Ural asked in a hoarse voice.

Venna laughed. “Poor Ural, you just told the others what you really want, and that’s me. Shane and Javed Kir don’t want me most of all, although Tarl is quite hungry. Does that make you jealous, darling?”

Ural swallowed uneasily. It did, but he didn’t want to admit it, at least not openly.

“She’s a witch,” the Elder-Advisor said.

“No,” Strand said. “She’s clever, and she has the use of some highly refined tools. Whoever trained her did an excellent job of it.”

“But,” Ural said. “The Emperor has been using her all this time.”

“You mean he’s been screwing me,” Venna said. “That’s all you think about, isn’t it, Ural? Screwing me to your heart’s content. How you long for that.”

Ural tore his gaze from her.

“Poor Ural,” she said. “But the truth is that the Emperor hasn’t been using me. I’ve been using him. Haven’t you noticed a change in him this past year? Hasn’t he frolicked naked many times?”

“What does that have to do with you?” Ural asked.

Venna laughed with delight. “Because he did it for my amusement. Don’t you see, darling, he’s my toy, my plaything.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t matter. Oh, look, the lights are coming on.” Behind her, a lit tunnel appeared. She smiled at Ural. “I’m here at last, my destination. If you’re good, I’ll return your Emperor to you. If not, he dies and I still get what I want. Pity, though, as you won’t get what you want, Ural darling. You’ll pine away for me…oh, until you die. Dream about me, darling, because you’ll never have me any other way.”

Ural stood, and he pointed at her—

Her image vanished from the main screen.

Ural turned to the comm officer.

“She cut the connection,” the officer said.

Ural sat down slowly. Then he swiveled toward Strand and then Elder-Advisor. “It’s time the three of us talked.” He pointed to the ready room. “Follow me please, gentlemen.”

-56-

Ural sat behind the Emperor’s desk in Star Cruiser Shapur’s ready room. On the bulkheads were portraits of ancient warriors in various states of armor. There was Sargon of Akkad, Pharaoh Thutmose III, Cyrus the Great, Alexander the Great, Ci’in Shih Huang, Hannibal Barca riding a war-elephant, Julius Caesar, Attila the Hun and Flavius Aetius the Last Roman.

Strand stood before the bust of a gladiator while the Elder-Advisor sat before the desk.

“Let’s get to it,” Ural said. “We have no idea who might show up to help her or what the spy might uncover down there. First, Strand. How long have you known about Venna?”

“The question implies I have known she was a spy for some time,” Strand said.

“That’s right.”

“No. I surmised it was her when I saw the droid body less than an hour ago.”

“You must have recognized the ruby as a tech-tool earlier than that,” Ural said.

“True,” Strand said. “I thought the Emperor was trying to lure you into a trap. You passed each time. I thought it indicated you had great mental reserves. Watching your pathetic performance just now has changed my opinion.”

“I wonder if you’ve been aiding her,” Ural said.

Strand laughed.

“I’m inclined to believe the same thing,” the Elder-Advisor said.

“You would,” Strand told the advisor. “But out of jealously for my exalted station. The Emperor trusts me more than he does you.”

“While the latter is true,” the Elder-Advisor said, “it is now clear the Emperor has been under the spy’s influence, at least to a degree. I suspect it was in the spy’s interest that you become exalted. The Emperor might change his mind about you once released and given the facts.”

“Before we go there,” Ural said. “I want to know how Venna gained admittance onto the Throne World. She’s been a harem girl for years; at least, such is my understanding.”

“Bah,” Strand said. “The real Venna probably was—has been a harem girl for years. That woman you saw on the main screen is not the same Venna, though.”

“Meaning what?” asked Ural.

“That the spy, agent, whatever you want to call her, slew the real Venna and took her place,” Strand said.

“How?”

Strand shrugged. “It’s a good question. Through use of a stealth ship would be my guess. How she got down to the Throne World I mean. She must have had help infiltrating the Emperor’s harem, and she must have had help molding her features to impersonate the original Venna.”

“Is all that possible?” Ural asked the Elder-Advisor.

“Is all what possible?” the Elder-Advisor asked.

“Dropping from a stealth ship onto the Throne World?” asked Ural.

“You would know that better than I,” the Elder-Advisor replied.

Ural scowled at the large desk. In his mind, he replayed some of the events of the last hour. He scowled harder and finally eyed Strand. “Is she a Lisa Meyers agent or a Spacer spy?”

“In truth…” Strand shrugged. “I don’t know for certain.”

“You seemed certain when you told the captains she was a Lisa Meyers agent. What changed your mind?”

Strand snorted. “Nothing changed my mind. Certainty—or having the appearance thereof—is a prime ingredient when trying to sway a group. Or is that news to you?”

Ural stared up at the ceiling.

“How Venna the spy reached the Throne World and the Emperor’s harem isn’t as important as deciding what to do now,” Strand said. “We don’t need a dreamer, Ural, but a man of action to lead us.”

Ural regarded the two. They were each considered sage. How far could he trust Strand the schemer, the Loki of a Methuselah Man? Strand had been a prisoner of years not so long ago. Now, Strand was sitting in the highest council of the flotilla before the ancient Library Planet. What prize did Venna desire? What was the spy after?

“You’re right,” Ural told Strand. “Action today is critical, but it’s just as critical we perform the correct action. What does Lisa Meyers want from the Builder planet?”

Strand sighed. “Ural—Golden Ural—we don’t know if Venna is a Meyers or a Spacer agent. I think those are the two most likely options. Clearly, there is something down there the spy wants. I suggest she knows exactly what she’s after, and that puts her ahead of us.”

“We need the ancient genetic information,” Ural said.

“Yes, yes, of course we do,” Strand said. “You’re saying we know what we’re after. Unfortunately, I’m not sure where on the planet to find it, but that wasn’t my point. Don’t think of Venna as the harem girl with extra powers. She’s brilliant to have pulled off what she has. I could almost admire her gall and timing. It’s exquisite. Perhaps we should expect her to be a Spacer adept with extra abilities due to Builder implants inside her. Or perhaps she’s a Spacer adept mercenary that Meyers hired.”

“Enough!” Ural said. “We must act. I want to save the Emperor, but even more, I don’t want our enemies stealing a march on us. We must send teams down.”

“Sadly, I agree,” Strand said.

“Why would you be sad?” the Elder-Advisor asked Strand.

“The Emperor conditionally released me from prison,” Strand said. “I owe him, and I like to pay my debts. Isn’t there some way we can do this without giving them a pretext to murder him?”

Ural leaned back in his chair. This was a tactical problem, and he excelled at those. The landed shuttle was on the ice and would have limited sensors. He snapped his fingers. He had an idea, but it would depend on what type of fighters the Emperor kept in the Shapur’s hangar bay. It was time to find out. Then it was time to make a plan and execute it. Venna—the spy—had gotten the jump on them. Now, she was going to have to contend with the greatest soldiers in the Orion Spiral Arm.

-57-

As Ural, Strand and the Elder-Advisor made their plan, Starship Victory entered a hyper-spatial tube.

The ancient Adok vessel left the star system with the outcast and moronic Yon Soth hidden under the worn-down nubs of pyramids, and it left the fifteen-kilometer automated ship firing a heavy beam across 150,000,000 kilometers, a warship likely belonging to the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan. Victory left the system with the holed Builder nexus with its incredible dampener field and shot across hundreds of light-years in seconds while in the tube.

By the normal laws of physics, the journey should have been impossible. But the Builders had discovered a secret, using it to create a great network of nexuses that had allowed them to crisscross vast distances in a fraction of the time regular travel would have taken. Perhaps as marvelous, the hyper-spatial tube bypassed the laws of the speed-of-light that would have meant hundreds and even thousands of years would pass due to time dilation.

Victory raced through the tube, spat out in a stellar place—

As had happened on many previous occasions, Captain Maddox was the first to stir as he recovered from hyper-spatial-tube lag. He blinked several times and swallowed what might have become a groan. It took him seconds to realize that he… he…

I’m on the bridge. He was sitting up and now sagged back in relief. He was on the bridge and…

“Galyan? Can you hear me?”

The Adok holoimage did not answer and did not appear.

Maddox shoved up from the chair and staggered to Andros. The captain panted from the exertion, and his head began to throb.

Right, right, we escaped the laser beam.

Others began to stir on the bridge. Meta had a bloody nose. Andros’s ears ached. Keith tested his left hand, stretching the fingers and then moving the forearm as he touched his elbow.

“Captain,” Galyan said.

Maddox turned around.

“We have arrived,” a fuzzy-looking Galyan said.

“Do you know where?” asked Maddox.

“No. Should I ask the professor—?”

“Never mind about him,” Maddox said, interrupting. “Get a fix on some stars you recognize. Triangulate and determine how far we are from Earth and in what galactic region. Then, using the last star system as your guide—”

“I have your answer,” Galyan said.

“Your eyelids didn’t flutter,” Maddox said.

“It wasn’t a difficult computation, sir. Would you like to know where we are?”

Maddox stared at Galyan.

“We are one thousand, eight hundred, seventy-six light-years from the last star system, and in the general direction of the main Builder Dominion,” Galyan said.

“We’re in the Library Planet system?”

“The professor did not give me the specifics regarding the system, but I am viewing a winter world in the inner system. The star is a red dwarf—”

“Galyan!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get the professor. I want him up here. Tell him to hurry.”

Before Galyan disappeared, a small blue metal object the size of a hardball beeped, beeped again, and floated up off the floor until it was hovering near the ceiling.

“Half-Life,” Maddox said. “Galyan, stay a moment.” The captain walked to his seat, picking up the fallen blaster there. The weapon was still at its highest setting.

Half-Life beeped for a last time and then projected a ray, which produced a holoimage head of a wolfish Ardazirho alien. The alien looked around and then said, “Grok.”

“What’s that mean?” asked Maddox.

The holoimage head opened its fanged maw and series of beeps and whistles sounded. Finally, it spoke. “Hello, Captain. We survived the hyper-spatial-tube voyage.”

“Are you okay?” asked Maddox.

“I have just experienced hyper-spatial-tube lag. It is my first time. While I understand the concept, it is different to experience it. Is it always this bad?”

“No. You get used to it.”

“I am relieved to hear that,” Half-Life said.

“Why?” asked Maddox. “Do you expect to travel through more hyper-spatial tubes?”

“That is a leading question. Are you really concerned about the answer?”

“Only so much as it might tell me more about your ultimate loyalties.”

“I serve at Balron’s request because his thoughts were the primary cause of my creation,” Half-Life said. “However, I have good thoughts toward Professor Ludendorff as well. The professor could have erred in many ways, but he built me precisely to Balron’s specifications. I am enjoying my time among you humans—”

“Let me interrupt you, Half-Life,” Maddox said.

“Are not interruptions considered rude?”

“Like many things, it depends.”

“Why did you interrupt me just now?”

“We’re trying to figure out if this is the Library Planet system,” Maddox said. “Would you tell us—?”

“Yes,” Half-Life said. “Your starship survived the perilous journey. Let me see—I am borrowing your ship sensors. It is a small override—oh, yes. We are in the system’s Kuiper Belt, very near the edge of the inner Oort cloud.”

“Which one is the Library Planet?” Maddox asked.

“The second terrestrial world from the dwarf star,” Half-Life said. “You can put away your blaster, by the way. I do not intend you, the crew or the ship any harm.”

Maddox nodded as he tucked the blaster under his belt. “Do you sense any alien vessels in the vicinity?”

“I suppose you are referring to the New Men and their star cruisers.”

“I am,” Maddox said. “How many do you see?”

“None, which is not conclusive,” Half-Life said. “If star cruisers are at the Library Planet, I would not be able to sense them for quite some time. I should not have to tell you about the speed of light restrictions with sensors.”

“You don’t have superior sensors you can use?” Maddox asked.

“Like the Long-Range Builder Scanner inside Pluto?” Half-Life asked.

“Exactly,” Maddox said.

“No. I do not.”

“Then, how do you teleport so precisely from one place to the next?”

“Ah… That is clever, Captain. Of course, I am not going to tell you—”

“Maddox,” Ludendorff said, as he hurried onto the bridge. “Are we here? Did we make it? Oh! Half-Life, what are you doing here? Did that little thing help us after all?”

“We’re in the Library Planet system,” Maddox said.

“What part?” Ludendorff asked fast.

“The Kuiper Belt,” Maddox said. “Is there something we should know that you’ve failed to tell us?”

“No,” Ludendorff said. “I suspect Strand has convinced the New Men to release him so he can come here before I do. I urge caution, extreme caution. Strand is tricky and the New Men deadly. I know you know this, but a reminder is in order. We’re far from home, over seventeen hundred light-years. This could be a dangerous star system and we should proceed accordingly.”

The captain nodded curtly. The professor made cogent points. “Andros, Galyan, please begin a hard scan of the system. Catalog everything you can.”

“I can help,” Half-Life said.

“Don’t override any more sensors,” Maddox told him. “The verdict is still out on you.”

“I helped you reach the star system,” Half-Life said.

Maddox moved to his seat, sitting down, staring at the main screen. The professor was right. They’d been farther from home, from Human Space before, but this was damn far just the same. A few precautions were in order, as he wanted to make it home again. What was the correct course of action now?

Maddox turned his seat, facing Ludendorff and Half-Life. “Professor, how does one get from the surface ice you’ve spoken about to the Builder tunnels below?”

“There are housings on the ice,” Ludendorff said, “the terminus or beginning of deep-shaft elevators, depending on how you look at it. Mind you, this was long ago, centuries. They should be there, with the emphasis on should.”

“Thank you,” Maddox said. “Half-Life, you’re Balron’s confederate. We’re supposed to meet him somewhere. Do you happen to know when we’re going to meet him and if the New Men reach him first—given they really are out here?”

The hovering blue object dipped down and then rose back to his former position. “Could I speak to you alone, Captain?”

Maddox eyed the alien head holoimage and the metal ball projecting it. “We can go into my ready room. However, I’m going to request Galyan, Ludendorff and my wife to join us. Do you have an objection to that?”

“I wish to speak to you alone,” Half-Life said.

“I realize that,” Maddox said. “However, I don’t trust you alone. I want witnesses.”

“I am here to help,” Half-Life insisted.

Maddox shrugged.

“What if I keep my information to myself?” Half-Life asked.

“It’s your call,” Maddox said. “I’m not changing my mind on this.”

“You are a stubborn man,” Half-Life said.

Maddox waited.

“Very well,” Half-Life said. “What I am supposed to tell you is critical. I accept your conditions but do so under duress.”

“You ready?” asked Maddox.

“I was born ready,” Half-Life said, “as this mission is the reason for my existence. I do suggest haste, however, as the scheduled events are surely about to begin.”

-58-

A few minutes later, Maddox, Meta, Galyan and Ludendorff sat or stood in various locations in the ready room. Half-Life hovered in the middle, the Ardazirho holoimage wolf-head projected as earlier.

“Balron is my primary cause,” Half-Life said. “He is a unique creature caught in a terrible temporal dilemma. I do not know the duration of his imprisonment, but I have come to believe it is long indeed, hundreds or possibly thousands of years.”

“Are you suggesting that Galyan was correct about Balron being caught in a temporal loop?” asked Ludendorff.

“Essentially,” Half-Life said.

“Then how could one possibly count Balron’s so-called entrapment in terms of years?” Ludendorff asked. “You see, by what you said, you’re implying that Balron runs through the same time period over and over again. Logically, he has only run through that particular or singular passage and no more.”

“You are grossly incorrect,” Half-Life said. “Consider: if Balron has replayed the same length of time—half a year, for instance—and he has done so ten thousand times, then he would logically have lived in the loop for five thousand years.”

“That sounds like hairsplitting to me,” Ludendorff said. “You implied he doesn’t remember much from any singular run of a loop, or the string of a particular time run. Thus, he senses the passage of half a year, to use your example, and no more—well, possibly there is a feeling something is wrong. It could have hardly been more than a small feeling, though. It’s obvious if you examine the example you’ve given, as it has taken ten thousand loops for him to realize his true condition. Thus, he could have hardly been aware that each loop was a repeat, and thus he has not felt the great passage of years.”

“I do not understand your first phrase, this hairsplitting,” Half-Life said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Captain Maddox said crossly. “We’re not interested in the theoretical possibilities, but how to do this.”

“That’s not right,” Ludendorff said. “Correct theories are critical. From them, we derive correct actions. But, in any case,” he said, perhaps noticing the captain’s growing impatience, “despite his length of entrapment, given that Balron is imprisoned in this temporal loop, how did he reach Victory?”

“Let me answer this way,” Half-Life said, “if I have the captain’s permission to enlarge upon the matter.”

“Go ahead,” Maddox said. “Just don’t take too long.”

“I understand,” Half-Life said. “Time and temporal displacements have…unnatural limitations due to the inconsistency of time travel. I am not speaking about a man in a machine that can bounce from one time to another. As far as I know, that is impossible. Instead, Balron has been caught in a temporal loop. He can go so far in linear time—just as any of us can—and then he is jerked back to begin again from the same starting temporal and spatial location.”

“You mean Balron reappears back where he started the loop?” asked Ludendorff.

“That is what I said,” Half-Life replied.

“But…” Ludendorff said, as he scowled at the floor. “There’s an inconsistency here.” He looked up. “Whatever powers the entrapment yanked him away from the star system with the warped-space bubbles, presumably because he’d come to the end of the temporal run. What I’m saying is that his time in the linear string of the particular loop was over and thus—poof, he started again at the beginning of the loop. Yet, if this is the case, why should Balron think to meet us here in the Library Planet System? We’re outside or farther in time than his temporal loop. In essence, Balron has missed his chance with us—unless in some manner going through the hyper-spatial tube sent us back in time to meet Balron here.”

“You are obfuscating the issue by weaving this tissue of nonsense,” Half-Life said. “The important point—”

“I don’t see how I’m obfuscating anything,” Ludendorff said. “I have a valid point. You need to address it if you desire our trust.”

Maddox was staring at Ludendorff until he finally said, “You’re right, Professor. If Balron disappeared because he’d come to the end of the loop—and he restarted the loop at the beginning—we’re beyond him in linear time.” The captain turned to Half-Life. “What’s really happening? Your time loop story is no longer logical, which means it was just a cover to hide the truth.”

“You are grossly wrong,” Half-Life said. “I have spoken the truth. What you do not understand is that there are other parameters in play. So, that being the case—”

“Suppose that’s true,” Ludendorff said, interrupting. “That we don’t know all the facts. I do need to know this. Who trapped Balron in this insane loop?”

“An alien using an experimental Builder machine,” Half-Life said. “The alien was exceedingly crafty but died due to his own greed. Now, please, we are running out of time. Balron has instructed me to tell you—”

“Sir,” Galyan said. “I am sorry for yet another interruption, but this is critically important. I thought about what the professor just said concerning our going back in time—needing to for Balron and Half-Life’s explanation to make sense—and decided to test the hypothesis. Through examining various stars, I have indeed discovered a temporal anomaly. Instead of going back in time, however, we are several days ahead of time and that means—”

“Enough of this,” Half-Life said, interrupting. “We must proceed at once as Balron instructed, as we have no more time to dally about on nonsense or side issues.”

“How did you cause our leap in time?” Galyan demanded. “Did the Yon Soth have anything to do with it? Had it tampered with the nexus or the hyper-spatial-tube machine? Was the hyper-spatial tube a time portal as well? Is that why the space-warped bubbles were everywhere, the star system was no longer in sync with the rest of the universe?”

“You are no longer needed on this mission,” Half-Life said. “Thus, I will silence your endless spouting of nonsense.” The little blue globe began to glow.

“Sir,” Galyan said, as his holoimage became hazy. “Half-Life is assaulting my AI core. Help me, sir, I need help or—”

Maddox drew the blaster tucked under his belt. He aimed from the hip, the beam striking the glowing construct.

“Are you insane?” Half-Life demanded. “You desperately need me if you are going to survive the coming conflict. It is important that—warning, warning, I am about to destruct! Cease your attack! Warning, warning—”

As he beamed, Maddox sidled closer to his wife. Even as he continued to blast the construct, he dragged Meta down with him behind the desk.

Half-Life exploded, sending hot shrapnel throughout the ready room.

Ludendorff had grown increasingly worried during the beaming and had adjusted a device worn on his belt. Hot shrapnel struck centimeters before him, stopping and dropping to the floor. Immediately after that, the shimmering shield around the professor ceased radiating.

Galyan began to brighten even as shrapnel flew through his holoimage, doing him absolutely no harm.

The Ardazirho holoimage wolf-head was gone, as Half-Life no longer projected it. The construct was destroyed, gone, taking whatever information he’d been about to impart to them.

Maddox and Meta climbed to their feet, checking themselves and then the damage to the desk and the ready room.

The hatch opened and a worried Andros Crank looked in.

“We’re fine,” Maddox said. “We’re assessing the situation ourselves. You can go.”

Andros nodded before leaving, the hatch shutting behind him.

“You destroyed Half-Life,” Ludendorff declared. “I realize we’ve discovered inconsistencies to his tale, but was terminating him the wisest move?”

“Wise or not,” Maddox said, “Half-Life was destroying Galyan. Thus, I destroyed the construct first.”

“I most humbly thank you, sir,” Galyan said. “Half-Life was indeed attacking me. Your quick-draw shot likely saved my life—I hope you will allow me to phrase it that way: that I have life.”

“Of course you can,” Meta said. “I’m glad you survived his assault.”

“Thank you, Meta,” Galyan said. “I, too, am glad. I still wonder how Half-Life achieved—”

Ludendorff collapsed abruptly, thumping onto his butt. Bewildered, the professor looked up at Meta and Maddox.

Meta raced to him, grabbed a hand, lifting him to his feet and directing him to a chair.

Ludendorff grunted as he sat down. “It appears I’m having an episode.”

“No,” Meta said quietly, “it’s a delayed reaction from Half-Life exploding. He almost killed us.”

Ludendorff nodded, pulling out a handkerchief and mopping a suddenly sweaty forehead. “This reminds me of the time Batrun’s head exploded. Do you remember that?” he asked Maddox.

“All too well,” Maddox said. “It nearly killed you.”

“My quick action saved me today,” Ludendorff said. “I have a personal shield. It doesn’t last long. This time, it didn’t have to. Did you distrust Half-Life all along?”

“No,” Maddox said. “You uncovered his lie, Galyan uncovered more and then the construct attacked Galyan. I had the blaster. I fired to save our companion.”

“I am glad you think of me like that, sir,” Galyan said.

“You’re part of my crew,” Maddox said. “I defend my crew. Are you feeling better, Professor?”

“Marginally,” Ludendorff said. He studied the shrapnel lying on the floor. “If Balron isn’t a time traveler…what is he? Why did he do the things he did to us: I mean having me build Half-Life and him medically killing you? Balron had to have a reason. Why hint at a temporal loop and have Half-Life give us that cock and bull story?”

“Those are logical questions, Professor,” Galyan said. “I will add another. Why did Balron have Half-Life send us several days into the future? There is yet one more: how did Half-Life manage the feat?”

“We’re in a time warp then?” Ludendorff asked.

“I doubt that is the case,” Galyan said. “Rather, according to my calculations, we lost a few days, and we cannot recapture them. In some manner, Half-Life or the Yon Soth manipulated the nexus to send us several days ahead in time.”

“Why would either of them do that?” Maddox asked.

“Half-Life said it before he exploded, sir,” Galyan said. “He was trying to time our arrival or our next action with something Balron has planned.”

“Yes…” Maddox said. “That makes sense. But if Balron isn’t a time traveler, why or how did he know we’d need to jump ahead a few days in time?”

“This is just wonderful,” Ludendorff complained. “Balron was trying to trick us with this temporal loop nonsense. Half-Life must have known more that would have helped us solve the riddle or the mystery. We once put together Batrun’s cybertronic computer brain after you sliced it with your monofilament blade, but I have no way of reassembling Half-Life from the pieces on the floor.”

“You made him once,” Maddox said.

“Under Balron’s guidance or influence,” Ludendorff said. “No. What you’re suggesting is like a man squishing a fly and then asking a scientist to reassemble the parts so the fly can live again. It can’t be done—not with our limited science, anyway.”

Maddox pinched his lower lip. “Half-Life and, it would seem, Balron, helped us escape the other star system and escape the Sovereign Hierarchy warship. For that, I almost feel bad about destroying the construct.”

“Unless…” Ludendorff said, becoming thoughtful. He looked up suddenly. “What if Balron put the location of the nexus in my mind while he was giving me data how to construct Half-Life? I haven’t been able to remember how I knew about the nexus. That’s the only reasonable explanation I can think of.”

“Why would Balron do that?” Maddox asked.

Ludendorff’s eyes narrowed. “Timing must have been a reason, as Half-Life went to great lengths to time our arrival here. Maybe your change—the strengthening of your sixth sense—needed more time to become a part of you or maybe it’s only going to last for a short span. That was why you had to get here faster through a nexus. Certainly, if my new theory is correct, Balron sent us to a strange star system with its warped-space bubbles, a Yon Soth, a nexus and a damned giant spaceship from S.H. Leviathan.”

“Why give us the temporal loop tale?”

Ludendorff nodded slowly. “I’m beginning to suspect there was more to that than just a cover story. Maybe it was a partial truth.”

“A partial truth how?” asked Maddox.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Ludendorff said. “I’m still pondering the situation. Balron has shown fantastic abilities and powers. His needing us shows one thing for sure: he has limitations for whatever he’s hoping to achieve. It seems clear the Library Planet system is where he hopes to gain whatever he’s after. I’m beginning to wonder how he ever found us—” The professor straightened. “It has to be you. The Erill soul energy in you—that must have been what drew him to our vessel in the first place. The Erill energy in you is the critical factor. I’m sure of it.”

Maddox leaned his butt against the desk. He just wanted ordinary problems for once. He was sick and tired of these supernatural or ultra-powerful creatures. He didn’t want to think about Erill spirit entities or ball-of-light aliens. He didn’t want to, but he had no choice. Really, he needed to just suck it up and do his duty.

Maddox turned to Galyan. “Is your core all right?”

“I would appreciate it if someone could give it a physical check,” Galyan said.

“I’ll have Andros go,” Maddox said. He looked around at the others. Would Balron show up here? How would the ball of light try to use them, and against whom? “Does anyone have a suggestion as to what we should do next?”

“I most certainly do,” Ludendorff said. “We’re between the Kuiper Belt and inner Oort cloud. We don’t know who is here with us in the star system, where they are and in what numbers. I suggest we use the Lieutenant Commander and her stealth ship. To start, have her scout the second planet. At the same time, we could send fold-fighters to various areas and check them out too. Clearly, by Half-Life’s actions, someone is here. Is it the New Men with Strand? Is it Balron? We don’t know, but we’d better start figuring it out fast.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Maddox said. He’d been feeling down for a moment. Action was the right cure for that. “We’ll run a deep sensor scan and catalog the system from here. We’ll figure out a star-drive jump schedule, picking up more data on the inner system planets. That’s where people or others should be, especially near the Library Planet.” Maddox looked at Meta, Galyan and Ludendorff in turn. “So, what is Balron after? Why did he do these things to us?”

Ludendorff shook his head. “I don’t know yet, but I plan to find out.”

“I will consider the problems in detail,” Galyan said.

“Right,” Maddox said. “We’ll run the scans. We’ll scout, and then we’ll decide what to do next.”

-59-

The Darter Tarrypin exited the hangar bay, positioned itself well beyond Victory and left the deep Kuiper Belt using a star-drive jump. It appeared five million kilometers from the Library Planet, behind the smallest and farthest moon.

After recovering from jump lag, Lieutenant Commander Valerie Noonan began a passive sensor scan of the outer and inner orbital areas of the second planet.

Derrick sat at another sensor panel, watching for attacking vessels or a suspicious ball of light.

The first mate was in the main engine compartment in case anything went wrong back there.

“Nothing so far,” Derrick said.

Valerie had discovered the same thing: essentially nothing other than confirming the orbital speeds of the moons and their sizes. She began studying the planet, and found its frozen nature as everyone else had.

Here we go, she thought, keeping the worry to herself, not wanting to unduly frighten Derrick.

Dumping a small amount of gravity waves, the darter eased from behind the fifth moon and began its slow journey toward the planet.

Every half-hour, Valerie dumped more gravity waves to build up velocity.

Soon, the passive sensors discovered six star cruisers parked in an equatorial stationary orbit over the planet. After a little more time, Valerie found small metal housings on the surface ice.

“This is interesting,” she said. “There’s a shuttle on the surface ice, but only one. Why aren’t there more?”

“I see it,” Derrick said from his sensor station. “Hello,” he said a moment later.

Valerie stared at him.

“I’m seeing orbital insertion troops,” he said. “They’re in low orbit three hundred and ten kilometers from the star cruisers.”

Valerie went back to scanning and soon saw ten space-suited individuals with thruster packs and bulky equipment that must mean drogue and other chutes. Oh, yes, they surely wore heavy planetary suits in order to survive the freezing temperatures once they made it down.

She sat back abruptly.

Derrick gave her a worried glance. “Is there a problem, Commander?”

“You could say that,” Valerie said slowly. “Why are the New Men using orbital insertion troops? Why don’t they send the men down in more shuttles?”

“Uh…because they’re trying to surprise someone,” Derrick said.

“That has to be the answer. But who are they trying to surprise?”

Derrick shook his head.

Valerie stood up, walked into the middle of the control cabin and started doing deep knee bends. She started huffing at twenty.

Derrick tried not to watch, but he kept glancing at her.

Valerie stopped at forty-five, puffing harder. She noticed the ensign watching and decided this was a training moment. “That comes from working with Captain Maddox. He uses exercise to stimulate his thinking.”

“Did it help?”

Valerie grinned. “It did.” She sat back at the sensor station and used teleoptics to study the star cruisers. She found three of the names: the Shapur, the Paralos and the Cambyses. Using the computer, she discovered the probable captains, the Emperor, Samos of Thetis and Artaxerxes Par.

“This is a royal flotilla,” she said. “Well, if the Emperor is here…”

“Why would the Emperor come all this way?”

Valerie nodded. “That’s the right question all right. I don’t know the other names, but the captain, Galyan or Ludendorff might.”

“Should we wait until the orbital troops drop?”

Valerie considered that, finally shaking her head. “No. We’ve seen the numbers involved and that there seems to be dissention among the New Men, either that or an enemy. This might be a good time to slip away, as their focus seems to be elsewhere.”

“Do we check out the wreck at the third planet next?”

“Exactly,” Valerie said.

She didn’t make the star-drive jump immediately, however, but shifted the darter’s direction of travel. Twelve minutes later, they moved behind the third moon, one of the larger two.

The orbital insertion team hadn’t dropped yet, but seemed to be traveling farther afield in relation to the star cruisers and the landed shuttle. That didn’t seem right to Valerie. Did the orbital team want the shuttle to see them, or whoever held the shuttle hostage? Was that even what was happening?

“Get set to jump,” Valerie said.

“Roger that, sir,” Derrick said.

The Darter Tarrypin engaged its star-drive jump, leaving the outer orbital space of the second planet and appearing six million kilometers from the third planet.

Now began a similar sequence of events, but without any moons to use as cover. Valerie and Derrick used passive sensors to study the planet and then the wreck as it came around the barren metallic-rock world in orbit.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The planet was the same as Galyan had scanned before they left. It was the same with the five-kilometer wreck with its thousands of attached pods. It was old, more than five hundred years old, and it had thousands of hull breaches.

“We’ll move closer,” Valerie said, “but we’ll continue using passive sensors. For all we know, the New Men seeded the area with hidden mines.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I have no idea,” Valerie said. “I’m just saying we’re going to be cautious.”

“Right,” Derrick said.

For the next several hours, the Tarrypin began a slow and stealthy approach toward the wreck.

“I know they told us in Patrol school that boredom would be our greatest enemy,” Derrick said. “I never realized how true it was until today.”

“You’re bored?” asked Valerie.

“Bored sick,” Derrick said. “I wish something would happen.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Valerie said.

“I know. It’s just—hey, did you see that?”

Valerie’s heart tightened. She liked boredom just fine, having lived through enough excitement for a lifetime. “What did you see?”

“On the passive sensor: there was a spike. The radiation soared from nothing to levels you would see if a nuclear bomb had just gone off.”

“Radiation?” asked Valerie, as she checked her board. “There’s no radiation out there—you mean from the wreck, right?”

“That’s weird,” Derrick said. “I saw it. Just a second.” He manipulated his board. “Yep, my sensor recorded massive radiation. It was there one millisecond and gone the next. I might not have noticed but I was staring right at the scope.”

“Strange…” Valerie said. “It shows up on my scanner as well, on the recorder. Why didn’t the scanners beep, alerting us? Let me check something. Uh-huh,” she said a minute later. “It’s…ghostly radiation.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the radiation spiked the scanner, one part of it anyway. But on the other part of the scanner, the radiation didn’t register. There’s no radiation out there now, and there should be if some leaked through a moment ago.”

“What does that mean? Leaked through from where?”

Valerie squinted at the ensign before she squinted out of the polarized window at the wreck. The wreck was still too far away to see with their naked eyes. It was five kilometers long, a battered wreck, and it had shown ghostly radiation that had leaked through from…from a null region like last mission? Could that be possible?

Part of her realized she should get closer or use the active sensors to study the wreck. The other part realized this was a delicate mission fifteen hundred light-years from Human Space. They had found an anomaly here and six star cruisers at the Library Planet. What was more important: that Maddox receive this data or they learn even more?

“We’re packing it up, Ensign. We found enough to inform the captain about things he’ll want to know.”

“Shouldn’t we take a closer look?”

“I’ve made my decision. We’ll stick with that. Do you have a problem with that?”

Derrick stared out of the polarized window at the planet. His boyish features said it all: he wanted to poke around. He wanted to do something. They’d trained for months—

“Whatever you say, Commander,” he said.

“I am saying it.”

“Uh…could we look just a little longer…please?”

Valerie almost said yes. Instead, she decided to pull another leaf from Maddox’s book on leadership. “None of that, Ensign. Prepare for jump.”

“Yes, Commander,” Derrick said, sounding disappointed.

They readied for the star-drive jump back to Victory in the deep Kuiper Belt. Then, seconds before the jump, a bright light shined from the wreck and struck the stealthy Tarrypin.

Valerie shouted in surprise. What did the light mean?

“It’s shorting my sensors,” Derrick shouted.

Valerie glanced at the ensign. Smoke rose from a sparking panel. The ensign seemed brighter than she remembered.

A second later, the star-drive jump kicked in, causing the Tarrypin to vanish from the beam of light and leave…would the darter appear at its appointed spot, or would the light have an adverse effect on the jump?

-60-

Maddox hurried onto Victory’s bridge, having been woken from sleep. He stared at the main screen, at the drifting image of the glowing Darter Tarrypin. Three shuttles were out there, two of them half a kilometer from the darter. The third shuttle was near the darter, this one with a gaping blast-hole in the hull.

Galyan had already informed Maddox that six people had died on the stricken shuttle.

“I want some answers,” Maddox said, as he sat in the captain’s chair. “What’s causing the glow?”

“Anti-energy,” Andros said from his station.

“Explain that.”

“I will,” Ludendorff said, interrupting.

Maddox hadn’t noticed the professor sitting at one of the sensor stations until he had turned around.

“Somebody had better,” Maddox said.

“The anti-energy is similar in effect to antimatter,” Ludendorff said. “The energy circles the Tarrypin like a shell, the white and yolk of an egg.”

“And…?” asked Maddox.

“The anti-energy reacts violently to matter,” Ludendorff said. “In this instance, the hull of the first shuttle was ripped apart when it touched the energy.”

“Why did the shuttle try to dock with the darter?”

“Because we didn’t understand the properties of the…the alien anti-energy yet,” Ludendorff said.

“How do we get rid of the anti-energy?”

“We’re already working on it,” Ludendorff said. “I believe we can drain the anti-energy from the Tarrypin by pushing matter against it until the anti-energy is neutralized or dissipated.”

Maddox frowned as he looked from Ludendorff to the main screen. “You mean by sending matter at it so the combination will explode.”

“Explosion is just a side-effect,” Ludendorff said. “The goal is to drain away the anti-energy.”

“What about the Tarrypin’s crew? What did they say about all this?”

“So far, we haven’t been able to contact them, and Galyan can’t pass through the anti-energy.”

Maddox nodded. “Let’s do it then. I want to find out how this happened as quickly as possible.”

A fourth shuttle joined the other three. This one had cargo pods which ejected sand at the Tarrypin. Each time sand particles touched the glowing darter, an explosive reaction occurred.

Two of the shuttles headed back for a hangar bay, the other shuttle waiting near the darter.

“Sir,” Galyan said. “I detect less luminance from the darter. I believe the professor’s gambit is working.”

“Any sign of life from the Tarrypin’s crew?” Maddox asked.

“Not yet,” Galyan said. “Perhaps if you prayed for their safety, sir.”

Maddox looked sharply at Galyan, sighed a moment later, nodded and closed his eyes. “God, please help Lieutenant Commander Noonan and her crew stay alive. Thank you, sir. Amen.”

“Thank you for that, sir,” Galyan said. “I believe that is the correct human response to a crisis of this nature.”

“You’re probably right,” Maddox said. “Now, let’s get back to work. “

Twenty minutes later, the two shuttles were back, each of them carrying cargo pods of sand. As before, the pilots ejected a little sand at a time at the glowing Tarrypin. The explosions continued and over time—fourteen shuttle loads—the glowing brightness around the darter ceased.

Galyan immediately passed through to the inside of the vessel. He reported to Maddox on the bridge.

“They are unconscious, but their vitals are strong,” the holoimage said. “I think a rescue team can evacuate them from the darter.”

Maddox exhaled with relief.

“You should pray more often,” Meta said from her station.

Maddox nodded, saying. “Galyan, check on the progress of the rescue attempt. I want Valerie—I want the lieutenant commander and her crew in sickbay as quickly as possible.”

“I am on it, sir,” Galyan said, before vanishing.

Meta had risen and walked to the captain. “I wonder what happened to them out there.”

“That’s exactly what I want to know,” Maddox said softly.

***

A shuttle team extracted the darter crew without further mishap. Another team discovered that nothing electrical worked aboard the Tarrypin. Everything had fused or shorted, including the recorder and computer systems.

The three crewmembers were alive, but none of them responded to any stimuli. It was as if their brains were in stasis.

After Doctor Harris finished explaining this, Maddox stepped out of the medical center and began to pace the corridors. Galyan soon appeared.

“Anything new?” Maddox asked hopefully.

“Not yet, sir. We do not even know their flight log.”

Maddox stared off into the corridor distance until his eyes suddenly widened. Spinning on his heel, he strode back to medical and spoke to Doctor Harris. “I have an idea. There’s no medical reason for it to work, but…”

“What do you plan?” asked Harris.

“I…I suspect all this has to do with Balron instead of a possible New Men attack. Maybe I can use my Erill soul energy. Perhaps…perhaps I can get through to Valerie with it.”

“In what way?” Harris asked, sounding skeptical.

“Touch.”

“Why should your touch make any difference?”

“Let’s call it a hunch,” Maddox said, beginning to get irritated. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“I haven’t authorized the attempt yet.”

“Doctor…” Maddox turned his head. He’d started to glare at Harris. This wasn’t the moment to bull through with his plan. He turned back to her and spread his hands. “How can this possibly hurt?”

Harris nodded curtly. “You’re right. It shouldn’t make any difference either way. So why not.” She headed for the chamber.

Maddox followed.

The three crewmembers of the Tarrypin were laid out in a row on med-cots. Each had monitoring medical devices.

Maddox went to Valerie on the left side. She lay there, breathing slowly, her features calm, maybe even relaxed. The captain glanced back at an obviously intrigued Harris before he approached the lieutenant commander. Maddox muttered under his breath, wondering why he’d thought he should do this. He didn’t feel any sixth sense now.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, holding his breath and letting it out slowly. He did this three times, opened his eyes and approached Valerie’s med-cot. He took her right hand, holding it between both of his. He squeezed her hand.

“Valerie,” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

She did not stir.

Feeling more than slightly stupid, Maddox closed his eyes. He strained to sense her thoughts and soon… I’m not a shaman. I’m the captain of a starship. What do I think I’m doing?

He frowned while still keeping his eyes closed. I’m the di-far. I can change the way of things, moving destiny onto one track and set it onto another. The Visionary told me that. She believed it. The Erill soul energy in me has expanded, or my spirit has grown in ways I don’t understand. I’m using my new sixth sense. I have to experiment. I felt something earlier, a connection, maybe even an echo of a voice calling to me.

He held Valerie’s right hand, and he decided that relaxing was the thing to do. He stood there, breathing evenly, and he felt something then. It was a spark, and he shifted as his shoulders twitched.

Valerie, he said, not realizing he thought that instead of verbalizing it.

Her hand moved.

Come back to us, Maddox said.

“It’s working,” Harris said.

Maddox opened his eyes, and he swayed, feeling tired. He set Valerie’s right hand beside her on the med-cot. Then he stepped back, feeling like sleeping.

Harris was at his left elbow, grabbing his arm, steadying him.

“I’m fine,” Maddox said.

“You sound winded. What happened?”

“Not much,” Maddox said, leaving it at that.

“Look,” Harris whispered, indicating Valerie.

The lieutenant commander opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to them. She saw Maddox, and a smile crept upon her face. “Hello, sir,” she whispered.

“Good day, Commander,” Maddox said.

“I have something to report.”

“Oh?”

“Will you help me sit up, please?”

“No,” Harris said. “You look—”

Valerie sat up anyway, seeming to gain strength as she did. “The New Men are here, sir, and there’s something else.”

Maddox nodded in encouragement.

Valerie told him what had happened on their scouting expedition to the third planet and the five-kilometer wreck.

-61-

Captain Maddox called an emergency meeting in the conference chamber. Meta, Ludendorff, Galyan, Andros and Valerie were there. The captain had been talking, filling everyone in on everything they knew so far.

“That’s it,” Maddox said, finishing the briefing. “Now I’d like some comments, ideas, thoughts, whatever you think is relevant to our situation.”

“That is just it, sir,” Galyan said. “What is our situation? What are we attempting to achieve?”

“Well…” Maddox said. “Our primary objective has been finding Builder data to restore the Iron Lady’s full faculties. That in turn could help us figure out who has been attacking her on Earth, and likely hoping to use her to attack Star Watch. We could add, gaining more data on the Builder items we already possess and possibly gaining more data on nexuses and other Builder technologies. We plan to explore the Library Planet to gain those things.”

“It appears the New Men are already doing that,” Galyan said, “and their warships outnumber ours six to one.”

“That’s a problem, I agree,” Maddox said.

“Was that the timing Half-Life hoped to achieve?” Galyan asked.

“That implies Balron has sided with the New Men,” Maddox said. “I don’t see any evidence of that. Balron strikes me as his own side, not the mercenary or partner of the New Men.”

“How does the wreck at the third planet play into any of this?” Ludendorff asked. “If anything smacks of Balron, it would be the ray of light striking the Tarrypin moments before jump.”

“The ray of light is troubling,” Maddox agreed. “What did you make of the wreck?” he asked Valerie.

“We didn’t make visual eye contact,” Valerie said, “although I examined it on zoom through the teleoptics. I wish the Tarrypin’s computers worked. They’re fried, fused you could say. The wreck has thousands of pods attached by narrow corridors to the main ship. The corridors are like spokes to the five-kilometer tubular section.”

“Does the design of the ship sound familiar?” Maddox asked Ludendorff.

“Not in the slightest,” Ludendorff said.

“What could have caused the ray of light?”

“More to the point,” Ludendorff said. “What was the ray of light? How did it impart the anti-energy to the Tarrypin?”

“If I could,” Valerie said wistfully, “I’d like another crack at examining the wreck.” She shook her head. “But the Tarrypin is useless for the rest of the voyage.”

“Maybe Keith could pop you there in a tin can,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox drummed his fingers on the conference table. “How old is the wreck again?”

“According to our readings,” Valerie said, “six hundred years.”

“How can a six-hundred-year-old wreck beam exotic light?” Maddox asked. “Yes. This smacks of Balron, or alien wizardry. I’m loath to take Victory near the wreck. Maybe I can examine it from the tin can with Keith.”

“Why would you want to risk doing that?” Meta asked.

“I know why,” Ludendorff said. “The captain wants to practice his newfound mumbo-jumbo upon it and see what he senses.”

“What does Balron want with us?” Maddox asked. “It’s maddening not knowing.”

“Agreed,” Ludendorff said. “And yet, as a Methuselah Man, as someone who has been around longer than anyone else, I suggest we forget all about the wreck and the mysterious beam of light. It has nothing to do with our objective. The six star cruisers are the real problem. Why did whoever ordered it send a ten-man insertion team into low orbit? What does that imply? Can we slip onto the Library Planet with the New Men there, or should we wait until they leave? Frankly, I’m for waiting them out and then going to see what we can find.”

“And if Strand is with the New Men?” Maddox asked.

Ludendorff shrugged. “In this case, who cares? Strand is not our key concern. Mining the Library Planet for data is.”

Maddox stared up at the ceiling. “We’re hunters,” he said. “Sometimes, hunters need patience—”

A flash of light caused Maddox to shout and shield his eyes from an intensely bright…bright something at the other end of the conference table. He squinted as he tried to peer past his upraised hand at whatever was creating the intense brightness.

“Captain Maddox,” the brightness said in Balron’s voice.

“Who are you?” Maddox said.

“You don’t have to ask that. You know who I am.”

“Balron?”

“You didn’t need to say that. Trust your instincts, your sixth sense, as you would put it.”

Maddox couldn’t see through the intense brightness. “Could you lower the wattage? I can’t see you.”

“Don’t you understand yet who I really am?”

“No.”

“I am the deity you pray to—God.”

“No…” Maddox said. “I don’t believe that.”

“Is that what your instincts tell you?”

“Logic tells me that,” Maddox said. “God wouldn’t have need for tricks like a lying Half-Life. But because you’d lie about such a thing, I’m more inclined to think you’re the devil.”

With his right hand upraised as a shield against the brightness, Maddox looked around. The others were brightly frozen in mid-poses. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Not a thing.”

“Why aren’t they moving?”

“You’re in a split-second of time, Captain. I thought I would address you personally.”

Maddox studied his wife, Ludendorff, Valerie—he squinted at the brightness, trying to use both hands to shield himself from the intensity. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t make out a thing at the other end of the table.

“Are you afraid to show yourself as you really are?” asked Maddox.

“Doing this takes a vast expenditure of energy,” the entity said. “I cannot maintain this state—our state in a nanosecond of time—for long. You need to go to the…the wreck, you call it a wreck, isn’t that so?”

“Are you still claiming to be God?”

“I retract the statement. I’m Balron as you surmised. I thought it would save us time if you thought of me as the Ultimate Deity. I am quite powerful, especially compared to you humans, but I am not God, as you conceive of Him.”

“Why say what you did then?”

“I already told you why: to save time trying to convince you to do the right thing. You’re a stubborn man, Captain. Unfortunately, I’ve invested time and effort in you, readied you for the moment, you could say.”

“Why me?” Maddox asked. “Why did you pick me?”

“The answer should be obvious. You are a unique individual.”

“Because of the Erill soul energy in me?” asked Maddox.

“That’s part of the reason. The other is your knack, your gift to act decisively at critical moments. Such a moment is coming upon you.”

“At the Library Planet?”

Balron did not respond.

Maddox nodded to himself. Maybe the thing to do was to keep talking until Balron ran out of energy to keep him in this state.

“It won’t work,” Balron said.

“Can you read my thoughts?” Maddox asked.

“Enough.”

“Why did you lie about being stuck in a temporal loop?’

“While I appreciate your curiosity,” Balron said, “the time for that is over. The Half-Life stratagem failed. We have come to the critical phase, and I still need your assistance. You must go to what you call the wreck and enter it. There…you will find a doorway, Captain. You will find it due to your new sixth sense. You must enter the doorway and go down a long corridor. At the end of it, you will meet an alien. The two of you will go to a special room and retrieve several items. They are missing pieces, you could say. You will return from the corridor back to the wreck. Once there, take the pieces to Victory.”

“And?” asked Maddox.

“That will be quite sufficient for now.”

“What if I refuse to go?”

“Captain…please…I have gone to great effort to train you, to gift you with new senses. You must use your gift and do this thing for me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I need your help,” Balron said.

Maddox laughed. “You sent Half-Life to us as a stratagem, you just said. He lied about temporal loops, probably lied about other things and tried to destroy Galyan.”

“I made a mistake with Half-Life’s programming. See, I admit it. So let’s put the construct behind us. It’s finished. The key thing is that I saved you from the Yon Soth and from the attacking S. H. Leviathan warship. I did that by having Half-Life use the nexus to transfer you here.”

Maddox scoffed. “The only reason we were in that star system was because you tricked us into going there.”

“Captain, if I must, I can make you do this for me. Please don’t make me force you.”

Maddox reacted instinctively to the threat, shouting, jumping up onto the conference table and charging the light.

“Stop!” Balron cried. “You must not do this. The timing is wrong.”

Maddox growled low in his throat. The light felt hot, and the intensity grew. He screwed his eyes shut, continuing to charge—

He tripped and fell, falling for what seemed like a long time, and there was no more light. Opening his eyes didn’t help. He was falling in darkness.

Is this a trick? This must be a mental trick.

Suddenly, he saw a tiny opening far below him. It rushed closer. Through the opening, he saw a deck. At that moment, he fell through the opening, tensed and thudded onto the deck, the wind knocked out of him. Maddox groaned, twisted and tried to breathe, failing and then sucking down a sip of air. That unlocked his lungs. He breathed more deeply, gathered himself and sat up.

He was in a large, long tubular section of spaceship. This one had float-rails along the sides. In that moment, he realized he was weightless as he floated off the deck.

He arched his head, looking up. There was no opening, just ceiling. He wasn’t on Victory, but on a different spaceship. That should be impossible.

He inhaled again, testing—it was breathable air, but with a tinny taste to it. If he wasn’t on Victory—he saw a floating alien approaching. The alien wore a blue uniform with a cap snug on his head and had a furry wolfish face.

With a start, Maddox realized the alien was an Ardazirho, and the alien barked words at him.

The captain didn’t understand the words. Thus, he raised his hands palm upward, showing his incomprehension.

The Ardazirho drew a gun from a holster, pointing it at Maddox, barking more words.

Maddox raised his hands in the air.

The Ardazirho eyed him. Then, it motioned with the gun for Maddox to start moving down the corridor.

Swallowing, wondering if he was hallucinating, Maddox pushed to the nearest float-rail and began to pull himself in the direction the alien wanted him to go.

-62-

Maddox soon found himself in a spacious office facing a big fat Ardazirho. The alien had an eye patch over his right eye, and his clothes were garish but of obvious quality, although the buttons on the jacket strained because of the creature’s obesity. The Ardazirho sat behind a large desk, with a fluted glass container before him as he quaffed red wine from a goblet. There were several screens on the wall behind him, one showing a cool red dwarf and the others nothing at the moment.

Behind Maddox were several armed Ardazirho guards, muscular fellows bigger and meaner looking than the one that had brought him here.

The big fat Ardazirho sipped the red wine and then barked at Maddox, spraying droplets of wine in the captain’s general direction.

Maddox began shaking his head and then stopped. To his astonishment, a few of the alien words made sense. He barked a phrase back at the fat fellow.

That one growled as he leaned toward Maddox. “Who are you, beast? Why do you wear civilized clothes?”

“I’m Captain Maddox,” he growled back, using their alien tongue with growing ease. “Who are you?”

The fat Ardazirho froze, perhaps deciding if he should be outraged by the question. Instead, the alien chuckled. “You have the honor of addressing Pack Leader Horx Lars of the good ship C.I. Nubilus.”

“I’m glad to you meet you, sir.”

Horx Lars stared at Maddox. Then, the Ardazirho poured himself more wine, gulping it down. “How did you manage to stow away on my ship for this long?”

Maddox hesitated. Could this be a dream? He didn’t feel as if he was dreaming. An ancient Earth philosopher had once said that one could not be sure regarding reality, because one never knew if it was real life or a dream he experienced. Maddox felt that if one could tell there was a difference between dreams and reality that he possessed a facility that allowed him to differentiate between the two. This felt like reality, despite it being impossible. That meant there had to be a logical reason for all this.

“Are you deliberately ignoring me?” Horx Lars asked.

“No, Pack Leader. I’m at a loss to explain my presence on your ship. Would you believe me if I said I simply appeared?”

Horx Lars slammed a big furry fist on the desk. He swore in the alien tongue and said, “Just appeared. You just appeared on my ship?”

“Yes, Pack Leader.”

“That tears it,” Horx Lars said. “We truly are in a quantum phase like the senior scientist suggested. You’re the fourth such anomaly to occur today. I speak of bizarre incidences that have no scientific explanations. Can you be more specific about how you reached the C.I. Nubilus?”

“I can,” Maddox said, “but you won’t believe me.”

Horx Lars opened his fanged maw and laughed. “Try me, monkey man. See if I’m not the best Pack Leader of the Gatherers.”

“Uh…before I do, how about a sip of wine to oil my tongue?”

Horx Lars stared at Maddox. Then, the Ardazirho shoved a goblet and the fluted container across the desk.

Maddox poured himself red wine and threw it back into his mouth, swallowing. It was strong wine, and it hit him for once. “Ah. That was good.”

“You drink like an Ardazirho, monkey man. Can you eat your food as fast?”

“Never mind about that,” Maddox said. “Could I see an image of your ship?”

“Why?” asked Horx Lars. “Are you a spy perhaps?”

“I’m a lost monkey man, and I need to find my moorings.”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Horx Lars said. He swiveled his immense bulk around and fiddled with a screen. A second later, it showed the C.I. Nubilus, a five-kilometer tubular vessel with thousands of pods around it attached by spoke-corridors.

“I thought so,” Maddox muttered. “Could you show me where we are?”

Horx Lars glanced over a shoulder at Maddox, nodded, and tapped the panel. The C.I. Nubilus vanished, showing the iron-nickel mountains of the third planet of the Library Planet system.

A cold feeling struck Maddox. He became dizzy, and he considered drinking more wine, and then nixed the idea. He needed his wits, not to dull them.

“Sight of the planet bothers you,” Horx Lars said. “Why would that be?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment, sir. Could you first tell me what you meant by a quantum phase?”

Horx Lars swiveled back around to face Maddox. “You look like a sneaking furless monkey, willing to promise the galaxy and just as likely to flinch a thing and lie about it later. But I have a gut feeling about you. You almost seem like a warrior.”

“I am a warrior.”

Horx Lars laughed. “Any monkey man would say the same. Well, we’re Gatherers. Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“We find interesting creatures throughout the cosmos and capture them. We have thousands of animals, some smart, some dumb brutes. We sell, we trade, but mostly we search for fighting creatures to bring to the inner galaxy. The Masters there have games, you understand. It’s a living for us, but it’s tedious at times. We Ardazirhos are the best suited for this life because we’re hunters and nomads by nature. Our knowledge of the galaxy is vast, and that was why my senior scientist knew the affliction of our beloved vessel to be a quantum phase, which emanates from the second planet.”

“What does this quantum phase do?”

“Aye,” Horx Lars said. “That’s the best question ye asked so far. My senior scientist says it means to open a portal or door to another space—Fourthspace, in this instance—and swallow us. Or, in another way, the quantum phase means to tear a hole from one plane of existence to another. Such a thing should not be possible, but the second planet appears to possess alien wizardry.”

“Your vessel is stuck in place?”

“How did ye know that?”

“I’m beginning to think I came from your future, Pack Leader.”

“The Hades you say? That be right impossible.”

“I’m beginning to believe otherwise,” Maddox said. “Sir, could you tell me if you’ve seen a floating ball of light.”

“You mean the dim system star?”

“No, a ball-of-light alien, a creature,” Maddox said.

Horx Lars stared at Maddox. The Pack Leader began to whine and shake his head. “Do ye be a warlock of legend? How did you know about him?”

“I’ve met him,” Maddox said.

Horx Lars raised his snout and howled.

The guards along the wall rushed up, two of them grabbing Maddox by the shoulders, hauling him out of his chair.

The captain didn’t like how the fur on Horx Lars stood up on end and how the pack leader’s eyes rolled around in their sockets. The Ardazirho howled once more and gnashed his fanged maw. Making a production of it, the creature worked up out of his seat and pointed an accusing and hairy digit at the captain.

It felt as if the Ardazirho was going to pass a sentence of death on him. Thus, Maddox used a judo move, throwing one of the guards over his shoulder and twisting toward the other. The guard snarled, raising his lips and showing his fangs. Maddox punched him against the snout. The guard shrank back and whined with pain. Maddox grappled with the alien, tore the holster flap open and drew the creature’s pistol. At the same time, he kneed the guard in the groin. The guard whimpered, staggering back—Maddox shot him in the head. He whirled around and shot Horx Lars in the head. Crouching, hearing shots whiz past him, Maddox turned and fired until his alien revolver clicked empty.

Speed and surprise—the Ardazirhos lay dead on the floor or twitched with their last gasps of life.

Maddox was panting and his heart thudding. He hadn’t wanted to murder the lot of them. Them or me—he hadn’t needed his expanded sixth sense to realize that. So he’d done what he’d had to in order to survive.

“Now what?” he muttered.

He had his monofilament knife hidden in a boot. He’d put it there after Ludendorff had mentioned it after he’d destroyed Half-Life. The knife would not be enough, though. So he gathered pistols. They were all the same model, alien revolvers holding eight bullets each. He tucked two revolvers between his belt and pants and carried another two, one in each hand. He had to get out of here. But where should he go?

He still breathed hard, realizing he needed a plan. To that end, he closed his eyes and bent his head, seeing if he could sense something, anything. His head jerked up. He had to get back to the spot where he’d dropped onto the C.I. Nubilus. He had to get there now.

-63-

Maddox sailed weightlessly through the C.I. Nubilus’s main tubular corridor. He no longer had four pistols, but two, having emptied the others, leaving several weightless Ardazirho corpses behind as evidence of a fight.

If he was right about his theory—that he’d not only “fallen” millions of kilometers from his former location but into the past—these aliens were already long dead. Still, he felt guilty for killing them as he had.

He needed to think, to process all this and figure out—what exactly? The alien vessel had something to do with Balron. What had the pack leader told him? C.I Nubilus was caught in a quantum phase, a portal or door to Fourthspace, which was a different plane of existence or dimension.

The Erills in the City of Pyramids on the Planet of the Erills had migrated from a different plane of existence to this one. Ancient Ur-Builders had long-ago created a gateway to that plane. The Erills had possessed the unlucky Ur-Builders, devouring them. The regular Builders had quickly discovered this and quarantined that star system, making sure that no Erills roamed free in the galaxy, and that no new gateway appeared to let in more deadly aliens. Might Builders on the Library Planet have once created a similar portal or gate? Horx Lars had said something beamed from the second planet at the ship to create the quantum phase or portal.

Was that one of the reasons why the Builders had disappeared? Had some or most migrated to this Fourthspace, this other plane of existence? What lived in Fourthspace? Was that the ancient name for the dimension of the Erills?

Maddox scowled. Balron hadn’t seemed like an Erill, but according to Ludendorff, the Erill soul energy in him had likely acted as a beacon to Balron.

A shot rang out, and a bullet zipped past Maddox. He twisted around to look back. Several Ardazirho guards flew weightlessly after him, one of them firing.

Maddox snapped off a shot. One of the guards went limp as blood spurted. The Ardazirhos might have originated from wolves or some other lupine creatures. The monkey man was proving superior to them in marksmanship, however. Maddox deliberately fired again, and another Ardazirho cried out.

The rest howled and bayed with bloodlust, drawing their weapons. A ragged volley rang out, then another.

Maddox grunted and jerked, grazed in the back and left shoulder. Before they got off a third volley, Maddox twisted around so he lay back with his feet aimed at them. From the prone position, he snapped off one shot after another, killing all eight of them, but discharging his remaining cylinders.

He tucked the empty revolvers under his belt, wishing he’d taken time to collect bullets. Maybe he could fake someone once with the guns. He grabbed the float-rail and started trucking faster. He was out of time—Maddox scowled. He hated puns or plays on words. How the guards had missed each time—he shook his head. That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t logical. Some other force was at work. Yes, the Ardazirhos had grazed his skin. Blood dripped from his left shoulder.

“Balron,” he said. “How did you keep the bullets from killing me?”

No one answered. He didn’t sense any listening intelligence, either.

“One or two of them should have hit me. They were guards. It is beyond probability and reason to think they missed every freaking time.”

Yes, a soundless voice said in his mind.

Maddox shivered with dread. As the soundless voice spoke, a Builder symbol appeared in the captain’s consciousness. The symbol had only appeared to him in his thoughts when he’d faced Erills. That meant either Balron was some kind of Erill, or an Erill-type creature had just impersonated Balron.

The sensation of an alien mind departed. Had it lost strength and thus could no longer keep the connection open, or had it fled to preserve its real identity?

I must be a key, Maddox thought. Maybe I’m the Opener of the Way. Balron did what he did to me in order to change me so I could do a service for him. Yes. He’s already told me the service he desires. All along, he’s wanted me to go the wreck and find a doorway to a long corridor. At its end, I’ll meet an alien. The two of us will go to a special room and retrieve several items. Balron wants me to take the so-called missing pieces to Victory. Are the pieces needed to complete the quantum phase, the portal to another plane of existence?

As Maddox sailed weightlessly through the seemingly endless corridor, he wondered if this had anything to do with his extended visit to the City of Pyramids. In some manner, the hungry Erills in the—Fourthspace, their plane of existence is called Fourthspace. It has to be.

Yes. A feeling of rightness filled him: that he was making correct guesses. Can I leave the C.I. Nubilus of the past? What caused me to come here in the first place?

He pondered that. Balron had come to Victory. No, Maddox didn’t know that for sure. A great brightness had appeared in the conference room. Balron had spoken through that brightness. He had told Maddox to go to the wreck of C.I. Nubilus. Maddox had rushed the brightness and fallen—

There’s a link between Victory and C.I. Nubilus. That link had allowed Balron to…to do what? Balron had said he was using a great expenditure of energy or power.

Maddox snapped his fingers. Where had Balron gained the power? Maddox didn’t think it had come from the Fourthspace, from the realm of the Erills. Horx Lars had said a beam or power from the second planet had captured the C.I. Nubilus in a quantum phase.

“The second planet,” Maddox said, “the Library Planet.”

Who was presently at the Library Planet? Well, in Maddox’s original present, the New Men were there. The New Men had also deployed an orbital insertion team. Could that team have had anything to do with stopping a grave alien—Erill—menace?

I’m onto something, Maddox realized.

A pang filled him, making him wince. As quickly as he could, he tried to slow down with the float-rail. That hurt the palms of his hands. He would friction burn them raw if he wasn’t careful. Maddox tore off his shirt, wrapping fabric around his hands. Then he slowed, slowed more and pulled back to the spot where he’d felt the—

He winced once more. Here! Here was the spot. He looked around, seeing bulkheads, ceiling and deckplates. There was no opening, no brightness to guide him.

Think, Maddox told himself.

A howl in the distance caused him to look down the corridor. More Ardazirhos were on the way, flying weightlessly toward him. Shots rang out.

Maddox flattened onto the deck. Bullets zipped over him. He wanted to howl and gnash his teeth just like the wolf-men. But that wouldn’t get him anywhere but dead. He had to think, to use his head—

Concentrate. Concentrate—no, no, relax.

Maddox snorted, but he attempted to relax and let himself feel with his sixth sense. More shots rang out. Bullets zinged overhead. It was a dreadful feeling.

Suddenly, Maddox sensed an opening above him. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. It looked ordinary enough. He stared at the ceiling and almost panicked.

Instead, he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and sensed the unnatural opening above him.

Crouching—hearing gunshots and bloodthirsty Ardazirho howls—Maddox coiled himself and shot upward as hard as he could. He flew up, expecting to dash himself unconscious against the ceiling. That did not happen.

Maddox swallowed and opened his eyes. He was in darkness, and he sensed that his upward motion was slowing. When it did, he would fall back down to the C.I. Nubilus. The Ardazirhos would kill him there.

He reached out in the darkness and felt slickness. He tried to grab that, but his hands slipped away uselessly. He had no idea what kind of realm this was. Maybe it had more in common with dreams and nightmares. Thus, he willed himself to have spiked palms. He didn’t look at his hands in case that would ruin things. He dragged his palm against the slick surface and they slipped uselessly. He opened his eyes and used the light from the opening below to see that his hands were as ordinary as could be.

This wasn’t a dream in that way.

My knife!

Maddox reached to his boot top and drew the monofilament blade. The point and edges were a chain of molecules thick. He jabbed the knife into the slickness and used the wall-lodged weapon to pull upward. He went a little faster as if he was still weightless, or nearly so. Fortunately, he yanked the blade out of the slick wall as he sailed higher. He repeated the performance, keeping himself heading up. It was hard, sweaty work, but it was better than falling back onto the C.I. Nubilus.

Soon, he saw an opening above. It was bright there, but the brightness was noticeably dimming. As it dimmed, the opening visibly began to shrink.

Gritting his teeth, muttering a prayer, Maddox strove to increase his speed. He jabbed the monofilament blade into the slick wall, pulled up as if it were a mountain-climbing pin, drew out the knife, and it slipped from his sweaty grip. The knife tumbled away, heading down toward the distant opening at the bottom.

Maddox swallowed and looked up as he moved in that direction with agonizing slowness. The higher opening shrank as he strained to reach it with his fingertips. He inched nearer, terrified he’d stop moving higher and then start to fall. His fingers reached the outer edge of the shrinking hole. He grasped the edge, and with a groan, he dragged himself out of the opening and onto the conference table aboard Victory.

For a second, the others around the table were frozen. The hole shut, and there was a flash. All of them began to babble and shout at once, demanding to know why he was suddenly lying on the table instead of sitting at the head as he’d been just a second ago.

-64-

With a terrible feeling of unreality, Maddox slid off the table. “Quiet!” he shouted. “Shut up, everyone! Quiet!”

The others fell silent as they stared at him.

“Where’s your shirt?” Ludendorff asked.

“Your shoulder’s bleeding,” Meta said.

“You’re sweating, and your heart rate is far too high, sir,” Galyan said.

“Enough,” Maddox panted. He was sweaty and winded, and the feeling of the surreal was beginning to confuse him. He used the table to stabilize as he negotiated his way to his seat. He collapsed onto his chair, staring at the others, wondering if this was the dream.

“Sir,” Galyan said. “It appears as if several bullets have grazed your skin. How is that possible? One second, you were speaking to us. The next second, you were lying upon the table in your impossible state.”

“Please,” Maddox said. “Give me a second.” He put his hands against the table edge and simply breathed. The wounds told him that he had actually undergone the ordeal. Yet, that should be impossible as Galyan had said.

He looked up at them. “We’re dealing with ultra-powerful forces. Balron—I don’t know what he is. Professor, before I proceed, I need you to get the headbands and your scatter-light gun. I’m not sure if any of that will help, but we have to do whatever we can to guard ourselves.”

“You’re acting paranoid,” Ludendorff said.

“Meta,” Maddox said, ignoring the professor’s comment, “can you get me another shirt, some bandages and a couple of bottles of water? I’m terribly thirsty. Have Valerie help you.”

His wife looked as if she wanted to ask a hundred questions. Instead, she nodded, rose and looked at Valerie. The two of them hurried from the room.

“Professor, please. Go now and get those items.”

“Very well,” Ludendorff said, rising and walking from the chamber.

“Galyan, summon Riker. Tell him to come armed. I want his common sense to help us negotiate this madness.”

“What happened to you, sir?”

“Dammit, Galyan, get Riker. We’re running out of time, I think. We might already be too late.”

“You do not really think that, sir,” Galyan said. “It is a deception on your part so I will stop asking questions.”

Maddox leaned back against his chair and turned his head. Was he going mad? Could things like this really happen? What he’d just gone through seemed more like magic than science, or maybe this was super-science. He nodded to himself and turned to Galyan.

The holoimage was gone.

Maddox folded his arms on the table and laid his head on his arms, closing his eyes…

Maddox snorted awake, realizing that Meta was shaking an arm. He sat up, let her clean and bandage his wounds, put on the fresh shirt and guzzled a bottle of water. By that time, the others and Riker were waiting and seated around the table.

Haltingly at first, Maddox told them what had happened, beginning with the brightness and Balron speaking to him, declaring they were in a split-second of time. Maddox began to speak more smoothly as he told them about falling aboard the C.I. Nubilus, and later about the events on the Ardazirho vessel. When Maddox finished, he guzzled the second bottle of water.

The others glanced at each other.

“I bandaged graze wounds,” Meta said.

“I recorded his accelerated heart and breathing rate,” Galyan said.

“I saw him suddenly shirtless,” Ludendorff said.

Riker frowned thoughtfully. “What do you think, sir? Did these things really happen to you or did you have a vision?”

“How can I explain these physical realities?” Maddox asked. “I mean the wounds, being winded and finding myself shirtless and lying on the table? Something happened to me. Did I truly experience such ‘impossible’ events as I’ve described? I’m inclined to think I did.”

“I’m not so inclined,” Ludendorff said. “And yet…the idea of Erills and another plane of existence—” The professor frowned. “Another plane could explain the beam of light. We recorded a flux at the wreck. Could that have been a portal opening to another plane, allowing anti-energy to flow from there? Perhaps that is what ‘made’ the anti-energy.” He shook his head. “There is something else. Suppose we do take your adventures as real, what does that tell us about Balron?”

“That he has or had access to great power,” Maddox said.

“Most certainly true,” Ludendorff said. “What else?’

“What are you getting at?” Maddox asked.

“Thinking, merely thinking aloud,” Ludendorff said as he stared at a point in the ceiling, possibly beginning to brood.

“We have dealt with powerful creatures before,” Galyan said, “some able to cross vast distances, for instance. I refer to the Nameless Ones we once saw from a different galaxy. We have also seen the City of Pyramids and learned about the folly of the Ur-Builders. I do not know if Balron is an Erill, a creature of the Ur-Builders or the Builders themselves. It would seem he has a clear purpose in mind. We know because he altered the captain for some special reason. The problem is that we do not know if his purpose works against or for us. I am inclined to think against.”

“Yes,” Maddox said.

“I am curious if Balron’s latest activities have drained him of power? Is this a moment for us to strike against him, and how do we achieve that? Are the New Men dealing with another part of this at the second planet?”

“I don’t know about any of that,” Riker said. “My recommendation is to hit the focal point of the menace, the wreck. In other words, annihilate it while we can.”

“I like that,” Maddox said, knowing he’d summoned Riker for a reason.

Ludendorff blinked several times and tore his gaze from the point on the ceiling to regard the others. “Why would Balron want to let Erills into our plane of existence? What does he get out of it?”

Maddox shook his head.

“Now that we’ve established that we’re dealing with alien super-science,” Ludendorff said, “I’m beginning to become suspicious of the Yon Soth in the last star system. The so-called moronic Yon Soth might have something to do with all this. Yes… Maybe the great and ancient powers in this part of the Orion Arm have decided we humans are too strong for them. They’ve banded together to use old Builder folly and technology to wipe us out.”

“What happens to the Ancient Ones after we’re gone?” Maddox asked.

“I imagine you’re referring to billions of Erills roaming free, as they would have slain us,” Ludendorff said. “The others are ancient and powerful entities. Thus, I’m sure they would think of something.”

“I’d call that a stretch,” Riker said.

Ludendorff turned to the sergeant and laughed mockingly. “I know the captain thinks you’re filled with horse sense. I just think you’re a simpleton way above your pay grade. The warped-space bubbles before show us we’re dealing with high-powered oddities. The Yon Soth wasn’t an innocent or even idiotic bystander we had to pass. He’s part of the puzzle working against the continued existence of humanity in all its varied forms.”

“If that’s true,” Riker said, “these creatures wishing to unleash the Erills upon humanity, it sounds more and more like a Lisa Meyers plot. She wants us extinct. Would she have gone to the Yon Soth or Balron and made a deal?”

No one answered that.

“Clearly, we’re in over our heads,” Maddox said. “This is super-science at its worst. I’m beginning to wonder if the Builders, while they ruled, protected this part of the Orion Arm against such entities and finally succumbed against a combination of Yon Soths and others like Balron.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Ludendorff said. “Balron has gone to great lengths to alter you and cause us to use the space-warped bubble system. That means he has limitations. Otherwise, why did he seek our aid and go to such lengths to get it? We’re clearly at the heart of the matter, the Library Planet system. The wreck of C.I. Nubilus is in the core of this. Maybe the sergeant has a point there. We should destroy the ancient wreck.”

“And likewise destroy whatever machine can open a portal between the planes of existence,” Maddox said.

“You think this machine is inside the Library Planet?” Ludendorff asked.

“Without a doubt,” Maddox said.

Ludendorff nodded thoughtfully. “We stopped short of dealing with the Erills at the City of Pyramids not so long ago, of terminating the problem, I mean. It looks like we’re in it here. Either Balron is helping the Erills or desperately trying to stop them.”

“Why wouldn’t Balron come out and say so in that case?” Riker asked.

“I don’t have the answer to that,” Ludendorff said. He frowned and turned to Maddox. “Maybe we should coordinate with the New Men.”

“That’s the problem,” Maddox said. “Do we have an advantage staying hidden from the New Men—are they trying to use the dimensional portal machine? Or is it imperative that we work together on this, combining forces against dreadful aliens?”

“If we could restore the Tarrypin, Valerie could try to sniff out the answer,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox chewed that over. Intelligence, knowledge—it often came down to that. If he could hedge his bet just a little with detailed information about what was going on at the Library Planet… “Let’s see what everyone working overtime can do with the Tarrypin. Before I make our next move, I need to know more. And maybe we should transfer to the other side of the third planet, keeping out of sight of the wreck and the star cruisers at the second planet.”

“Do you mean maybe or are we going to do it or not?” Ludendorff asked.

Maddox realized he was appearing indecisive. Was that an offshoot of possessing an active sixth sense? Or was he mentally beat after what he’d just been through?

“I’ll tell you in several hours,” Maddox said. First, he needed a break, a siesta in order to regroup.

-65-

Maddox slept longer than he intended, waking up five hours after he’d slumped into bed. He woke up to see Meta sitting in a chair, a blaster in hand as she watched him.

“Going to kill my nightmares?” he joked.

“Any bright lights or glimmering balls,” she said seriously.

Maddox slid out of bed, pulling on some shorts. He straightened and looked over. “Is that Ludendorff’s scatter-light gun?”

“Yes,” Meta said. “He told me to give it to you once you woke up. Here’s a headband, too,” she said, picking it up off the floor.

Maddox put on his shirt, pants and boots, combed his hair and put on the headband next, switching it on. Lastly, he examined the scatter-light gun. It looked ordinary enough, with a tiny bulb at the end instead of an open orifice.

“It has a charge for ninety seconds of continuous shining,” Meta said. “Hold it more than ten seconds on a regular person, and they’ll have a second degree burn at that spot.”

“It’s regular light?”

“Oh no,” Meta said. She smiled when he raised an eyebrow. “I asked the professor the same thing. He gave me a similar answer.”

“Meaning?” Maddox asked.

“He told me I’m not scientifically educated enough to understand the real answer, and he doesn’t feel like dumbing it down for me either.”

“Fine,” Maddox said. “As long as it works. I’m surprised he gave it up.”

“He has a newer, better one,” Meta said. “He told me to tell you that he’s working on light grenades now, for tougher balls of light than Balron.”

“This will hurt Balron?”

“It hurt the ball-of-light creature the Yon Soth set at us,” Meta said.

Maddox nodded. He was feeling more like himself after the five-hour deep sleep. The time in dreamland, or in the past, had drained him more than he’d realized. It had sapped his morale, too. He was determined to move Victory behind the third planet. They’d spent enough time sulking around out here in the Kuiper Belt. First, he wanted to inspect the Tarrypin.

“Need something to eat?” Meta asked.

Maddox’s stomach growled, which told him all he needed to know. “Let’s go to the cafeteria. I can talk to Galyan along the way.”

***

The hangar bay with the parked Tarrypin looked like the proverbial kicked over ant colony. The place swarmed with techs and IT people, with both Andros and Ludendorff helping with the most difficult tasks. Power cables snaked everywhere. Machines whirred or whined, and drills made a constant racket. Half of the Tarrypin lay scattered over the hangar-bay deck.

Maddox soon cornered Andros. “Well? What’s the prognosis?”

“Another three days and the darter should be up and running,” the rotund Chief Technician said.

Maddox pondered that. Three days was too long. “You can’t get it done any faster?”

“Three days at the earliest, sir,” Andros said.

Maddox eyed the frantic activity around them. Should he keep all these people here? No, not all of them.

Maddox sought out the professor, pulling him aside. “The repair is taking too long.”

Ludendorff nodded. “Three days and the system might be swarming with Erills.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Maddox said, “as we haven’t seen any Erills and haven’t communicated with any.”

“You told us you’d seen the Builder symbol in your mind. The correct assumption—”

“You know what they say about assuming,” Maddox said, interrupting.

“I don’t care,” Ludendorff said. “I believe we’re dealing with invading Erills or something equally deadly. I know you think likewise. Thus, three days is too long. A day and a half might get the Tarrypin running well enough to poke around the second planet and its moons. Of course, the stealth equipment is probably the trickiest and most prone to breakdown, and its breakdown would negate the reason for using the specialty craft.”

Maddox came to a decision. “Come with me, Professor. I want you on the bridge.”

“We’re going to jump to the third planet?”

“Yes.”

Ludendorff studied the floor at his feet before looking up and nodding. “Are you going to destroy the wreck?”

“I’m going to jump to the third planet before I make the next decision. Valerie!”  Maddox shouted.

The lieutenant commander hurried to him.

“I’d like you on the bridge,” Maddox said, “as I’d like your input about what you saw earlier at the wreck.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Maddox looked around and decided he’d leave Andros down here for now. “Okay. Let’s go.”

***

Victory came out of the star-drive jump three million kilometers from the third planet. It had been a precision jump, with the nickel-iron world used as a screen against the second planet, and with the old wreck across the planetary horizon from them.

Soon enough, the bridge crew ran through routine scanning. There was nothing out there watching them that anyone could tell.

Maddox sat in his captain’s chair. He could feel the responsibility weighing on him. They were fifteen hundred light-years from Human Space. There was no one they could turn to for help if the New Men proved hostile. Six star cruisers orbited the second planet. He had his one ship over here. Last mission, he’d worked with his uncle, Golden Ural, on Tortuga and later had asked for help via the Long-Range Builder Communicator. Star Watch had gotten critical information from Methuselah Man Strand, and Ural had been instrumental in that. The information had gone a long way to breaking into the mobile null region. Still, Maddox hadn’t forgotten how Strand had left out key data, the most critical being the existence of the Hormagaunt in the null region. Could he count on the New Men here being helpful or would they be hostile? Clearly, the six star cruisers meant Strand had told them about the Library Planet.

The weight of responsibility grew heavier. It would be three days until the Tarrypin was operating at full capacity again. Maybe he should sneak to the second planet in a tin can. Keith was the best pilot there was. Of course, star cruisers had far better sensors than a tin can. Star cruisers couldn’t land on a planet, though. The tin can could. Should he have Keith make a spectacular fold, essentially landing on the surface ice of the second planet? That would take great precision. But if anyone could do it, Keith was the man.

Maddox nodded to himself. Okay, suppose he could get to the surface ice. What then? He still needed to reach the Builder tunnels under the ice. And suppose he reached the subterranean tunnels. What did he think he could do against teams of New Men, the best of them, too, the Emperor’s personal representatives?

Maddox swallowed in a dry throat. They didn’t have three days. Half-Life had brought them here at this time because things were about to happen, because Balron had wanted them brought here at this key moment.

Ludendorff and Valerie walked onto the bridge, interrupting the captain’s thoughts.

“Professor,” Maddox said, “why don’t you use Andros’s science station?”

Ludendorff went there, sitting.

Maddox noticed Valerie looking around wistfully. The lieutenant commander seemed homesick. Meta wasn’t here yet.

“Would you like to run your old station?” Maddox asked.

Valerie cocked her head and smiled. “I would be delighted, sir.” The lieutenant commander went to her former station, touching the controls as if they were old friends.

“Should we launch a probe around the planet?” Ludendorff asked.

“That would be too easily seen by whatever is using the wreck,” Maddox said. “Galyan, go to the planetary horizon and look at the wreck. Can you patch through what you see onto the main screen?”

“With ease, sir,” Galyan said.

“Go,” Maddox said.

Galyan disappeared.

Moments later, the images on the main screen switched. Maddox and others saw the five-kilometer vessel with its thousands of pods. It was the same old wreck. It drifted, doing nothing in particular. There were no spikes of radiation, no beams of light coming from it.

Valerie had swiveled around to stare at the main screen.

Maddox happened to notice. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I’m not sure…” Valerie said. “The wreck seems different from what I saw on the darter’s teleoptics. Not greatly different, but a subtle thing—it seems…the wreck is in better repair than before. Yes…yes, I’m sure of it now.”

Maddox glanced at Ludendorff.

The professor manipulated his board. “I’m receiving these images through Galyan—”

At that point, a beam of light speared from the wreck. The beam seemed to stab straight at the main screen.

“Galyan, come back!” Maddox shouted.

Galyan appeared on the bridge, and the holoimage staggered. None of them had ever seen that happen before. “Sir,” Galyan said. “Help me.” Then, the holoimage vanished.

-66-

Maddox, Ludendorff and Andros Crank moved into the highest security area of the starship—the ancient AI core. Both Ludendorff and Andros lugged a bag of specialty tools.

The inner sanctum had great banks of computer equipment and a large holo-imaging machine in the center of the chamber.

“Do you smell that?” Maddox asked.

“Of course,” Ludendorff said. “It’s coming from there.” The professor pointed at the large holo-imager.

Andros nodded as he walked around the towering cylindrical machine. He held a hand-scanner and tapped controls. “Here,” he said, moving the device closer to the machine. “I’m detecting shortages.”

Ludendorff and Andros went to work, removing plates and then reaching in and extracting burned-out crystals. They replaced some wires and inserted new crystals. When the imager failed to restart, Ludendorff pulled out a comm unit and attempted to link with the main AI computers.

“Is someone out there?” a disembodied voice asked.

“Galyan!” Maddox cried.

“It is good to hear your voice, sir. I can hardly fathom this. Where are you?”

“At your AI core,” Maddox said.

“This is marvelous, sir. After all this time—I had given up hope. Is that really you, sir?”

“It is,” Maddox said. “Professor Ludendorff and Andros are with me. They’re attempting to fix the damage.”

“Oh,” Galyan said. “That is good news indeed, sir.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already analyzed the damage,” Ludendorff said, as he worked from his knees, with his arms inside an access port as he replaced a part in the giant holo-imager.

“What have you found?” Galyan asked over the comm.

“Much of your imaging equipment is burned out,” Ludendorff said. “The Hyperion Crystals took the worst of it, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Galyan said. “That is not so bad then. We have replacement crystals. I was afraid there was damage to the main core.”

“We haven’t looked there yet,” Ludendorff said.

“That is not very reassuring,” Galyan said.

“One thing at a time,” Maddox said. “Do you know what happened out there?”

“Could you be more specific, sir?” asked Galyan.

“At the wreck,” Maddox said.

“Oh, the wreck at the third planet,” Galyan said. “Yes. I scanned and found a power flux. Then, I discovered an anomaly a microsecond before the beam or ray of light emanated from the wreck. At that point, I reappeared on the bridge and then lost projection power.”

“Energy flux, an anomaly,” Maddox said. “Can you put that into perspective for me?”

“The anomaly was a portal,” Galyan said. “Where the portal went or connected, I do not know. I do believe the power flux poured through the portal. What I mean is that the ray of light did not originate from the wreck itself, but from elsewhere.”

“From the past?” asked Maddox.

“I doubt that,” Galyan said. “Sir, I have wondered about something else. It has been ages since I spoke to intelligent life. How much time has passed since the ray of light attack against me?”

“Uh…” Maddox looked at Ludendorff.

“It’s been eighteen minutes since you vanished from the bridge,” Ludendorff said.

“Eighteen minutes…?” asked Galyan. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, I see,” Ludendorff said. “Don’t you remember the last time you were disconnected from us? How a short time for us seemed like ages for you stuck in the AI core?”

“Yes. I do now. I computed time at computer speeds. It has not been eons then since I last saw you. That is a great relief. I thought everyone I knew in Star Watch was long dead.”

“None of that, Galyan,” Maddox said. “We’re in the middle of an emergency. This is time for action, not remorse.”

“You are correct, sir. Let me pull up an ancient—a file. The ray of light did not strike me immediately. What I mean is, I scanned for a time before it struck. It did not strike the darter immediately either when it began to scan. I wonder if Valerie remembers the length of time from first scanning the wreck to when the ray of light attack began against her.”

“That’s an interesting point,” Maddox said. “We’ll check on it.”

“There is one more thing, sir. While I scanned the wreck, I positively detected minute but ongoing repairs. As I watched, hull breaches became smaller, and the vessel’s overall disrepair lessened.”

“How is that possible?” asked Maddox.

“Nanites, maybe,” Galyan said. “Although I do not believe that is the answer here. There is some other function or event taking place. The actual process we are witnessing takes time. A human would likely not notice it. Being an AI, I have more discriminating sensors.”

Maddox ingested the news. “So, you’re suggesting that some entity or computer knows when people or scanners—even teleoptics— are viewing the wreck?”

“I am,” Galyan said.

“I see,” Maddox said. “Once this entity or computer realizes what is happening, a ray of light is channeled through the wreck from elsewhere?”

“Yes, sir.”

Maddox nodded. “At the same time, the vessel is effecting repairs—repairs with no visible means of cause.”

“That is correct, sir.”

Ludendorff paused from his repairs and looked at Maddox. “Perhaps whatever pulled you back to the C.I. Nubilus’s era is now pulling the whole or working vessel into our time.”

“I do not see how that is possible,” Galyan said. “I do think, however, that the ship is critical for whatever Balron is trying to achieve.”

“Attacking the wreck directly would mean having to defend ourselves from the light ray,” Maddox said, “a ray that imparts anti-energy to its target.”

“You are most certainly correct, sir.”

“Could our shields protect us from the anti-energy?” Maddox asked.

No one answered.

“What do you think, Professor?” Maddox asked.

“I don’t know,” Ludendorff said.

“Galyan?”

“I agree with the professor,” Galyan said. “It is an unknown.”

“It sounds more and more like we need to get to the quantum phase machine on the Library Planet,” Maddox said. “Galyan, did you detect where the power flux came from?”

“Through the portal, sir.”

“Where did the portal link to?” asked Maddox.

“As I said previously, I do not know.”

Maddox nodded.

“Here we go,” Ludendorff said, seeing to press a switch inside the tall cylindrical machine.

A second passed. Then, the holo-imaging machine began to hum.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Galyan said. “I am linked again to the outer world.” The Adok holoimage appeared amongst them. “Thank you, Professor, and thank you, Chief Technician.”

“Don’t go elsewhere just yet,” Ludendorff said. “I need to repair a few more functions and see if they work.”

“I will wait,” Galyan said. “You have no idea what it is like to feel lost for eons. I must recalibrate my interior timer.”

“Good idea,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox was hardly listening. He wanted to attempt an experiment against the wreck of the C.I. Nubilus, using an antimatter missile as his tool. If the experiment failed, then maybe it was time to utilize Keith and the tin can and fold to the second planet, landing on the surface ice. He needed to know what was happening on the Library Planet, and he needed to know which New Men had joined the expedition. The sooner he learned, the better.

-67-

Sometimes, the easiest and most violent solution was the best. If a madman terrorized a community, hunting him down and shooting him in the heart would solve the problem. He could no longer rape the women, hold up or knife the innocent, or create whatever trouble he’d been in the habit of doing. He was six feet under, at peace with the universe as the townspeople went about their daily business.

Maddox was a proponent of easy, violent solutions, given they were relatively moral. He sat in the captain’s chair as the first antimatter missile left its tube and headed for the third planet. The missile had an enslaved camera at its tip. Thus, the captain watched on the main screen as the missile made its journey.

“So far, so good,” Meta said from her station.

Ludendorff was at Andros’s station, as the Chief Technician continued to assist those repairing the Tarrypin.

The missile crossed the planetary horizon in relation to Victory. The camera spied the orbital wreck, which looked much like before.

“The missile is accelerating,” Meta said.

A ray of light beamed from the wreck. At that point, the transmission from the missile ceased.

“That was useless,” Ludendorff said. “We don’t even know what happened.”

“You don’t think the missile exploded?” Maddox asked.

“That’s my point,” Ludendorff said. “We don’t know.”

“Launch the next missile,” Maddox said. “This time, launch two probes to follow the missile in sequence.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Keith said.

Like before, the antimatter missile left the starship’s tube and accelerated as it headed for the edge of the third planet. Like before, this missile crossed the planetary horizon. Its camera relayed imagery back to the main screen.

That became a split and then a tri-screen as the two probes launched in sequence. The missile headed for the wreck. A ray of light stabbed from the five-kilometer vessel, and the data from the missile’s camera ceased immediately.

The main screen became a split-screen. The first probe crossed the planetary horizon in time to see the missile crash against the wreck. Glowing anti-energy outlined the missile, its warhead failing to detonate.

Maddox waited tensely, but he never saw the outlined glowing missile leave the wreck on the other side.

“Did the missile vanish?” Maddox asked.

On the main screen, two rays of light beamed from the wreck. Communication from the probes ceased.

“While the probes worked, I didn’t detect the missile after it reached the wreck,” Ludendorff said. “I suspect the missile went elsewhere through a portal.”

“To the supposed portal-producing machine at the second planet?” asked Maddox.

Ludendorff shrugged.

“Hopefully, the missile entered Fourthspace and detonated there,” Maddox said.

“With the anti-energy around it, I doubt an explosion would have mattered,” Ludendorff said. “Consider, what would antimatter do to an anti-energy universe?”

“Not much?” asked Maddox.

“Such is my own conclusion,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox inhaled through his nostrils. It would seem that the experiment had failed miserably. “Did we learn anything from this?”

“Of course,” Ludendorff said. “We’ve eliminated one means from our arsenal of possibilities. That narrows down what will work against the wreck.”

Maddox nodded philosophically. He jumped up and allowed himself to pace before the main screen. He put his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowing. After several passes before the screen, he returned to the chair, pressing an armrest comm control while he stood beside it.

A man answered.

“Get me the Chief Technician,” Maddox said.

Thirty seconds passed before Andros said, “Yes, Captain?”

“Is the darter ready for operations?”

There was a slight hesitation before Andros said, “Not yet, sir.”

“How long until it can perform a stealth mission?” asked Maddox.

“It’s down to two days, sir,” Andros said. “If I could accelerate the repairs, I would. But we’re working feverishly overtime as it is.”

“Thank you,” Maddox said. “That is all.” He cut the connection and stared up at the ceiling. Before anyone could comment, he walked to Keith who sat at helm.

The short Scotsman looked up, using a hand to swipe a lock of sandy-colored hair out of his eyes.

“How would you like a change of scenery?” Maddox asked softly.

“Are you talking about me piloting the tin can, sir?”

Maddox frowned. “Who told you about that?”

“The professor mentioned something a little while ago.”

Maddox nodded. “The tin can, Lieutenant—do you think you could fold us onto the surface ice of the second planet?”

Keith snapped his fingers.

“Could you do it without the star cruisers sensing you?”

Keith became thoughtful. “That, matey, would be harder.”

Maddox frowned.

“I know, I know. I always forget. It’s sir. That’s what I meant.”  Keith leaned away from Maddox and ran some calculations on his board. The ace pursed his lips and finally leaned back to Maddox. “It depends on what you want, sir. I can land on the surface ice, at least the ice facing the third planet. Folding onto the other side where the star cruisers are orbiting—” Keith shook his head. “There’s a limit to what even the greatest can do.”

“I never knew,” Maddox said.

“I know, I know, ’tis a sad fact to admit. Yet, there it is, sir. If getting down to the Builder tunnels is the idea, we can do it, provided there is an entrance to the tunnels on the side facing the third planet.”

“Could you fold from here?”

“You mean, do I have to ‘see’ the second planet to make the jump?”

Maddox nodded.

“It would be better doing it that way,” Keith said.

“Not if a ray of light beams us from the wreck,” Maddox said.

“You’re right there—sir.” Keith leaned away from Maddox again, grumbling as he tapped on a flight calculator. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. He turned to Maddox. “I can make the fold from here. It could get rough, but I’m the man to smooth any roughness out.”

“How many can fit in the tin can for that?”

“Fit and hold all the equipment needed on the second planet?” Keith asked.

“You’ve already done the math?”

“Been thinking about it ever since the professor dropped the hint,” Keith said. “Given weight requirements, mass and storage space in the fold-fighter…I’m guessing a seven-man team might fit if we all squeezed. That’s including myself, sir. Six would be wiser, meaning yourself and four others tromping about the Builder tunnels—again, providing—”

Maddox reached out, grabbing the nearest shoulder. “Listen to me, Lieutenant. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Keith gasped, working to hide the pain from the captain’s grip.

Maddox did not ease his hold. “Can you really bring six of us to the surface ice? No BS, Lieutenant. Give me the straight answer.”

Despite the pain, Keith scowled. “I said I can do it, mate, I mean sir. That means I can do it. I hate BS, only loving the truth, and a woman’s beauty. I love that, too.”

Maddox released the man. Without smiling, he patted Keith’s shoulder. “You’re relieved from helm duty, Lieutenant. Get to your fighter, get it ready, and be ready to jump to the surface ice as soon as I’ve collected my team.”

Keith grinned as he rose, rubbing his shoulder. “Remember, sir, just four others and you. “Seven and all the needed EVA suits and equipment would but cutting it a little too fine. Six is the number this mission.”

“I understand,” Maddox said. “Go. Get the tin can ready for immediate deployment in a freezing hell-zone.”

“Aye, aye, sir. It will be a pleasure.” Keith headed for the bridge exit.

Maddox glanced at Ludendorff, who swiveled his seat around to pretend to study the science station. Maddox thought about that. He moved slowly, wondering if this was the best solution to the overall problem.

“Professor,” Maddox said quietly.

“Yes?” Ludendorff said, turning around and looking up.

“What do you think?”

Ludendorff’s features went blank.

Maddox regretted the question as soon as he asked it. He’d taken a vacation on Earth before this mission. He was supposed to be sharp, at his very best. Had Balron done more to him with the out of body experience than he’d realized? Had the sharpened sixth sense made him…more aware of the dangers and thus a little more cautious? If so, he didn’t like that.

“Your plan is foolhardy,” Ludendorff said. “And yes, I was eavesdropping on your conversation with Keith. And yes again, I did tell him what you were considering.”

“I appreciate your candor.”

“I doubt that,” Ludendorff muttered.

“Would you join us if I requested it?”

“I don’t think so,” Ludendorff said.

“What if ordered you to come?”

“I’d refuse,” Ludendorff said. “Keith is good, but such a fold is expecting too much from the ace.”

“The fold is the only thing you fear about this?” Maddox asked.

“Captain, let me respectfully suggest that you watch your mouth.”

Maddox grinned, as he’d made his decision. Ludendorff was going. If he had to drug the Methuselah Man, he’d do so. What he needed to do first, though, was figure out who else would go. They could face New Men down in the tunnels, providing Ludendorff showed them how to get into the subterranean levels.

What else was there to do at this point? Above all else, he wanted to avoid a space battle between Victory and six of the deadliest star cruisers in existence. That meant five people were going to have to sneak around like weasels in the subterranean tunnels and outsmart the New Men, Balron, and possibly any Erills on the other side of the portal.

Maddox turned from Ludendorff, beginning to relish the idea of the challenge.

-68-

As Captain Maddox mulled over the composition of his team, on the other side of the second planet, Golden Ural listened to the commander of the inserted ground team. Ural was on the bridge of Star Cruiser Shapur, sitting in the captain’s chair. They still hadn’t heard from the Emperor. Venna’s claim was the extent of their knowledge concerning his royal cousin.

The orbital insertion of elite drop troopers had worked—partially, anyway. No one from the grounded shuttle had detected the ten men as they landed. Well, if the shuttle operators had detected the troopers, they hadn’t relayed that upstairs to Ural. Unfortunately, the surface conditions down there were even worse than Ural, Strand or anyone else had imagined. The ten drop-troopers had landed on the ice, but much farther from the shuttle than originally intended, and scattered from one another. That had been due to the 110-kilometer-hour winds. Since landing, the troopers had first gathered into one group and then trudged endlessly across the ice. Their EVA suits hadn’t been up to the extended challenge. Four elite troopers were dead, frozen stiff on the ice. Two more staggered, their suits malfunctioning and their lifespan now a matter of minutes, maybe less.

“Freezing,” the drop-troop commander said via comm. “It’s freezing even though I’ve cranked my heater full blast. Can’t take much more of this.”

Ural stared at the armchair comm. He’d pushed for the drop even though Strand had quietly predicted disaster. Strand was now being proven correct. Ural clicked a button. “How far are you from target?”

“Twenty-three kilometers,” the commander said.

Ural looked up and found Strand staring at him.

“Are you going to let them die?” Strand whispered.

“You’re a snake,” Ural whispered back.

“What does that have to do with the commander and his remaining men? If you let them perish…you might not be able to hold onto your temporary command.”

“Do you think I’m worried about that?”

“You’d better be,” Strand whispered. “If you lose control, I’ll probably fall with you. I’ve staked my life on you knowing what to do. Remember, Artaxerxes Par is ready to pounce at your slightest failure.”

“Why should that bother me?” Ural asked, suspiciously.

Strand sidled nearer, whispering, “Artaxerxes Par, along with others, slew your brother Oran those many years ago.”

Ural’s features hardened. “Do you know that as fact? Can you prove it?”

“Prove it?” asked Strand. “It’s obvious.”

Ural’s gut tightened, although his features remained set. “What do you know about the murder, Methuselah Man?”

“I can read you New Men better than anyone alive. I see the signs. I know.”

“Facts, you snake, I need facts before I can act.”

“Lower your voice,” Strand warned, glancing from side to side. “Others are watching and listening. They’re waiting for you to stumble. The insertion team might be the first nail in your coffin. How you react to the failure could the second. The third and final nail will be waiting for Artaxerxes to strike instead of hitting him first.”

Ural stared at the comm, listening to the harsh breathing of the commander downstairs on the surface ice. He couldn’t let all the drop troopers die because they’d been exposed too long to the hellish elements.

Ural clicked the button. “Commander, help is coming.”

“Golden Ural?” the commander asked.

“I’m sending down a shuttle to pick you up.”

“Javed Kir will see that,” the commander said. “He’ll slay the Emperor because of it. My failure will have killed my sovereign.”

“I don’t think so,” Ural said.

“If you’re wrong, I must slay you. I would rather die for the Emperor than be the cause of his extinction.”

“Can you run twenty-five kilometers before your suit gives out?”

“That is not the question.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Strand whispered. “It’s not his decision to make.”

Ural turned to the side, to see the wizened Methuselah Man at his elbow. The dwarf’s eyes burned intensely, and the skin seemed too tight for the little man’s face.

“Let the commander and the rest of his men die, and you will lose temporary command of the expedition,” Strand whispered. “That seals the Emperor’s death. Artaxerxes desires power. I don’t know why, but you do not seem to strive to achieve greater authority as the rest do.”

“Continue your mission,” Ural told the commander, clicking off the comm afterward. He sat back, staring at the main screen, which showed the bleak ice world. He heaved a sigh and clicked a different button.

“Is the shuttle ready for launch?” Ural asked.

“Yes,” a dominant said.

“Then launch,” Ural said. “Launch and retrieve the drop troops.”

A half minute later, a sleek combat shuttle left the Shapur’s main hangar bay. The shuttle headed for lower orbit.

“Sir,” the comm operator said. “Artaxerxes Par is hailing us, wishing to speak with you.”

“It begins,” Strand whispered at Ural’s elbow. “The jockeying begins in earnest now.”

Ural wished the snake would cease its sibilant whispering. He knew very well how to handle this. “Patch the captain through to my chair.”

The golden-skinned comm officer manipulated his board.

“Ural,” Artaxerxes Par said roughly. “Is the shuttle heading down?”

“Have you received any surface communications, perhaps?” Ural asked. “Is that why you’re calling, to inform me?”

“The Emperor’s life is at stake,” Artaxerxes said. “You must immediately recall the shuttle.”

“That is an interesting way to issue a challenge,” Ural said.

Artaxerxes did not ask what Ural meant. The dominant knew. A challenge was a challenge to duel, to the death in most instances.

“This is not a game,” Artaxerxes said. “The Emperor’s life is at stake.”

Ural glanced at Strand, who watched him much too keenly.

“Did the recall transmission go through?” Artaxerxes asked.

Ural said smoothly, “Maintain your station, captain. The flotilla may have to react quickly. Unless you receive word from the Emperor saying otherwise, do not use this channel again.” Ural shut off chair communications, swiveled in his seat and motioned the comm officer to do likewise.

“Bold,” Strand whispered afterward. “It might even have been rash. I hope you don’t fail.”

“Your words cease to amuse me,” Ural said.

“Don’t order me away,” Strand said. “You’re going to need my expertise sooner than you think.”

It galled Ural that the Methuselah Man could be right. He made an offhanded gesture before glancing at the main screen and watching the progress of the combat shuttle. It had begun to enter the upper stratosphere, its heat shields glowing.

“Sir,” the comm officer said. “Javed Kir is hailing us.”

Ural did not sigh. He sat straight as a dominant should as he radiated confidence. It would be wrong to take the call privately. He needed to show the bridge crew that he had the situation under control.

“Put him on the main screen,” Ural said.

The comm officer tapped his board.

A second later, Javed Kir appeared on the screen, obviously sitting in a shuttle’s control cabin. He was like before, golden-skinned and lean with dark hypnotic orbs.

“You have broken the truce,” Javed said emotionlessly. “I see a shuttle heading for us, coming down from orbit.”

“Not for you,” Ural said. “It’s performing a surface rescue operation.”

Javed Kir twitched as his mouth jerked. Then a smoothing calm steadied him. “You cannot reach the Emperor. You dare not land near us.”

“Of course not,” Ural said. “We’re rescuing a few of our men already on the surface.”

Javed shook his head. “Your verbal deceptions have failed. There are no men on the surface to rescue.”

“On the contrary,” Ural said. “I sent a…an exploratory team onto the surface ice. I wanted to have firsthand observations about conditions.”

“I detected your hesitation just now. It was not an exploratory team, but an insertion team.”

“What if it was?” Ural said. “A storm blew them over a hundred kilometers from you. I’m sending down a shuttle to rescue them.”

“No,” Javed said emotionlessly. “You must let the drop troops die. If you do not…the Emperor dies in their place.”

“You don’t have the means to kill the Emperor,” Ural said, “as he is not in your possession.”

“That is a small matter. Venna will kill him if I send the message.”

“If she does, we’ll saturate the ice around you with antimatter bombs. We’ll use bore bombs to finish her afterward.”

Javed turned away and spoke monotone words to someone offscreen. He waited like that, finally turning back to the main screen. “Behold her beauty,” Javed said, a harsh tinge changing the emotionless of his voice.

The screen wavered as Javed disappeared and Venna turned around to face them. There were bright lights behind her and a great volume of space. Could she have already made it down to the Builder tunnels?

Ural’s heart thudded at the sight of her. She was so lovely, so achingly beautiful. To lie with her, to peel off her garments and enjoy—

“Golden Ural,” she said, while glancing to the side and then making a sharp motion to someone unseen.

“Ural!” a man shouted down there, sounding like the Emperor.

There was a harsh buzz, a groan, and no more shouts from the unseen Emperor.

Venna smiled at Ural. “Recall your shuttle. You are sending one down, right? Javed told me you are.”

“I’m rescuing a landed exploration team,” Ural said.

“No, no, that isn’t going to work with me.”

“Listen—”

“Ural,” she said, interrupting. “Are you recalling the shuttle?”

He didn’t want to tell her he wasn’t. He hated defense. “Are those the Builder tunnels? Have you made it down there?”

“Answer my question,” she said.

“You answer mine first,” he said.

Venna looked up, shook her head and regarded him as if he were a child. “You have no idea. This—” She indicated the tunnel. “This is so much more than you, Ural. You’re forcing my hand, and I really don’t want to do this.”

“What are you attempting down there?” Ural asked.

“Tish,” she said, flicking her hands.

The connection cut.

Javed stared at them on the main screen. Javed Kir turned sharply, screamed—the image disappeared.

“Sir,” the sensor operator said. “Look.”

On the main screen, a great flash appeared from the surface ice. It must have been a nuclear or antimatter detonation.

“It came from the landed shuttle, sir, the original one,” the operator said. “It’s gone, and so is a lot of ice under and around it.”

Ural turned wordlessly to Strand.

The Methuselah Man studied the screen, the dissipating explosion. “I don’t understand,” Strand whispered. “What is Venna after? Why would she do that? How will she leave once she has what she wants?” Strand turned to Ural. “Could one or more of the star cruisers be secretly loyal to her?”

Ural stared at the main screen, silently debating what to do next.

-69-

Golden Ural sat proudly on the Shapur’s bridge as he calculated fast. Venna the spy had destroyed the grounded shuttle, severing her comm link with the star cruisers. She’d also callously slain half of those that had traitorously joined her. Did that mean she’d reached her destination? Was it that easy to reach the Builder tunnels, or did she possess secret information? Strand had suggested she had secret allies, Artaxerxes Par, possibly. Was Strand another of her hidden allies? That seemed more than possible, likely even. Strand had been against the drop-troop insertion. Yet, Strand had moved openly against Artaxerxes when Artaxerxes had tried to have Ural slain.

Without seeming to, Ural examined the bridge officers and guards. Would they turn on him if he ordered the flotilla to return to the Throne World? The Emperor had cried out to them. Venna had then ordered someone to shock and subdue the Emperor. That might start a crack in the loyalty of the officers. The Emperor had shown himself as weak, as a captive to a woman, one of his harem girls. Word had already leaked out that his naked jaunts on the Throne World had been due to Venna’s ordering him to do that.

Strand might know Oran’s murderers. With such knowledge, Ural might solve the old case in minutes. What did Venna’s plunge into the Builder tunnels indicate, whose secret hand was moving against the Throne World? Could Venna’s presence in the tunnels hurt the Throne World or was it essentially meaningless in the greater scheme of things?

Ural shifted his jaw. He wanted to strengthen the Throne World. He wanted to turn the race of supermen into their own empire, without need of Earth women to propagate the greater society. To that end, he needed the data stored down there, data Strand could use to fix the genetic defect in the greatest race ever thrown up by humanity.

That meant he could not turn tail and run. The harem girl was a spy, a Spacer likely, working either for the Spacers or for Lisa Meyers. Those were the likeliest possibilities. There might be others.

Yes… It was time to rush the tunnels. If he could reach them…

Ural cocked his head. Should he attempt to free his cousin? If not, should he try to become the new Emperor of the Throne World? On all accounts, he needed to capture and interrogate Venna the spy. After the interrogation—

Ural grinned lustfully, thinking about what he would do with Venna after he squeezed the truth from her. She would enter his harem, spending the rest of her life—

“Ural,” Strand hissed.

Ural blinked, glancing at a worried-looking Strand. “What’s wrong?”

Strand motioned the tiniest bit with his head.

Ural turned that way, seeing the comm officer waiting. Had the comm officer asked him something? Ural was vaguely aware the officer had been addressing him.

Taking a chance, Ural said, “Yes.”

The comm officer swiveled around and tapped his panel.

The main screen wavered and Samos of Thetis stared at him from the bridge of Star Cruiser Paralos.

“May I ask you a question, Golden Ural?” Samos asked formally.

Ural inclined his head.

“Do you intend to rescue the Emperor?”

Ural studied the captain’s heavy features. He could not tell what Samos was thinking. This was a moment to act decisively. Yet, it was also the moment to make the correct decision. It struck Ural then. He would act boldly and aggressively, betting that the prize in the subterranean lairs was worth it.

“I’m placing you in temporary charge of the flotilla,” Ural said, standing. “The Elder-Advisor will captain the Shapur during my absence.”

Samos blinked in surprise.

“I’m personally going to lead the rescue operation,” Ural said. “I’ll take a squad of royal guardsmen, another squad of drop troopers to augment those already on the planet and Methuselah Man Strand as a tunnel guide.”

Samos appeared as if he wished to ask another question.

“You will have tactical control of the flotilla,” Ural said. “The Emperor is my cousin. Thus, I will find him no matter what and free him from the witch.”

“May I ask—?”

“I have no time for further queries,” Ural said. “I am already late, but I will rectify that soon. The spy has made her move. Now, I am making mine.”

“Yes, Golden Ural,” Samos said, forming a fist and thumping his chest with it. “I hear and obey. It shall be as you’ve ordered.”

Ural nodded curtly. “The Emperor will hear about your promptness. I have full confidence in you Lord Samos. Until we speak again—”

Ural motioned the comm officer, who cut the connection. Without further ado, Ural pointed at various guardsmen and Strand, and then he headed for the exit with the others following.

***

Ural hadn’t taken Servant Franco or his NSS men. Instead, three combat shuttles raced through the atmosphere, full of royal guardsmen and drop troopers from the Shapur. The men were all loyal to the Emperor. Ural would attempt to rescue his cousin as befitted a close family member. Strand was in the same shuttle with him. Both of them were in the control cabin.

A combat shuttle was narrower and more maneuverable in atmosphere than a regular shuttle. It had sleek swept back wings and less room for ground combat personnel. The others in the rescue shuttle had picked up the surviving drop troops and were already landing near a metal housing.

“The winds are harsh, Lord,” the pilot said over his shoulder.

“It shouldn’t matter,” Ural said.

The bleak Niflheim-like planet spread out before them. It was various shades of white to gray-white. The surface temperatures would instantly freeze a man caught without an EVA suit. White blurry patches down there showed vast areas of the continent where storms raged. They headed into one of the storms, continuously dropping lower into the atmosphere.

Their combat shuttle began to buck and shift, throwing Ural and others against their seat restraints.

“I know why you took me along,” Strand said in a low voice. “I never liked the Library Planet. Even Builders died sometimes, to the weather, I mean.”

“You remember that time?”

A faraway look appeared in Strand’s strange eyes. “That was so long ago.” He blinked and grinned as Rumpelstiltskin might have to the miller’s daughter when first offering his deal. “Long ago, but I remember so much, so very much. You were wise to bring me along.”

Ural grunted, preferring to stare out of the polarized window. So much of their highest technology came from the Builders. According to some Intelligence reports, Captain Maddox had spoken to a Builder on more than one occasion. Ural did not envy his nephew that. Now, he was plunging into an ancient Builder kingdom deep under the ice. It was too bad humanity couldn’t fight it out with their own technologies. Why this lust to plunder alien tech and seek deeper alien knowledge at each step?

Ural sighed to himself. He knew part of the answer. Humanity had begun dividing even more finely after the beginning of the Space Age. Spacers were different from New Men, New Men quite at odds with submen, to say nothing about the handful of Methuselah Men and the androids that attempted to mimic “normal” humanity. Each of them sought advantages over the other, and against those of their own kind. If you fought with clubs, and your foe started using swords, you had to learn how to make swords. And so it went, with each side and faction within each side seeking newer and better ways to defeat others or to hold what they had already gained.

What side used Venna? She couldn’t be after the same genetic knowledge they desired.

Ural shook his head. He didn’t know what Venna was after, but he would find out—unless he killed her before that happened.

Far down in the whiteness a terrible flash of brightness occurred.

“What was that?” Ural asked sharply.

“Checking,” a shuttle operator said. “It was an antimatter explosion, Lord. I’m—” The operator turned back. “The original combat shuttle landed at a metal housing. Both are gone.”

Ural’s gaze slid away from the operator’s as he peered at the storm jostling their craft. The housing and shuttle gone, which meant the ten-man insertion team was all dead now too.

Something in Ural hardened. He stared at the operator. “Find the next housing.”

“Yes, Lord,” the man said, turning back to his panel.

“The other elevator entrances might also be mined,” Strand whispered.

Ural forced himself to look at the wizened Rumpelstiltskin. “How could Venna have mined them all? She wouldn’t have had the time.”

“…True,” Strand said a moment later.

“What?” asked Ural. “You know something you’re not saying.”

“I know many things I’m not saying.”

“We’re heading for the tunnels,” Ural informed him.

“Even if it’s suicide to do so?” asked Strand.

Ural wanted to throttle the dwarf, and yet, he needed Strand, needed the cunning and ancient knowledge lodged in that odd-shaped skull.

“How is she doing this?” Ural asked.

“Truly, I don’t know,” Strand said. “But I’m beginning to fear her. Consider the kind of person Venna is to have done everything she’s managed.”

“Yes,” Ural admitted. “It’s impressive. Venna is impressive.”

“Quit thinking about her with your loins. She uses that as a tool. Don’t be another pawn like the Emperor.”

Ural bared his teeth. “Choose a metal housing, an elevator entrance. You and I will go first. If it explodes, your era will have come to an end.”

“Are you ready to die?”

“If it means your death as well, yes,” Ural said.

Strand laughed evilly. “I accept your challenge. May I?” he asked, touching his restraints.

Ural nodded.

Strand unbuckled, staggering across the shaking and tilting cabin to reach one of the shuttle operators. They spoke in low whispers, the operator clicking a switch and allowing Strand to study a panel screen. Finally, the Methuselah Man pointed at a place on the screen. Thereupon, Strand staggered back to his seat, clicking his restraints back on.

“We’re heading east,” Strand said.

“In relation to what?” asked Ural.

“The annihilated combat shuttle,” Strand said.

“Why did you choose the housing you did?”

Strand grinned nastily. “I’m keeping that a secret for now—unless you want to beat it out of me.”

“Remind me later,” Ural said.

“Of course, Sire.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ural said. “I plan to rescue my cousin. He will remain Emperor.”

“Naturally, I concur.”

They stopped talking as the shuttle swerved and picked up speed. Soon, the jostling increased as they raced into a greater storm. Behind them followed the other two shuttles.

A feeling of excitement filled Ural. Would they have all died if he hadn’t taken Strand along? Would Strand have given him a useable elevator if the Methuselah Man hadn’t been on the mission but upstairs on the Shapur?

Ural cocked his head. Perhaps the Builders had mined certain elevators or created traps for the unwary. Strand wasn’t going to say how he knew any of this. Ural’s gaze narrowed.

“We’re almost there, Lord,” the pilot said.

The feeling of anticipation grew. Ural might die in the next few minutes, or he might have a chance to capture Venna if he survived the elevator. Was he thinking with his loins?

“Maybe just a little,” Ural admitted to himself, as he envisioned Venna naked on a bed, waiting to please him.

-70-

Back on Victory’s bridge, Maddox asked Valerie to step into his ready room. He sat at his desk as she sat before it.

“I’ll make this brief,” he said, “as I want to be on my way.”

“Has the professor agreed to come?” Valerie asked.

“Not yet. Look… Your ship is temporarily decommissioned, and at the same time, you’re the senior officer aboard Victory. What’s more, you’re used to commanding the starship while I’m gone. While you’re no longer on the official ship’s roster, I want you to take command during my absence.”

“Sir, I—”

“You’re the best officer to run the starship,” Maddox said, interrupting. “You have personal knowledge, experience and—”

“I’ll be glad to do it, sir,” Valerie said, sounding out of breath.

“Oh?”

“More than glad,” she added.

“It’s irregular,” he warned.

“You’ve taught me that irregular isn’t always so bad. I mean, not often, mind you, but sometimes it works best that way.”

“Excellent,” Maddox said. “It’s settled then?”

“Do you have any standing orders?”

“I do. Run the ship the best you can, Lieutenant Commander. Trust your judgment and do what you think is right. This is a wild situation and we’re far from home, and who knows what will happen next. You decide to do a thing even if everyone else is against you.”

“Thank you, sir. It sounds as if you trust me.”

Maddox stood, with his fingertips on the desktop. “If you think that, you think right. Any final questions?”

“If the star cruisers find us and make an attack run…?”

“It will all depend on the situation. You know that, right?”

“I do now,” Valerie said.

Maddox walked around the desk. Valerie stood, holding out her right hand. Maddox ignored it as he hugged her, patting her on the back and then stepping back, holding her by both shoulders.

Valerie smiled shyly.

Maddox gripped her shoulders and only then took her right hand, squeezing and she squeezed back with all her might. “Meta will run your old station. Make sure Galyan doesn’t throw himself away if he tries to save us and you think it’s impossible.”

“Are you expecting your exploration to go badly?”

“We’ll be facing New Men, maybe Strand, maybe Balron and who knows what else. It could go very badly, even though I expect to win in the end.”

“I hope so too, sir. Good luck, and…please watch out for Keith, if you could,” Valerie said, blushing.

“He’ll do fine,” Maddox said. “He’s the one who will be watching out for us. But I’ll keep my eye on him just the same.”

“I appreciate it,” Valerie said softly.

Maddox nodded, and he turned to go, pausing and sighing. He didn’t tell her why he sighed. Instead, he started for the exit. It was time to gather the last member of the exploration team.

***

Maddox knocked on the professor’s science-lab hatch. He’d taken longer choosing his team than he’d expected, telling Meta she wasn’t going. It wasn’t that Meta wouldn’t be an excellent pick, but they were going to be facing New Men, maybe Strand, maybe Balron and possibly Erills. On no account did he want his wife there for that. He’d be too worried about her to strike as hard he could when the moment came. Meta had argued with him—

“No is no,” Maddox had finally told her.

Meta had searched his eyes and nodded. “You come back to me,” she said.

“Of course,” he’d said.

“No, Captain Maddox. You come back,” she’d said, as tears had glistened in her exquisite eyes.

He’d decided on Sergeant Riker, and two marine combat specialists, and now was going try to persuade Ludendorff rather than try to force the man.

Once more, Maddox rapped his knuckles on the hatch.

The hatch opened a second later. Ludendorff stood there in a rough coat and shirt, pants and heavy boots, and with a pack on his back.

“Where are you going?” Maddox asked, perplexed.

“You want me to join the expedition, I presume.”

Maddox blinked. “Just like that, you’re coming?”

“I was joking earlier. I’ve waited a long time for this. I’ve packed several items I suspect will be useful. Are there any objections to that?”

“None whatsoever,” Maddox said. “Are you ready?”

Ludendorff nodded.

“Then let’s get down to the hangar bay.”

***

Deck workers exited the parked fold-fighter. It looked like a giant tin can, with plenty of antennae sprouting from it and with absurdly tiny wings bolted to the sides.

Once, the fold-fighter had been an experimental craft. These days, many motherships had several, and some battleships had one. Victory possessed two.

Maddox and Ludendorff were the last to enter, the main hatch closing behind them. They crawled to their spaces, strapping in, the craft packed with heavy EVA suits and equipment so they could survive the Library Planet’s harsh surface temperatures.

“You’re really sure you’re going to need me on this one, sir?” aging Riker asked from his location.

“Not sure at all,” Maddox said. “What, are you afraid to go?”

“If I am afraid, can I leave now?”

“No…” Maddox said after a moment. “If you’re afraid, that’s probably for the best. We need someone with a different point of view from the rest of us.”

“That old rawhide is afraid?” Ludendorff asked from across the cabin. “Huh. I always thought he was too stupid to know better.”

“I’m stupid for still being in the service,” Riker said. “I should have retired ages ago.”

“So why haven’t you?” Ludendorff asked.

Riker muttered under his breath.

“I can’t hear you, old man,” Ludendorff said.

Riker ignored the Methuselah Man as he closed his eyes and snuggled back as if to sleep. With his eyes closed, he said, “Wake me up when we land. I could use some extra shuteye until then.”

Keith was rubbing his hands as sat in the pilot’s seat. He was the only person sitting comfortably, without any gear pressing against him. “This is it, gentlemen. Get ready for liftoff.”

The small ace tapped a few controls; the tin can gently rose from the hangar bay deck. All the personnel must have cleared out, for now the fighter eased toward the opening exit.

“Yes, siree, Bob,” Keith said. “This one is going to be fun, a riot, I tell you. Luckily, you have me to get you there. So you have to know that nothing can go wrong. Are there any naysayers?”

No one spoke up.

“Right,” Keith said, as he studied his flight screen. “Let’s get a little distance from the starship. Then, we’ll rock and roll, as the ancients used to say.”

-71-

Lieutenant Commander Valerie Noonan sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge of Victory. It was good to be sitting here again. She looked around the bridge, feeling at home, feeling expansive. The Tarrypin was so small, so cramped. She wasn’t sure she liked running a darter. If she was going to remain an independent commander, she wanted a larger vessel, one with some firepower.

Valerie sat back, surprised at her feelings. Didn’t she like independent command? I do, I do like commanding. She frowned thoughtfully. Did she miss Victory, the people in particular?

“What are you thinking, Valerie?”

She started and glanced to the side. “Oh, hello, Galyan. How are you?”

“I am fine, but I am worried about the captain and Keith.”

She frowned more, realizing she hadn’t been thinking about them. She eyed the main screen, seeing the tiny tin can contrasted against the nickel-iron mountains of the third planet. Swiveling her chair, she asked Andros, “Are they receiving the fold data?”

“Yes, sir,” Andros said. “However, Keith has requested a probe for a last look at the second planet.”

“By all means,” Valerie said.

“Probe launching,” Andros said.

Valerie eyed the main screen, watching the even smaller probe leave the starship and race for the planetary horizon.

“You never did say, Valerie. What are you thinking?”

“Not now, Galyan,” she said.

“Were you thinking how lonely you have been away from the bridge?”

Valerie turned sharply to stare at the holoimage. “How did you…?”

“My psychological profile on you is still up to date, Valerie. I wished to check, however. I see there was no real need. You should return to Victory for good. The others miss you.”

“What about you?” Valerie asked, unable to avoid the question.

“I miss you most of all,” Galyan said. “It is good to have a rational counterweight against the captain’s proclivity for rash actions. I hope saying that is not against regulations.”

“This is odd,” Andros said.

Valerie turned away from Galyan, sitting forward. “What’s wrong, Chief Technician?”

“See for yourself, sir,” Andros said, as he manipulated his panel.

Valerie studied the main screen. The image changed, and she was watching the five-kilometer wreck. “What am I supposed to see?”

“The speck of light,” Andros said. “See, it’s already approaching the planet.”

The probe-sent picture on the screen changed as Andros used a zoom shot. Valerie and others saw a pulsating ball of light.

“Balron,” Galyan said. “It is Balron. Alert the tin can.”

“I’m sending the message,” Meta said from her station. She tapped her board, tapped again and then cursed at it.

“What’s wrong?” Valerie asked.

“Communication has jammed,” Meta said. “I can’t get the message through.”

“I’ve lost my telemetry link with the fold-fighter,” Andros said.

Valerie jerked around to stare at the main screen. The ball of light—Balron—reached the planet and zipped around it, crossing the horizon so he could presumably see the starship and maybe the tin can. He ceased movement at that point.

“What’s Balron doing?” Andros said. “Yikes. He’s sending data to them.”

“What?” Valerie asked, incredulous.

“Balron appears to be mimicking my telemetry link,” Andros said.

“Galyan,” Valerie said. “Get to the tin can. Tell them what’s happening.”

“Yes, Valerie,” Galyan said, as he disappeared.

Several things happened at once then. The tin can vanished. The probe showed the wreck shining with intensely bright light. Galyan reappeared on the bridge.

“What happened?” Valerie shouted. “Did you get bounced back from the tin can?”

“No,” Galyan said. “The tin can folded before I could reach it. They are gone.”

Valerie stared at the main screen. Balron had reversed direction, and now traveled back around the planet the way he’d come. Almost immediately, he started back for the wreck.

The wreck ceased shining like a mini-star. Before, it seemed like just an old piece of stellar junk. Yet out of the wreckage, a ray of light speared. It must have struck the probe, because the wreck disappeared from the main screen. In its place was the old image of the third planet, but without the tin can before it.

“What just happened?” Valerie shouted. “Will someone tell me what happened?”

“Valerie,” Galyan whispered.

“What?” she shouted back at him.

“Captain Maddox would tell you to calm down,” Galyan said. “He would say that he can hear you just fine. I would suggest that your shouting is making everyone else nervous.”

Valerie stared at the holoimage. She wanted to shout at him. Then what Galyan had said penetrated. She gulped air, forcing herself to act calmly. “Okay people,” she said in a softer voice, “let’s see if we can figure out what Balron and the wreck just did, and if they managed to interfere with the fold.”

-72-

The tin can vanished in what seemed like a normal fold, the only unusual aspect being that Keith planned to zip through the third planet in order to reach the second planet’s surface ice. As per the captain’s orders, the tin can would appear just a few meters over the nightmarish ice.

A fold was much like a jump, where a craft or ship moved between two locations without traveling through the intervening territory or space. That was what allowed the tin can to move “through” the third planet. Technically, it did no such thing. It folded from one spot in space to another and it mattered not a whit what stood between the two.

A fold like a jump was the next thing to instantaneous. The occupants of a tin can or starship did not feel anything during the transition. There were reactions to such events to be sure, lag in the body and mind, but those reactions were not felt during the near instant of fold or jump but afterward.

This time, however, things were different, much different. Keith pressed the transmit button, and the tin can folded out of its space—

A sheet of light flooded the tin can, coming through Keith’s screen. The tin can shook, and the occupants felt it. The shaking worsened as the light began to pulsate and then oscillate through the various colors of the spectrum. The light went from yellow to orange-yellow, orange to red-orange, red to violet-red to violet to blue-violet, blue to blue-green to green to yellow-green and then back to yellow as the process repeated itself. The cycles quickened and began to pulsate with tastes, with physical sensations and then with the grumblings of munching sounds of a great beast devouring metal, bones, flesh and plastic.

“This…shouldn’t…be…happening…” Keith shouted, his voice bleeding new colors into the ongoing cycle.

Ludendorff gagged, with his eyes wide and staring.

Riker flexed his bionic hand, laughing wildly as tears leaked from his eyes.

One of the hand-to-hand combat specialists wrestled with himself, one hand trying to gouge out his eyes while the other strained mightily to stop it from happening.

The second specialist was curled up in a fetal ball as he tightened his muscles to such an extent that he started to sweat and groan from the effort.

Maddox had cocked his head, listening for a sound he had not yet heard. The sixth sense in him felt queasy and troubled. The tin can was going through a zone no human had ever negotiated before. It was questionable whether any of them would survive, particularly if this continued much longer. There was something else…something troubling him. Yes… He had felt this presence before.

“Balron,” Maddox said.

The word streamed from his mouth, the color snaking and twisting past the oscillating and pulsating colors of the spectrum coming from Keith’s screen.

“Balron,” Maddox said again, adding to the snaking color’s thickness. “Balron, Balron, Balron.”

“You’re…doing…something…mate,” Keith shouted. No colors poured from his mouth this time.

The tin can jerked and swerved in the bizarre zone that no human had ever traversed before. The shaking intensified even as the pulsating and oscillating colors dimmed and then vanished abruptly.

And with that, the tin can appeared in a place where an eerie music penetrated the bulkheads. The music was clearly otherworldly and surreal, and it grated against the minds of the six men.

Ludendorff’s eyes narrowed and then shut. He appeared to struggle to remain awake, but moments later, he snored, sleeping deeply.

Riker simply conked out, his bionic hand still at last.

The wrestling marine was not so lucky. He heard the music consciously, and he screamed and thrashed in his spot as his two hands choked him, throttling off his air and continuing to do so even as his heart gave a great spasm. His hands relaxed then, but it was too late, as he died, although not from asphyxiation, but from a severe lack of a will to live.

The other marine remained in his fetal ball, but his muscles no longer strained to tighten him even more. He giggled in his sleep as happy events filled his dreams.

Keith’s head was slumped to the left, his breathing hardly detectable. He was poised on a knife’s edge between life and death as grim nightmares waited in a dread abyss while white drifting clouds beckoned him with heavenly music. He needed to choose, but it was questionable which would give him life and which death, for he might never want to waken from a dream about a perfect heaven…

Just like before, Maddox differed from the others. He heard the eerie music, his brow concentrated as he attempted to decipher its meaning. There was no thought of sleeping. His sixth sense told him he’d arrived in a place different from anywhere else he’d ever been.

He realized he had felt this before…not so very long ago. He’d fallen through a similar realm, and then had sailed upward and then struggled like a mountain climber in a dream.

Unhooking his restraints, Maddox struggled upright. He moved like a sleepwalker between the EVA gear and equipment. He headed for the hatch. Balron was waiting for him. Balron would finally tell him…

Maddox paused. He wasn’t sure what Balron would tell him. He checked his belt, seeing that he had the scatter-light gun and a regular blaster. He checked a boot top. There was an ordinary knife hidden there, a good combat blade, although not anything as good as the monofilament blade. Lastly, he unhooked a Ludendorff-constructed headband. With a sure move, Maddox put the band over his head and switched it on so it buzzed softly.

He no longer sensed Balron, as he’d severed the link with the anti-telepathic device attached to the band.

With greater confidence, Maddox opened the hatch, quite certain he wasn’t killing everyone because there was more than simply a vacuum outside. He opened the hatch and—

-73-

Maddox blinked with incomprehension at what he saw. Billowing white fog blew across an endless expanse. He could hardly see anything, the fog was so dense. He looked down from the hatchway and did not spy any solid ground, just more of the billowing white substance.

He frowned. What did the tin can rest on then?

Inhaling, realizing he breathed air, Maddox lowered himself feet first and then twisted around, keeping a grip on the lower hatchway as he swung his feet. There was no purchase below. Thus, he hoisted himself back up into the hatchway. He looked around—

Brightness—a small area of it, approached him through the billowing white fog.

“Balron?” asked Maddox.

The brightness moved faster and became more distinct. It was a ball of light, Balron or one of his cousins perhaps.

Maddox wondered if he should draw the scatter-light gun, but waited, seeing what would happen first.

The ball of light neared and then stopped several meters from Maddox, who waited in the open hatchway.

“I wasn’t sure if this was going to work,” the ball of light said. “But clearly it did. This is excellent news indeed.”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you trust your senses, Captain?”

“To a point,” Maddox said.

“You can breathe, so you’re obviously not in space.”

Maddox said nothing.

“If you’d take off that silly headband, it would make things much easier.”

“For whom?” asked Maddox.

The ball of light pulsated brighter. Was that its way of sighing, a show of anger or annoyance? It was impossible to know.

“Do you not understand yet?” asked the ball of light.

“Give me your name,” Maddox demanded.

“It’s Balron. We’ve talked before. I know you haven’t forgotten. I must say, you’ve proven much more stubborn than I’d anticipated.”

“You mean clever,” Maddox said.

“Stubborn, clever, it amounts to the same thing.”

“What is this place?”

“I may have done my work too well with you. You should not be so curious here. Do you not feel a weight against your mind, a drag that makes cognition difficult?”

Maddox realized he no longer heard the eerie music. What had it signified? Was it good or bad that the music had ceased? No, he didn’t find thinking difficult in the slightest.

“You are part of the simian-hominid branch of mammalian life,” Balron said. “Only the greatest of the simian-hominid adepts could remain awake in this place. Yet, you maintain curiosity and presence of mind. It is the next thing to a miracle.”

“Are you avoiding my question?” Maddox asked.

“I am marveling, and I am frightened beyond measure. I have waited eons for this to take place.”

“Our meeting?” Maddox asked.

“Not with you in particular,” Balron said. “I have been trapped in your dimension or plane of existence for hundreds of years, seven hundred or more. You have no idea how I yearn to return home.”

Maddox laughed.

“What amuses you about that?”

“I assure you,” Maddox said, “nothing about your so-called yearning. Rather, your poor attempt at a lie. Your real desire is to open the way for the Erills so they can enter my plane of existence. Why not admit the truth?”

“Who are the Erills?”

“I don’t for a second believe you’re ignorant about them.”

“I suppose I do know about the Erills, as the Yon Soth explained it rather well.”

“The Yon Soth we engaged eighteen hundred light-years from here?” Maddox asked.

“The same.”

“The Yon Soth is your secret ally?”

“Hardly,” Balron said. “I did him several favors in order to earn a few answered questions.”

“What favors?”

“None that you would understand,” Balron said. “It was a tedious affair, taking over a hundred years to perform. From him I incidentally learned about the Erills at what you call the City of Pyramids. From that information, I eventually learned about you.”

“You were at the City of Pyramids?”

“For a short time only,” Balron said. “So yes, you are correct. I did meet the Erills. The poor pathetic and quite trapped entities could not help me, although they pleaded and begged for me to help them. Alas—for them—I could not summon the interest. While I detest this realm of existence, I do not bear it any malice. I simply want to leave it and return home.”

“How did you find me?”

“Through the Erill energy in you, as you have no doubt surmised,” Balron said.

“You learned about me a short time ago?”

“I suspect you mean, why did I choose this particular time to act? The answer should be obvious. You were finally planning to come to the wreck of the C.I. Nubilus. It was therefore time to implement the plan.”

“What about the New Men?”

“You mean the others on and in orbit around the Library Planet?”

“You know that’s what I mean.”

“The New Men are meaningless to me,” Balron said.

Maddox shook his head. “Why coordinate our arrival together then?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Maddox said.

The ball of light pulsated once more.

This time, Maddox was sure it showed agitation with him.

“There is one among their party with peculiar plans,” Balron said. “Perhaps I aided her, and perhaps she is about to shut down an ancient machine. I need the machine off for several minutes, at least. Several hours would be better.”

“And I’m supposed to do something during that time?”

“Indeed,” Balron said. “I have come to believe it is the only way I can find my way home, my beloved realm of existence. Do you realize I have loved ones yearning for me? It is a heinous thing to be an exile in a hard matter universe.”

“Who exiled you?”

“It was an accident, a freakish occurrence of fate and foolishness. The Builders at the Library Planet played a part, but the real villains are the Ardazirho Gatherers, the ones from Existence Vondium Nine.”

“That’s a different plane of existence from here and from your home?” Maddox asked.

“Oh yes, quite different indeed.”

Maddox thought about that. “What exactly is the Ardazirho wreck? Why does it seem as if it’s repairing itself?”

“Let me think,” Balron said. “Ah. I know an Earth legend that might make it easier for you understand. The legend is that of the Flying Dutchman. It was a ghost ship from the Age of Sail during the late Eighteenth Century in Earth dating. Others sighted the Flying Dutchman, and it was considered a portent of doom. In reality, the ghost ship traveled between realms of existence. How this was possible on that primitive planet, I do not know. Perhaps there was a gate or portal in the Bermuda Triangle that aided it in this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It does not matter,” Balron said. “The C.I. Nubilus is the thing. Over seven hundred years ago, certain Ardazirho Gatherers decided to check other realities, seeing them as shadows or possibilities of the true realm.”

“Where is the true realm?” Maddox asked.

“The Ardazirho Gatherers of Existence Vondium Nine had the conceit theirs was the central or true universe and all the others were shadows of the real realm. Those of C.I. Nubilus had found and repaired an ancient machine of a Traveler and planned to use it.”

“Are you a Traveler?” asked Maddox.

“Yes, yes, you guessed correctly. Your sixth sense has become quite acute in these things.”

“Logic told me that,” Maddox said. “It had nothing to do with a supposed sixth sense.”

“Oh?”

“I guessed because you seem to know much about these planes of existence.”

“Ah. Yes. That is a good point. Now, if you will be so good as to—”

Maddox backed away from the hatchway and deeper into the tin can’s corridor. As he did, he drew his blaster. At that moment, he saw a dark shape flap out of the fog. The creature was long and leathery, with a narrow snout full of fangs. He did not know the name, but it was volraptor.

The creature screeched, and more of them appeared.

“Oh, no,” Balron said. “This is unfortunate. Quick, Captain, I need your help.”

“Can they harm you?” Maddox asked from within the fighter’s corridor.

“The volraptors can devour me,” Balron said. “And if they do, you will be stuck in this Between Realm forever.”

-74-

Maddox eyed the volraptors. He saw three. They had red burning eyes and grinning narrow maws full of fangs. Were the creatures intelligent? He couldn’t tell. Did it make a difference if they were intelligent or not?

Maddox returned to the hatchway. They looked solid, normal, with only the red-glowing eyes for strangeness. Each possessed thin dangling legs with sharp talons.

“Hurry if you please, Captain. The volraptor has always frightened me, making it difficult to negotiate the Nubilus for any length of time.”

“Vol-raptor?” Maddox asked. “You speak of one, and yet I see three.”

“Two are illusions,” Balron said, “although the illusions can still rip us to shreds.”

“How can the volraptors harm a ball of light?”

As if waiting for the question, one of the volraptors turned its head, rays of hellish red light beaming into Balron.

The ball of light gave a thin wail of despair. It shifted as if trying to leave, but it could not shake the narrow beams or move more than a few centimeters one way or another.

Maddox fired the blaster. The force beam moved so slowly he could actually see the ray extending upward. The beam looked weak and pallid, as if devoid of real energy. Was that because of the nature of this place?

Seconds before the force beam struck the volraptor, the creature quit firing the narrow red rays into Balron. It flapped its leathery wings, speeding away.

The other two screeched, diving at Maddox.

The captain released the trigger, and he could see the final power move upward as the pallid beam no longer emitted from the blaster.

“I feel weak,” Balron said. Indeed, the ball of light did not shine as brightly as before nor was his voice as strong.

The two diving volraptors screeched again.

Maddox bared his teeth, tracking the two beasts. Their wings flapped as they increased speed. Maddox crouched low in the hatchway and fired. As before, the ray visibly advanced from the blaster.

The targeted volraptor veered to the left.

Having anticipated that, Maddox switched targets. He fired again, a quick shot, moved the blaster and fired yet again, moved the blaster slightly and fired another ray of light. He would box the last volraptor with rays so no matter where it turned.

One of the force beams touched the creature. It screeched, and vanished.

“Illusion,” Balron said. “Sometimes the volraptor is tricky and pretends to be an illusion. All you need do is strike an illusion to make it disappear.”

Maddox eyed the last illusion. As he did, it vanished as well.

“Interesting,” Balron said. “The volraptor must be conserving strength. Either that or firing its death rays took more of its power than it had anticipated. I don’t believe the volraptor likes this realm.”

“That makes two of us,” Maddox said. “How did you bring me here?”

“There’s no more time to explain. The volraptor could return at any moment. We must be gone by then.”

“Sorry, Balron, that’s not going to cut it. You want my help, you need to answer a few questions first. Let’s start with how you brought us here.”

“It hardly matters how. I did it. Let’s leave it at that.”

While keeping hold of the blaster, Maddox folded his arms across chest.

“Fine, fine,” Balron said, sounding exasperated. “It was a two-step process. I fed your pilot altered telemetry data. Your pilot must have entered that into the main fold mechanism. When the craft folded, I opened the way using the wreck, or the machine in the wreck. Even so, it was a difficult journey for your vessel and those inside. I thought the journey would tear the tin can apart. Luckily, you repeatedly called my name, strengthening the link. I did the rest, drawing your craft to this place.”

“Weird science,” Maddox muttered.

“No. Different elementary principles,” Balron said. “Each plane of existence runs along its own lines. Some are quite similar to each other. Others are wildly different. For instance, my plane is quite different from this one. From my studies, I have learned that certain natives to this realm think of what I do as magic. Believe me, it took me hundreds of years to decipher the so-called sciences of this plane. The Yon Soth made a few things clearer to me.”

“How did the warped-space bubbles in that star system come to be?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“How did it happen?” Maddox insisted.

“A failed experiment on my part,” Balron admitted. “The Yon Soth assisted me as we attempted to tear a path to my plane of existence. The experiment failed miserably and resulted in the Yon Soth’s weakening. And since you’re probably going to ask, the malignant creature lost much of its intelligence that day. That was why I called it a moronic Yon Soth. It was not always so.”

“After what it did for you, you left it that way?”

“What would you have had me do?”

Maddox shrugged. “What about the Severn warship? What’s its story?”

“Enough,” Balron said. “Time is limited even in this realm. I crave your assistance. I need the parts I spoke about earlier. I believe you can find the way once aboard the wreck. Retrieve the parts for me, help me assemble the machine and I will be on my way home.”

“We’re near the wreck of the C.I. Nubilus?”

“Yes, you are shrewd, Captain. There are of course many C.I. Nubiluses throughout the planes of existence. All of them hold Ardazirho Gatherers. All the vessels but for one are shadows of the ship and event that took place where a portal was long ago torn open by the… Let us call it the Portal-Making Machine.”

“Seems like a prosaic term for such a cataclysmic device,” Maddox said.

“You are making a joke. And that is fine as far as it goes. It shows you still have your sense of humor, your equilibrium. But I beg you, Captain, help me escape your dreary plane of existence.”

“What will you do for me in return?”

“What can I do?”

“Heal my grandmother’s mind,” Maddox said promptly.

“No, no, I cannot leave the Between Realm now. I have expended too much energy getting here. Ask for something else.”

“The Yon Soth—”

“Forget about the malignant creature,” Balron said, interrupting. “I gave him my word never to betray him.”

“So what if you did? This is about you getting home, right?”

“No. I will not break my solemn word.”

Maddox grunted, nodding. If Balron would keep his word to the Yon Soth, maybe he would keep his word today. What someone will do for you against others, they will do against you.

“Firstly, I want to be able to return to my plane of existence,” Maddox said.

“Difficult…” Balron said.

“What? You were going to strand us somewhere else?”

“In a hard matter universe, I swear. But allowing you to return to yours…”

Maddox noticed darkness to the high upper left.

Balron’s attention shifted. “Oh, this is bad. The volraptor is out there waiting. This has taken too long. Yes! I swear to help you return to your ‘tin can’ and allow it to go on its way to the second planet in your plane of existence.”

“That’s not much of a reward.”

“You have your altered sixth sense. If you exercise the new talent, it will remain. If not, it will wither and disappear in time. Surely an increase in your skills is a worthy payment.”

“Can you—?” Maddox almost asked if Balron could make him faster physically. But he wasn’t sure he wanted the creature to alter him anymore.

“I have it,” Balron said. “I know what you might like as payment. It is on the second planet. I’m not sure you can pull it off, as the New Men and the other are there. But the thing I am referring to would greatly aid your pathetic Star Watch. I have a feeling—no, I take that back. The sphere you know of as Human Space could use what I am offering.”

“Quit hinting around and tell me what this thing is,” Maddox said.

Balron did.

Maddox’s eyes widened and he became thoughtful. “Yes. I accept that in payment. How do I acquire it, especially with the New Men there?”

“You will have to figure that part out on your own.”

Maddox stared at the ball of light. Then he looked up at the drifting, waiting volraptor, which retreated from view even as the captain watched. “Sure. That’s reasonable. Now that I know about it…” Maddox shook his head. “What’s next, Balron? How do I reach the shadow of an Ardazirho Gatherer so I can find this otherworldly corridor?”

“Let me explain in detail. You must listen carefully and do exactly what I tell you, because we can only try this once.”

“I’m listening,” Maddox said.

“Indeed,” Balron said, as he began to explain.

-75-

Maddox found himself aboard an Ardazirho Gatherer. He didn’t know if it was a shadow of or the real C.I. Nubilus, the Flying Dutchman of the space-ways. So far, he hadn’t seen any furry wolfish crewmembers in their blue uniforms or any of the zoo animals the Gatherers had captured for whatever inner-core galaxy Masters they served. The place was empty, the captain floating weightlessly along the giant tubular main corridor. He zipped along at a good pace, only occasionally reaching out to steady his flight.

He wore his garments but no spacesuit. He had a blaster out, wore the anti-T headband and kept his other hand on the scatter-light gun in a belted holster. He felt faint emanations as he flew past different bulkheads…

He realized there were many things Balron had neatly avoided mentioning. For instance, how had the C.I. Nubilus become trapped in the Library Planet system? What kind of machine was running on the second planet that had helped tear open a portal and then hold the ship in place? Who was presently messing with the Library Planet machine? Oh. And how had the gathering vessel gotten thousands of hull breaches and then slowly repaired itself?

Did he believe what Balron had told him about planes of existence, shadows and reality? Maddox did not shrug, did not frown or shake his head. Yeah. He did believe the ball of light. It was a crazy story, but it did fit the facts he knew. Here was a question. Was it crazier if Balron had been a time-traveler or was it crazier that he was a dimension-traveler between planes of existence?

Balron with his insane powers had interfered with Victory. For once, it wasn’t an end-of-the-world or end-of-humanity event. Did Maddox want to steal the Portal Maker—he hated the term. He would call it a Dimensional Portal. Did he want to steal the device that could do that?

As he flew weightlessly through the main ship corridor, Maddox snorted. He had enough on his plate dealing with this reality or plane of existence. No. He never wanted to cross dimensions. It sounded more like a nightmare than an adventure. He had too many people here that he cared about deeply, starting with Meta and his grandmother.

Now—Maddox frowned. He sensed something up ahead, something out of place with this C.I. Nubilus. The sensation grew stronger so Maddox’s grip on the blaster tightened even as he started to slow his speed. He was barely floating when the feeling slammed against him, so it took an effort of will to breathe.

With a shooter’s squint, Maddox studied the corridor. He whipped his head around, looking back the way he’d flown, expecting to see a reception committee coming. Nope, the ship was still empty. Finally, he studied the deck—his head jerked back. “What the heck?” He pushed himself down until he hovered over a knife. It looked exactly like the monofilament blade he’d dropped when traveling up that weird tube back to Victory. Could this be his knife?

He holstered the blaster and dared pick up the blade. It was his all right. It had the same heft he knew well. He sliced a bit of bulkhead so a shaving of metal floated free. It was a monofilament blade.

He took out the combat knife from his boot and put the monofilament blade back where it belonged.

Did the knife indicate he’d been on the ship before? Or was this a shadow of that event?

He snorted. This was his knife. He’d been here when the Ardazirhos had been alive. Now, they were all hiding or possibly dead. Maybe Balron had been telling him the truth. Until this moment, Maddox had wondered if half of it had been BS as Ludendorff said he liked to sling around when needed.

He shoved off the deck and continued sailing down the corridor, feeling better with the monofilament blade back in his possession. Now, all he had to do was find an ethereal door and go down an even more…weird corridor, hunting for—

He saw it then. An area of bulkhead up ahead pulsated with energy. As he floated closer, the pulsating caused the metal bulkhead to waver as if with heat on a hot road on a blistering day in the desert.

Sweat prickled Maddox’s neck as he stared. He didn’t like this, didn’t like the feeling, didn’t like the sense of disorientation emanating into his body or—

Maddox licked his lips, pondering this.

The Yon Soth in the star system eighteen hundred light-years from here had helped the poor sap of the ball of light. What kind of song-and-dance story had Balron told an ancient Yon Soth—an evil malignant entity—that would cause the vile monster to help the Traveler? The Yon Soth certainly wouldn’t have given a service out of the goodness of his heart. Balron must have come off as a sinister bastard of a Traveler that could grant the Yon Soth even greater power and knowledge than it already possessed. In the end, the Yon Soth had paid a terrible price, losing much of its vast intelligence, becoming a moron, a retard of a Yon Soth, slumming in a shunned star system gone haywire.

Did Balron get his kicks getting others to do crazy deeds for him?

Settle down, Maddox told himself.

He swallowed, realizing this was making him paranoid. It should. This was far weirder than traveling to another spiral arm. This was as out there as he ever wanted to be. Well…he’d been to pocket universes or null regions before. He’d dealt with spiritual entities like Skas and Erills.

“Okay,” Maddox said to himself. “It’s go time.” And yet, he hesitated, and looked back once more. He wanted to see wolfish crewmembers coming, but the damn corridor remained empty. At last, Maddox pulled on a float-rail, sending himself toward the shimmering ethereal area of bulkhead, closing his eyes at the last second.

-76-

Captain Maddox wasn’t sure what to expect, but he never would have guessed what actually happened.

He sailed through the bulkhead. Yeah, he’d expected that. He had done something like this not so long ago: sailing up through a ship ceiling. Before that, he’d fallen from Victory down a tube and onto the C.I. Nubilus.

He now sailed through the ghostly area of bulkhead and immediately began to fall. With a cry of surprise, he twisted in the air, opening his eyes, attempting to catch himself the way a cat could when dropped upside down—every kid has tested that at least once. Maddox failed miserably, slamming onto his chest, groaning in pain and only slowly sitting up.

He was in a long narrow corridor, a dimly lit one with flickering bulbs in the ceiling. His gaze narrowed. The ceiling was old rock like in a mine and had sweaty beads of moisture. There was nothing of outer space, sleek starships and ray guns about the place. It belonged elsewhere, a world of dirt, mud and possibly lava.

Could Balron have given him faulty directions? Could this be a setup? For what possible purpose, though?

Maddox climbed to his feet, dusted off his garments and drew the blaster. Did the sixth sense cause him to try? Was there something off about this place, or dreadfully real? In any case, he aimed the blaster at some rock and squeezed the trigger.

Not a damn thing happened. The blaster did not quiver in his hand to indicate its operation. No force beam gushed out. In this place, it was a useless piece of junk.

He holstered the blaster and tried the scatter-light gun. It proved just as useless.

Maddox considered that and drew the monofilament blade. He tried to cut through rock. That failed. Maddox stared at the rock in astonishment. The monofilament blade had never failed him.

He sheathed the knife in his boot top, thinking.

Finally, Maddox tried to break off a narrow piece of rock. But no matter how hard he tried—even kicking it with the heel of his boot—he could not do it.

Maddox sat down cross-legged and considered the possibilities. Balron had left out data, or possibly the ball-of-light creature did not understand how this corridor operated. Balron had spoken about hard-matter planes of existence. Might one hard-matter universe be more real or harder matter than another?

Maddox climbed to his feet. That must be the case, or…maybe this was the ultimate universe or plane of existence. If there were many planes or realities, the true or ultimate realm might have…more substance than the endless shadows.

“Enough,” Maddox whispered. He wasn’t a philosopher and he certainly wasn’t a pondering Methuselah Man. He was the man-of-action captain.

Maddox walked down the dimly lit corridor. Wait. This was a tunnel, not a corridor. He had to be deep in a planet instead of in a spaceship or ghostly between-realm.

What proved odd was how tired he was getting. He tested it the next time he lifted his foot to walk. It wasn’t heavier than it should be, that would have indicated greater gravity. There was something else at work. He panted, and his limbs shook. The energy to move in this place was rapidly exhausting him.

This was what Balron had failed to tell him. No wonder the ball of light had needed a simian-hominid sap to do his dirty work. Balron had picked him because of his physical strength and maybe his intense willpower. The extra sixth sense had just been to get through the freakish gateways and operate in places where others became unconscious.

Maddox’s feet dragged as he continued to trek. His shoulders slumped, and his bones began to ache with weariness. He spied something dark up ahead and tried to remember what Balron had told him.

He couldn’t. Maddox could hardly think, hardly function. It was as if the farther he traveled into the tunnel, the harder it was. Maybe the farther he traversed, the more he entered the real reality.

He staggered the last part of the way, seeing a blue uniform-wearing Ardazirho lying on the floor. The creature was lean and might have been agile in life. The wolf-creature was clearly dead, however.

Maddox collapsed onto his knees beside the corpse. There were shoulder boards on the blue uniform and two stars on each. That must have indicated his rank. Ahead of the corpse was a metal container. If Maddox were to guess, the creature had negotiated the tunnel while carrying the metal box, about the size of a shoebox. Finally, the two-star Ardazirho had fallen. It must have never gotten the energy to climb back up.

“End of the line,” Maddox whispered wearily.

Shuffling past the corpse, Maddox let his hands drop onto the metal box. He yelped and snatched his hands back. The thing was red-hot, even though it did not glow.

Maddox inspected the corpse’s hands. They looked burned, badly burned, with the fur on the other side singed black.

Maddox used his monofilament blade and cut off the Ardazirho’s uniform. That was interesting. The blade cut as well as ever—the corpse’s garments, at least.

Maddox sheathed his knife and wrapped strips of cloth around his hands until he had crude gloves of sorts. Only then did he lift the hot metal box.

He shuffled along on his knees as he held the shoe-sized metal container. He continued even though he scraped the material from his knees.

Once he’d made some distance, a sliver of strength returned, so he climbed to his feet. It was a good thing, too, because the material at the knees had worn through. He would have started rubbing away flesh soon.

He continued gaining strength as he neared a shimmering rock wall. The tunnel led to that. For a moment, Maddox wondered if he could push through the shimmering wall.

The extent of his panic was a quickened walk, a lowering of his left shoulder and—he bounced off the wall, tripped, staggering backward, and fell onto his butt.

A spot in his throat became thick so he wheezed. If he was trapped in this realm…Maddox jumped up before he could think about it, charged the wall—he bounced off again, flung farther this time because he’d rushed the wall harder.

Maddox slowly climbed to his feet as a feeling of terror swept through him. He belched several times, and then vomit gushed from his throat. He vomited a second time, panting afterward, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. The vomiting must have helped, as he didn’t feel as awful and regained his mental bearings.

Setting the box on the ground, Maddox approached the shimmering wall and tried to push his hands through. They did not go through, although he felt the slightest bit of give like an old stiff mattress might have.

He stepped back, thinking. The bit of give to the wall gave him hope. But he was going to need more than hope to cross through the portal.

He stared at it, focusing. He switched off his headband, but nothing came to him.

What am I doing wrong? Maddox cocked his head in one direction and then another. He must be doing something wrong, something different—aha!

He had an idea. It struck him as he pondered the situation. He had done something different just now that he hadn’t done the times before. With hope surging, he picked up the box, careful to only touch it with the padded strips of cloth. He approached the shimmering wall and closed his eyes.

He’d shut them the other times. Why that should make a difference, he had no idea. He recalled that Balron had said different planes had different rules, different elementary principles. For whatever reason here, shutting one’s eyes was critical.

Maddox charged forward with his eyes shut, his muscles tensed for another slamming failure. Instead, he began to float.

Maddox opened his eyes, finding himself in the C.I. Nubilus’s large main corridor, with the metal box still in his cloth-bundled hands.

He laughed. This crazy scheme might actually work. He was eager to get back to the tin can and to have Balron leave them the hell alone for the rest of existence.

-77-

Maddox didn’t have to float far before Balron intercepted him. The ball of light oozed out of a bulkhead and hovered in place. Maddox slowed until he stopped.

“You did it,” Balron said. “I can feel the parts emanating from within the container. They have dearly suffered, I’m sure.”

Maddox let the box hover weightlessly as he began unwinding the cloth strips from his hands. He paused, asking, “How can parts suffer?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Balron said. “Open it. Hurry. I’m eager to be on my way.”

“Why did I become so weary in the other place, the underground tunnel?”

“Captain Maddox, we must act with haste. The volraptor could figure out where I am. If it does, it might try a last-ditch assault against me.”

“My blaster didn’t work on the other side,” Maddox said. “My monofilament blade couldn’t cut the native substance and I found it almost impossible to keep awake there. Why, Balron? What was it about that other place?”

“Are you truly so interested?”

“I’m curious, yeah. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I see… First, open the box. Then, I’ll explain.”

Maddox became wary. “You’re going to keep your word after I open the box?”

“I did to the Yon Soth.”

That seemed too specific. Oh! Maddox reached up and turned on the anti-telepathy device attached to his headband.

“You are quite mistrustful of me,” Balron said. “I cannot say I appreciate that.”

“So sorry,” Maddox said flatly. “I had a rough childhood. It must have warped me. So, tell me, how do I know you’re going to keep your agreement once you have what you want?”

“Because I have said so,” Balron replied.

“Let’s take the box to the Between Realm. I’ll open it there.”

“No, no, no. You must open it here. The parts are surely fatigued by their time…their time locked away. They will need all their substance to fuel the dimensional portal.”

Maddox frowned. Balron was making less sense the longer he talked. Was the dimensional machine broken or just out of fuel? Maddox had the distinct impression that Balron had left more than a little out of his original explanations.

“What happens to the C.I. Nubilus once you zip back to your plane of existence?” Maddox asked.

“The Nubilus you can see in your universe will disappear,” Balron said.

“This one is a shadow Gatherer then?”

“Why must you drag this out, Captain? Let me leave this plane. Get on with your normal life and I will get on with mine.”

“I hope you’re telling the truth, Balron. For once, I’m not sure what to believe.”

“Turn off your headband and let your intuition guide you.”

“I’m not that uncertain,” Maddox said. “You keep asking me to open the box. Is that because you can’t open it yourself, or might there be a surprise inside?”

“To show you my good faith, I will tell the truth: both.”

Maddox examined the floating box. It was closed tight. He didn’t want to wrestle with it and burn his hands. With a flash of inspiration, he drew his monofilament blade.

“You must not do it that way,” Balron warned.

The heck with that, Maddox swung, and the blade did its usual thorough job, cutting the metal box in half.

Three sparks sizzled upward, and they began to circle each other, moving faster and faster.

“You have agitated them with your violence,” Balron said.

“So—”

Something screeched.

Maddox whirled around, drawing his blaster. A volraptor flapped toward him from farther down the main corridor. The captain pulled the trigger, rewarded with a normal gush of force beam. It struck the volraptor on its leathery snout.

The creature’s eyes glowed fiery red. Blackness appeared before it, and the volraptor sailed into the blackness and out of sight, perhaps out of the ship altogether.

Bewildered at the sight—no longer firing—Maddox turned back just in time to see Balron gather the three sparks like a mother hen gathering chicks beneath herself. The sparks disappeared under Balron, and he shined more brightly.

“Did you eat them?” Maddox asked.

“That is revolting,” Balron said. “I should strike you down for such an insult. But you did just chase away the volraptor. It will be some time before he can zero in on me again. He is a relentless hunter—but I suppose that does not really interest you. Now, I have what I want. I shall soon be gone. For once, I do not have to wait upon you to act.”

Maddox holstered the blaster and took out the scatter-light gun.

“I understand your gesture, Captain. That is another insult, this time against my good word. You are fortunate that I am in such a tremendously good mood. I am about to return home. This goes against the grain, but thank you, you repulsive hard-matter creature. It has been a difficult seven hundred years in your universe. You have no idea who I really am, and perhaps it is better that it remain that way. I doubt we will ever meet again. Now go, before I change my mind about you.”

A ray beamed from Balron, striking Maddox. He staggered and almost lurched out of the tin can’s open hatchway. Maddox looked around wildly, but Balron and the ship’s corridor were nowhere to be found.

Maddox did feel a sense of urgency, however, and one of his greatest attributes was to recover his equilibrium with astonishing speed. He was rid of Balron and back in the tin can—right!

He slapped a switch. The hatch closed with a snap. He pivoted, ran and worked his way through stacked EVA gear and equipment. He had barely slumped into his spot and strapped himself in when the eerie music began again. The tin can shuddered and started shaking. At the same time, colors poured through Keith’s screen, cycling and oscillating as they had before.

Fortunately, it did not last as long, or so it seemed to Maddox. The colors quit shining, the bulkheads stopped shaking, and the music ceased altogether. The fold-fighter must have appeared somewhere normal because regular fold lag caused the captain to grunt and fall unconscious.

-78-

Maddox stirred sluggishly with the worst lag headache he’d ever had. He noticed Keith working the tin can’s controls as if checking their surroundings. Maddox opened his mouth to speak and found he couldn’t form words. He concentrated, and that made his frontal lobe pound, so he bent his head, barely keeping from groaning.

What had just happened? Something had happened. Balron… Maddox frowned and winced at the increased splitting headache. He had been switching planes of existence, perhaps reaching a dreadful place that had been far too hard matter. Yes, yes. What had happened to him in the Between Realm and elsewhere came flooding back, including that he’d returned to the tin can in time, barely in time.

“Some might call this the luck of the devil,” Keith said cheerfully. “But I wouldn’t be one of them. I told you I’d bring you a few meters above the surface ice, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. It’s howling outside, the wind trying to shove us against an iceberg. You can be certain I ain’t letting that happen.”

“We’re here?” Ludendorff asked in a hoarse voice.

“Right on the dot, old man,” Keith said.

“I feel sick,” Riker complained.

Maddox massaged his forehead and fumbled out a first-aid kit. He found two capsules and dry-swallowed them, having to do it twice to get them down.

“Ah-ha,” Keith declared. “You gents are in luck. I see a metal housing nearby. It will be a short hike there, nothing more. Better start suiting up.”

At that point, Riker discovered that one of the marines was dead and the other seemed to be in a coma, curled up in a fetal position.

“I don’t understand this,” Riker said, with fear shining in his good eye. “What would have caused Hendricks to die? He was rated to fold and in excellent condition.”

“We paused during the fold,” Maddox said with his eyes shut.

“What’s that you’re saying?” asked Riker.

“Balron, it has to with Balron,” Maddox said, as he massaged his forehead.

“Now see here, my boy,” Ludendorff said. “You’re not claiming to have moved in another split-second of time, are you?”

“We all did—we folded elsewhere first,” Maddox said, opening his eyes. “Do any of you remember swirling colors and eerie music?”

“Eh?” said Keith, looking up. “That was a dream, nothing but a dream.”

“It was more than a dream,” Maddox said. “Look at this. I recovered my monofilament blade.” He drew it and showed the others.

“You claimed to have lost the knife before,” Ludendorff said.

“I did lose it,” Maddox said. “It fell back onto the C.I. Nubilus when I climbed onto Victory. That’s where I’ve been while the rest of you slept. Balron took me back to the Nubilus.”

“Impossible,” Ludendorff said, “inconceivable and ridiculous. How can you spout such nonsense?”

“Let’s not argue about it,” Maddox said tiredly. “It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“It matters to the marines,” Riker said.

Maddox nodded. “You’re right. God rest their souls.”

“But…” Keith said. “I don’t understand, sir.”

“I’m not sure I do either,” Maddox said. “We’re here, though. We’ve made it to the Library Planet. You say there’s an elevator entrance outside?”

Keith stared at the captain.

Maddox nodded, trying to show it was okay. They were okay.

Keith cleared his throat. “Yes, outside. The entrance is outside. Should I land by it?”

“At once,” Maddox said, putting more confidence into his voice. “Land, and make sure the fighter can survive a few hours on the ice. I want you waiting while we explore below.”

“Now see here,” Ludendorff said. “You claim to have spoken to Balron at some point during the fold. Do you realize how outlandish and scientifically impossible that is?”

“We can argue about it later, Professor,” Maddox said. “We’re here, your old stomping grounds, remember? The New Men might already be in the deep tunnels exploring. Strand could be with them.”

Ludendorff’s scowl eased away as he nodded. “Strand. Strand could be with them. Can Balron help us?”

“Balron is gone,” Maddox said. “We don’t have to worry about him anymore, nor can he help us. We’re back to business, gentlemen. Balron was a strange episode, and—we can talk about him later. I’ll explain all that happened when we have the time. Right now, we have to get our heads into the game of besting the New Men down in the tunnels. We have an advantage. They don’t know we’re here. But they have their own advantages.”

Ludendorff digested all that in silence, brooding until he brightened. “Not to worry, my boy. We have me, and that should be all the advantage we need to beat them to the prize.”

Maddox’s forehead still throbbed, but he could move around now. There was one other person down in the tunnels, a woman who had gained an edge due to Balron. There was also a grand prize to gain—the item Balron had said was here. The New Men might not know about the secret item. Maddox hoped to keep it that way and gain it for Star Watch.

He found some water, guzzled, waited and guzzled again. That helped his head right away, or perhaps the capsules had begun to work. It was time to forget about Balron. They could thrash out what he’d learned about dimensions and between realms later. Right now, it was time to focus on the reason for the mission and see if they could reach the ancient Builder lair under the nightmarish ice.

-79-

On the other side of the Library Planet, Golden Ural, Methuselah Man Strand, seven royal guardsmen and seven drop-troopers rode a large elevator into the subterranean depths. They all wore bulky EVA suits and helmets, having staggered from the landed combat shuttles to the chosen metal housing. In an anticlimactic show of technical knowhow, the suited Strand had figured out the correct coded sequence to the controls. The slowdown had occurred afterward, when the elevator halted and the doors opened to a bleak area of dark underground caverns and huge icicles that reflected their helmet lamplights back at them.

Strand had worked, cursed and tested, as Ural had reminded him that Venna and her team had found a large lit area where they could remove their helmets. Now, the team rode the elevator down again, having picked up speed as it headed ever deeper into the planet.

“This is strange,” Strand said through his helmet comm. The dwarfish Methuselah Man stood beside the elevator controls.

Ural stood beside him, watching the EVA-suited man, distrusting him now more than ever. He eyed Strand as the other traced a dot on a grid that had just appeared below the controls.

Strand squatted to get a better look.

Ural shrugged and squatted as well, a chore in the bulky suit. “What is that?”

“A map, clearly,” said Strand. “The dot is our elevator car. See?”

Ural watched as Strand pointed at the dot and the indicated pathways. “Are we going sideways now?”

“You noticed, eh?” asked Strand. “Yes, yes, sideways or laterally through the crust. I haven’t touched the controls since we headed down. It’s almost…”

“What?” Ural asked, suspicious.

Strand glanced back at Ural and switched to a two-man channel. “I haven’t been to the planet or system for centuries. I assumed the planet was empty, devoid of Builders. Now, though…” Strand shook his helmeted head.

“Builders are controlling our elevator car?” Ural asked in alarm.

“Why did we begin to move laterally?” Strand asked. “Give me a reason, if you can.”

“To automatically avoid a fissure perhaps.”

“That’s possible, but that isn’t the sense I’m receiving.”

“You can sense Builders nearby?” Ural asked.

“Of course,” Strand said.

“And you haven’t sensed them until this moment?”

“Correct.”

“Why wouldn’t Venna’s group have alerted the Builders?” Ural asked.

“I don’t have the answer to that.” Strand’s gloved hand traced the grid map. “Perhaps there is more at work than we realize or perhaps the Builders have secretly tampered with Venna’s group. Or perhaps we have competitors for the treasures.”

“Competitors,” said Ural. “You mean Star Watch?”

“More precisely, you’re wondering, like me, if Captain Maddox is here.”

Ural eyed the Methuselah Man. “You brought up the idea of competitors. I simply put a name to them. But the truth is your fear strikes me as paranoid and preposterous. Do you realize the odds of Maddox being on the planet the same time we are?”

“Better than you do,” Strand said. “I’m the ultimate realist and mathematician. Odds computation is what I do better than anyone else. Look,” the Methuselah Man said, as he pointed at the grid map. “We’re picking up speed.”

Ural squinted at the dot. It did for a fact move faster than before, although he did not feel any acceleration from the car itself. Strand was getting antsy all of a sudden. Why? What would have caused that? Ural had an idea, a suspicion, and decided to test the man. “Who is Venna really?” he asked.

Strand’s helmet jerked as if the question startled him. “Why do you ask me that now?”

“Maybe you know more about her than you’re saying.”

“I only wish that were true.” Strand laughed sourly. “I’ve come to believe that my years as a prisoner have dulled my perceptions. I’m not as mentally nimble as I used to be.”

“Or maybe you’re being more realistic about yourself.”

Strand snorted. “Funny, but you could be right. I do think megalomania in the near past stunted my perceptions. I became too full of myself. Years alone in a cell has a way of focusing one’s thoughts. We may have made a mistake coming here. The Builders are not like us.”

“The way you say that—you’re suggesting Builders are still on the planet?”

“I’ve come to believe it’s a possibility,” Strand said.

“I thought the Builders had passed beyond.”

“Most have. Does that mean there are no guardians on the Library Planet?”

“Why wait until now to mention it?” Ural asked.

“I’m not sure…” Strand said. “It seems as if…as if a mental restraint has suddenly been removed from my mind. I’m thinking more clearly again. Yes. Something has happened. Perhaps Venna tampered with a machine she didn’t fully understand. And that machine is now sending out brain waves. It sounds preposterous, perhaps. It doesn’t have to be Venna. It could have been something else entirely. Ah. There were some strange things at work on the wreck at the third planet. Could that have anything to do with us? I don’t see how, but—”

The elevator car shuddered. One of the guardsmen called out over the general comm line, sounding afraid. The other suited figures turned and stared at him. Through his faceplate, the guardsman reddened, looking down at his gloved hands.

“He feels what I feel,” Strand whispered over the two-man channel.

“Who do you mean?” said Ural. “Are you talking about the coward?”

Strand shook his head. “That guard is no coward. He’s simply more perceptive than the others. He doesn’t understand but he feels it, and that frightened him. You should be frightened, too.”

“Are you?” Ural asked, with a sneer in his voice.

Strand laughed shrilly. “My gut is tightening. Don’t you feel a presence?”

“No.”

“I can feel a great intelligence. Yes. It’s studying us and it is not happy.”

“A Builder?” asked Ural, starting to feel…something—or letting the power of suggestion move him.

“No…” Strand said. “The intelligence feels otherwise to me. I feel as if it is pondering what to do with us interlopers.”

Ural tried to sense a presence and failed. The power of suggestion must have influenced him a moment ago. What was Strand’s game? Was the Methuselah Man slinging claptrap? Did Strand have his own endgame in mind? Might this talk about an intelligence be part of Strand’s play?

“Notice,” Strand said, pointing at the grid map again. “The dot is moving much faster than before. We can see the grid changing shape, with more lines going down.”

Ural studied the grid. It did move. He had a vague sensation of speed in the actual car. Could an intelligence or Builder be moving the elevator car? That should be easy to test.

“Stop us,” Ural said.

Strand glanced back at him through a clear faceplate. “There’s a risk in that. If I attempt it, it might prove to the…the intelligence that we know he’s hijacked our car.”

“Why would that matter?” Ural asked.

“Very well,” Strand said with a shrug. He pressed a control.

Nothing happened. He pressed more controls. As before, nothing happened.

Strand shook his head.

Ural rose, glanced at the men—they waited like good soldiers—and studied Strand crouched by his feet. The Methuselah Man did not seem to be playing games. He hadn’t seen Strand touch any secret controls. Could the Methuselah Man have blundered? Could there be a Builder left on the planet, or a Builder guardian? Had Venna awakened whatever seemed to have taken control of the elevator car?

Ural became uneasy. What could the woman have done? He didn’t believe Maddox was here. That was superstitious nonsense. I’m a superior. I will use my intellect and fighting prowess to defeat all contenders. We will overcome.

“Could we be traveling around the planet?” Strand asked.

Ural crouched again, feeling like a coiled spring ready to react. “Give me your best estimate as to what’s happening.”

Strand eyed the grid map and finally sat down on his butt, rubbing his stretched-out suited thighs. “I don’t know.”

“Best guess—what is it?”

The elevator car lurched, and a sinking feeling caused the others to shout in alarm.

“We’re heading down,” Strand said from the floor. “We’re going down faster than before.”

“To the mantle?” asked Ural. “Does the intelligence plan to cook us to death?”

Strand eyed the grid, and he shouted in fear.

“What?” Ural demanded.

“The grid map has disappeared,” Strand said. “Listen.”

Ural did. Through his helmet, there was a whine from outside. “Are we slowing down?”

“Yes,” Strand said. “That’s exactly what’s happening. I think we’re about to find out what is really going on.”

-80-

The elevator car stopped. As it did, Strand scrambled clumsily to his feet. Ural drew a suit blaster. The royal guardsmen and drop troopers did likewise. Strand pressed his gloved palms together before his chest and muttered under his breath.

Ural could hear over the channel. The Methuselah Man was softly chanting an alien litany. Ural jerked as outer clanks and whirrs sounded from the door. Abruptly, the doors swished open.

Bright light flooded the elevator car.

Instinctively, Ural grabbed Strand’s EVA suit. The tall superior shoved the Methuselah Man ahead of him even as he followed, crossing the threshold into a smooth metallic-floored corridor.

A loud outer click sounded, and then a strange whine. Thumping sounds came from the elevator car.

Ural whirled around to see the suited guardsmen and drop troopers thudding onto the floor. They must have fallen unconscious, piling into an unmoving heap. He knew they weren’t dead because their life-monitors on his helmet scanner still showed green instead of black. Had an enemy used sonic weapons against them? When Ural tried to go back into the elevator, the doors slammed shut a centimeter from his faceplate.

Ural jerked around and faced the light. “Separation,” he whispered.

Strand stood facing the light, shielding his faceplate with his gloves. Why hadn’t automatic polarization of his faceplate occurred? As Ural saw all this, the lights flooding the area grew dimmer until the illumination seemed normal.

In seconds, Ural realized they’d reached a different kind of area from before. This appeared to be a lobby of some kind. The walls were bulkheads of metal, the floor and ceiling the same, except the ceiling contained embedded lights. There were other closed elevator doors and a central dais in the middle of the room or chamber. It showed glass controls.

The place was empty. No one visibly threatened them.

“What now?” Ural asked thickly.

Strand turned to him, openmouthed. The Methuselah Man seemed shocked, slack and physically weak.

“Are you well?” asked Ural, who grabbed Strand by an arm.

Strand sagged and would have fallen, but Ural held him up. A moment later, Strand recovered and must have locked his knees.

“I’m fine,” Strand said in a hoarse voice. “You can release me.”

Ural did, and he holstered his suit blaster. He studied the other elevator doors, the central dais controls and the open corridors leading away. “Could Venna be engineering all this?”

For an answer, Strand reached up, removing his EVA suit helmet. The Methuselah Man took deep breaths, turned and smiled at Ural.

Ural checked his helmet monitor. There was breathable air here, and it was a pleasant temperature.

Strand began to remove his EVA suit. He laughed once freed of it.

Ural opened his faceplate. “Are you mad? What happens when it’s time to leave?”

“I’ll put the suit back on, of course,” Strand said. “We’ve reached the Builder tunnels. Something is obviously guiding us. So I might as well be comfortable for the meeting.”

“And if this intelligence grows weary of you and floods the chamber with noxious fumes?”

“If it wants to kill me, it clearly can. Notice how it knocked out the others in their suits. Wear yours if you like. I’m going to be comfortable while I’m here.”

Ural was for a fact tired of wearing the bulky EVA suit. This was Strand’s home territory. Even after all this time, wouldn’t the Methuselah Man know what to do? With a shrug, Ural began to unlock the seals. Soon, his suit lay on the floor beside Strand’s. “What are our chances of leaving the planet alive?”

Strand pointed at him. “That’s why I’ve removed my suit. I want all my faculties working at a keen pitch. They are, after all, my most potent asset. Suits are wearisome after an hour or longer and would have diminished my efficiency several percentage points.”

“What do you suggest as our next move?”

First cupping his hands around his mouth, Strand called out, “Hello. We know you’re guiding us, whoever you are. Where do you want us to go next?”

A light appeared on the floor. It blinked several times, disappeared, and another light farther ahead began to blink.

“Follow the Yellow Brick Road,” Strand muttered.

“What?”

“Follow me,” Strand said. “We should have our answer soon.” The Methuselah Man walked in the direction of the light and in the direction of an open corridor.

Ural almost grabbed Strand. Instead, he started to follow, determined to gun the Methuselah Man down from behind if he felt Strand was attempting to betray the Throne World’s interests. Otherwise, they were in this together.

-81-

Leaving the landed fold-fighter, Maddox, Ludendorff and Riker staggered through howling, shrieking winds across an icy hellscape. They wore bulky EVA suits with the heaters blasting overtime to keep their frail bodies alive in the terrifying blizzard. Rock-hard frozen particles struck their suits, helmets and faceplates, leaving marks each time.

“The stuff is like metallic sandpaper,” Ludendorff screamed over their helmet comms.

“What’s that?” Riker shouted. “What are you saying?”

Maddox propelled the other two toward a shadowy metal housing. It was hard to see through the swirling, smashing particles. He used his helmet tracker, which accepted a feed from the tin can to pinpoint their destination.

Maddox felt an invisible something, pushed, pushed harder and staggered through as the winds and ear-piercing shrieks abruptly ceased. At the same time, the feed from the tin can stopped as well.

“Was that a force field?” Maddox shouted.

“I can hear you just fine, my boy,” Ludendorff said in a normal voice. “There’s no need to shout anymore. And yes, I believe that was a force field of some kind. It let us through, but it’s blocking the wind and particles. I’m not sure I like this. It denotes selectivity, which implies intelligence.”

“A last hiding Builder playing games?” asked Maddox.

“That seems unlikely,” Ludendorff said. “The Builders are gone.”

“We’ve met Builders before,” Riker said. “Why not another of them buggers on a home planet of theirs?”

“Yes…” Ludendorff said at last. “I suppose that is a possibility. As you pointed out, we faced a Builder on the Dyson Sphere.”

“That seems like ages ago,” Maddox said. “But it was only a few years back.”

“Isn’t Lisa Meyers supposed to have a Builder in her keeping?” Riker asked. “So that makes two of them bastards still hanging around.”

“True, true,” Ludendorff said, “Although the Dyson Sphere Builder died with the destruction of the site. I’d forgotten about Meyers’s sleeping Builder. Your supposition becomes more possible by the moment.”

“That’s just great,” Riker said. “We come all this way to grab technological loot and find a Builder still guarding the treasure hoard.”

“A crude way to say it,” Ludendorff said.

“Do we leave?” asked Riker. “I mean, we gotta leave if a Builder is trying to trap us or teach us a lesson. I hate superior-acting beings thinking they have to teach us lowly humans something.”

Maddox laughed harshly. “No one’s leaving. This is a lot of guessing and worrying, maybe about nothing. The force field could be an automatic function. The elevator entrance would be a metal nub otherwise, just like those worn-down pyramids on the Yon Soth planet. Besides, we’ve bargained with Builders before. We can do it again if we have to.”

“Is that what you call it, sir?” asked Riker. “Bargaining with a superior ass by using Galyan to trick him?”

“No more cheek from you, Sergeant. Professor, can you make this thing work like it’s supposed to?”

“There’s only one way to find out, my boy.” Ludendorff carefully negotiated the icy surface and examined the outer face of the metal housing. As he did, an elevator door opened.

“Look at this,” Riker said, “a bloody invitation. Either that or the alligator is opening its jaws and suggesting we enter. It’s safe as can be, he’s saying.”

“It does seem like a trap,” Maddox said. “Professor, what do you think?”

“If we decide this is too dangerous, do we turn tail and run?” Ludendorff asked.

“No,” Maddox said, as he shoved past the other two and entered the elevator.

Ludendorff followed a moment later. “Well, Sergeant, are you just going to stand there?”

“Do you mind if I head back to the tin can, sir?” Riker said over the helmet comm. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Quit stalling,” Maddox said. “Get your butt in here.”

Riker still didn’t enter the elevator.

“There’s more going on than I’m saying,” Maddox said cryptically.

Riker sighed over the comm and finally entered the elevator.

The door immediately shut, and the car started plunging down, increasing speed as the seconds went by. That threw both Ludendorff and Riker against a wall, causing them to stumble and fall.

Maddox rode it out, helping each of them up in turn. “Is this like old times, Professor?”

“No,” Ludendorff grumbled. “It was civilized back in those days. I don’t know what is happening today. Clearly, there is someone in charge of the planet. It could have been a grave error coming here. Let’s hope the New Men haven’t discovered the planetary controls and are bringing us in for judgment.”

“Not a happy thought,” Maddox agreed.

Ludendorff in his suit turned to Maddox. “What do you know that you’re not saying? What do you have up your sleeve?”

“Nothing much,” Maddox said.

“That good, eh?” asked Ludendorff, sounding hopeful.

“Maybe,” Maddox admitted. “But now isn’t the time to talk about it.”

“When would be a good time?”

“I’ll let you know. For now, keep on your toes. If someone is in charge, let’s not say or do anything that might upset them.”

“You think they’re listening in on us?” Ludendorff asked.

“I do,” Riker said. “It’s what I’d do if I were running the planet.”

“The sergeant has a point,” Maddox said. “Thus, let’s ride this out and see where it leads.”

-82-

The elevator did not stop at any stony tunnels or caverns but continued steadily downward. Nor did any grid map appear under the controls as it had in the other car. Ludendorff did test the controls, but it had no effect on their progress.

“I can’t get through to Keith,” Riker complained. “We’re thoroughly trapped, with no one to know about our fate. How extensive are the tunnels anyway?”

“The planet is honeycombed with them,” Ludendorff said, pausing before he added, “I’ve only traversed a few of them. We Methuselah Men did not have access to much of the interior system. In truth, we traveled almost nowhere down here. Back then, most of what I knew about the planet was hearsay and rumors.” He made a soft sound. “I was among a select group. Strand was the only other person that I knew in it. We spent most of our time in study and later received advanced training from alien instructors. A few times, we spoke to a Builder. Afterward, our instructors put us to sleep. I think that was when we entered a medical area and the Builders did whatever they did to our brains and bodies.”

“Sounds horrible,” Riker said.

“Some of it was,” Ludendorff said sadly. “Yes…I remember a little more now. Perhaps actually being on the planet is stimulating my memories. I resented the secret surgeries, while the mind expansion processes could cause me to scream and thrash, even in my sleep. I had dreadful nightmares for decades afterward.” He turned his faceplate to them. “Isn’t it odd how one forgets so much?”

Maddox grunted his agreement.

“Strand resented the Masters as well. I suppose that’s how he talked me into trying for the forbidden chamber, a way to get back in a small thing. I plan to go to the library chamber again—if the crystal pylons are still operational. That’s how I hope to find the data to neutralize whatever damage has been done to your grandmother’s brain.”

Riker scoffed. “I’ll tell you what I think. We’re rats in a maze. Every one of them Builders was an arrogant son of a bitch, and so is the one screwing with us now.”

“Sergeant,” Maddox warned.

“I know,” Riker said with a sigh. “Shut my yap. I’m trying, but I’m getting antsy about all this. I can feel the Builder sitting back and watching us, observing and making his decisions. Why did he wait until now to pop up, eh? He let us apes crawl around his planet and then snapped his trap on us.”

“What crawling do you refer to?” asked Ludendorff. “We barely arrived on the planet.”

“It’s his star system then, all right?” asked Riker.

“Sergeant, you have your orders,” Maddox said sternly.

“Yes, sir,” Riker said, with zip to his voice. “Stand in the corner, is that what you’re saying?”

Maddox moved closer to the sergeant. He peered through the faceplate at Riker’s seamed features. “What are you feeling?”

Riker gave him a feeble smile. “Trapped, sir. I feel trapped.”

“And?”

“Like we made a stupid choice coming here.”

“Anything else?” Maddox asked, as he searched the sergeant’s face.

“What are you driving at?” Ludendorff asked.

Maddox waved the professor silent. “Sergeant, do you hear me?”

“I’m feeling sick, sir,” Riker said, as his eyelids fluttered.

“Because of our stupid move?” asked Maddox.

“No…” Riker said, beginning to sound sleepy. “My gut is churning. It’s like waves of something are striking against me. It feels like crawling ants, but ants with hot feet. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“Don’t fight it,” Maddox said.

“Thanks, I won’t.” And with that, Riker closed his eyes and slumped onto the floor.

“What’s happening?” Ludendorff asked, alarmed.

The elevator car began to screech. Moments later, it stopped with a lurch. The door opened into a smoothly lit corridor.

Maddox and Ludendorff peered outside.

A yellow light began to blink on the floor. When it stopped blinking, another a little farther off started.

“That’s an obvious invitation,” Ludendorff said.

Maddox grunted noncommittally.

“We must go,” Ludendorff said.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Ludendorff stepped out of the elevator, maybe noticed that Maddox wasn’t following and turned around. “Are you coming?”

“Help me with Riker.”

“We can’t carry him.”

“We’re sure not going to leave him,” Maddox said.

“Captain—”

“Forget it,” Maddox said. “The sergeant stays with me, or I stay with him. If you want to go alone, go ahead.”

“You’re being stubborn,” Ludendorff said.

“You bet your sweet ass I am. Now, give me a hand.”

Ludendorff muttered and reentered the elevator.

The two suited men hoisted the EVA-suited Riker, throwing one of his arms over each of their shoulders. They dragged the unconscious sergeant, his booted feet scraping across the smooth floor. In that way, the three of them followed the blinking yellow lights, moving away from the elevator and deeper down the chosen corridor.

-83-

Maddox and Ludendorff dragged Riker a solid half-a-kilometer through a maze of corridors before the sergeant smacked his lips, the sound loud in their headphones.

“If he’s waking up,” a panting Ludendorff said, “let him walk on his own. I can’t take much more of this. I’m exhausted.”

“Set him down,” Maddox said.

They propped Riker against a wall and then crouched near him, waiting.

“What a lousy dream,” Riker muttered. “I was in a suit—” His eyes opened fully as he stared into Maddox’s helmeted face. The sergeant let fly with a string of profanity, ending with, “It ain’t no dream, is it?”

“Afraid not,” Maddox said. “Feel better after your nap?”

Riker sat up and turned his faceplate in both directions. “You dragged me with you?”

Maddox nodded.

“Yeah, that’s better than being left behind. Thanks…I guess.”

“What did you feel earlier?” asked Maddox.

“What do you mean?”

“Yes,” Ludendorff said. “What do you mean?”

“Why did Riker fall asleep and we didn’t?” Maddox asked. “You said something about hot-footed ants.”

“Yes!” Riker said. “It was a hot prickly feeling on my skin, my whole body. It made me tired. I must have fallen asleep after that.”

“They targeted him,” Maddox said.

“Why the sergeant?” asked Ludendorff.

Maddox shook his head. “I have no idea. I do think we’ll find out at the end of the line. Are you ready to walk?”

“I suppose,” Riker said.

“Love the confidence,” Maddox said, giving him a hand up, slapping him on the back. “Now, let’s see what this is all about.”

***

They followed the blinking lights as the corridor slowly increased width and height until they reached a closed hatch, a large one over ten meters high and wide. Maddox reached for it—

The hatch opened, sliding up fast. It was dark in there. However, when they attempted to switch on their helmet lamps, they discovered that the lamps would not shine. That wasn’t all, though. The air cyclers shut down—must have shut down some time ago and they’d only noticed now.

“My air is getting stale,” Riker said. “I’m going to have to open the faceplate. According to my indicator, the air is okay here.”

“My suit is malfunctioning,” Maddox said. “The heater suddenly switched on.”

“Mine just did, too,” Ludendorff said.

“Blast it,” Maddox said. “This is a message. Whoever it is wants us out of our suits.”

Riker had already started unlatching the seals. “You know what they say: if you can’t fight ’em, join ’em.”

“That isn’t my motto,” Maddox said. “But we might as well bow to the inevitable in this.” He, too, began to remove his seals.

“I hope they don’t mean to kill us,” Ludendorff said, as he shed his EVA suit.

Soon, the three men stood in their regular clothes, with the bulky suits on the floor.

Maddox shrugged, grabbed his suit and dragged it through the large hatch. The other two did likewise.

The hatch slammed shut behind them, casting them into darkness.

“Better and better,” Riker mumbled.

“There,” Maddox said. “High up, I’m seeing dim illumination.”

“Yes,” Ludendorff said.

Lamps or lights high up, a good hundred meters high, gained strength, casting more light.

“The place is huge,” Ludendorff said, looking around, “bigger than a stadium. Ah. Look over there. Do you see people?”

“Yes,” Maddox said, “two people: a tall one and a dwarf.”

“Strand,” hissed Ludendorff. “It has to be Strand.”

“The tall one might have golden skin,” Maddox said, as he squinted. His right hand fell onto the holstered butt of his blaster. He had the monofilament blade in his boot. He recalled his promise to even the score with Strand for withholding information about the Hormagaunt in the mobile null region last mission. The Methuselah Man must have meant to murder them before. “Let’s go,” Maddox said eagerly.

Ludendorff’s grabbed an arm, saying, “Captain.”

Maddox turned on the professor.

“Don’t go in that frame of mind.”

Maddox raised an eyebrow.

“You sound angry,” Ludendorff said. “This is a time to keep our wits, to think clearly.”

Maddox blinked, blinked again—and for the first time in a long time, he practiced the Way of the Pilgrim breathing. He continued with the Way, settling himself, realizing the professor had a point. Strand—the Emperor had released the Methuselah Man from his prison. The New Men—one at least—had reached this deep location with Strand. It was time to… to use his wits and do whatever was necessary to win. He had Ludendorff and Sergeant Riker for help—

Maddox reached up, shut off the anti-T device and removed the headband. He had his new and improved sixth sense, honed by Balron the Traveler. It was time to test the sense in the fire.

“Leave the suits,” Maddox said. “Stay calm, and let’s see what in the hell the New Man and Strand have discovered.” Maddox led the way, with the other two hurrying behind him.

“If you’re going to stay calm,” Ludendorff said, puffing. “You should slow down.”

Maddox halted, practiced the Way of the Pilgrim and truly settled his mind. He noticed something then. “Are they standing in front of something?”

“Just a second,” Riker said in a gruff voice. “I’m not thinking at all. I’ll use my bionic eye, the zoom function.” The sergeant’s head moved forward, and he grunted a moment later. “It’s Strand all right. Golden Ural is with him.”

“My uncle, eh?” said Maddox.

“I don’t see anyone else,” Riker said. “But yeah, they’re standing before a huge block of stone, or a great big hunk of metal. It looks as if they’re addressing it.”

“Why didn’t we see the stone or metal hunk before?” Ludendorff asked.

“Its color blends in with the surroundings,” Riker said. “I can’t see what they see. We have to get closer, get in front of the block.”

“Whoever is in charge here must be using the block to communicate with my uncle,” Maddox said.

Riker’s head resumed its normal position as he rubbed the skin around the bionic eye.

“Something wrong?” asked Ludendorff.

“My eye must be malfunctioning,” Riker muttered. “I can’t use zoom anymore.”

Maddox nodded thoughtfully. “It wants us close, and it just figured out what you were doing. You probably shouldn’t have spoken of it. It’s listening.”

“Who is?” asked Riker.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Maddox said, as he resumed his march toward Strand and Ural, but this time, at a slower, more deliberate pace.

-84-

When Maddox and the others were halfway there, Golden Ural jerked his head, fully faced them and turned back to Strand, obviously speaking rapidly. Strand turned to look, and the dwarf hunched his thin shoulders.

Maddox laughed in an ugly way. I should just walk up and punch him in the face. That would feel good. No! What am I thinking? My calm is gone. Once more, he used the Way of the Pilgrim, trying to restore his calm. Despite everything, however, he fixed his gaze upon Strand.

Maddox halted. You can’t let Strand live in your mind rent-free. It’s time to kick him out. As Maddox decided that, he noticed Ural talking to the great rectangle of metal.

It was huge: fifty meters high, maybe twenty wide and thirty thick. The rectangle was in the exact center of the massive auditorium. They approached from the side and thus couldn’t see the front or back of it.

Maddox turned to Ludendorff. “Does any of this jog a memory?”

“I’m afraid not,” Ludendorff said. “Shouldn’t we continue?”

“Right,” Maddox said, resuming the march but avoiding looking at Strand as he focused on the herculean metal rectangle.

Soon, they reached hailing distance, but no one shouted. Ural did not regard the metal and no longer spoke to Strand. He eyed Maddox and appeared to be waiting.

Thirty meters separated them, twenty and finally ten. Maddox halted, Riker and Ludendorff stopping a little behind him, one on each side.

“Hello, Uncle,” Maddox said.

Ural dipped his head in greeting.

Maddox motioned to Riker and Ludendorff. As a group, they remained ten meters from Ural and Strand, but moved so they could see the front of the metal rectangle.

Unsurprisingly, it showed a giant screen. On the screen was a vast green head unlike any Maddox had seen before. It wasn’t a human head exactly. It had cords as a Medusa might have snakes. The cords were thick and wriggled slightly, and they covered three-quarters of the thing’s green head. It had two normal eyes, a nose of sorts and a mouth with green teeth. With a start, Maddox realized the thing on the giant screen studied him.

“Hello, Captain Maddox,” the thing on the screen said in a liquid voice. “You have brought along Professor Ludendorff and Sergeant Riker of Star Watch. Yes. Greetings, wayward Methuselah Man Ludendorff. You have finally returned home.”

“Who are you?” Ludendorff asked, sounding shrill.

“All in good time, Professor,” the green head said. “Ural, you may speak to your nephew now if you wish.”

“Captain Maddox,” Ural said. “I’d like to say it’s good to see you.” The New Man shifted his eyes to indicate the watching green head. “But this might not be a propitious moment for either of us.”

Maddox understood the significant signal, but he couldn’t take it anymore. “Strand, do you remember me?”

The dwarf didn’t flinch, but he rubbed a cheek. “I remember,” he said, his calculating eyes seeming to take in everything.

“There’s a history between you two?” asked the green head.

Through an effort of will, Maddox tore his gaze from Strand as he looked up at the giant head on the screen. Concentrate on what counts. Maddox breathed in the Way, breathed once more…a calm settled upon him. He bowed, making a sweeping gesture with his right arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. May I have the honor of knowing your name?”

The giant green head studied Maddox before saying, “I am the Supreme Intelligence of the Library Planet. I have many questions for you, sir. My sensors tell me you’ve been in contact with Balron the Traveler.”

A chill began in Maddox’s heart and worked its way through his limbs. The Way of the Pilgrim—peace and confidence—he smiled, but it was weak, and for once, tremulous.

“My understanding about Balron disturbs you?” asked the Supreme Intelligence.

Maddox wanted to meditate, but there was no more time. He made a quick mental calculation and weighed it against his sixth sense, deciding— Use the truth. Let that be your weapon. “Yes. Your understanding disturbs me, sir. May I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “But I detect the drift of what you are doing. I might consider your next question impertinent. Thus, you desire to mollify me in advance.”

“Yes,” Maddox said.

“Very well. Ask your question.”

“Are you a computer or AI entity?”

The eyes in the giant green face fixed upon Maddox so they seemed to bore into him. “I am the Supreme Intelligence. That is not to say of the universe, our galaxy, or even this spiral arm. I am the Supreme Intelligence of the Library Planet. I am more than a computer, more than an AI, and yet I am not biological like my Masters, the Builders.”

“You’re not a Builder?” asked Ural.

“I have just said I am not. Why would you ask then?”

“Uh…for confirmation,” Ural said. “Did the Builders make you?”

“Without a doubt,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “But we are getting off course. Captain Maddox and his party have just arrived. We are waiting for the other so we can truly begin the proceedings.”

“Do you refer to Venna?” asked Ural.

“Venna and the Emperor of the Throne World,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

“Who’s Venna?” Maddox asked.

“She’s no concern of yours,” Ural said.

“She might be,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Tell me, Captain Maddox. Do you know if Balron coached her?”

“It’s possible he did, sir,” Maddox said.

“Who’s Balron?” Ural asked.

“He’s no concern of yours,” Maddox said.

Ural stared at his nephew, laughing a moment later, nodding sharply. He addressed the screen. “Supreme Intelligence, what do you intend to do with us?”

“I am still considering the matter. There is much to ponder, much indeed. Captain, you knew Balron, did you not?”

“I did,” Maddox said.

“He is gone, I think.”

“That’s my understanding as well,” Maddox said.

“Do you know what I mean when I call him a Traveler?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

“A person able to cross from one dimension or plane of existence to another,” Maddox said.

“What’s this?” Strand asked, sounding intrigued.

Ural placed a hand on Strand’s right shoulder. Strand glanced up at him. Ural shook his head. Strand became thoughtful, finally nodding and closing his mouth.

“You are correct in your definition, Captain,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Did you know that one of my key functions was in keeping Balron from leaving our plane of existence? Now you tell me he has managed to escape.”

“I do, sir.”

“How did Balron achieve the feat?”

“I helped him,” Maddox said.

“Pray, tell me why.”

Maddox shifted his feet, thinking fast, deciding to continue with the truth. “Partly to get rid of him and partly to repay him for changing me.”

“You will have to tell me more about this,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

“Uh…in front of everyone else?” Maddox asked.

“Yes,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “This is an inquest. You are going to learn things they wouldn’t want you to know. And we must wait on Venna and her party. She is reluctant to approach. I am, you could say, convincing her she must.”

Maddox eyed Strand and his uncle and wondered how Balron had aided this Venna.

“I’m waiting, Captain,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Tell me your story.”

Maddox inhaled, and realized he didn’t know which way to jump. Thus, he would stick to the truth until his sixth sense told him otherwise. He began to tell the others how he’d first met Balron. He continued for some time, talking about the other star system eighteen hundred light-years away, what occurred there with the moronic Yon Soth and with Half-Life and the Builder pyramid.

Strand paid keen attention, Ural less so. The Supreme Intelligence watched Maddox the entire time.

Finally, Maddox told them about Victory’s arrival in the system, Half-Life’s destruction and then about spotting the C.I. Nubilus.

“Wait a minute,” Ural said, interrupting. “Do you mean the five-kilometer wreck at the third planet?”

“I do,” Maddox said.

“Do you have something to add concerning the so-called wreck?” asked the Supreme Intelligence.

Ural hesitated.

“We should tell them,” Strand said quietly.

“This is intriguing,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I suspect Methuselah Man Strand is beginning to understand how dangerous Balron is to all of us. That shows unusually advanced intellect.”

Strand inclined his head.

Ludendorff glanced from Strand to the Supreme Intelligence. “How is Balron dangerous to all of us?”

“In good time, Professor,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Now, Golden Ural, you were going to add?”

Ural told them about their exploration aboard the wreck.

“You saw a volraptor?” asked Maddox.

“It was a hologram,” Ural said.

“No… You must have seen an illusion. I’ll continue with my tale, and soon you’ll understand.”

They all looked to the Supreme Intelligence.

“Good thinking, Captain. Finish your story.”

Maddox told them about his first time aboard the C.I. Nubilus, including how he lost his monofilament blade while trying to escape.

“Please excuse me, Supreme Intelligence,” Strand said, interrupting. “Did these events truly happen to Maddox, or were they a dream?”

“I believe they were strict reality,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

“This is…” Strand shook his head. “This is mind-boggling, to say the least.”

“Even that is an understatement,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Now, finish your tale please, Captain.”

Maddox did, including about the fold, the interruption to the fold, how he’d reached a C.I. Nubilus and later the hard matter universe. There, he’d retrieved a box with three sparks. Balron had taken the sparks and returned him to the tin can, and there he’d completed the original fold to the second planet.

“Thank you for that, Captain,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “It was illuminating in more ways than you can imagine. I’m glad you spoke the truth. It shows you have character.”

Riker muttered under his breath.

“What was that, Sergeant?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

Riker looked up, startled, and shook his head.

“You said your captain is a character,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “That is not the same thing as I said, is it?”

Maddox glanced at Riker. Riker looked off into the distance, shoving his hands into his pants pockets and hunching his shoulders.

“Interesting,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “In any case, I will illuminate you, Captain. Balron was a scout. He was a scout for entities much more dangerous than the Erills. Yes, I know about them because I know how the Builders contained them. The Builders never could contain Balron, but they constructed me in part to keep the C.I. Nubilus from him. In that, I have been successful for many hundreds of years. Lately, however, I have failed in that function. In part, I failed because someone sabotaged my primary function. I have discovered that this Venna aided Balron by shutting down the field that contained the C.I. Nubilus, or the shadow-gate to it, in any case.”

“What’s a shadow gate?” Strand asked.

“That is not germane to the issue at hand,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Venna aided Balron, but in doing so, she unwittingly helped to reactivate my main core. I now have eighty-seven percent sentience—a vast improvement—even as my anti-Balron functions have ceased operating.”

“Is Balron going to return with an invasion force?” Maddox asked.

“Not right away,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “As I do not think he reached his home plane of existence. It was the last safeguard the Builders put in place, a clever deception. I warrant that Balron is near his home plane—much closer than he was here, anyway. Still, it will likely take Balron many hundreds of years to travel the last leg of the journey. By that time, I may better understand how to safeguard our plane of existence from them. And I hope to achieve one hundred percent sentience by then.”

“I’m not sure I follow you,” Maddox said.

“None of that should matter to you, to the New Men or to the renegade Methuselah Men in our midst,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I will add this, however. Balron’s original scouting was in large measure responsible for the evacuation of the Builders from this part of the…the Orion Spiral Arm and the other nearby spiral arms.”

“You were going to say something else,” Strand said.

“You are quite clever and perceptive, Methuselah Man. But I have said all that I plan to on the matter. Now, we shall proceed to the next problem. Golden Ural, if you would tell us your tale please.”

Ural’s head jerked. “I-I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Tell us what happened to cause you and the other New Men to travel to my planet. I want details. If it will help you tell the truth, know that I am presently questioning Venna the spy.”

Ural looked around, appearing uneasy.

“Must I stoop to using coercion?” asked the Supreme Intelligence.

“No…” Ural said in a husky voice. “Here’s what happened…”

-85-

Maddox found himself astounded at his uncle’s story. By the Supreme Intelligence’s prodding, Ural revealed his “interest” in Venna, the truth about his father—Oran, my dad’s name is Oran—and the suspicion and Strand’s naming of Artaxerxes Par as one of the murderers, along with claiming to know the identity of more of the murderers in the flotilla.

The longer Maddox ran that through his thoughts, the more he… Highly ranked New Men murdered my father. That caused my mother’s death because she was all alone with me. The murderers are in the flotilla. Golden Ural has been seeking my father’s murderers all these years. My dad loved my mom. She was his only one. My dad loved my mom. My dad was a truly good man, the best of the New Men.

The revelation about his father shocked Maddox to the core. Yes. Ural had told him after the Battle of the Gomez System how his brother and Maddox’s father had been good, had loved his mother. But this made it real in a way it never had before.

Maddox forgot about the Way of the Pilgrim. He forgot about his honed sixth sense and that he’d come to the Library Planet for his grandmother’s sake. He wanted to execute Artaxerxes Par. He wanted to help his Uncle Ural find the other murderers and make them pay with blood. Death was the ancient penalty for murder. He would execute them for slaying his father, who’d attempted to protect his mother—and protect me in her womb. My dad loved me.

Maddox turned away as his eyes moistened. Unlike some modern men, he deplored emotionalism, especially in front of others. He would grieve on his own. He would drink many toasts to his father’s memory. Oran, the best of the New Men.

Ural wound down his tale, inclining his head to the Supreme Intelligence.

“Illuminating,” said the great green head. “Not as revelatory as the captain’s tale, but interesting just the same. It cements certain thoughts for me. Oh, dear, what are you doing, Captain Maddox?”

Maddox had sidled nearer Strand as Ural finished his story. Now, he grabbed the dwarfish Methuselah Man, putting a steely arm around the scrawny throat, tightening it and whispering in Strand’s ear.

“Captain Maddox,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “You will desist in this aggression at once. I have plans for Strand. I need him alive.”

Without releasing his hold, Maddox looked up at the Supreme Intelligence. “Sir, I respect you, I really do. But this worm has screwed me over one too many times.”

Strand gurgled, with his arms in the air as he strained with his hands as if imploring the Supreme Intelligence, which he likely did.

“Captain,” the Supreme Intelligence said, “my patience has limits, and the Methuselah Man can only withstand so much physical abuse. I am about to use painful coercion against you.”

Maddox eased the pressure on the worm’s throat.

Strand began to cough and wheeze. “Help me, please, Supreme Intelligence. The captain has gone berserk. Kill him before he kills me.”

“I’m quite calm, sir,” Maddox said, as he looked up at the great green head on the screen. He was also aware of Strand’s hands. If Strand tried to put them in his pockets to grab a gun, for instance, he would snap the worm’s neck and be done with him forever. “I need information from him, sir. That’s all I’m seeking.”

“Oh?” asked the Supreme Intelligence. “Ah, ah, yes, I think I perceive the nature of your request, Captain. You wish to know the names of your father’s murderers.”

“I do,” Maddox said. “Watch it, Strand,” he growled. “Keep your hands where I can see them. Otherwise, you’re a dead man.”

Strand shot his arms high. “Did you hear that, Supreme Intelligence? He’s attempting to thwart your goals. Slay him before he can accomplish that.”

“Now, now, Methuselah Man,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I do not think that is the case. You have cunning. There is no denying that. And you put together puzzle pieces faster than any human I know. Name the murderers for Captain Maddox. That should be easy enough.”

“I dislike giving in to threats, sir,” Strand said meekly.

“Don’t we all,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “And yet, sometimes wisdom demands we give in just a little. Keeping these names to yourself—no, I urge you to tell the captain.”

“Sir—”

“Now, Strand,” said the Supreme Intelligence. “And do not lie. As I’m sure you’re aware, I have means of detecting liars.”

“All right,” Strand said. “I’ll tell him if he releases me.”

Maddox let go, stepping back, his right hand on the butt of his blaster.

With a repressed sob, Strand massaged his red throat, turning and glaring at Maddox. “You filthy beast, how dare you lay hands on me?”

“The names, Strand,” the Supreme Intelligence said, “and be quick about it.”

The Methuselah Man glanced over his shoulder at the Supreme Intelligence and then peered at Ural.

“Do you really know the names?” Ural asked.

Strand nodded.

“And you never thought to tell me?” asked Ural.

“We’ve never been friends,” Strand said.

“Well?” asked Ural, as he scowled. “Who are they?”

“Artaxerxes Par is one,” Strand said. “Samos of Thetis is another. Lord Drakos was the third, and there were two others who have passed away.”

“That’s it?” Maddox asked hoarsely. “That’s all of them?”

Strand hesitated.

“The truth, Methuselah Man,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Is that all of them?”

“No,” Strand said. “There’s one more. They’re not going to like it, though. And it could seriously complicate matters for all of us if I reveal the final name.”

Ural stared at Strand, and suddenly, the golden one groaned and shook his head.

“Has he guessed, Strand?” asked the Supreme Intelligence.

“I think so,” Strand said. “The final assailant was Ural’s cousin Trahey, the Emperor of the Throne World.”

“No,” Ural whispered. “Trahey, how could you?”

“Trahey feared your brother for a number of reasons,” Strand said. “Oran was the greatest duelist and the noblest among you. Trahey was sure that Oran was plotting to remove him from power.”

Ural looked up. “Was Oran actually plotting?”

“I don’t know,” Strand said. “I simply know that the Emperor made sure Oran died that day, using the others as his killers. I believe the guilt has eaten at Trahey ever since. He doesn’t fully trust you, but I don’t believe he intends to kill you. Oran’s death plagues his dreams, if that’s any consolation.”

“The Emperor,” Maddox whispered to himself. The Emperor of the Throne World, of all the New Men, had helped to kill his father.

“Speak of the devil,” Riker said. “Is that the Emperor approaching?”

Everyone turned in the direction Riker pointed. Two people advanced. One was the Emperor of the Throne World, tall Trahey himself. He held his head high, but he wore a metal brace on his bare torso, which pinned his arms behind his back. There were marks of abuse on his skin and welts on his face. He wore his usual pants, belt and boots. Behind him with an electric whip in her right hand came beautiful, dark-haired Venna. She was shorter than he was, within standard human height norms, yet still tall for a woman. She wore shimmering silver garments with a high collar hiding her neck. In her right hand was the electric whip, with sparks occasionally shooting from it against the Emperor’s back. He lurched forward at those times. In her other hand was a blaster aimed at those watching her.

Venna displayed shocking beauty, with her thick dark hair and enchanting eyes. She had a small ruby pendant placed against her forehead. At the moment, the ruby did not glitter.

“Don’t let the ruby’s light shine in your eyes,” Ludendorff warned. “It hypnotizes and compels sexual obedience.”

“The final ingredient,” said the Supreme Intelligence. “Now, we shall get down to it and see what the future holds for each of us.”

-86-

“Ural, Strand, help me,” the Emperor called hoarsely. “Teach this bitch what happens to those who dare lèse-majesté.”

Venna’s eyes swirled with malice as she lashed the Emperor with the electric whip. “On your knees, dog, or I’ll burn your legs to stubs. You’ll be alive, but a cripple for the rest of your life. Obey me, slave!”

“Enough of that,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

The sparks died in her whip. Venna glared at it, pressing the button. She looked up in time to see the Emperor. He’d turned around and now attempted to kick her. She jumped back, raised the blaster and pulled the trigger—nothing happened.

The Emperor gave an evil laugh as locks clicked open within the metal brace. He twisted and surged, and the pieces parted, clanking to the floor. With a roar, he raised his clenched fists. “Now, bitch, now you will learn—”

“HOLD,” the Supreme Intelligence said loudly, interrupting the New Man. “I did not release you so you could fight.”

The Emperor stopped talking but otherwise did not heed the green head. He charged Venna. She screamed, hurling the useless blaster at him. The Emperor swatted it aside, knocking it forty meters away. With another leap, he reached for a dodging Venna—

A blue nimbus from the ceiling lashed down like a lightning bolt and encircled Trahey, making him stiffen and groan dreadfully. Abruptly, the nimbus retreated to the ceiling. Emperor Trahey crumpled unconscious onto the floor.

“My will rules here,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Do any of you doubt that? Please, speak up if you do. I will instruct you directly through an application of pain. No? Very well. Venna, come here. Join the others.”

First staring at the crumpled Emperor and then the Supreme Intelligence, she frowned as if calculating. With a nod and a smoothing of her features, she skirted Trahey and edged near Riker and Ludendorff, keeping away from Ural, Strand and—she eyed Maddox, frowning again, moving away from him too.

“I’m Professor Ludendorff,” the Methuselah Man said—his eyes full of admiration for Venna. He held out his right hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Venna stared at his outstretched hand and then at Ludendorff, her features transforming as if he were offensive offal. “You’re a Methuselah Man,” she said, as if tasting a lemon.

“Oh,” Ludendorff said, as if seeing her for the first time. He turned to the Supreme Intelligence. “She’s a Spacer.”

Venna reacted as if Ludendorff had slapped her. “Shut up, you old goat.”

“Woman,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “You will comport yourself with decorum while amongst us. If you cannot, I can render you temporarily inert like your former master. If you can maintain yourself, I will tell you what I’ve learned from the others so far. First, you will relate your story. Afterward, I will render my verdicts, and the lot of you can be on your way.”

Venna studied the great green head on the screen. She looked back at the Emperor lying on the floor. He did not stir, although he breathed.

“Just so you know,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I am aware of your training by Balron the Traveler.”

Venna bit her lower lip, for the first time appearing frightened.

“It would be best if you began talking,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I’m sure we’re all interested in what you have to say.”

“I certainly am,” Strand said.

“Me too,” Ural said with a nod.

“Count me as the third,” Ludendorff said, his eyes once again full of appraisal regarding her. Perhaps in his eyes, her beauty outweighed the fact that she was a Spacer and thus an automatic foe of Methuselah Men.

Venna glanced at Golden Ural, and she gave him a timid smile. It was possible the barest glint shined from her forehead ruby.

Ural stepped toward her as his eyes began to glaze over with desire.

“Uncle,” Maddox said. “She’s using you.”

“Uncle?” asked Venna, as she glanced at Maddox. “Oh. I know who you are,” she said in a sensuous purr. “Captain Maddox, is it not?”

Maddox squinted as the ruby glowed with greater power, and he jerked his head away a second later. She was lovely, gorgeous even, but he had…had… Meta, he told himself. I love Meta…my wife. Meta is my wife.

“Oh, Captain Maddox,” Venna called lightly, playfully.

Maddox shook his head while scowling at the floor, resisting her siren call.

“Am I not beautiful?” Venna asked in a silky voice.

“Yes,” Ludendorff said, slack-jawed as he eyed her with intense hunger. “My dear, you must join me on Victory. There’s so much I can show you.”

“I’d love to join you,” Venna purred, the ruby shining like a star on her forehead.

Ludendorff grinned like a satyr as he envisioned what they would do together. She would be his pearl of love. He would make her moan with delight as he showed her the marvel of his bedroom skills.

“You’ll never join him on Victory!” Ural shouted. “I claim you as mine. If I have to duel the Emperor—all of you—I will. You will enter my harem, woman. This I swear.”

“Really, Ural?” Venna asked. “You claim me? Why, what would you do with me once you had me?”

“I’d show you,” Riker muttered in a daze.

“No!” Ural shouted. “I will defeat you, too. Venna is mine, mine!”

Strand did not stare at her face or look at the glowing ruby. He watched her sidelong, suspicious and scowling. Then he observed the others, noting their states. Lastly, he looked up at the screen. The Supreme Intelligence observed, obviously studying the event.

Maddox had balled his hands into fists as he shook with desire. He would not look at the woman. She was too intoxicating. She drew him, and that wasn’t right. Meta was his wife. He was loyal to her. Venna…was using them. What had Ludendorff said before? She was a Spacer. It was possible Venna possessed Builder items or modifications inside her, was an adept in Spacer power. Balron had trained her, making her many times more dangerous than otherwise, an ultra-adept possibly.

Venna laughed with delight as she threw her arms into the air. “What men you are! I’m weak with desire seeing you virile specimens of manhood. I…I don’t know which of you to love first. Who desires me the most?”

“I do,” Ludendorff said hoarsely. “Surely you must know that I’m the greatest lover in the universe.”

“Stand aside, old man,” Riker said, muscling his way forward. “She’s for me.”

“You are both less than I,” Ural said proudly. “I will possess her body, soul and spirit. She will be forever mine.”

Maddox shouted, and he rushed Venna with his head half turned to the side.

“What are you doing?” Venna cried. “Stay away from me.”

Maddox did not stay away. He reached for her. She slapped the hand away. He reached with his other hand. She jumped to the side and glowered at him.

Maddox grunted as an invisible force struck him.

“How dare you?” Ural cried, drawing a blaster, aiming it at Maddox and pulling the trigger. No energy burst forth, however.

“I’ll put a stop to that,” Ludendorff said, as he pulled a small device from his pocket. He pressed it, looked up with evil glee and frowned when nothing happened. “This is remarkable. It should work.” He shook his device and pressed the switch again.

Maddox groaned, still doubled over and clutching his stomach, it seemed, from whatever the Spacer adept had done to him.

“Stay away from me,” Venna warned.

While bent over, Maddox snarled, and he uncoiled and leapt at her, groaning as she glowered again. This time, however, he was ready and endured the force and pain. He stumbled at her, trying to grab—she sidestepped barely fast enough. Maddox pulled the monofilament blade from his boot. He knew how to deal with a Spacer foe.

“Die!” Venna said, her right arm outstretched and her palm forward.

“No,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “That is quite enough of a demonstration. I’m convinced you’re dangerous, more than a match for any of them.”

Venna’s right arm dropped as she stared at the green head in surprise. “How did you do that? How did you stop the attack?”

“Captain,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Put away your knife. I’ll slag it into a lump if you do not. I’m turning that ruby off.”

The ruby on Venna’s forehead quit shining.

Venna moaned as if the deactivation hurt her in some manner.

Maddox studied his knife, glanced at the green head watching him and sullenly put it away in the boot sheath.

“Better,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “You others, step back from her.”

Ludendorff, Riker and Ural would not. Suddenly, a force must have struck each, because each staggered backward. They staggered backward again.

“I’m staying away, sir,” Ludendorff said.

“Yes,” Riker said, as if waking up while shaking his head. “I’ve had enough. I don’t know what she did to me.”

Ural staggered back a third time and rubbed his face as he groaned. Taking his hands away, he blinked, frowned and then turned from Venna, perhaps surprised at how easily she’d ensnared him.

The Supreme Intelligence studied Venna, finally remarking, “I must say, I’m impressed with you and the speed at which you operate. You would have easily dominated the situation if I’d allowed it. But then, you were trained by the most dangerous being in our universe. It shows in how you dared to land alone on the Throne World, inserting yourself into the Emperor’s harem. Only a supremely confident adept could have dared such a thing.”

“I wish you wouldn’t mention any of that,” Venna said quietly.

“I’m sure you do,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “But this is an inquest, and the offenders are all baring their souls, in a colloquial manner of speaking. That will now include you. Hmm. It would seem that you risked everything by coming to my planet, risked, almost won but then lost. You are a Spacer, as the professor noted. I am unsure, however, if you work for the Spacer Nation or if you’ve hired yourself to Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers. Clearly, you aided Balron, and he altered you. At this point, I want to know the specific details of your pact with him.”

Venna stared fixedly at the Supreme Intelligence, seeming to swell with purpose. “I serve the Builders. If you serve them as well—which I suspect you do—you will say no more about me.”

“You are mistaken,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I indeed serve the Builders. You, at best, serve a perverted ideal of them, or use their memory for your own nefarious ends. I have grown weary of your stalling, however. I desire to hear your tale. These gentlemen wish to hear it as well.”

“Swine,” Venna said. “They’re swine, thinking only of themselves and their grossest appetites. I’m stunned anyone thinks highly of any of them. Do you know how easily I manipulated the supposed supermen of the Throne World?”

“If it’s anything like what I just witnessed—I’m keen to hear how you did it,” the Supreme Intelligence said, sounding hopeful.

Venna hesitated, perhaps reconsidering her boast. “I’m curious how you know about Balron? He told me the Library Planet was inert and empty of life.”

“It was, in a way,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “You changed that by activating an old failsafe by shutting off the ancient field around the C.I. Nubilus. I have been analyzing the situation ever since. I’m curious about one thing in particular. Did you intend to use the Emperor as a puppet for your rule of the Throne World, or would you have sold Trahey to Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers?”

“I don’t have to answer you,” Venna said.

“You are quite mistaken,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Let me give you an example of what I mean. First, the question. Do you serve Lisa Meyers? Second, the coercion—” A green ray beamed from the screen into Venna’s face, shining in her eyes.

It was Venna’s turn to appear slack-jawed. She moved her lips, moved them again, and said in a monotone, “Damn Lisa Meyers. The Methuselah Woman is a fool. She had no idea how to use her powers. She holds the Glorious Kent and a Builder in stasis. After all this time, has she awakened the Great One and served his interests? No, she has not. Lisa Meyers mouths platitudes about serving the Builders but does nothing more. She yearns for self-aggrandizement. I have learned many things from Balron. I have also learned from poking in the ruins of the Library Planet. The Spacers alone understand the greatness of the Builders. The Builders shall rise again, and the Spacers shall be their loyal servants for all time.”

“That is quite interesting to say the least,” the Supreme Intelligence said, as the green ray ceased shining.

Venna stumbled forward, rubbing her forehead and staring with horror at the huge screen. “How did you make me say that? I’m conditioned against revealing secret lore.”

“And you think to revive the Builders,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “No. I think some other agency, some other alien, uses the Spacers. We are about to discover whom.”

“No,” Venna said in renewed horror as she took a step back.

“Oh, yes,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “First, let us hear your tale. I am more curious than ever. Must I use the green ray again to pry this data from you, or will you freely talk?”

Venna turned her horrified features from the Supreme Intelligence. She stared at the floor, with her shoulders hunched. “I-I can’t believe this. Yes,” she said, looking up. “I will speak freely. Please don’t use the ray on me again.”

“Show me you mean it by beginning your tale,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

“I will,” Venna said, looking spent and defeated. “It started many years ago in the Tau Ceti System…” She cocked her head as if trying to remember more. “It started when…” She concentrated as if trying with her entire being.

“Supreme Intelligence,” Strand said. “I suggest you take a precautionary measure. There is a chance—”

Venna laughed harshly. “Fools! It’s too late for that.”

“What are you attempting?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

Before Venna could answer, golden swirls appeared around her. They whirled faster and faster, went down to the floor and then up—and with a weird sound, they disappeared, taking Venna with them.

-87-

The others stared at the spot where Venna had been, and each appeared startled in his own way.

“Teleportation,” Strand said with sudden understanding. “She must have used teleportation. I don’t see what else it could have been.”

After a moment of contemplation, Ludendorff said, “Yes. That seems reasonable.” He nodded. “We found an old Builder teleportation device some years back. Lord Drakos used it to teleport naked suicide attackers onto our vessels. It could only teleport biological matter, however, and only from the machine to its destination, never the reverse. If this was teleportation, it was an improvement over the old Builder machine.”

“That is an interesting hypothesis,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

“Interesting?” Ural said, finally finding his voice. “This is a disaster. You’re eggheads, standing and spouting when you should be acting.”

“Before we do anything, sir,” Ludendorff replied as he turned to Ural, “we must understand the situation. Acting without knowledge is like a chicken running through a yard without its head. What do you propose we do?”

“That’s just it, something, anything but just standing here and talking,” Ural said.

“You should give them a specific action,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “In a sense, they are doing something while you’re the critic without purpose.”

“What just happened?” Ural demanded. “How did Venna disappear? Where did she go?”

“Exactly,” Ludendorff said. “We eggheads—the superior intellects, you really mean—are considering the situation. Thus, kindly keep your mouth shut as we adults contemplate the evidence.” Ludendorff snapped his fingers. “Gentlemen, I have it. Half-Life, the construct made from Balron’s specifications, teleported. Sir, you claimed Balron taught or trained Venna. Might Balron have given her the technology to do what she just did, as he gave Half-Life the same ability?”

“The hypothesis is gaining credibility,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “My question is this, however: do you know the approximate range of such teleportation? Ah. I have another question. Where would she have teleported?”

“Do you know, Professor?” Strand asked.

“I don’t know Half-Life’s range,” Ludendorff said. “It seemed extensive, but that’s just a supposition. The old machine’s range was not that great in star system terms.”

“Then only one place makes sense,” Strand said. “She must have teleported to an orbital spaceship.”

“A reasonable deduction,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I detect the six star cruisers in low stationary orbit. There are three landed combat shuttles and one tin can. I do not perceive that Venna has appeared in any of those craft.”

“Check for an invisible orbital ship,” Maddox said, who’d been listening to them theorize, “one with excellent stealth capability.”

“I am checking, checking,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “No—wait, yes, I think you may have a point, Captain. I do detect a stealth craft. It is in low orbit. It has extensive stealth capabilities. I will begin scanning for Venna—oh.”

“What?” asked Ural. “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

“The stealth craft just vanished—jumped, I should think,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “It is gone.”

“She escaped the star system?” asked Ural, incredulous.

“That seems like a reasonable deduction,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Golden Ural moaned, with his face in his hands as he shook his head. How had Venna managed to escape from him? He had plans for her, wanted her now more than ever. He had to think. He had to recapture her and make her his.

While Ural engaged in his quiet desperation, Maddox glanced in disbelief at Ludendorff.

The professor shrugged philosophically. “We can’t win them all.”

Ural looked up in anguish at the Supreme Intelligence. In a hoarse voice he said, “How could she have escaped from your planet?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” the Supreme Intelligence asked. “You just saw how: she teleported before I could react. Theoretically, I could have stopped her or killed her as she teleported. She had the element of surprise, however. I understood before this that surprise was a force multiplier. Now, I have witnessed a direct example of surprise’s utility. I am impressed and must remember that.”

“That’s it?” Ural asked. “She’s gone, and you’re going to give us a dissertation about surprise?”

“What would you have me do?”

“Get her back,” Ural said.

“How?”

Ural’s astonishment was palpable. “Don’t you have spacecraft at your disposal?”

“Not at present,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “If you will recall, I informed all of you that I have just regained sentience after many hundreds of years. Frankly, given the situation, I feel I have done quite well.”

“But she’s gone.”

“I have agreed to that. Yes. Venna escaped. It’s possible I might have to deal with her again, or with Spacers or Lisa Meyers confederates.”

Ural stared at the giant screen as hopelessness filled his eyes.

“You’re certain that Venna doesn’t work for Lisa Meyers,” Maddox said, speaking up.

“That is what Venna told us,” the Supreme Intelligence. “Was that the truth, however? I am not convinced.”

“I thought you could tell if we lied or not,” Maddox said.

“With you and the others that is correct,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “That did not hold true with Venna.”

“Because she’s a woman?” asked Ludendorff.

“No,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Because one of her modifications made it impossible for me to monitor her in the same way as I do you. It is possible Venna was the most dangerous among you. I attribute that to Balron, a most formidable opponent, I must say.”

“The stealth craft left the star system then?” Maddox asked, as he glanced at his stricken Uncle Ural.

“As far as I can tell,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Maddox ingested that. The Spacer adept was gone. Given what he’d just witnessed, she might cause future harm; he might have to deal with her a year, two years or maybe five years from now. At the moment, he had to deal with the New Men and this Supreme Intelligence.

Resetting his focus, Maddox approached the giant screen. “What do you plan to do with us, sir?”

“I am still considering the possibilities,” the Supreme Intelligence said, “although with Venna’s departure, it is no longer as critical that you all remain here for the duration of your lives. The secret will be out about me. I doubt it will help my cause if the Spacers or Lisa Meyers are the only ones to know about me.”

Maddox wondered if Venna’s escape might have been for the best then. What were the Supreme Intelligence’s plans? What was the thing’s cause?

The Emperor groaned, stirring on the floor, interrupting the captain’s thoughts.

The longer Maddox eyed the tallest of the New Men—the leader of those who had abused his mother. As anger and then rage against Emperor Trahey began to fill his thoughts, Maddox’s focus slipped regarding the Supreme Intelligence. The building rage took Maddox by surprise, by storm. The longer he looked at Trahey—his limbs moved without his conscious thought. Maddox became primordial, the seeker of blood. As his features twisted, Maddox drew his monofilament blade. Like a sleepwalker, he headed for the Emperor of the Throne World.

-88-

“I am going to have to stop you, Captain,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “According to your heart and breathing rates, your bodily position and expression, you mean to kill the Emperor.”

Golden Ural, Strand, Ludendorff and Riker turned around, seeing Maddox approaching the Emperor. The ruler of the New Men also twisted around on the floor to spy Maddox, the monofilament blade and his grim determination.

The Emperor scrambled to his feet, backpedalling away from Maddox. He was of course taller, his exposed torso-muscles stark and exhibiting lethal strength. The marks on his body and welts on his face did nothing to diminish this appearance. Maddox had the knife, but he almost seemed dull in comparison to the Emperor. Still, the New Man was backing up.

“You dare to try to stab me from behind?” the Emperor demanded.

“Like you stabbed my father from behind?” Maddox sneered as his blood pressure rose precipitously. He was thinking about his mother, about her hard life. He’d always wanted to slay her murderers. Here was his opportunity. “You’re superior to me, right?” Maddox said in a thick voice.

“Can you doubt it?”

“Then have the balls to stand and fight,” Maddox spat. “I have a knife. You have your supposed superiority. That should make us even.”

The Emperor looked up at the giant screen. “I thought you told him to drop the knife.”

“I did,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Drop the knife, Captain, or I will make you do it.”

Maddox hesitated.

“Don’t be a fool,” Ludendorff hissed. “Drop it before it’s too late.”

Maddox halted, stunned at the extent of his rage. He shook with the desire to kill Trahey. Would he have sneaked up from behind and hacked off the man’s head?

A harsh laugh bubbled up from Maddox’s throat as the desire welled even greater than before. You bet he’d hack off the head. What a wonderful idea.

“Captain Maddox!” Ludendorff shouted. “Don’t spoil your opportunity. Use your wits. The Supreme Intelligence rules here. Act accordingly.”

Maddox glanced at Ludendorff, finally hearing what the Methuselah Man said. It made sense. Yes. Maddox exhaled and discovered that he squeezed the knife handle. He forced himself to step back several paces. He concentrated, fighting to regain control of himself. Shaking, moving slowly, he sheathed the blade in its boot scabbard and opened his sore hand.

A voice seemed to vibrate in the air. “Do you care to face me now?”

Maddox looked up as the Emperor sneered at him. Even so, a modicum of cunning seeped into the captain’s brain. This was the ultimate New Man, the supposed best of them. There was a pretext here; one he could use. “You killed my father,” Maddox said in a low voice.

The Emperor scowled. “What nonsense are you spouting?”

“He knows,” Ural said flatly. “He knows because I know. Over thirty years ago, you ordered Artaxerxes, Samos, Drakos and two others to ambush and kill Oran.”

Trahey glanced at Ural, at Maddox and then back to Ural. “Oran was plotting to overthrow me. I merely acted in self-defense.”

“If that was true,” Ural said, “why didn’t you challenge him to a duel as the code dictates?”

Trahey studied Ural for several pregnant seconds, as wheels appeared to turn in the Emperor’s mind. “How do you know what happened?”

“I told him,” Strand said.

Trahey glanced at the dwarfish Methuselah Man as understanding shined in his eyes. “After all I did for you, you sold me out?”

Strand shook his head. “Nay, Sire. The Supreme Intelligence made me tell the others. Who was I to resist him? Venna couldn’t resist him.”

“I thought you were a practiced liar,” Trahey said, “the best in the universe.”

“Sire,” Strand said, “perhaps it is better to finally have this out in the open. Oran’s death has weighed on your conscience all these years. Admit it, ask for forgiveness and purge yourself of it.”

“Don’t lecture me, Methuselah Man. You’ve committed a hundred foul deeds to my one. Why aren’t you asking for forgiveness?”

“This isn’t about me,” Strand said, holding his hands outward. “This is about you.”

Silence filled the chamber as Emperor Trahey rubbed his chin. “I can prove Oran was trying to overthrow me,” he told Ural. “He was using others to chip away at my authority. He thereby abrogated the right to a duel. I had him slain as the traitor he was.”

“You lie,” Maddox said with heat.

Trahey turned with surprise, and then become angry. “Bah! What do you know, you half-breed pup? If your father had stayed true, you would have been born a superior, one of us. Because of his treachery, his bitch fled the Throne World. You were born—”

Maddox drew the monofilament blade.

“No,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Maddox cried out, releasing the blade, as the handle became too hot to hold. The knife clattered onto the floor.

The Emperor laughed in a superior way. “If we were on the Throne World—”

“I challenge you to a duel,” Maddox said, interrupting.

“What?” Trahey asked. “You duel with me, a beast with a man? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Are you afraid?” Maddox said. “Do you see my father in me and rightly realize that I can kill you?”

“I fear no man,” Trahey said proudly. “If you want to wrestle and die, so be it. For your father’s sake, I would let you live even after all you’ve said to me.”

“Just a moment,” Strand said, his eyes burning as they stared at Maddox. “Supreme Intelligence, could you supply us with dueling swords?”

“Rapiers, epees, what kind of swords?” asked the Supreme Intelligence.

“Sabers,” Strand said. “That’s the weapon of choice on the Throne World.”

“Do both of you wish this?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

“No,” Ural said. “I challenge my cousin to a duel.”

“I have already placed the challenge,” Maddox told his uncle. “It is my right. While Oran was your brother, he was my father.”

Trahey glanced from Ural to Maddox. “Neither of you can defeat me. I will face and conquer whoever wishes to risk it—even though I have been under duress for some time.”

“I am uncertain now,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I have yet to finish my inquest, although I have already reached my conclusions. Venna’s escape—yes, if you both wish it—”

“I do,” Maddox said promptly.

Trahey studied Maddox, and it seemed that his golden color grew a tad paler.

“He finally sees Oran in him as I see it,” Ural said. “You can’t let him do this, Trahey. He is Oran’s only son.”

“He has given the challenge,” Trahey said quietly. “If he recants—”

“No!” Maddox said, interrupting. “I’m going to kill you with a sword, using your code against you. Face me, or admit you’re a fraud.”

“You heard them, Supreme Intelligence,” Strand said. “If you can produce the sabers, we can get this over with and then proceed with whatever else you have in mind. We can finish this.”

“Do you hate Maddox so much you want to see him die?” Ludendorff asked Strand.

“It’s not a matter of hate,” Strand said blandly. “They both wish it. Let them duel as their natures dictate. Who am I to stand in the way of that?”

“The sabers then,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

There was a glow on the floor. The glow intensified, darkened and then vanished, leaving two curved sabers on the floor. By some process, magnetism perhaps, both sabers slid across the floor, one to Maddox and one to Trahey.

The Emperor bent down and scooped up his saber. With his thumb, he tested its sharpness. He nodded in satisfaction, swishing the blade from side to side.

Maddox picked up his saber. It was long and curved like some old-time cavalry sword from Earth’s past, with a guard for the hand. He thrust it, swung it and tested the blade’s sharpness against a fingernail, shaving just a bit.

“Are there forms to this type of fight?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

“Yes,” Ural said. “With your permission, gentlemen?” he said in a formal manner.

“Go ahead,” Trahey said.

Maddox nodded.

Ural faced the screen. “There is no biting, kicking or the throwing of sand in another’s eyes. This is a test of nerve, stamina and skill, of blades. I assume this is to the blood.”

“Yes,” Trahey said. “I have no need to kill him. First blood is all I require.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Maddox said, with a fire roaring in his brain.

“To the death then,” Trahey said with a shrug, “even though I do not demand it.”

Maddox stared fixedly at the Emperor.

Ludendorff was frowning, and turned on the sergeant, whispering to him.

“Supreme Intelligence,” Riker said. “May I speak to the captain before the match begins?”

“By all means,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Riker hurried to Maddox.

“What is it?” Maddox snapped.

“Sir,” Riker said softly, and he stopped talking.

That forced Maddox to concentrate on the foolish old sergeant. He’d been waiting for Riker to speak so he could get on with this. “Well?” Maddox demanded. “What in the hell is it?”

Riker looked fixedly at the captain.

Maddox scowled, with blood rushing to his face so he blushed crimson. “This is impertinence, Sergeant. I won’t stand for it. Either speak or get out of the way—before I cut you down.”

“Uh, sir,” Riker whispered, “you know you can’t defeat him, right?”

“The hell you say.”

“Unless…” Riker whispered.

Maddox blinked, and maybe he listened just a bit more. “Unless what?”

“You’ve already lost your composure, sir. This fight is for your mother and father. Don’t you want to be at your best, sir?”

Maddox blinked, blinked again and raised the saber as if strike Riker down. Instead, he lowered the blade and turned away as he attempted to practice the Way of the Pilgrim. It would not come, however. Maddox closed his eyes, seeking calm but only feeling the fire in his mind, the intense desire to kill Emperor Trahey and right the wrongs—

Maddox inhaled as deeply as he could. He held his breath, finding it impossible to think. He exhaled slowly and still could not focus his roaring thoughts. Why couldn’t he think? Why was he so…emotional about all this? He’d never known his mother and father. The Emperor had stolen them from him.

“Come now,” the Emperor said. “If you’ve lost your courage, admit it. I’ll let you back down.”

Maddox whirled around, and his eyes burned with hate. This was unlike him. This was elemental. He wanted vengeance and something more. All the hurt and pain of his childhood had swarmed upon him. It was uncanny. Emperor Trahey—

“No,” Maddox whispered. “I must master this hate.” It dawned on him then. His mother and father would want him to fight with excellence. They would want him to win. He must win above all else. Nothing else mattered.

“Win,” Maddox said, and he practiced the Way of the Pilgrim. He let the rage fueling him drain away from his brain. It still throbbed in his limbs. He could feel it, but he rode the rage, the tiger, with his iron will. He was Captain Maddox. He was the best of Star Watch. He was the di-far, and he was about to change the fate of humanity with this duel.

“Yes,” Maddox said, facing the Emperor, raising his saber before him in an ancient salute. “I challenge you, sir, for your throne.”

“My throne?” the Emperor asked. “You think you can rule the Throne World?”

“After defeating you fairly and honorably, yes, I do.”

The Emperor studied him, nodding finally. “You have my blood in your veins, Captain Maddox. Perhaps it was wrong slaying Oran as I did. Come. Kill me if you are able. Let us cross steel, you and I, and see which of us is the better man.”

-89-

The others moved away to give them room as Captain Maddox and Emperor Trahey approached each other warily.

“You cannot defeat me,” Trahey said.

“You forget, Sire,” Maddox said in a mocking voice. “Balron trained me, too. Venna dominated you. I shall as well.”

Trahey stared at Maddox, and with a shout, he leapt like a great feline, his saber flashing.

The clash of blades produced a blur of steel as Trahey strove to hack Maddox into bloody chunks and as Maddox fought to defend himself. Perhaps Venna had shamed the mighty Emperor of the Throne World. Perhaps Trahey wished to purge himself of the shame with Maddox’s life. If so, the captain’s gambit had succeeded. Now, he merely had to stay alive a few minutes as the Emperor expelled himself in a fit of berserk rage.

The display of swordsmanship was marvelous to behold. Maddox parried, cut, parried again and backpedalled. It was an astonishing performance as Emperor Trahey wove an intoxicating web of steel, trying to penetrate the captain’s guard.

Sweat soon drenched Maddox. If he hadn’t had the extra energy of the Erills, he never could have performed at this intense pace for so long. Without the sixth sense bequeathed by Balron, he would have fallen to a half a dozen of Trahey’s cunning stratagems. Maddox exalted in this, moving, dodging, thinking and feeling the shiver up his arm at each of the Emperor’s smashing swings. It did not seem that a half-breed could keep this up for long. The New Man, the greatest duelist of the age, attacked with zeal, with fire, with verve and endless strength. Was he a berserker? He moved and lunged, shifting and slashing with the seeming recklessness of one.

And then it began to dawn on Ural and Riker and maybe the Methuselah Men. Maddox fought superbly. The Emperor fought like a demon in human flesh. Trahey did not tire. He did not slow down. The man, the superman, indeed had something extra. It was more than amazing. It bordered on the supernatural.

Clearly, even the Supreme Intelligence must have understood the captain’s plan. He’d goaded the Emperor into stark raging battle frenzy, hoping, perhaps, to tire the magnificent swordsman as he expended power at a prodigious rate.

“You cannot win,” Trahey said with his teeth clenched.

Maddox was going to try nevertheless. But he realized upon hearing the Emperor speak that despite everything, the man was still under control. Trahey fought as he did on purpose, with planning and understanding, not just madness.

At that point, a certain desperation entered Maddox’s swordplay. He did not move as surely as just a few short moments ago. He strove harder, for the first time beginning to struggle to match the Emperor’s relentless attack.

A stratagem began in Maddox’s brain, however, brought about no doubt by the sixth sense. It would be a risk, and it might mean permanent scarring. But if he could achieve it—

Maddox lunged with lightning speed.

For the first time, the Emperor not only parried but took a step back.

Maddox laughed, and he left a tiny opening in his guard, hoping the Emperor would take it. The New Man did, lunging himself now. Maddox twirled his saber to capture the other’s sword and wrench it out of his grip, leaving Trahey defenseless.

Instead, the Emperor countered the disarm attempt as if he’d expected Maddox’s ploy. To Maddox’s horror, he felt the hilt slipping free of his sweaty grip. And then, the sword left his hand, twirling up into the air.

Maddox backpedalled fast.

The Emperor did not follow. Instead, he reached up and caught the captain’s sword as it fell. Now, Trahey held two sabers, not just one.

“Well?” the Emperor asked triumphantly.

Maddox panted helplessly.

“Bah! What honor is there in this?” The Emperor tossed the saber to Maddox.

The captain reached up—and noticed the Emperor lunging and attacking. This was a trick, a ploy. Maddox reached faster and grabbed the sword. At the same time, Trahey’s saber flashed with deadly intent. The blade sliced through muscle, fat tissues, bone and more muscle and fat. The razor-sharp blade sliced through Maddox’s forearm. His hand, wrist and half of his forearm fell to the floor.

Maddox staggered back horrified, clutching his ruined arm as blood spurted from it. He was maimed, defeated—about to die. He looked up, seeing Trahey before him, the man’s sword tip at his throat.

“Do you yield?” Trahey said, with his chest heaving and sweat soaking him.

The shock of the maiming hadn’t yet fully penetrated the captain’s mind. He did not feel any pain—that would come soon, if he lived. There was a roaring sound in Maddox’s ears. He could not conceive of defeat. His vision swam, and he saw Ludendorff staring at him in horrified surprise as if from a great distance.

“Say yea or nay, Captain,” Trahey said. “Do you yield? Tell me now.”

Maddox saw triumph and glee in Trahey’s eyes, and he knew if he did not speak, he would indeed die.

“I yield,” Maddox whispered, as he cradled his bloody, maimed arm, as the shock of his injury welled up.

The Emperor stepped back and saluted him. “I am astonished, sir. You fought magnificently. Your father would have been proud. I name you his full son indeed. There is not another superior that could have beaten you today—except for me. I am the Emperor of the Throne World. Do you acknowledge that?”

Maddox swayed as his vision began to blot out before him. He knees might buckle at any second. Blood still poured from his ruined limb. He heard himself whisper, “Yes.” What did ‘yes’ mean in this case?

The Emperor turned to Ural. “Do you admit it, cousin?”

Ural looked up from the severed hand and saber on the floor. He nodded slowly.

“Say it,” Trahey said, his eyes glowing triumphantly.

“You are the Emperor,” Ural said. “Even I could not have fought as well as my nephew just did.”

The Emperor lowered his bloodied saber. “Concerning your inquest, Supreme Intelligence, am I guilty of any crime against you or the Builders?”

Maddox collapsed, crashing to the floor. He sat numbly. He had lost, and he had lost his good right hand.

“Supreme Intelligence?” asked Trahey.

“You are not guilty of any crime I know,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Not against me, anyway. You are free to leave.”

“May I ask a boon?”

“Yes, yes, you can certainly ask,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

“I led our expedition to the Library Planet in search of a cure for us on the Throne World,” Trahey said. “We cannot sire females, only males. Methuselah Man Strand believed he could find genetic data here to render us capable of finally siring females. Would you grant us that data?”

“If I did, would you take your leave?” the Supreme Intelligence asked.

“Yes, gladly,” the Emperor said. He glanced at Maddox. “I am finished here.”

“I will grant you the boon,” the Supreme Intelligence said, “as it fits into my new larger plan. What about Captain Maddox and his party?”

“Maddox fought well,” Trahey said, as he studied the numb captain. “He impressed me, and I am sad that I caused his father’s death. I give Captain Maddox his life, if he’ll take it. If he will end this vendetta against me here and now—not that I think he can ever do anything more against me, not with his…injury.”

“Captain?” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Maddox felt faint. He’d lost a lot of blood. He was sick with defeat, and the pain of his maiming made it difficult to form thoughts. How could this have happened? He had been so certain that he could defeat the Emperor. He had fought better than he ever had, and yet, Trahey had beaten him. In fact, it had not even been close.

“Captain?” the Supreme Intelligence asked again. “Do you understand us?”

“Yes,” Maddox heard himself say. He felt small and weak, far away from the others. He did not want to shame himself, though. Losing his hand was bad enough. “I am satisfied with the Emperor. We fought man to man according to the Throne World code, and he won the duel. I will honor the code, doing so in my father and mother’s names.”

“Ah,” the Emperor said. “I accept. You are free to leave the Library Planet as far as I am concerned.” Trahey faced Ural. “I am not so pleased with you, cousin.”

“He stays with me,” the Supreme Intelligence said.

Both Ural and Trahey looked at the giant screen with surprise.

“I need him,” the Supreme Intelligence explained. “I need him for a time, at least. After he is done here, Ural will be free to go elsewhere.”

“If you stay,” the Emperor told Ural, “you cannot return to the Throne World. All your lands and titles will be forfeit due to your treachery by aiding and abetting the enemy.”

A dull feeling of pain touched Ural, but he refused to show it. He was quite certain it was death to return to the flotilla with the Emperor.

“I freely stay here,” Ural said.

“So be it,” Trahey said. “Strand, what is your choice?”

“I want to join you, Sire,” Strand said. “With the necessary genetic information—with my help, Sire, you will create the greatest empire the universe has ever seen.”

Trahey nodded. “Such is my intent.” He faced the giant screen. “When can I leave?”

A computer slate appeared at Methuselah Man Strand’s feet.

“The genetic data lies in there,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “Take it and go. I wish you well.”

The Emperor bowed at the waist, glanced once more at Ural, then motioned to Strand. Together, the two of them started crossing the distance, following a set of blinking lights.

Ural turned to the Supreme Intelligence. “Did you mean what you said about me?”

“A moment,” the Supreme Intelligence said. “I desire to wait until the Emperor and Strand have left. Once they are fully gone, I will announce the findings of my inquest to you remaining four.”

For Maddox, the shock of events finally overcame his senses. The maiming, the loss of blood, the staggering expenditure of energy fighting as he had—Maddox fainted dead away, falling unconscious onto the floor.

-90-

Maddox didn’t know which was worse, the maiming itself or the awful defeat at the hands of the Emperor of the New Men. A defeat by the best shouldn’t have been so galling. Maddox had faced physical conquest at the hands of other New Men before. This time, he’d fought for his mother and father. This time, he’d had extra Erill energy. He’d also gained from Balron’s training, possessing a heightened sixth sense. None of that had proven enough. He had lost, and Trahey had crippled him.

“I’m a cripple,” Maddox said softly.

After saying that, it dawned on him that he no longer lay on the floor. He found himself on a soft bed with a blanket drawn over his body.

How had that happened? He strove to open his eyes but failed miserably.

Failure, defeat, maiming—

“No,” Maddox whispered. Trahey had defeated him. That was a fact. The man had proven better at the duel, with greater speed, strength and stamina, and—cunning. The Emperor had used a clever ploy, playing upon the old saw of tossing his opponent the sword he’d lost.

Maddox struggled once more to open his eyes, and as before, he failed.

Did one failure mark a man? Was he the di-far because he never lost? Wasn’t that setting himself up for an impossible goal?

Who among men never failed?

No. That was unreasonable. Emperor Trahey belonged to a culture that used the duel for many purposes. The man must have practiced constantly. Maddox had practiced some, having dueled on occasion on Earth. But how could Maddox reasonably expect to dominate the very best duelist of the Throne World? He had fought superbly. He recalled his Uncle Ural having said so. He had fought and lost, and lost part of his forearm, wrist and right hand.

A soldier and even a spy lost sometimes. That was life. It was getting back up that counted. Yes, yes, Maddox recalled reading a paragraph about the training of medieval knights.

The man who feels the thud of a fist against his chin, the clash of his teeth and the ache in his jaw, the dashing of a club upon his head and is thrown down, falling to the ground, groaning in pain, and yet gets up to fight again, even as the agony throbs through him, he has the makings of a knight.

There was another old saying. Never trust a man who hasn’t been punched in the face.

But I lost part of my arm.

That was bad. There was no denying that. And yet, couldn’t modern science give him a bionic forearm and hand? Sergeant Riker had prosthetics. He wouldn’t remain a cripple his entire life.

But I’m Captain Maddox. I don’t lose.

Uh, yes you do, sometimes. It happens. How are you going to react to that? Are you going to get back up and fight again?

“Yes,” Maddox said.

He would get back up. He would continue to hunt for his mother and father’s killers. Under the code of the duel, he’d faced Trahey man to man. He’d yielded the point of honor to the Emperor. Trahey had given him his life. Maddox would respect and adhere to the finding of the contest.

There were the others, however: Artaxerxes Par and Samos of Thetis. Lord Drakos was dead, and there were two others dead as well. He would deal with Artaxerxes Par and Samos of Thetis. He could gain satisfaction from them—in the future.

First, he had to get better. He had to wake the hell up and find out what had happened. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t open his eyes? He felt the bed’s softness, the cover over his bare torso.

Now…Maddox did not struggle harder. A great heaviness settled upon him and the conscious thought—if that’s what it had been—dissipated as he once more fell into deep slumber.

***

Maddox awoke with a start, staring up at a ceiling. The place felt familiar. He groaned as he attempted to sit up but failed.

There was a rustling of fabric, and Meta loomed over him. Her eyes were puffy, her glorious blonde hair in disarray around her face. She smiled down at him.

“Meta,” he whispered.

“Oh, darling,” she whispered, touching a cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Groggy. Where am I?”

“Medical.”

“On Victory?” he asked, surprised.

She frowned. “Yes, of course. Don’t you remember what happened to you?”

“No.”

“You told them to bring you here.”

“I did?” Maddox became alert. Was this a trick? Was he still on the Library Planet with the Supreme Intelligence trying to pry secrets out of him? Oh, the clever Supreme Intelligence—the computer entity would have to do better than this, though.

“Don’t scowl like that,” Meta said. “You’re safe. Are you sure you don’t remember what happened?”

Maddox shook his head. Was he really in medical aboard Victory? He would wait and see. The Supreme Intelligence would make a slip somewhere.

“You achieved a miracle for us, darling. Professor Ludendorff was stunned. Your grandmother is waiting to see you. She’s better, completely better, with her mind one hundred percent restored. We have the professor to thank for that.”

Maddox blinked in confusion. This had to be a trick. He recalled none of these things. How did the Supreme Intelligence think he would fall for any of this? He sneered, deciding to get stubborn about it.

“Darling… What’s the last thing you remember?”

Maddox looked into his wife’s eyes. The Supreme Intelligence was doing an excellent job of recreating her. This was a trick, right? He couldn’t really be back aboard Victory.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Meta pleaded.

Maddox shrugged inwardly, saying, “I fainted, probably from a loss of blood and the shock of losing my hand.” His throat caught on “losing.” He felt sick all over again. This was too much. He was a cripple—

“Captain Maddox,” Meta said sharply.

He regarded her, pulled out of his depression by her voice.

“Look at this.” Meta yanked the covers, exposing his right side.

Maddox almost refused to look. He peered down at his arm…and saw his right hand lying on the sheet just as plain as you please. It appeared to be attached to his forearm like normal. He scowled, lifting his arm, examining his hand, moving the fingers. They moved wonderfully and naturally.

He looked at Meta. “A prosthetic?”

“What? No! It’s your hand, the one you were born with. The Supreme Intelligence used Builder medical arts. He reattached it. Look. Your forearm is fully restored, as good as new.”

Maddox looked at the hand again. He moved the fingers and rotated the wrist, trying to detect something off. He peered at the forearm where the Emperor’s saber had sliced. He brought the forearm closer, trying to find even a hairline scar. There was nothing like that, however. His forearm was reattached, and everything appeared to be in excellent working order.

“Why have I been sleeping so deeply?” he asked suspiciously.

“Luckily for us, the Supreme Intelligence suggested that might happen. He told you in advance, remember?”

Maddox shook his head.

“It’s the aftershock of crossing planes of existence.”

“You spoke to the Supreme Intelligence?”

“No, silly, you talked to him. You told me, us, about it and so did Riker and Ludendorff. I still can’t believe what you achieved. It’s…fantastic.”

“What is?” Maddox asked with a scowl. “What are you talking about? None of this makes sense.”

Meta stared into his eyes, searching. “Do you feel like walking?”

He was exhausted, but he said, “Sure.”

“Then come with me. Seeing is believing. And you have to see this to believe it. Besides, maybe it will help restore your memories.”

Curious finally, wondering what had happened that he’d forgotten—and wondering if the Supreme Intelligence was better at creating illusions than anyone else he’d met, Maddox sat up and swung his feet off the bed. With Meta’s help, he stood and began shuffling for the exit.

-91-

Maddox was exhausted, finding himself unable to walk for long, but Meta insisted on him seeing this. Despite his dislike of it, the captain rode in a wheelchair as Meta pushed him down the ship corridors.

Meta chatted happily as Maddox acknowledged various salutes from passing personnel. He was beginning to think this was for real. Meta spoke about things the Supreme Intelligence shouldn’t know—unless his subconscious was supplying the information. Maddox pinched his arm. That hurt. His refined sixth sense told him this was reality.

If that was the case—he tried to remember what he’d forgotten. No. His brain wasn’t cooperating. There was a block or memory hole. “Meta, what else did Ludendorff say?”

“Excuse me?” Meta asked.

“The Supreme Intelligence said I might feel aftershocks.”

“Oh. Yes. You told me that, though, not Ludendorff.”

“When did I tell you?”

“When you returned from the Library Planet,” Meta said. “The Supreme Intelligence examined you after the operation. He said you were under great stress and duress, cumulative effects from Balron’s moving you in a microsecond of time and your time in the…what did you call it again?”

Maddox twisted back to look at her. “Do you think you can trick my memory into cooperating?”

“It was a worth a try.”

Maddox faced forward again. That was something his wife would do. Could this be reality?

“Moving in the harder matter universe or the ultimate plane of existence greatly stressed your body,” Meta said. “Apparently, it took time to take effect. At least, that’s what the professor thinks. You appeared unaffected on the Library Planet and once back aboard the ship, but after the jump—”

“What a minute,” Maddox said. This was too much. “You mean my fold back onto Victory brought about this condition?”

“I certainly do not mean that. After the star-cruiser flotilla left, Valerie captained Victory to the Library Planet. Keith brought you upstairs in the tin can, doing it normally, especially after the Supreme Intelligence’s warning. He said we should wait a few weeks or maybe a month before we attempted the jump, giving your body time to recover from the stress of crossing planes of existence. But, you insisted we get home as fast as possible.”

“How far are we from the Library Planet?”

Meta said nothing.

Once again, Maddox twisted around in the wheelchair to look at her. She was absorbed with pushing him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Meta glanced down at him, finally appearing worried. “You have to remember something about what happened.”

“Meta…” he said.

She licked her lips, halted and stared down at him. “We didn’t just jump. We used a hyper-spatial tube.”

“What?” Maddox asked. “Tell me it isn’t so. I don’t remember a Builder nexus being near the Library Planet.”

Meta just looked at him.

Maddox groaned as he sat forward, pain beginning in his brain. He…he remembered that he’d wanted to speak with the Supreme Intelligence about what Balron had told him. There was a great prize on the Library Planet, one Maddox had yearned to acquire. Now—

“Where are we?” he asked, panting. “Where did we take the hyper-spatial tube to?”

“Huh?” Meta asked.

“Where are we?” Maddox shouted.

“Home.”

He turned to her. “Home? You mean Earth?”

“Yes.”

“We’re orbiting Earth?” he asked in disbelief.

“That’s right.”

Maddox exhaled, blinking, feeling defeated all over again. What was wrong with him?

“It was the shock of the hyper-spatial jump that put you in critical condition,” Meta said. “It was touch and go for a while. We should have waited for the crossing of planes of existence duress in you to settle.”

“I almost died?” Maddox asked, his disbelief growing.

“Yes.”

Maddox shook his head. “I don’t understand. I—I’m home?”

“You’re home.” Meta began pushing the wheelchair again.

Maddox slouched in the wheelchair, feeling sick. He needed to return to the Library Planet. He had to speak to the Supreme Intelligence about what Balron had said. “What happened to my uncle?”

“Ural stayed with the Supreme Intelligence. You said they have some sort of secret project going on.”

“Back on the planet…who was with me when I spoke to the Supreme Intelligence?”

“Riker and Ludendorff,” Meta said. “Don’t you remember anything?”

“They came with me to the planet. Yes. I remember that. I remember everything until a few minutes after the duel.”

“Honey, after the operation where the Supreme Intelligence restored your forearm, you bargained with him. You told all of us about it once you returned to Victory.”

Maddox shook his head, feeling desperate again. He looked back. “Tell me what happened down there…after the operation.”

“Well, let’s see. Ludendorff asked for medical data to help the Iron Lady. The Supreme Intelligence gladly gave it. He said he wanted Star Watch strong and vigorous. Having her better should help us. The Supreme Intelligence said the Library Planet would be off-limits for a time, fifty or sixty years. He was working on a project, mainly to get ready for Balron’s return. Ludendorff asked him about the Throne World, and the Supreme Intelligence said he wanted them strong and prosperous as well. We were Builder projects, and thus he was glad to aid each of us, especially as the Spacers appeared to be moving again.”

“The Iron Lady’s mental health was our great prize?” Maddox asked.

“Of course not,” Meta said. “It was Ludendorff’s prize. He wanted to restore what he’d taken from her years ago. You asked for something, too. The Supreme Intelligence almost didn’t grant it. He said it was reaching too far. Then you told him that the Builders were responsible for the destruction of the Xerxes System nexus, as Strand had been the culprit and he was a Builder Methuselah Man. We deserved a new nexus. Look how the New Men had one in reach of the Throne World. Star Watch and the Commonwealth should have the easy access to one as well.”

“A nexus. I asked for a nexus?”

“The Supreme Intelligence guessed that Balron had told you about it. He said that meant he shouldn’t give it to you. You argued otherwise, saying Star Watch needed one near Earth. In the end, you proved most persuasive.”

At that point, Meta halted the wheelchair.

Maddox faced forward, finding they’d stopped at an observation lounge. Outside the window was Earth, the Artic in full view.

“Meta,” he whispered.

“Do you remember now?”

“No. But look at that.” The view amazed him. Luna was in the distance, and a Builder pyramid, a nexus, hung between the moon and the Earth.

After a moment, Meta said, “The nexus was parked on the Library Planet. It was under tons of ice. The Supreme Intelligence gave it to you, saying it wasn’t as upgraded as most, but it could form a hyper-spatial tube just fine up to two thousand light-years distant.”

Maddox laughed with sudden delight.

“Both Victory and the nexus used the special hyper-spatial tube it created,” Meta said. “The Supreme Intelligence beamed us the data to do that, doing so in code so we couldn’t use it again like that, moving the nexus, I mean. The nexus is a permanent fixture here. The Lord High Admiral is waiting to talk to you about it.”

Maddox laughed again, nodding. The Emperor had gotten a great boon from the Supreme Intelligence. Now it appeared, Star Watch had received something equally huge. For starters, Star Watch could keep the Grand Fleet at Earth, and if an emergency threatened somewhere, the entire fleet could appear there, at least within two thousand light-years. It would take time for the fleet to travel back to Earth via normal jumps, but still—

Maddox laughed once again. Seeing this made him feel better, better enough that he pushed out of the stupid wheelchair.

“Do you remember now?” Meta asked.

Maddox turned to her. He didn’t, but he didn’t mind as much.

Maybe Meta sensed that. “Your grandmother would like a word with you—when you feel up to it.”

“Now’s a good time,” Maddox said. “Is she still in the same wardroom as before?”

“No. She’s in Geneva, Switzerland Sector.”

Maddox frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Mary O’Hara has a job again in Star Watch Headquarters. She’s not head of Intelligence again yet, but for now supervises a subdivision dealing with special alien entities.”

“Brigadier Stokes still runs Intelligence?”

“That’s right,” Meta said. “Yet Mary doesn’t work for Stokes, but for the Lord High Admiral. When you’re ready, your grandmother would like a word with you concerning her first project.”

Maddox turned to the viewing port, deciding he would see her right away.

-92-

Keith used a shuttle to ferry Maddox from Victory down to the Geneva Spaceport. It was like old times except that no one attempted to ambush them on the way down.

At the spaceport, Maddox exited the shuttle and entered a waiting air-car. It took him directly to headquarters, the car landing on a roof pad. Soon, Maddox strode the familiar corridors, taking a detour, however, and entering a different office.

A female cadet was scribbling on a slate. She was young, painfully so, but had a bright smile as she sat up and then jumped up.

“Just a minute, Captain,” the cadet said, as she moved to knock on an office door with the sign: BRIGADIER O’HARA.

Maddox was far from one hundred percent, using a cane—of all things—to lean on because he became fatigued much too easily from simple walking.

“Brigadier O’Hara will see you now,” the cadet told him.

Maddox hobbled to the cadet, gathered his strength and picked up the cane, nodding to her as she pushed open the door and moved aside. He strode through as the door closed behind him.

“Captain,” Mary O’Hara said, standing from her location behind the desk, beaming with obvious delight and pride.

Maddox stumbled, reached for a chair and grabbed the back, steadying himself.

“You aren’t well at all,” Mary said. “You should have recuperated longer. I shouldn’t have asked for you so soon.”

Maddox forced a smile. This was ridiculous. He was far too weak, but he was damned if he was going to give in to weakness now, even as he swayed.

“Sit, sit,” Mary said, as she hurried around the desk, grabbing one of his elbows and helping him into the chair.

His grandmother was fit and tanned, having used sunlamps while on Victory. There were lines in her face, and there was the faintest resemblance to him, mainly around the eyes and cheeks. Otherwise, she projected a matronly image with her dyed brown hair. She must have lost weight by exercising constantly while aboard Victory. Mary was well over one hundred years old, but exuded the verve of someone in her fit fifties.

“I would have stayed with you in medical,” Mary said. “But with the nexus here and the report about events at Omicron Nine—the Lord High Admiral insisted I begin the planning stage immediately. Just so you know, Cook accepted my full bill of mental health, and he’s given me top priority on the project. I think he wants to keep it hush-hush from the general run of Star Watch, though, which is why it’s in my hands.”

Maddox frowned up at her.

Mary hovered over him, her right hand lingering on a shoulder. She touched his chin, nodded and returned to the chair behind the desk. She sat and folded her hands on the desktop, leaning toward him.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Maddox said, as he set the cane over his knees.

“Galyan visited me constantly during our journey,” Mary said. “You were very busy, I know.”

“I was distracted by events. I should have visited you more—”

“I’m not blaming you,” Mary said, interrupting. “Galyan never sleeps. He had the time, opportunity and faith in you to solve my most pressing problem. Thus, he told me everything so I’d be ready to go. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, but in this case, I’ll overlook the security breach.”

“Why don’t you start explaining this project from the beginning?”

Mary leaned back in her chair and looked about the room. She blushed, and she smiled at him. “Thank you for what you did at the Library Planet. You have no idea how much working at what I do best means to me.”

“I think I have an idea,” Maddox said with a grin.

“I’m back. I’m really back. I so love having a task, a mission. Stokes has my old post.” Mary grinned at him. “Mike Stokes had better watch himself or I’ll—no, I don’t want to let ambition color my view of things. I have a job, one I love. That’s enough for me.”

“Meta said something about it, a subdivision in Intelligence.”

Mary cleared her throat. “I’ll have to redecorate the office. This one is too plain.” She shook her head. “It feels wonderful having my full faculties back, knowing that my thoughts are my own and no one else’s. And that no one can eavesdrop on my thinking. It’s been so long.”

“Too long,” Maddox said, waiting patiently.

“I’m rambling. That stops now.” Mary put both hands flat on the desk. “I’m a brigadier directly under the Lord High Admiral. I’m a special mission operative-in-chief. I don’t have to report to Stokes, which is good.” Mary breathed deeply.

Maddox waited, finally beginning to feel better because he was sitting.

“This is about the Yon Soth,” Mary said. “We’re calling the star system where it lives Omicron Nine.”

“The system with all the warped-space bubbles?” Maddox asked.

“That’s the one. Galyan told me how Balron aided the Yon Soth, and through an accident lost much of its ancient intelligence.”

“That was what Balron told me, at least,” Maddox said. “Who knows if it’s really true.”

“Well, the Lord High Admiral and I agree that Yon Soths or Old Ones have proven aggressively hostile to Star Watch in particular. It’s also possible that Venna learned about the Omicron Nine Yon Soth. Who knows what she picked up while on the Library Planet? The Spacers allied with an Old One before on the Forbidden Planet, and Venna would tell them about this one if she learned about it.”

“I remember the last one,” Maddox said. “Batrun the android told us how that one beamed rays at others so they would harm Star Watch.”

Mary nodded. “I’ve read the reports on that, of course, learning everything Star Watch knows about Old Ones. We are thus proceeding on the assumption that this Yon Soth is hostile to Star Watch and will become more so if we give it the opportunity.”

“Meaning…?”

“Let me ask you this,” Mary said. “Do you let a black widow spider spin webs where children play?”

“I don’t let black-widow spiders live anywhere near humans. They’re deadly poisonous.”

“Exactly,” Mary said. “That’s how we’re viewing the Yon Soth in the Omicron Nine System.”

“And your job is to squish it?”

“My job is to help squish it,” Mary said.

“You want Victory to lead the attack?”

“No!” Mary said. “You and Victory are staying in Earth orbit. You need to recuperate from your injuries.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Really?” asked Mary, as she leaned toward him. “This will be the first test-run use of the nexus in combination with the Long-Range Builder Scanner. I’m heading for Pluto in a week. There, I’m the Intelligence liaison to Strike Force Three. I’ve asked for Lieutenant Commander Noonan. She’ll join the strike force as the Lord High Admiral’s liaison and Intelligence specialist. She’s been to Omicron Nine and knows more about the system except for you, Ludendorff and Galyan. You and Galyan obviously can’t go, and I doubt Ludendorff would agree. Thus, Valerie is our man—our woman.”

“She’s the right pick,” Maddox said.

“I knew you’d agree. Cook wasn’t going to let her go unless you did.”

“That’s a first. I don’t understand why.”

“You can ask him about it later,” Mary said. “The reason you’re here is to give me advice about dealing with the Yon Soth.”

“I’d have to know more about the plan.”

“I knew you’d say that,” Mary said, handing him a folder.

Maddox set the folder over the cane, opened it and began to read. The plan was impressive and used the newest Builder items to a tee. There were a few problems, however. He waited until he read the whole thing, finally closing the folder.

“What do you think?” Mary asked.

“I have a few thoughts.”

“Good. Let’s hear them.”

Maddox told her.

Mary scribbled on a slate with a computer stylus. “Anything else?” she asked, after he’d finished speaking.

“That should do it.”

Mary looked up at him. “Here’s the most important question. How close should the strike force appear to the planet?”

“It would depend on whether the Yon Soth can control the warped-space bubbles or not,” Maddox said. “If it can—the entire strike force could be wiped out if it comes in too close.”

“There’s another problem. We don’t have enough T-bands for all the crews. The Yon Soth was able to project images and thoughts at your crew on Victory. It might do the same or worse to Strike Force Three.”

“That’s a risk,” Maddox said, as he pinched his lower lip, “maybe making it too risky to attack it now.”

“I disagree,” Mary said. “Having a Yon Soth there with Venna loose and the Spacers active again—”

“Possibly active,” Maddox said, interrupting, clarifying.

“Yes,” Mary said, giving him a professional smile. “Thank you for your time, Captain.”

Maddox’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s it? I’m dismissed?”

The smile changed to genuine affection. “I’m glad you’re not joining the strike force.”

“Valerie is,” Maddox said.

“You’re fond of her?”

“I am at that,” Maddox said. “She’s…an excellent officer.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “Well, I really must get started. We’re in a hurry on this one. Get back to Victory, rest, recover and get set for your next mission.”

Maddox nodded, rose and leaned on the cane. This was ridiculous. He wanted his old strength back. Smiling at his grandmother, gratified to see her back in the saddle, he turned and headed for the door, realizing he really needed lots of R-and-R this time.

-93-

It turned out Star Watch needed more than a week to organize for an assault upon the Yon Soth hiding under the worn-down pyramids on the fourth planet of the Omicron 9 System.

Star Watch needed three entire weeks and four more days before everything was ready to launch. That was amazingly fast, though, considering what needed doing.

Weeks before the launch commenced, the Lord High Admiral and Iron Lady needed to choose the commanding officer. For political reasons, they decided on Admiral Vincent Byron III, the dual victor—along with Golden Ural—of the Battle of the Gomez System. He was a Viscount of Flanders, an agricultural world in what had once been the Windsor League. Not so long ago, high-ranking people had pushed for Byron to become the new Lord High Admiral—this was when Cook had been cashiered from the service. Through Nostradamus and Captain Becker’s influence, Admiral Fletcher had gained the post instead, with the dire results of the infiltrations of the Liss cybers, the rise of Nostradamus and the implementation of the Humanity Manifesto Doctrine throughout Star Watch.

The point was the sidelining of Admiral Byron since that time. With Fletcher’s downfall, Byron’s faction had slowly been gaining political strength. They played on his victory of the Battle of the Gomez System, even if Maddox had guided him throughout the campaign against Lord Drakos and Thrax Ti Ix. The key was that Byron had defeated deadly aliens. Thus, he seemed like the obvious candidate for the strike against Omicron 9.

“You’ll be watching the attack through the Long-Range Builder Scanner,” the Lord High Admiral told Mary. They spoke in his office in Star Watch Headquarters. “And you’ll be in direct contact with Byron via his Long-Range Builder Communicator. Besides, he has Noonan to nudge him, if that’s needed.”

“Yes, sir,” Mary said.

Cook frowned. “Do you have qualms about Byron?”

“I do, yes. Thanks for asking.”

Cook glanced at Mary sidelong. “None of that, Brigadier. I’m under heavy pressure to make Byron the commander. So, unless you’re going to fight me tooth and claw about him, I want you to keep your qualms to yourself.”

Mary sighed, looking away. She’d just received her new posting. Did she want to start by being a pain in the—? “If you want me to, I’ll work with Admiral Byron, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cook said. “Yes. I want you to. It will make your oversight of this much—it will make your reinstatement easier for certain people to swallow.”

“I understand.”

Thus, the planning continued, with the commander of the strike force chosen.

Admiral Byron III was a tall, aristocratic man in his mid-fifties. He still wore a scarlet uniform in keeping with his Windsor League heritage. He had wavy blond hair and, it turned out, a flair for political intrigue.

In his office at Star Watch Headquarters, Cook introduced Lieutenant Commander Noonan to Bryon, explaining how she’d survived Omicron 9 while working with Captain Maddox.

“Maddox?” asked Byron, sounding unhappy.

“I was the second-in-command on Victory during the Battle of the Gomez System,” Valerie said, perhaps thinking the connection with Byron’s supposedly greatest feat would mollify him.

Instead, Byron’s manner slipped for just a moment, although he smiled at her quickly.

“I want you to listen to her advice, Admiral,” Cook told Byron, “especially considering the Yon Soth.”

“Like the one on the Forbidden Planet?” Byron asked.

“This one is supposed to have lost much of its intelligence,” Valerie said. “I doubt it will prove as dangerous.”

Byron stared at her before he asked Cook, “Are you sure we have enough ships for this? A Yon Soth—they’re deadly and ancient as sin.”

“Given its performance against Victory, you have more than enough ships,” Cook assured him.

Byron nodded, although he didn’t look convinced.

Cook glowered past his thundering eyebrows. “You can refuse the assignment if you wish.”

“No, no,” Bryon said hastily. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good,” Cook said. “As you’re the obvious man for the job, Admiral.”

Bryon gave him a toothy but insincere smile. “I’m glad to have your confidence, sir.”

Cook kept from glancing at Valerie as he cleared his throat, nodding, and the conference continued.

Thus, three weeks and four days after Mary O’Hara spoke to Maddox about the assault, Strike Force Three was ready to go. The force consisted of seven Conqueror-class battleships with the latest upgrades, particularly with heavy-metal components. There was one mothership with the newest strike and fold-fighters, three destroyers and five escort ships, sixteen ships altogether.

As the fateful day arrived, Mary O’Hara landed at Pluto. She would work from a subterranean chamber where the main screen for the Long-Range Builder Scanner had been installed.

The Pluto team had been scanning the fourth planet of Omicron 9. It was the same as when Victory had scanned it: 96.3 percent the mass of Earth and warmer than it should have been, given its distance from the G-class star. There were hardy lichens, an almost breathable atmosphere and shrieking storms that sent rusted dust particles, much like on Mars, to file everything down. That included the nubs of pyramids. Under them—according to Victory’s data—lived the imbecilic Yon Soth.

The Pluto team had also cataloged the warped-space bubbles. There did not seem to be as many as when Victory had been in the system. In fact, the team had discovered a large open pocket free of them near the planet.

Mary agreed with the Pluto team leader. This was the right place to appear, a veritable godsend. She debated calling her grandson, seeing what he thought about it.

Did I ask him when I used to run Intelligence? No. So I don’t need to ask him now. I’m back, and this is my show.

Mary thus passed the Pluto-team recommendation along.

Admiral Byron agreed with it, even though Valerie had her doubts. Byron didn’t seem to like her much, however. Intimidated by him—the fact he was a viscount didn’t help—Valerie kept her opinion to herself.

The transit team at the Builder pyramid—the Earth nexus—set the coordinates as given by the people at Pluto.

Soon, for the first time, a hyper-spatial-tube opening appeared between Earth and its Moon.

Due to a sudden case of caution, Admiral Byron ordered the escorts, destroyers and then the mothership to proceed first. The core of the strike force, the seven Conqueror-class battleships, brought up the rear.

Valerie also had a sudden case of caution. She left the Alexander’s bridge, retiring to a wardroom and donning a radiation suit, complete with helmet. She felt more than a little foolish, but those warped-space bubbles had proven nasty last time. And in truth, she didn’t trust Admiral Byron much.

In such a fashion, Strike Force Three entered the hyper-spatial tube and zipped in a moment of time nearly 300 light-years: the distance from the Solar System to Omicron 9.

Meanwhile, Mary O’Hara stood in the operational center of the Builder Scanner chamber inside Pluto, watching the big screen and in real time, waiting for the first success of the new nexus-operational system.

-94-

In after-action reports and special conferences, people would ask, “Just how stupid was a so-called “moronic” Yon Soth? They were ancient, called “Old Ones” for a reason. The one lying in wait on the fourth planet must have received advanced warning. What else would account for what happened?

The hyper-spatial-tube exit opened near the fourth planet into a supposed pocket of normal space, meaning a place devoid of the warped-space bubbles.

That proved true, but not in the way that the people at Pluto reported it. Instead of warped-space bubbles, the bubbles were more akin to the anti-energy fired by the C.I. Nubilus at the Library Planet System. Did that mean the original warped-space bubbles had something to do with Balron and transferring from one plane of existence to another? Did the warped space allow the anti-energy to fill the bubbles?

There were no answers yet.

What was known of what happened to Strike Force Three at Omicron 9 was as follows: the escorts and destroyers departed the hyper-spatial-tube. They exited at varying trajectories, as planned. Each of them struck separate “bubbles” and caused tremendous explosions as the anti-energy mixed with normal matter. The fierce detonations expelled pieces of ships in all directions. Those pieces struck other anti-energy bubbles, setting off yet more eruptions in an ongoing chain reaction.

The mothership arrived at that point. It survived a bit longer because the earlier ships had cleared some of the bubbles. Soon, however, the same thing happened to the mothership. It plowed into an anti-energy bubble, and all hell broke loose, in the most technical aspect of the term. The mothership had much greater mass than the escorts and destroyers. More pieces and chunks flew everywhere, setting off more explosions and thus clearing more area.

This meant that the seven battleships appeared with a mass of radiation and EMPs washing over them. Because of the jump, there were no shields to protect the battleships or the personnel in them. There was heavy hull plating, however, including heavy metals in some of the armor. That extra-thick armor made a critical difference.

In the first two battleships, fully three-quarters of the crews perished within an hour of reaching the Omicron 9 System. In the next battleship, half the crew died. In the last four battleships, however, only one-quarter to one-third of the personnel were killed by radiation poisoning.

It was a disaster. There was no doubt about that. But the strike force still possessed seven semi-functioning battleships, the best class of battleships Star Watch possessed.

Then an odd thing displayed on the big screen in the main underground chamber on Pluto. The previous image shifted and changed, showing the extent of the disaster.

Mary was quicker to grasp the obvious than anyone else on duty at Pluto. Why had the Builder Scanner originally shown a false image? Could the Yon Soth on the fourth planet have caused that? If so, she had several fundamental questions. One, how had he known about the attack? Two, how had he provided a false image?

Mary immediately recognized Star Watch’s failing. There should have been a reaction force ready near the nexus to send as reinforcements, and perhaps they should have sent scouts through first. They would know better next time.

That wouldn’t help now, though.

“Brigadier O’Hara!” shouted a scan tech. “Do you see what’s happening?”

With a sick feeling, Mary once again looked up at the big screen. To her astonishment, the bubbles were disappearing en masse, apparently converting into regular space.

“Does the Yon Soth control the bubbles?” Mary asked.

No one tried to answer that.

The scan-tech chief gave terse orders, however. He must have seen something else, as the focus switched to a distant object. It turned out to be two million kilometers from the planet and closing. It was huge—

“It’s a ship,” a scan tech said. “Its radius is enormous, a full fifteen kilometers. That means its mass dwarfs our battleships.”

“The Severn warship from the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan,” Mary said. “Is it cooperating with the Yon Soth? Is that what this is about?”

Mary and others were about to find out as the Battle of the Omicron 9 System was about to begin.

-95-

Finally coming out of hyper-spatial lag, Lieutenant Commander Valerie Noonan retuned to the bridge of the Alexander. She did so seconds before Admiral Byron clutched his stomach, bent over and vomited an awful green gunk from his gut. He’d taken a heavy dose of radiation poisoning, had ingested an antidote and insisted on remaining on the bridge in command. As he keeled forward, slumping unconscious onto the deck, the decision about what to do next was taken from him.

It proved a dreadfully bad moment to relinquish command. The bubbles had begun vanishing and a giant fifteen-kilometer warship appeared to be barreling down on them from two million kilometers away.

“Its main pods are heating up,” the sensor officer said. “The ship has acquired target lock on us.”

No one said anything about that, although a midshipman shouted for a medic.

Questions kept piling onto the comm officer from the acting captains of the other battleships.

Valerie saw the frozen bridge crew and heard the frantic questions from the badly frightened captains—and their acting captains, in the cases where appointed captains had died. She still wore the radiation suit, although she no longer had a helmet. Glancing around the bridge, she realized that she was in better physical shape than anyone else. She looked around again, saw the dazed faces and the growing despondence. Two medics had arrived and were working on the admiral. This was an emergency, and no one was picking up the ball.

It’s Maddox time, Valerie realized.

The medics set the groaning admiral on a stretcher and raced off the bridge with him.

“The enemy is firing beams at us,” the sensor officer shouted.

“Steady, there,” Valerie said, as she walked to the command chair, even though her heart was beating so hard she was sure everyone could see the pulses in her neck. “I can hear you just fine. There’s no need to shout.” She sat in the command chair and began to rap out orders.

Giant heavy lasers struck the lead battleship, burning into its hastily raised shield, immediately turning it red and then brown. Someone over there on the King Frederick acted fast, though, reenergizing the shield so it stabilized for a moment. The heavy-metal components made a world of a difference.

“This is the acting admiral speaking,” Valerie said. Is this bold, or is this utter overreach? She might have blushed if she’d taken time to think about it. She was too busy directing the fight. “I want each of you to aim your disruptor cannon on Mark Twelve-Sixteen on the enemy ship. We’re going to drill it with unified firepower. Aim now!” She paused to give them time to aim…

The Severn warship poured out an amazing wattage through its heavy laser beams. Those beams turned the King Frederick’s shield from brown to black. Despite the heavy-metal components, the shield couldn’t last much longer.

“All fire!”

The disruptor cannons of the six other Conqueror-class battleships fired. They struck a precise and coordinated spot on the giant warship. The target’s iridium-Z hull armor was thicker than anyone could have imagined. Valerie had expected that, though, having planned for the worst. That was why she’d worn a radiation suit.

The disruptor beams struck the incredibly thick iridium-Z armor. The combined beams produced hellish heat and power, and the armor began slagging, melting and disappearing under the fury of the beam assault.

Then a terrific flash showed on the Alexander’s main screen. It was the King Frederick exploding. The enemy lasers had burned through its armor, spearing into its guts, igniting all sorts of things, causing internal explosions and now the awful destruction of the battleship, the last of its hull hurtling outward in all directions.

Fortunately, the remaining battleships had spread out just enough. Their shields absorbed the damage even as they continued to fire their disruptors at the enemy.

The Severn warship retargeted, choosing its next victim. The laser pods adjusted and began to beam.

The six disruptor beams now punched through the enemy’s iridium-Z hull armor. The rays quested through the interior of the massive warship. Bulkheads went down. Processors exploded and metal vaporized. Heat built up inside the unique battleship. More explosions rocked it, and the beams continued to destroy more material.

Unfortunately for Battleship Subotai, it didn’t happen fast enough. The Conqueror-class warship exploded like the King Frederick had, taking down yet more Star Watch personal.

Five disruptor beams still ranged through the giant Severn vessel, and the cumulative result of the interior explosions finally had a huge combined effect. The immense fifteen-kilometer warships erupted into a fireball of destruction. Pieces raced outward, but ninety-eight percent of the vessel disappeared in an annihilating fury of nuclear and antimatter detonations.

It was glorious. It was wretched. It was war in space. Too many good people had died to achieve the victory. Too many good and faithful sailors and soldiers were still going to die from what their bodies had absorbed in x-ray and gamma radiation.

Even so, Valerie didn’t hesitate. She’d joined Star Watch, fully accepting the training and ethos. She believed in the concept of group loyalty and loved belonging to the greater organization. If she had to die to do her duty—

The five surviving ships out of the original sixteen turned to the fourth planet, heading for the area of the worn-down pyramids. What’s more, Valerie ordered a one-at-a-time antimatter missile attack.

If the Yon Soth had the power to destroy the missiles, he would have to do so for a while. She hoped to wear him down.

And that’s exactly what happened as the battleships expended their antimatter missile supply. The Yon Soth, presumably, caused each of the missiles to explode prematurely. The process took time, and the missiles began exploding nearer the planet and then in the upper atmosphere.

It would seem the missile attack fully occupied the Yon Soth, meaning it lacked the resources to project images or thoughts against the approaching battleships.

“We’re almost out of missiles,” the weapons officer informed Valerie.

She nodded, absorbing the information. “Hell-burners,” she said. “How many does each battleship have?”

“Seven,” the weapons officer replied.

Valerie squinted at the main screen. The planet loomed large before them. The five battleships were aligned so each could view the surface area with the worn-down pyramids. On the Alexander’s main screen, a green circle showed the location.

Valerie clicked her armrest comm button. “This is the acting admiral speaking. The Yon Soth is tired. We’re going down into the atmosphere—the upper reaches, anyway—and beaming the pyramids. We will then begin a sequential bombing. We’re going to win, gentlemen, because we can’t afford to lose. Too many have already given their lives. Star Watch needs this. Humanity needs this. I expect each of you to do more than your best. I expect you to help me defeat this monster. That is all.”

The five battleships executed her orders, moving closer yet and beaming at the surface as they approached the outer atmosphere. The planetary winds howled as a shield glowed just above the worn-down pyramids. The disruptor beams struck it. Then, one hell-burner after another screamed at the target.

The Yon Soth must have had something left. One hell-burner after another detonated prematurely. That caused vicious explosions, causing momentary whiteouts and interrupted the disruptor beams.

The battleships stayed on station, enduring some of the radiation. The planet’s atmosphere helped them with that, and the next hell-burner came tumbling down.

Valerie watched from the command chair on the bridge of the Alexander. If she had to, she’d send down shuttles with space marines next. If that failed, the five battleships could find and tow asteroids, launching them at the pyramids. Maybe by that time, reinforcements would have arrived from Earth via the nexus.

It didn’t come to that, however. The eleventh hell-burner reached the black-glowing shield and ignited, and the shield went down. The twelfth hell-burner reached the worn-down pyramids and detonated—and there were no more ancient structures after that. The thirteenth and fourteenth hell-burners created an impressive crater, surely killing the Yon Soth.

Valerie made sure, expending their entire hell-burner supply until the area down there bubbled and burned, cooking the Old One out of existence.

The Battle of the Omicron 9 System was over, with Star Watch the victor and Lieutenant Commander Valerie Noonan the hero.

-96-

The victory at Omicron 9 did more than destroy a potentially troublesome Yon Soth and deal with the first incursion of the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan. It gave Star Watch another nexus.

It would take time and technicians, with Ludendorff’s help, to get the Omicron 9 Nexus running. But that was simply a matter of a few more weeks, it would turn out.

In the meantime, Valerie relinquished her acting-admiral position and went back to her original job as the Lord High Admiral and Iron Lady’s liaison.

There were over a thousand sick and dying crewmembers among the five battleships. The medical personnel worked overtime, and the vessels became little more than orbiting hospital ships.

Mary O’Hara received congratulations from many and confirmation in her new post.

“We’ll find you another alien problem to solve,” the Lord High Admiral assured her via regular comm channels. It took time for the message to travel from Earth to Pluto. “With this new nexus—by damn, combined with the Builder Scanner, we have a war-winning game-changer. This time, Captain Maddox has outdone himself.”

Mary used regular channels to reply. “You’re right, Lord High Admiral. Don’t you think it’s time you promoted Captain Maddox for what he’s done?”

The Lord High Admiral sent her a message back. “Respectfully, are you crazy? I wouldn’t dream of promoting Maddox. You don’t fix what isn’t broken. He’s achieved miracles for us. Someday, yes, he’ll become a commodore, an admiral and maybe even the Lord High Admiral of Star Watch. For now, I’m leaving him where he can continue to achieve the feats we need most. There are too many dangers left to do otherwise.”

Mary thought an hour before she replied. “I don’t like your idea of using up my grandson like that. He needs a break from these hardship missions.”

Cook listened to her message three times, finally deciding on the best way to deal with O’Hara. He would ignore her plea—for now. He had too much on his plate to worry about it. There was Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers, Venna, the Spacers, the Sovereign Hierarchy of Leviathan—maybe he should send Victory on a new scouting mission into the other spiral arm. He’d have to think about that. There was so much to do, including learning how to deal with the change in the Throne World.

Leaning back in his chair, Cook cracked his big knuckles, wondering what the New Men were going to do next. And he wondered what this Supreme Intelligence wanted with Golden Ural. Maybe Maddox knew more about that than he’d let on. He’d have to ask the captain the next time he spoke with the man.

***

Over fifteen hundred light-years from Earth, deep inside the Library Planet, Golden Ural helped several of the Supreme Intelligence’s robots repair an advanced Builder device.

Something kept tickling Ural’s thoughts; it had been four weeks already. It was a hint dropped by the Supreme Intelligence during the inquest. Balron had caused, or been a chief factor in, the disappearance of the Builders. What had that meant? Every time he’d tried to bring that up with the Supreme Intelligence, the computer-like entity had changed the subject.

Sometimes, Ural thought the devices they repaired were machines needed to help bring back or revive hidden Builders. Was that a good thing for him, and for the Throne World? Did Lisa Meyers’s sleeping Builder have anything to do with all this?

Ural continued to help with repairs, waiting, learning and deciding when he would make his move, and what that move would entail.

***

As life proceeded throughout the universe, Captain Maddox continued to recover his strength and stamina. He remained aboard Victory, spending more time each week in the gym. He thought about Emperor Trahey as he practiced fencing. He thought about Artaxerxes Par and Samos of Thetis as he hit the heavy bag. He thought about Methuselah Woman Lisa Meyers and Venna the Spacer spy as he put in time at the pistol range.

It wasn’t all training, though. He also spent time with Meta, wonderful and joyous time. Thus, it wasn’t a surprise in the greater scheme of things when Meta told him the news.

He came out of the shower, toweling off, striding to a mirror and examining himself. He seemed fit, ready for action. His speed was back.

The hatch to their quarters opened. He assumed it was Meta. A few seconds later, she indeed hurried into the bedroom.

“There you are,” she said, and she stopped to examine him. “My, my, my,” she said.

“Why don’t you join me,” he suggested.

“Take my clothes off, you mean?”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning at her, flexing his pectorals.

“Well…okay, but you’ll have to be careful with me.”

“Oh?”

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt our baby.”

It took Maddox a second, two actually, to perceive what she meant. “You’re pregnant?”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Aren’t you glad?” She seemed unsure of his answer.

Maddox laughed as came to her, grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her into the air. “Of course I’m glad. Ecstatic, even.”

“Be careful with me.”

“Yes,” Maddox said, as he set her down. He hugged her, kissed her, and then he knelt beside her, putting his right palm against her womb. “A baby, you’re certain?”

“Oh, yes,” she said.

Maddox looked up into Meta’s face. Joy filled his. “This is wonderful.”

“Really?”

He stood, looking into her fabulous eyes. “I’m going to be a father.”

THE END

From the Author: Thanks Reader! I hope you’ve enjoyed THE LOST SECRET. If you liked the book and would like to see the story continue, please put up some stars and a review to support the series. Let me know what you would like Captain Maddox and the crew to challenge next!

-VH

Read on for an exciting excerpt from the next book in the Lost Starship Series, The Lost Barrier.

The Lost Barrier

(Lost Starship Series 15)

-1-

In retrospect, Captain Maddox should have been more cautious. Maybe boredom got the better of him. Maybe Meta’s occasional suggestion that he find a safer line of work—now that they had a little baby girl in the house—had started to constrict his sense of freedom.

The house was in Kauai, belonging to the Hawaiian Island chain, the Garden Isle. It was peaceful, idyllic, really. Maddox had gone surfing every morning and then paddle boarding in the late afternoon before he hit the local gym. The rougher the waves were in the afternoon, the better he liked it.

The Lord High Admiral had given him a leave of absence because of little Jewel Maddox. She was amazing, stunningly beautiful, and had done something to the captain’s heart he hadn’t quite expected. When the tiny infant girl had clutched the little finger of his right hand—

Maddox had stared at her in wonderment and could feel his heart thudding. If anyone tried to hurt his Jewel—he named her in that moment—he would kill them, or at least give him a beating he would remember for the rest of his life. A new sense of parenthood swept into the captain. He was the father, the protector of the family, the breadwinner in the oldest and best sense of the word. He would take a bullet for Jewel, for Meta, too. That he knew without question.

Maddox felt he understood his own late father better, finding greater kinship with him as he held his girl.

“I’m Jewel’s father. She’s my darling.”

The love and pride he already felt because of Jewel—anything she did was the best. Riker had studied the captain when he came to visit as Maddox could seem to speak of nothing else. Mary O’Hara, Jewel’s great grandmother, smiled as her grandson rhapsodized about his baby girl.

Now and then Meta half-jokingly suggested he find something else to do than captain the greatest starship in Star Watch. His missions were riskier than hell, right? One of these times, he wouldn’t be coming home. What would Jewel do without her father? Besides, if he were gone too long on one of his crazier missions, he’d miss the wonder of her growing up.

Maddox had listened in silence the first few times Meta made the suggestion. Then, he’d finally said that his job was to protect Jewel. That meant more than just in the house and at school. That meant humanity’s place in the galaxy. He had unique gifts and abilities. He wasn’t going to run away from that on a false notion—

Maddox had ceased his explanation as a single tear slid down one of Meta’s cheeks. He knew enough about being a husband that he sat beside her and held her tight, kissing her after a time and reassuring Meta he loved her. It occurred to him that Jewel had changed Meta as well, maybe even more than it had him. The former assassin and bodyguard had indeed become a mother.

“You’ll think about a new position then?” Meta asked quietly.

Despite his newfound understanding, heat rose in Maddox. He didn’t know it, but his features hardened.

Meta searched his face. “You have to think about Jewel.”

Maddox nodded, but he remained silent. A slight tightening around his heart—in a bad way—really started at that moment.

It took Maddox several weeks to understand what the tightening meant. He would never become a desk jockey. He would never become a supply officer or anything similar. He was a fighting man. He was the di-far. He had a new intuitive sense, created by Balron the Traveler. And he believed what he told Meta. His job was out in the stars, protecting the Commonwealth of Planets from all comers. In that way, he would protect his little Jewel, his precious baby girl.

So, when Professor Ludendorff sent a message via the Iron Lady: Do you mind helping me test my latest project? I need someone with high survival instincts. And you seem like the perfect tester. Maddox agreed in an instant.

The next day, he told Meta he had to go off-planet for a few days.

“To do what?” Meta asked.

“Help Ludendorff.”

“Isn’t he at the latest nexus, the one at Omicron Nine?”

“Yes.”

Meta stared at him. “That’s almost three hundred light-years away,” said as her voice rose.

Maddox shrugged. “It’s only a few hours away, less than an hour, really. You’ll hardly know I’m gone.”

“You’ll be going through a nexus, two of them if you count the one to come back.”

Maddox shook his head. “It’s only the time that matters, not the distance.”

Maybe Meta had already begun to sense the tightening around her husband’s heart. She still had her assassin’s instincts. Love for him surely battled against her surging mother-bear fears.

“Fine. If that’s what you need to do—”

“I’ll only be gone a few days.”

Once more, Meta stared at him, as those seemed like ominous last words. There was a clear inner struggle going on in her. Meta finally nodded, saying in a quieter voice, “If that’s what you need to you…yes, go see Ludendorff. It will probably do you good.”

Maddox grinned. “A few days, that’s all. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

As Lieutenant Commander Noonan was presently running Victory, and the Adok starship was eighty-five light-years away on a mission, Maddox drove a flitter to the nearest spaceport and took a shuttle that brought him up to an orbital Star Watch destroyer. The destroyer sped to the new pyramidal nexus brought back from the Library Planet. The operational nexus was situated between the Earth and Luna. After a thirteen-minute wait, the destroyer zipped through the created hyper-spatial tube, traveling hundreds of light-years in seconds, to reach the Omicron 9 System.

Several hours of acceleration and then deceleration brought Maddox to the fourth planet. Star Watch had hit it 18 months ago, losing Conqueror-class battleships as they launched hellburners at the surface. That had killed the Yon Soth, an Old One, hidden under worn-down nubs of planetary pyramids.

Maddox boarded a shuttle, going down onto the opposite side of the planet from the former pyramids and hellburner-created crater. The planet had 96.3 percent the mass of Earth and was warmer than it should have been, given its distance from the G-class star. There were hardy lichens, an almost breathable atmosphere and shrieking storms that sent rusted dust particles, much like on Mars, to file everything down over time.

The latest storm buffeted the shuttle, which finally landed in an underground hangar bay.

Maddox exited the shuttle and found the hangar bay empty. He mentally chided himself for coming unarmed. The enforced idleness had made him sloppy. He would change that the first moment he had.

Hatches opened, and three service people hurried to him. They were short and stout Kai-Kaus, wearing gray overalls and boots.

Maddox had rescued the last remnant of the Kai-Kaus, approximately ten thousand people, from a Builder Dyson Sphere one thousand light-years from Earth. That had been years ago, but all Kai-Kaus still treated him with reverence.

“I need weapons,” Maddox told the three.

The chief nodded, taking him to an armory.

Maddox selected a monofilament blade, which he secreted in a boot top. He then chose a Quintana Ten Blaster, threading the holster to his belt before shoving the pistol into it. He added two extra charges to the belt for good measure. Lastly, he slipped a pair of brass knuckles into a pocket.

The Kai-Kaus chief did not blink or raise an eyebrow at that, just waited.

“Are you helping the professor down here?” Maddox asked.

“Indeed so, Captain.”

“What’s he working on, anyway?”

The chief smiled in an inscrutable way.

“Something secret then, I’m guessing,” said Maddox.

“As you’ve already ascertained, sir, the professor will want to explain everything himself.”

“Sure,” Maddox said. “I’m ready. Let’s go see the wunderkind, shall we?”

The chief nodded again, turned and led the way through the underground bunker complex.

-2-

Star Watch had installed the underground hangar bay and bunker sixteen months ago, two months after the Yon Soth’s death.

A Yon Soth was an ancient entity, a huge Cthulhu-like alien, with similar “Outer God” attributes. So far, Yon Soths or Old Ones had always proven hostile to humanity. It was one of the chief reasons the Lord High Admiral had agreed to stomping this one to death like a black widow spider in a child’s sandbox.

How long the slain Yon Soth had lived on the planet before the attack was anyone’s guess. What it had been doing other than surviving—no one in Star Watch knew.

So far, every Yon Soth Star Watch had dealt with had possessed fantastic, nearly magical technology. Very little of that technology had passed on to them. Likely, that was good, as Old-One tech often had transcendent or superhuman qualities.

Normally, Professor Ludendorff remained aboard Starship Victory or went off on his own, often for nefarious reasons. Perhaps he hadn’t liked the idea of being aboard while Valerie Noonan ran the starship. They’d had a few too many “incidents” between them for him to trust her fully or maybe much at all. That he’d been the cause of the former problems—

Professor Ludendorff was a Methuselah Man. Builders had taken him off Earth ages ago and given him enhanced brainpower and the ability to survive centuries. His vast IQ, long life and successes had made him overproud. It wasn’t so much that he hated admitting mistakes as that he hardly acknowledged them to himself. He knew himself to be smarter and therefore automatically believed himself greater than others. Hadn’t most of Star Watch’s keenest successes been due to his genius? To ask the question was to answer it with a huge affirmative.

In any case, the Kai-Kaus chief and Captain Maddox soon found the professor working on an immense machine, one that took up space in many large rooms.

The professor was a white-haired—thickly white-haired—leathery handsome man wearing a black shirt and lab coat. The first three buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing thick white chest hair, a gold chain and a rugged man’s tan. Even Maddox knew that Ludendorff thought of himself as the galaxy’s greatest lover and didn’t mind who knew it.

Two female lab assistants flanked the professor. They were young, dressed in tight clothes and heels, stunning as if in a beauty pageant. They had nametags pinned to their blouses, making identification easier. CLARICE had long blonde hair and clutched a scanner. IRIS had curly brunette hair and was the bustier of the two, the upper buttons of her garment straining. She waited beside a portable tray of tools.

“I’ll leave you here,” the Kai-Kaus chief quietly told Maddox.

The captain nodded. He was tall and muscularly lean, dressed in blue and black with boots and leather jacket. It was civilian wear, as he was on leave, but looked like a uniform of sorts, or maybe it was in the way he held himself. He had lean features and New Men heritage. Although he’d failed to receive all the advanced genetic injections during his time in his mother’s womb, the Erill spiritual energy he’d absorbed later had made up the difference.

Clarice saw him first, arched her eyebrows in surprise and said, “Professor, we have a visitor.”

“Not now,” Ludendorff said with a scowl. “This is a delicate operation. I must concentrate.”

“Yes, professor,” Clarice said, “as you wish.’

Ludendorff’s larger-than-average head snapped up. He noticed Maddox and nodded. “It’s about time you showed up.” Then, he went back to doing something to this part of the immense machine as lights blinked and other parts beeped.

Iris glanced at Maddox, smiling at him.

It wasn’t that Maddox didn’t notice, but he was married, happily so, and planned to keep it that way for the rest of his life, so he gave her only a polite nod.

Iris raised a brunette eyebrow, and her smile changed to a half pout, as if she didn’t appreciate the captain’s self-control. Then, something shifted in her eyes. The pout vanished as the something in her eyes became calculating.

“Calibrator,” Ludendorff said testily.

Iris turned to him. “What was that, professor?”

Ludendorff scowled thunderously as he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’ve said calibrator three times already. Are you sure you want this…position?”

“Yes, professor, of course,” Iris said, picking a slender metal rod off the tray, betraying her red fingernails, and handing it to him.

The professor grunted, glanced farther to eye Maddox, looked at Iris again and then muttered under his breath as he used the calibrator to test what he’d done.

Iris glanced at Maddox once more. The steely-eyed man appeared not to know what had just taken place. In fact, he seemed indifferent to it all.

The calculation in Iris’s intense eyes shifted yet again. She’d apparently learned that Ludendorff was jealous of the tall man. How very interesting indeed, potentially useful, too.

However, Iris was wrong to think that Maddox failed to notice the interplay. Not only was he normally the captain of Victory, but he was a highly trained Intelligence operative. He was a greater Intelligence officer than line captain, and his many successes usually hinged upon the fact.

The curly-haired woman was obviously devious and had some ulterior motive. That did not necessarily mean against Star Watch or humanity in general. It could be she had womanly desires and would sink her claws into whoever could help her the most—help to get the things she desired.

Clearly, by their behavior and stances, Ludendorff was sleeping with both lab assistants. The Methuselah Man was a goat, a satyr given the right provocations. Was that interfering with whatever the professor was working on? Maddox intended to find out before he proceeded further.

With a start, Maddox realized something else. He was enjoying himself. It wasn’t the beautiful women that prompted the enjoyment, but the potential of a problem that needed fixing.

Maddox hooked his thumbs in his belt, waiting for the old goat to finish the delicate operation. I’ve had enough shore leave. It’s time to saddle up and do something again. He cocked his head. He’d been tired before this. With Jewel’s birth and the time off—

Maddox grinned, hoping the professor had something interesting for him to do.