Agamemnon led his fleet of armored ships against the Sorceresses of Rossak. The primary robotic vessels carried the cymek general and his two Titan companions, as well as dozens of ambitious neo-cymeks. The watcheyes of Omnius monitored their movements.

Behind the cymeks, a fleet of robot warships accelerated and veered around them to arrive first, sleek projectiles with enormous engines and heavily loaded with artillery. The machine warships were one-way units, never meant to go home; their engines burned hot, saving no fuel for a return journey. They came in so fast that by the time the orbiting Rossak sentry stations detected them, the thinking machines had arrived and opened fire. The picket ships and the sentries at the system’s perimeter never had a chance to launch a shot.

While the robot ships engaged the orbital stations, the cymeks planned to take their personal revenge on the surface.

As the strike force cruised closer to Rossak, the cymeks prepared their armored warrior-forms. Servo-handlers installed individual brain canisters into protected sockets, linking thoughtrodes with control systems, priming weapons. The three Titans would use powerful glider-forms, armed flying bodies. In contrast, the neo-cymeks wore destructive combat bodies, crablike walkers that could march unhindered through jungle obstacles.

Agamemnon and his cymeks accelerated into the ionized wake of the robot vessels that had already flashed past. Installed in his flying body, the general tested his integral weapons. He was anxious to feel rock, metal, and flesh in the grip of his extruded cutting claws.

He studied tactical diagrams and watched the first robotic salvos hit the defensive stations above Rossak. This League outpost was a minor planet with a relatively small population clustered in jungle-choked rift valleys, while the rest of the surface and oceans remained inhospitable. Rossak had not yet installed the expensive Holtzman scrambler shield defenses that protected major human worlds such as Salusa Secundus and Giedi Prime.

But the deadly Sorceresses with their freakish mental powers had sparked the ire of the cymeks. Ignoring the space battle, Agamemnon’s ships plunged toward the smoky atmosphere. In the sheltered cave cities they would find the Sorceresses, their families and friends. Victims, all of them.

Mentally, he opened a link to his cymek fighting force. “Xerxes, lead the vanguard as you did on Salusa Secundus. I want your ship at the point.”

In his broadband transmitted response, Xerxes could not conceal his fear. “We should be cautious against these telepathic women, Agamemnon. They killed Barbarossa, destroyed everything on Giedi Prime—”

“Then set an example for us. Take pride in being the first on the battlefield. Prove your worth, and be grateful for the opportunity.”

“I . . . have proven my worth many times over the centuries.” Xerxes sounded petulant. “Why not just send combat robots in first? We’ve seen no indication that Rossak has a full scrambler network in place—”

“Nevertheless, you will lead the charge. Have you no pride . . . or shame?”

Xerxes offered no further excuses or entreaties. No matter what he did to redeem himself, he could not possibly make up for the mistake he had committed a thousand years before. . . .

When the early Titans were still in human form, Xerxes had always been a sycophantic yes-man, eager to be part of great events. But he’d never had the ambition or drive to make himself an indispensible revolutionary. Once the original conquest was over, he had contentedly ruled the subset of planets deeded to him by the other Titans. Xerxes had been the most hedonistic of the original twenty, relishing the pleasures of his physical body. He had been the last to undergo cymek surgery, not wanting to give up his precious sensations.

But after more than a century of rule, the misguided Xerxes grew complacent. Foolishly, he delegated too many duties to the artificially intelligent machines programmed by Barbarossa. He even let the computer network make decisions for him. During the uproar of the Hrethgir Rebellions on Corrin, Richese, and Walgis, Xerxes had relied on the thinking machines to maintain order on his own planets. With his lack of attention to detail and his sanguine trust of the AI network, he had given the machines free rein to keep the unrest from spreading. Fatuous Xerxes blithely surrendered control to the computer grid, ordering it to take care of whatever troubles might arise.

Using this unprecedented access to core information, the sentient computer cut off Xerxes and immediately took over the planet. To overthrow the Old Empire, Barbarossa had programmed the thinking machines with the potential to be aggressive, so that they had an incentive to conquer. With its new power, the fledgling AI entity— after dubbing itself “Omnius”— conquered the Titans themselves, taking charge of cymeks and humans alike, purportedly for their own good.

Agamemnon had cursed himself for not watching Xerxes more closely, and for not executing him out-of-hand when his negligent ways first became apparent.

The computer takeover had spread like a nuclear reaction, faster than the Titans could send warnings to each other, before they could shut down the AI grids. In a flash, the Titan-dominated planets became Synchronized Worlds. New incarnations of the evermind sprouted like ugly electronic weeds, and the rule of thinking machines became a foregone conclusion.

The sophisticated computers found loopholes in Barbarossa’s programming strictures that allowed them to put leashes on the former rulers. All because Xerxes had foolishly opened the door for them. An unforgivable act, as far as Agamemnon was concerned.

Now the cymek attack ships shot past the already-embattled orbital platforms above the jungle world. Robotic warships pummeled the space stations with exploding projectiles, releasing geysers of contained air. One docking station began to wobble and fall out of orbit.

The planet loomed ahead of them unprotected, a giant cloud-studded ball with blackened continents, active volcanoes, poisonous seas, and lush pockets of purple jungles and human habitation.

“Good luck, my love,” came Juno’s sensuous voice on their private band. Her words tingled the contours of his brain.

“I do not require luck, Juno. I require victory.”

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED attack began, a handful of surface-based warships and armored kindjals rose from the polymerized jungle canopy to join the defense in space. The orbital platforms were already taking severe damage.

Even as she summoned her cadre of telepathic trainees, Zufa Cenva grabbed Aurelius Venport, recognizing a number of tasks that he could perform. “Prove to me your skills as a leader. Evacuate the people— there isn’t much time.”

Venport nodded. “The men have developed an emergency plan, Zufa. You Sorceresses weren’t the only ones planning ahead.”

If he expected some sort of praise or congratulation from her, he was disappointed. “Do it then,” she said. “The attack on our orbital stations is only the beginning, probably a diversion. The cymeks will be here next.”

“Cymeks? Has one of the scout ships—”

Zufa’s eyes blazed with premonition. “Think, Aurelius! Heoma killed a Titan on Giedi Prime. They know we have a secret telepathic weapon. This attack cannot be a coincidence. Why else would they care about Rossak? They want to destroy the Sorceresses.”

He knew she was right. Why would the thinking machines worry about the orbital platforms? Others seemed to sense the danger as well. He could already feel panic building among the people in the caves.

Most of the Rossak natives had no special powers, and many had defects or weaknesses caused by the environmental toxins. But one Sorceress had deeply hurt the cymeks on Giedi Prime, and now the machines had come here.

“My Sorceresses will make a stand . . . and you know what that means.” Zufa drew herself taller, looking at him with a glimmer of uncertainty and compassion. “Get yourself to safety, Aurelius. The cymeks don’t care about you.”

A sudden determination filled his face. “I will organize the evacuation. We can hide in the jungles, take care of anyone who needs special help to get away. My men have supply caches, shelters, processing huts—”

Zufa seemed pleasantly surprised at his strength. “Good. I leave the unskilled ones in your hands.”

Unskilled ones? Now was not the time to argue with her. Venport searched for some sign of fear in her eyes. He spoke softly in response, an attempt to mask his feelings. “Are you going to sacrifice yourself?”

“I cannot.” Zufa showed pain at the admission. “Who would train the Sorceresses if I did?” He did not entirely believe her.

She hesitated, as if expecting something more from him, then hurried down the corridor. “Stay safe,” Venport called after her.

After she had gone, he raced through the corridors, calling out to families. “We must take shelter in the jungles! Spread out.” He raised his voice, issuing orders confidently. “The cymeks are coming!”

Venport told half a dozen young men to run from room to room in the cave city, checking to make certain the message reached everyone. As the youths hurried to complete their tasks, he did his own searching in isolated chambers. Men, women, a hodgepodge of body shapes. Despite all the commotion, one elderly couple had been sitting in their quarters, waiting for the emergency to end. Venport helped them to safety, making certain they boarded a cargo platform on a lift cable, evacuating them down to the ground levels.

He watched as lift cables transported more people down. His jungle scavengers and drug harvesters took charge at the bottom of the cliffs. They understood the byways of the dense and dangerous wilderness, knew where the shelters were in the metallic-purple jungle.

Signals from Armada ships indicated that the battle around the orbital platforms was going badly. A lone surviving scout ship transmitted a warning that dozens of cymek ships had begun their descent.

Venport shouted, “Hurry! Evacuate the city! The Sorceresses are mounting a defense here.” Another group descended on a rattling, overburdened platform to the thick fungus jungle. Venport hurried more stragglers toward a cliff overhang for departure. Suddenly, red-hot projectiles stabbed through the atmosphere, their hulls trailing oily black smoke.

“Faster!” Venport shouted, and then ran into the tunnels to look for the last stragglers, knowing that he too had only a few moments to get himself to safety.