A prize is worth nothing to the man who cannot keep it.

—JOSEF VENPORT, internal VenHold memo

The vessels in the VenHold Spacing Fleet were primarily used for carrying nonmilitary passengers and cargo, astutely avoiding interplanetary conflicts, but now Josef Venport was launching an outright attack. He doubted the Celestial Transport workers would put up much of a fight, but he intended to seize what should have been his in the first place.

Through his study of detailed star charts, Draigo Roget had identified the Thonaris star system as the likely location of a major thinking-machine base that had thus far escaped detection. Somehow, scouts for Arjen Gates had stumbled upon the place—probably through dumb luck—whereas Draigo had calculated the location through intellect and skill.

And now, with a large private fleet of VenHold ships, all augmented with weaponry purchased on the black market, Josef intended to take the outpost away from his business rival.

With shared information, star images, and unfathomable interdimensional foldspace calculations, the group of Navigators guided the VenHold fleet to the edge of the Thonaris system, an unremarkable orange star orbited by an all-but-invisible brown dwarf sun. High-resolution scans combed the volume of space for any signs of habitation or industrial activity.

Draigo stood next to Josef on the command bridge of an old military ballista that he had purchased from the Army of Humanity. With additional modifications from the Kolhar shipyards, the warship carried even more firepower.

“I’m confident this is the correct star system, sir,” Draigo said. “But we still have a wide area to search in order to find the depot.”

Josef frowned, scratched his thick, cinnamon-colored mustache. “It can’t be too difficult, or Arjen Gates would never have found it.”

“Accidents happen, sir … statistically speaking.”

After two hours, the search had pinpointed six planets in the system—two frozen lumps that were not much bigger than comets, one world that was far too hot and close to the sun, two gas giants with a smattering of moons, and a large cluster of rocky planetoids.

“Those planetoids radiate far too much energy,” Draigo said. “Indicates artificial activity, probably industrial operations.”

Josef was convinced. “That’s our destination, then. Prepare to move. Let’s make this quick and efficient.”

Draigo called up a projection of the seventy VenHold ships, which were scattered in a pattern like intersection points on a complex cat’s-cradle diagram. “It’s best to move in with a sudden, crippling blow. I have planned what I believe will be an effective scenario, sir. At the Mentat School, I acquired a great deal of simulated experience in complicated space military engagements.”

“That is what I wanted you to learn, Draigo. You will guide the strike. The Celestial Transport presence needs to be uprooted and discarded like a weed.” He transmitted to all of his ships. “My Mentat has tactical command. Follow his orders in this engagement.” Then he sat back to watch.

Under complete communications silence, the ships activated their standard faster-than-light engines and descended into the system. Draigo had already provided detailed instructions, ship by ship, mapping out each movement as if the battle had already occurred. All weapons were powered up and ready to fire, but Josef specified that they were to cause as little damage as possible. He warned the individual captains, “I’ll deduct the value of every viable ship you ruin from your bonuses.” That should give them sufficient incentive.

The shipyards rapidly came into view, proving the Mentat correct. One cratered planetoid was covered with automated strip-mining and metals-processing machinery, but the heart of the shipyard was its assembly complex in low orbit, large spacedocks that held derelict ships. Bright lights and thermal signatures indicated a significant level of activity.

At least fifty large robot vessels hung in various stages of completion, huge brute-force starships that were dark except for a spangle of lights and a flurry of figures moving about in the engine bays. Josef spotted at least a dozen smaller CT ships and pinpointed the base’s administrative hub in the orbiting grid work. In addition to the fifty completed ships being upgraded with spacefolder engines, dozens more vessels were under construction. The Thonaris complex also held many robotic factories that used raw materials from the asteroids to create new structural girders, hull plates, and internal components. But the CT occupiers had not bothered to activate them. Rather, they were just commandeering the old, mostly finished ships.

Josef’s eyes drank in all the possibilities. “You have already surpassed my expectations, Mentat. When this is over, you may claim your reward.”

“Reward?” Draigo’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t this the task for which you hired me, sir?”

“And a good investment it was.” Josef leaned forward, staring at the screen.

The VenHold raiders converged on the Thonaris depot like a swarm of angry hornets, englobing the operations according to the Mentat’s assault plan.

As expected, panicked CT workers began to transmit alarms. A few ships attempted to evacuate, but they had nowhere to go. The VenHold fleet was an undeniably superior force, ready for a quick and decisive battle.

The Celestial Transport operations appeared to be in the initial stages of consolidation, having reactivated only a handful of the manufacturing bases. Good, Josef thought. They hadn’t had time to cause irreparable damage. The workers also seemed so confident in their secret activities that they had not yet established a solid defensive perimeter.

Too bad for them.

The Mentat scanned images of the planetoids, the refurbished robot ships, and the CT vessels in orbit, calculating and recalculating possibilities. “They have no way to stand against us, sir. Logically speaking, they should surrender without firing a shot.”

“That would be convenient, but be prepared anyway.” By Josef’s orders, his ships made no response to the numerous indignant demands for answers from the panicked CT workers. A reply was unnecessary, since his intentions were certainly obvious. Only the details remained.

He looked over at Draigo, who showed no sign of mirth. The Mentat gave his brisk report in a quiet voice. “I’ve identified all the weak points, sir. I believe we can have the complex consolidated within the hour.”

To Josef’s surprise, Arjen Gates himself appeared on the screen. The head of Celestial Transport had short brown hair, a pointed chin, and eyes that blinked too often. His voice was thin, high enough in pitch that he always sounded intimidated—and he certainly had good reason to feel that way now. “Whoever you are, you are trespassing on sovereign territory. I have a legal claim on this unoccupied system under the laws of salvage! You have no right to be here.”

Josef leaned back and chuckled. The hated competitor was an unexpected prize that was gratifying on an entirely different level!

When no one replied to his demand, Arjen Gates sounded even more frightened. “If you are followers of the Butlerian movement and want to destroy these robot ships, I have already claimed them as personal property. You have no right! These are valuable relics to be used for the expansion of human commerce! I demand to speak to your representative.”

Josef let the man wait a few more seconds, then activated his own comm. “We’re not the Butlerians, my dear friend Arjen. If it’s any consolation, I don’t intend to damage any of these ships.”

When Arjen Gates began to splutter and yell, Josef muted the volume. “Commence consolidation, Mentat—no sense wasting time. We have a lot of work to do here.”