The cloud-gray blockade runner was not only fast and difficult to see against the murky skies of Giedi Prime, it contained the most sophisticated stealth profile of any craft in the League arsenal. Serena hoped Ort Wibsen’s crack abilities would be enough to get her team through to the isolated island in the northern sea, where they could begin their work.

Pinquer Jibb had provided the blueprints, plans, and access codes for the secondary shield-transmitting towers, if any of the systems remained intact. But even with the excellent military advisors and engineers, no part of this was going to be obvious or easy.

After the long journey from Salusa, they now flew silently through the darkened sky, studying the land mass below. Unnecessary parts of the power grid had been shut down, cities plunged into barbarous blackness. Machines, after all, could simply adjust their optic sensors to see in the dark.

Serena didn’t know how many trained Home Guard members had survived. She hoped some had gone underground after the thinking-machine takeover, as the desperate courier Jibb had promised. Once her commandos restored the scrambler shields, the Home Guard survivors would be crucial in retaking the planet. She was counting on Xavier to bring Armada ships into the fray, no matter what strings he had to pull.

Serena sat in the blockade runner’s passenger compartment, anxious to begin. By now, back on Salusa, her father would know she had gone, and she hoped Xavier would already have launched his strike force for Giedi Prime. If he didn’t come, then their mission was doomed, and so were she and her team.

Xavier would be upset and worried about her, angry at the foolish risk she had taken. But if she achieved results, all the effort would be justified.

Nothing remained but the task itself.

Hunched forward in the cockpit, old Wibsen scanned the northern regions to pinpoint the uncompleted transmitter station. Serena had gleaned only a general location from Xavier’s report, but she knew the conquering machines wouldn’t have bothered with an isolated arctic island while subjugating Giedi Prime’s population. So long as they didn’t call attention to themselves, perhaps Brigit Paterson’s engineers could complete their work without interference.

The hardened veteran studied an instrument console, scratching his rough cheek. After his forced retirement, Wibsen had never maintained a crisp, spit-and-polish military appearance; now, at the conclusion of their journey across space, he looked more rumpled than ever. But Serena had not enlisted him for his wardrobe or his personal hygiene habits.

He watched streaks of light and blips on a scanner screen. “There it is. Must be the right island.” With a satisfied grunt, he began touching buttonpads like a musician playing a keyboard to reveal a weaving but safe course through the machines’electronic sensor net. “The stealth film on our hull should let us slip right through their surveillance. Sixty, seventy percent chance, I’d say.”

Serena accepted the grim reality. “That’s better odds than the people of Giedi Prime have.”

“At the moment,” Wibsen said.

Brigit Paterson stepped into the cockpit, not losing her balance as the deck shook in buffeting winds. “Most of the Armada wouldn’t even take the chance. They’d probably write off Giedi Prime until they had a perfect, risk-free opportunity.”

“We’ll just have to show them how it’s done,” Wibsen said. Serena wished Xavier could be here so they could make decisions together.

The camouflaged blockade runner sliced through the murky atmosphere at an efficient angle and approached the cold, leaden sea. “Time to duck out of sight,” the veteran said. “Hang on.”

The smooth ship plunged beneath the deep water like a hot iron. The gush of steam was followed by hardly a ripple. Then, concealed by the ocean, the craft glided north toward the coordinates of the rocky island where a nervous Magnus Sumi had built his backup shield transmitters.

“I’d say we’re sufficiently out of sensor range,” Serena said. “We can breathe easy for a while.”

Wibsen cocked an eyebrow. “I hadn’t even started to sweat yet.”

As if to disprove his remark, he fought to control a sudden coughing spasm while he maneuvered the converted blockade runner through the dim underwater currents. The old man cursed his health, cursed the implanted medical injector in his chest.

“Commander, don’t jeopardize this mission because of your stubborn pride,” Serena scolded.

The ship pitched to one side and creaked. Behind a bulkhead something fizzed. “Damn water turbulence!” Red-faced, Wibsen kept the blockade runner under control, then turned back to glare at Serena. “Right now I’m just the chauffeur. I can relax as soon as I drop you off.”

The vessel cruised beneath the surface for an hour, deep enough to avoid any floating chunks of ice from the polar regions, and finally guided them toward a sheltered bay. On the cockpit screens, the approaching island looked stark and rocky, all black cliffs and ice. “Doesn’t look like much of a resort to me,” Wibsen said.

Brigit Paterson said, “Magnus Sumi didn’t choose the site for its beauty. From here, a polar projection is simple and efficient. Coverage from these transmitters is good for all the inhabited land masses.”

Wibsen brought the blockade runner to the surface. “I still think it’s an ugly place.” As he guided them into the deep harbor embraced by a crescent of cliffs, he began to cough again, louder and worse than before. “Damned ridiculous timing.” He looked more annoyed than distressed. “We’re on auto-guide, still on course. Get Jibb over here to fly for a while. This is his home territory after all.”

Curly-haired Pinquer Jibb looked at the approaching island complex, seemingly disappointed that the Home Guard refugees hadn’t already completed the work. He took the controls from the veteran and brought the blockade runner to the island’s abandoned quays and loading docks. After they had clamped into place, he opened the hatches.

Purplish dawn spread like a bruise across the northern sky. Breathing the fresh but biting air, Serena stood in warm clothes with her team members. The rocky island looked forbidding and seemed completely deserted.

More heartwarming, though, was the set of silvery towers with parabolic sides and metal-lattice grids. Ice and frost rimed the structures, but they appeared untouched by the thinking-machine invaders.

“Once we switch those on, the robots won’t know what hit’em,” Wibsen said, hauling himself out into the open, looking somewhat recovered. He blew a lungful of white steam onto his hands.

Serena kept looking at the towers, a sweeping expression of hope and determination on her face. Brigit Paterson nodded, all business. “Even so, we’ve got our work cut out for us.”