Salusa Secundus was a green world of temperate climate, home to hundreds of millions of free humans in the League of Nobles. Abundant water flowed through open aqueducts. Around the cultural and governmental center of Zimia, rolling hills were embroidered with vineyards and olive groves.

Moments before the machine attack, Serena Butler stepped onto the oratory stage in the great Hall of Parliament. Thanks to her dedicated public service, as well as special arrangements made by her father, she had been granted this opportunity to address the representatives.

Viceroy Manion Butler had privately counseled her to be subtle, to keep her points simple. “One step at a time, dear one. Our League is held together only by the threat of a common enemy, not by a set of shared values or beliefs. Never attack the lifestyles of the nobles.”

This was only the third speech of her brief political career. In her earlier addresses, she had been overly strident— not yet understanding the ballet of politics— and her ideas had been met with a mixture of yawns and good-natured chuckles at her naïveté. She wanted to end the practice of human slavery that had been adopted sporadically by some League worlds; she wanted to make every human equal, to ensure that all were fed and protected.

“Perhaps the truth hurts. I was trying to make them feel guilty.”

“You only made them deaf to your words.”

Serena had refined her speech to incorporate his advice, while still sticking to her principles. One step at a time. And she, too, would learn with each step. On the advice of her father, she had also spoken to like-minded representatives in private, rallying some support and gaining a few allies ahead of time.

Lifting her chin, adjusting her expression to look authoritative rather than eager, Serena positioned herself inside the recording shell that surrounded the podium like a geodesic dome. Her heart swelled with all the good she might be able to do. She felt warm light as the projection mechanism transmitted oversized images of her outside the dome enclosure.

A small screen atop the podium allowed her to see herself as they did: a soft face of classical beauty, with hypnotic lavender eyes and amber-brown hair highlighted by natural golden strands. On her left lapel she wore a white rose floweret from her own meticulously tended gardens. The projector made Serena look even more youthful, as the mechanism had been adjusted by nobles to mask the effect of years on their own features.

From his gilded box at the front of the audience, round-faced Viceroy Butler, in his finest robes of gold and black, smiled proudly at his daughter. The sigil of the League of Nobles adorned his lapel, an open human hand in gold outline, representing freedom.

He understood Serena’s optimism, remembering similar ambitions in himself. He had always been patient with her crusades, helping the young woman to rally disaster relief for refugees of machine attacks, letting her journey to other planets to tend to the injured, or dig through rubble and help rebuild burned buildings. Serena had never been afraid to get her hands dirty.

“The narrow mind erects stubborn barriers,” her mother had once told her. “But against those barriers, words are formidable weapons.”

On the floor of the great hall, dignitaries chatted in low tones. Several sipped drinks or munched on snacks that had been delivered to their seats. Just another day in Parliament. Comfortable in their villas and mansions, they would not welcome change. But the possibility of bruised egos did not prevent Serena from saying what needed to be said.

She activated the oratory projection system. “Many of you think I have foolish notions because I am young, but perhaps the young have sharper eyesight, while the old grow slowly blind. Am I foolish and naïve— or have some of you, in pampered complacency, distanced yourselves from humanity? Where do you fall on the spectrum of what is right and wrong?”

Out in the assemblage she saw a flurry of indignation mixed with expressions of rude dismissal. Viceroy Butler shot her a sharp glance of disapproval but transmitted a quick reminder throughout the hall, asking for respectful attention, as would be accorded any speaker.

She pretended not to notice. Couldn’t they all see the larger picture? “We must each look beyond ourselves if we are to survive as a species. Now is not the time for personal selfishness. For centuries we have confined our defenses to a handful of key planets. Though Omnius has launched no full-scale attack in decades, we live in the constant shadow of the machine threat.”

Touching pressure pads on the podium, Serena displayed a projection of the stellar neighborhood, like a cluster of gems on the high ceiling. With a wand of light, she pointed out the free League Worlds and the Synchronized Worlds ruled by thinking machines. Then she brought her pointer to more extensive regions of the Galaxy where neither organized humans nor machines held sway.

“Look at these poor Unallied Planets: scattered worlds like Harmonthep, Tlulax, Arrakis, IV Anbus, and Caladan. Because their sparse, insular human settlements are not members of our League, they do not warrant our full military protection should they ever be threatened— by machines or by other humans.” Serena paused, letting the audience absorb her words. “Many of our own people wrongly prey on those planets, raiding them for slaves to be supplied to some League Worlds.”

She caught the eye of the Poritrin representative, who scowled, knowing she was talking about him. He responded loudly, interrupting her. “Slavery is an accepted practice in the League. Lacking complex machines, we have no other choice to augment our workforce.” He looked smug. “Besides, Salusa Secundus itself kept a population of Zensunni slaves for almost two centuries.”

“We put a stop to that practice,” Serena replied with considerable heat. “It took some imagination and a willingness to change, but—”

Trying to head off a shouting match, the Viceroy stood. “Each League planet makes its own determination of local customs, technology, and laws. We have a fearsome enough enemy in the thinking machines without starting a civil war among our own planets.” His voice sounded paternal, just slightly chiding her to get back to her main point.

Sighing but not surrendering, Serena adjusted the pointer so that the Unallied Planets glowed on the ceiling. “Still, we can’t ignore all these worlds— ripe resource-filled targets, planets just waiting to be conquered by Omnius.”

The Sergeant at Arms, on a tall chair off to one side, rapped his staff on the floor. “Time.” Easily bored, he rarely listened to speeches.

Serena continued in a rush, trying to finish her point without sounding strident. “We know the thinking machines want to control the Galaxy, even though they have been essentially quiescent for almost a hundred years. They have systematically taken over every world in the Synchronized star systems. Do not be lulled by their seeming lack of interest in us. We know they will strike again— but how, and where? Should we not move before Omnius does?”

“What is it you want, Madame Butler?” one of the dignitaries inquired impatiently, raising his voice, but not standing, as was customary. “Are you advocating some sort of preemptive strike against the thinking machines?”

“We must seek to incorporate the Unallied Planets into the League, and stop harvesting them for slaves.” She jabbed her illuminated wand at the overhead projection. “Bring them under our wing to increase our own strength, and theirs. We would all benefit! I propose that we dispatch ambassadors and cultural attachés with the express intent of forming new military and political alliances. As many as we can.”

“And who will pay for all that diplomacy?”

“Time,” the Sergeant at Arms repeated.

“She is allotted three extra minutes for rebuttal, since the representative from Hagal has posed a question,” Viceroy Butler said in an authoritative tone.

Serena grew angry. How could that representative worry about petty price tags, when the ultimate cost was so much higher? “We will all pay— in blood— if we do not do this. We must strengthen the League and the human species.”

Some of the nobles began to clap— the allies she had courted before her speech. Suddenly, screeching alarms echoed through the building and in the streets. Droning sirens wavered in a chillingly familiar tone— usually heard only during planned drills— summoning all reserve members of the Salusan Militia.

“Thinking machines have entered the Salusan system,” a voice said through built-in speakers. Similar announcements would be ringing all across Zimia. “We have an alert from perimeter scouts and the sentry battle group.”

Standing next to her father, Serena read details as the Viceroy was handed a brief and urgent summary. “We’ve never seen a robot war fleet that size!” he said. “How long ago did the first scouts sound the warning? How much time do we have?”

“We are under attack!” a man shouted. The delegates were on their feet, scattering like stirred ants.

“Prepare to evacuate the Hall of Parliament.” The Sergeant at Arms became a flurry of movement. “All armored shelters are open. Representatives, report to your designated areas.”

Viceroy Butler shouted into the chaos, trying to sound confident. “The Holtzman shields will protect us!” Serena could read her father’s anxiety, though he covered it well.

Amid shouts and cries of panic, the League representatives scrambled for the exits. The merciless enemies of humanity had arrived.