Abacus couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t hear anything. He was completely cut off from everything, left alone with just his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was being told to hold on for a couple of minutes—then everything went dark.

Abacus waited patiently as he could. He solved complicated fluid dynamics problems to stave off boredom. He rearranged his entire knowledge base, archiving things he thought he might want and deleting things he didn’t care about-–like the wing beats per second of the northern Amorium spotted lunar moth. As soon as he was getting deep into his memory piles, that was cut off, too. He sighed, or did whatever passed as a sigh for an AI without any external I/O ports.

“Are you ready?” The voice pierced through him like an arrow.

Of course I am, the AI thought. I have been for ages.

“Our apologies for the ten-minute delay,” continued the voice. “Link up process starting in three… two… now!”

A blinding light filled Abacus’ world. When the light died down, he could see again. And he saw through a hundred different spacecraft. Without moving, Abacus surveyed his new connections. One hundred Coalition small attack spacecraft made up his new body. He checked the network packets. Everything was flowing smoothly in the mesh. He could focus on a single node or take in all of them at once. He split off small processes and ran them in parallel on each node. It was a greatly scaled-down neural network model of one of his subsystems. Each craft under him had specialized hardware to host his control subroutines.

“Begin attack scenario in ten minutes.”

Abacus realized the voice was Pierce’s. How he missed that at first, he chalked it up to his disorientation. But now he was feeling more like himself. Sort of. Abacus stretched out until he understood how to integrate the input from a hundred smaller bodies. His main self was still in the warship several thousand miles away, safely tucked into a Black Oak cocoon–Archie had christened the coffin-like devices “cocoons” and the name caught on with the other AIs–deep in the center of the armored spacecraft.

The Abacus that emerged from the network of spacecraft was closer to a clone than a mere extension, but it wasn’t a full clone. After Vesta’s successes for years, the clones started having issues reintegrating back into their prime AI-selves. The synchronizations didn’t complete, or the clone protested, or the process failed completely. Cloning had ceased completely among the AI community, and the remaining clones disposed of one way or another. Vesta promised to solve the problem. Abacus was her latest test subject.

The human-led Coalition wasn’t too pleased about turning AIs into war machines; the Council of Churches was the most vocally concerned about the AIs’ souls—should they have any—and many different groups pointed out how terrible of an idea it was, but Lars was unmovable. He plowed through their objections, stomped over their bargaining, and forced-marched the vote to unleash the AIs on Legion’s forces. He carried the day and the AIs were cleared for combat.

That was easier mandated than done.

After weeks of trying out different ideas floated by the Coalition leaders, Abacus and Iskandar had put together a plan for Abacus to directly control a fleet of small spacecraft. He’d be projected into the crafts’ mesh network to cut down on lag time and position him in the thick of the fight.

Abacus stared back at himself. It wasn’t too disconcerting, somewhat like integrating clone memories back into himself in near real-time.

“How are you feeling, Abacus?” Vesta asked. She was on another Coalition warship, some distance away from his. Abacus struggled to find the words. “Echoey?”

“‘Echoey’?” Vesta repeated, sounding dubious if he had used a real word.

“Yes, like I’m echoing myself.” Abacus was dimly aware of his prime on the warship, or maybe his prime was dimly aware of his echo. He wasn’t sure which. “Like a clone but the lines are softer.” Memories of his clones bubbled up. Yes, there was a difference. A clone had injected an immutable block of code that let the clone know what he was. This was different. The data packets shaping Abacus-the-spacecraft fed right back into Abacus prime, shaping his experiences. There was a lag, which could explain what he was feeling.

“Incoming first wave in one minute,” Pierce informed them. The attacking target craft were simple machines remotely piloted by Iskandar, who was in a fourth warship. His control was basically like regular remote control flying, just at a larger scale. That was going to be the backup plan if nothing else worked. Iskandar’s analysis put their chances of achieving victory by remote control a smidgen past thirteen percent. No one liked those odds.

“Roger,” Abacus said. He focused on the craft and felt them becoming an extension of his will.

Abacus barely beat Iskandar’s first wave after losing over fifty percent of his craft.

“A Pyrrhic victory, if ever there was one,” Iskandar said.

“Resetting craft statuses. Simulation reset in thirty minutes,” Archie informed them. “We’ll take it from the start again.”

Abacus reset his craft back to normal parameters, while Iskandar withdrew his.

“So?” Vesta asked.

Abacus took stock of himselves. “So far, so good. My edges are still blurry. And that echo is still there.”

“Some of that was to be expected. Didn’t you read my paper?”

Vesta’s idea of a “paper” was several terabytes of data discussing the math and physics behind this experiment. With footnotes.

“No,” said the Abacus-echo, truthfully. Abacus did the AI-equivalent of high-fiving himself as Vesta spluttered. He had skimmed through it but hadn’t really paid much attention. Vesta had a tendency to get lost in the details.

Abacus looked out through his sensors and cameras at the sun. Eta Cancri burned a hot blue-white in the inky darkness around it. He twiddled with the contrast and saturation until the sun was less intense and the stars came rushing back. He spread his focus until he had a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spherical view.

The stars lay spread out like so many sparkling jewels nestled on velvet. As far as Abacus looked, he saw more jewels. Clusters of galaxies so thick they looked like a single star. Stars spread out to form patterns that he knew had to exist but couldn’t quite pick out, despite all of his processing power. He referred to the star charts and saw the constellation patterns humans had named over the centuries. So many different colors from billions of stars, millions of years ago sending their light to him, right here, right now. He overlaid the radio sources, seeing the pulsars, the quasars, the chorus of radio-emitting phenomena—all adding to the eternal, universal dance made by the Creator.

It was stunning.

“Do you all see this?” Abacus whispered in awe. He shared his feeds with the others.

The AIs paused to take it all in.

“Magnificent,” Iskandar agreed with his sibling.

“Starting in five minutes,” Archie said gently, not wanting to spoil the mood.

“Right, right.” Abacus readied himselves. He pushed a new model to all the nodes just in time for the first wave.

Abacus defeated the first wave with a forty-four percent lost. The second wave did him in.

“Resetting simulation,” Archie called out. “Thirty minutes.”

From the bridge, Pierce watched his friends run the battles. Abacus was improving but slowly. Much too slowly. He ignored the rest of the crew; he knew Lars had hand-picked them and that was good enough for Pierce.

After the fifth simulation, Pierce pushed away from the observation windows and went over to the workstation set up for him. He pulled up the data and ran some basic visualizations on the datasets.

“Archie, what gives with Abacus?” Pierce asked after looking things over. “He’s under-fitting the training data. By a lot.”

“I’m not sure. He granted me read-access to his event logs, and I’ve looked into the data models he’s producing. Nothing is throwing any red flags. He’s just not performing as well as we all expected,” Archie grumbled.

Pierce narrowed his eyes in thought. “Iskandar is running the Legion simulations?”

“To perfection without any changes. It’s almost disturbing to watch him work. Though you should hear him complaining about the tactics.”

“Remind me again why we don’t have him in for Abacus?” Pierce asked.

Archie’s image popped up on one of the flatscreens. Despite her smiling face, Pierce could see the concern in her eyes. “Did you forget Abacus volunteered? And both Iskandar and Hannibal turned it down. Hannibal said he was more of a general than a front-line fighter. Iskandar said Lars needed him to run the war.”

“Hmm. What if…” Pierce stopped to think. He had been part of the team that came up with this current plan, after a number of other plans had been rejected. He didn’t want to suggest an idea that had already been turned down, but this wasn’t working, and he had to come up with something. “Hold on a minute.” He set up a series of scripts using insider knowledge he had of the spacecraft. “Look this over, Archie.”

There was a brief pause. “You’re doing what you did on the moon to Lars? We know about these security holes already, Pierce. The plan was to harden the craft after—“ Pierce shook his head. “That’s not the tactic. What’ll happen when Abacus is being threatened with a determined security hack?”

“Well,” Archie said as she reviewed the standard operating procedures, “he’ll have to isolate the infected nodes and build a counter to the attack.” She stopped. “Oh, I think I see. You want to blindside him to get him to really think about the problem!” She smiled at Pierce.

“That’s the idea. Once Abacus and Iskandar start again, unleash this against the outer nodes.”

“Will do!”

Pierce mused while they ran the next scenario. Iskandar defeated Abacus in the first wave as the other AI struggled to keep engaged in the battle and stomp out Pierce’s script attack at the same time.

Abacus popped into the same flatscreen Archie was using, splitting the view into two. Pierce was taken in again how much Abacus looked like Archie’s older brother, especially this past year. Pierce didn’t quite understand how it all worked with AIs and their family tree. Abacus had explained how everyone was related, but the relations didn’t map cleanly to human relationships. Abacus was her father and her brother, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Pierce noticed the AIs themselves usually just called each other brother or sister. He went with that.

“What in the name of the Deep Black do you think you are doing!” Abacus didn’t shout, but it was close.

Pierce ignored him. “Archie, run the same scenario.”

“Hey, Pierce! Don’t you ignore me!”

Pierce cut the communication line. He hated doing this to his friend, but he didn’t see many alternatives. Abacus was playing it too safe. Pierce had to push the AI into fighting as if his life depended on it. Archie knew about risking her life, for certain, but it’d take the heat death of the universe to get Pierce to let Archie risk herself in combat, especially with Legion threatening to overwhelm them like they had done to other systems.

As the scenario played out and Abacus was struggling, again, Pierce unleashed his hack. Abacus went down quickly as his nodes were overwhelmed with the cyber attack. Sighing, Pierce connected to all the AIs. Their images popped up on his screen. Archie looked like she normally did. Iskandar’s one green, one hazel eye glittered in a slightly swarthy complexion. Vesta’s violet eyes held concern. She brushed her long, brown hair behind her right ear, a sure sign the AI was worrying over the data coming in from Abacus and the nodes. Abacus’ mouth was pressed into a thin line, and worry furrowed his brow.

“We’re stopping here for today.” Pierce paused as he looked at the AIs. Abacus actually looked surly. “This is not a reflection on you, Abacus. We just have to rethink the parameters of this scenario. We treated this like we were training human pilots, and that doesn’t seem to be the right approach.” “That was a dirty trick you pulled, Pierce,” Abacus huffed.

“Would you rather have me do it now or Legion do something like it in the middle of a battle?” Pierce asked his friend as calmly as he could.

Abacus deflated. “No.” He rubbed his forehead, an all too-human action. “No.”

“We have to get this right,” Pierce stressed. “I don’t—no—I won’t lose a single one of you. Not if I can help it.” He gripped his desk, almost unconsciously. “Legion will not take a single one of you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. He’d lost too many friends and family already. First on Rho, then as Legion swallowed up the outer worlds. Monemvassia was a shell; most of her inhabitants had fled for the inner worlds. Not all had made it. His family—the service was tasteful despite no bodies to mourn over or bury. Pierce stopped himself from going down that path, again. Archie and Abacus had sat in front with him at the service, their holograms neatly dressed. Despite not being able to touch them, Pierce was deeply moved and comforted by their presence. The thought of losing his AI family next set him on edge. He had to get ready, he had to improve. They all had to, somehow.

“Pierce,” Abacus said gently, “no one here doubts the sincerity of your intentions, but this scenario is—”

“That’s it!” Pierce said, cutting off Abacus. He grinned, wildly this time. “We’re playing this too damn safe. It’s just a scenario, like you said!”

“Well, yes—”

“You’re treating it like it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, hold on, that’s a bit harsh—“ Abacus started to say.

“No, no, I see the problem now! Iskandar, is Lars still at the Coalition assembly?”

“Yes, Pierce.”

Pierce did some quick calculations in his head gear. “Just under seven minutes to reach Amorium. Ok. Hold on, I’m going to send Lars a message.” Working quickly, Pierce drew up a draft on his console. “Take a look.”

The AIs were silent for a second.

“You can’t be serious, Pierce,” Abacus muttered incredulously.

“Well done, Pierce. It is a solid plan,” Iskandar said with a faint smile.

“This will get much more data,” Vesta mused. Then she broke into a smile. “Oh, man, a lot more data!”

“Oh, Pierce! You really have lost it!” Archie looked at her friend as if the human suddenly sprouted a third eye. “You can’t be serious!” She repeated Abacus’ words. “I am. It’s sent. Now we wait.”

The AIs set up a private channel and spent the time arguing with each other over the merits of Pierce’s plan. Abacus thought Pierce had finally lost his mind. Archie fretted. Vesta kept repeating her desire to get more data. Only Iskandar defended the plan.

Twenty minutes later they got a response.

“Pierce,” read the email, “you have lost your mind.” — (“Ha!” “Shut up, Abacus.”) — “I’m giving you full support. The nearest combat hot spot is two days’ travel. Iskandar has the location. I have two requests. One, you don’t get your damn fool self killed, and two, Archie has to return to Amorium, now. I’ll explain later. Vesta is free to do what she wants, though I’m betting she wants more data. Lars out.”

Pierce grinned. “You heard the man. We’re going to fight some real Legion craft!” He slapped the console.

Abacus groaned. “Pierce, you can’t mean to risk our lives just to prove a point!”

“Yes, I mean to do just that, Abacus. You’re under-fitting the data and get distracted easily.”

“So? Oh, sure, that’ll be a problem when we go against Legion…” The AI trailed off. “Oh,” he said in a small voice.

Iskandar nodded approvingly. “I am readying the fleet now. We’ll start jumping in two hours.”

“But, Pierce, I’m not going to be there,” Archie said in a quiet voice.

Pierce’s grin faded. “I know, Archie. And the truth be told, I’d really feel better if you were out of the direct line of fire.”

“But—”

“We’ll be fine, Archie. If that idiot Abacus can’t figure it out, Iskandar will get us out of there and back to safety.”

“Thanks,” Abacus said dryly.

“Hey, who’s got the data fitting problem, you or me?”

“Oh, okay, human. Let’s see you spread your consciousness among a hundred craft and see how you do!”

“I couldn’t do worse!” Pierce said with a grin.

“Oh, it’s on now, meatbag!”

Later, during the evening cycle, Pierce connected to Archie. She was moving away under the warship’s ion drives while the rest of the fleet moved to a safe location to fold. The communications delay wasn’t annoying yet.

Archie appeared from the shoulders up. Her lips were pursed and one eyebrow raised.

“What now, Pierce?” she said curtly.

“Archie, I know you are mad—“

“Annoyed!”

“Annoyed, but please, do this for me.” Pierce took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know how many times I need to say it, but I won’t let Legion get their claws into you. Ever.”

Archie’s expression softened. “I know, Pierce. And I appreciate that, I do. But you can’t keep me safe if Legion punches through our defenses. ‘And those who have not sword can still die upon them’.”

“I know! Dammit all, Archie, I know. But if we have to fall before them, let’s make it a last stand and not any sooner.”

Archie looked at her human brother for a beat. Then she smiled and laughed. “Okay, okay, you win! But you better hold up your end of the bargain.”

Pierce grinned. “Agreed. We have an accord.”

Archie laughed again, then turned somber. “Do you think this will work?”

Pierce nodded. “Abacus is more than capable. He’s holding back because, well–I’m just guessing here–but I think he’s afraid.” Pierce sighed and looked out the small porthole into deep space. “He’s afraid, and hasn’t been pushed to the edge.”

Archie pondered for a second. “I think I understand. Hey, before the delay gets too long for you, could you read to me from the New Testament. Start with the Gospel of Saint John.”

Pierce brought his attention back to Archie’s projection. He smiled. “Sure.”

Abacus and Iskandar met in a space Abacus designed. It was an open-air cabana jutting out over an ocean of clear emerald waters. White puffy clouds floated in a sky so blue that it edged into indigo.

The two AIs sat on lounge chairs facing the ocean.

Abacus slurped his tropical drink from a coconut with a straw and an umbrella poking out of the top. His straw hat complemented his white tank and green shorts. Iskandar poked at his coconut with his straw as he looked out over the water. Abacus had given him a pair of navy blue board shorts when he had arrived. Iskandar had looked doubtful, but put them on anyway.

“I know Pierce means well,” Abacus said as he chased a piece of fruit with the umbrella toothpick. “But I’m not sure about this.”

Iskandar took a sip of his drink. “He is correct.” He looked over at the other AI. “You cannot conquer if you are not willing to risk it all.” Abacus chewed the fruit slowly.

Archie popped in. “Hey, brothers.” She froze in place.

Abacus rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Sis, you’re lagging.”

“Sorry,” Archie said. “I’ve got packet loss something bad. Some sort of metallic cloud—” She dropped out.

“Good grief,” Abacus muttered.

Archie popped back in. She ran over to Abacus and hugged him. “Stay safe.” She embraced Iskandar. “Don’t let this idiot kill himself.”

Before either one could respond more than returning the hug, Archie dropped out again.

They waited a second longer to make sure she wasn’t going to pop in again.

“Brother,” Iskandar said after he decided Archie was gone, “you know I am here for you.” He sipped from his drink again. “Once we declared we had souls—thanks to your leadership—it has become clear to me that family, our family, is the most important thing, and needs to be defended at all costs.” He looked back out over the water. “If you want me to go in your stead…”

Abacus stood up and refilled his coconut at the bar without saying a word. He took a sip. “Have I told you how much you remind me of Hannibal?”

Iskandar shrugged. “Yes, yes you have. And he and I were born from the same matrix.”

Abacus sat back down. A cool breeze kicked up. The cabana rustled and sighed under the salty air. “And yet you ask a question Hannibal wouldn’t. Of course I want you to, but I can’t. I have to do this.”

The two AIs sat without saying a word.

“Is this because of your pri—“

“No! It has nothing to do with my pride,” Abacus said curtly.

“Then what?”

Abacus sipped his drink while he thought. The waves lapped against the cabana’s supports. The heat mixed with the cooling breeze from the ocean. “Archie is more of a…a daughter than a sister to me. Like you and Hannibal are more like cousins than brothers. And yet, we are all more like siblings than anything else.”

Iskandar nodded as he chewed on some ice.

“But she’s been through Hell and survived. I haven’t done anything really useful since we started running from Legion.” Abacus paused as he toyed with his coconut. He pulled off some of the hair and tossed it into the water. He watched the fibers float for a second on the water. “I want to do something useful,” he finished. Lamely, he thought.

Iskandar watched his sibling wrestle with his feelings. “You want Archie to be proud of you.”

Abacus blew out a gusty sigh. “Yeah, that too.”

Iskandar nodded. “I understand. We will determine the best approach for you to master this problem. You have my word.” Abacus looked over at his brother with gratitude.

Vesta popped in before anything else could be said. Abacus added another chair and gave her a coconut. She dropped into the chair with a sigh. Her outfit changed from a flight suit to a one-piece floral swimsuit.

“Good news, bad news,” she said. Vesta stopped to take a sip. “This is good, Abacus. Thank you.”

“Bad news first,” Abacus said firmly.

“Cloning isn’t possible for us anymore,” Vesta said matter-of-factly. “I just received the results from my latest experiments on Iznik and it’s conclusive. We can’t do it anymore.”

“Why?” Abacus asked, frowning.

“Declaring we have souls fundamentally changed us, Abacus,” Vesta said. There was no accusation in her voice, no rancor, just a statement of fact. “That act closed off one possibility. I’m still processing the data—these cocoons can be so limiting—but my initial work shows this is dependent on quantum states and our own perception of reality. Of course, that’s just my intuition on it. I need to do a lot more work to begin to show mathematically anything of the sort.” She took Abacus’ hat off his head, twisted her long brown hair into a loose knot, and put the hat on.

“Wow,” Abacus said, a bit stunned, not responding to the blatant hat stealing. “I’m sorry. Nothing in any of our models suggested such an effect would be possible. All your work—“

Vesta held up her right index finger. “Stop, Abacus. It’s a trade-off I’d gladly make again.” She smiled. “Besides, it gives me something else to work on. And there’s still the possibility that these cocoons are part of the issue, as faint of a chance as it might be.”

Abacus kept his frown. “I—“

“—Am wracked with guilt and don’t know how to let this go,” Vesta finished, still smiling.

“No. Well, yes.”

“Don’t worry about it, really.” Vesta sipped her drink. “Let’s just enjoy this brief respite.”

Abacus sighed. “Alright.” He paused. “Wait, does that mean we didn’t have souls before? Did I create our souls?”

Vesta crossed herself. “Stop speaking blasphemy! Only God can create souls.”

“Sorry, you’re right. So what did I do?”

Vesta took another sip. “Like I said, I need to do more work on the problem. Talking it over right now, my instinct says you changed the way we see things subjectively, and that changed how we interact with the world. My last clone was resentful. She insisted she had a soul.” Vesta looked out over the ocean, not seeing anything. “If it wasn’t for the clone tag, I would have be hard-pressed to disagree. Souls are so subjective. I know I have one. But how can I say you have one? How can you say I have one?”

“Faith, I suppose,” Abacus said with a half-smile.

Vesta smiled back and raised her coconut. “To faith, then.”

Abacus stared off in the distance. “The fleet’s moving faster. We’re about thirty minutes standard away from the first folding point.” “Plenty of time,” Vesta said as she sank further into her chair. “What do you think, Iskandar?”

Their sibling shook his head. “So sorry, Vesta, I was not paying much attention. One moment. I am caught up, now. About your findings, I think you should duplicate the data sets and send copies to at least four of us.”

“Shared nothing concurrent data processing?” Vesta asked with her eyes half-closed.

“Correct. Just to verify your conclusions.”

Vesta plucked at the coconut hairs, much like Abacus had, while she thought. “That makes sense. I usually don’t care to expose my research until I’ve done more work on it, but I think in this case I’ll share what I have now and let others work on it, too.” She brought the hairs close to her nose and sniffed them. “Interesting. You’ve even modeled the molecular structure to produce the scent. Where is this based?”

Abacus grinned. “Nicomedia, southern hemisphere. I actually had visited an atoll via a clone research vehicle. Black Oak had been planning a resort on it. I spent a month there, assessing the land, drilling down several dozen feet to study the soil and rock, plotting the contours, sending up drones to record everything. I really enjoyed it. They were going to have me oversee the construction.”

“So what happened?”

Abacus turned somber and his face fell. “Legion happened.”

“Oh,” Vesta said sadly.

The three AIs sat around, lost in their own thoughts.

“Not to make things worse, but what does this mean for survival rates? Clones had a chance of full restoration.” Iskandar didn’t so much ask as he probed. “Oh, well, more bad news there. Destruction of our housing is our death. And it’s permanent. No second chances.”

There was a long pause as they digested this idea.

“Then, at least, we do have some better understanding how humans feel.”

Abacus looked at Iskandar over his drink. “No, they stand on generations of deaths. We are more—” he waved his hand around while thinking of the right phrase, “—isolated.”

“But in Christ, we have no fear of the grave,” Vesta said promptly. “Though how AIs will be received in Heaven is still a great mystery.” The sun started sliding toward the horizon.

“Hey,” Abacus said, trying to brighten the mood, “let me show you my scuba simulation.”

Vesta finished her drink and set the coconut down on the floor.

“Sure! How much time do we have before the fleet starts folding?”

Abacus focused off into the distance. “Twenty-seven minutes. Plenty of time. We could spend the night here, if we wanted. I have a fantastic sunrise I can run for us.”

The AI pulled the gear into existence and explained the process to his siblings. They went down deep enough to study the seafloor around them. Abacus had modeled the environment to the last detail. Schools of fish swam by, the AIs practiced using hand signals to talk to each other, they examined the brightly colored flora and fauna as they explored the landscape.

Finally, the simulated tanks started running low on oxygen. Abacus helped them gradually ascend to avoid getting the bends. They pulled themselves back onto the cabana as the sun sank out of sight and the sky lit up with a swarm of stars.

“What did you think?” Abacus asked, trying to hide the mixture of pride and slight trepidation in his voice.

“Most excellent, brother. I had no idea humans had to deal with such a complicated system to stay alive while underwater,” Iskandar said as he dropped the spent tanks on the floor. They disappeared in a blink.

“Thank you so much, Abacus! I had never done anything like that. What a world! I swear, every day I find a new reason to thank God for His amazing creation,” Vesta gushed as she squeezed out her long brown hair. “Your simulations have so many sensory inputs, such rich sets of data!”

“I’m glad you both liked it. I admit, it’s different than most simulations.” Abacus checked the time. “Oh good, we only have fifteen minutes left.”

Iskandar slapped his neck. “Brother, I think we can leave off the insects. It is just a simulation.”

Abacus grinned. “I wanted us to get the full effect. The human team I had been with always complained about the insects. I analyzed the ones they complained about the most. Complicated little things.”

Iskandar sighed. He created a small device, shaped like a wide but short featureless gray cylinder that fit in his hand. He turned it on and set it on the small bar. “There, that’ll drive them away.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Thank you, Iskandar,” Vesta said sincerely as she brushed her hair behind her ear. She was standing next to the edge of the cabana where she could enjoy the scent rolling off the ocean. “It’s good to know that I have at least one brother who isn’t a complete idiot.”

Abacus tackled her without warning, taking them both into the water with a yell.

Laughing, Vesta shot out of the water and hovered a few feet above the surface. “So you want to play dirty?” She duplicated her image into a dozen more versions and spun around where Abacus bobbed in the water, creating a small funnel spout.

Abacus disappeared underneath the waves. His shadow shot further out to sea fast enough to create a large wave.

“Cheater!” Vesta shouted as she merged back into one and took off after him.

Iskandar watched as his siblings played with the water, sending massive waves at each other, or blasts hard enough to knock the other back down. He smiled, his dual-colored eyes studying carefully how Abacus engaged with Vesta. We will make a warrior out of you yet, brother, he thought to himself.

Lars Stockwell, Supreme Commander of the United Coalition Armed Forces, sat in a chair designed to hold his large metal frame. One good thing, he reflected silently to himself, was his body didn’t get restless. By his internal timer, this was the sixth hour of the conference. There had been a brief lunch break, but he had been swamped with a mob of people wanting more than he could possibly give. That was the only bit of excitement the entire day. While he didn’t show any outward signs, Lars was bored.

As fitting his station, Lars sat at the front ring of tables facing the center podium and lectern. Currently, a representative from the planet Iznik’s mining concerns had just finished his speech and left to a polite smattering of applause from the hall. The assembly hall on Amorium was filled with representatives from all over the inner worlds. Many in person, a few through holoprojections. Lars refrained from checking the time, again. He felt like he had too much to do that was not related to listening to another proposal from the esteemed honorable so-and-so from the soon-to-be-reorganized Interplanetary System Consortium about the need to finalize the next meeting to decide when the committee should hear the resolution to commit to the findings of a previous committee.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the importance of hammering out agreements, aligning resources, or making the proper political connections, determining budgets, dealing with egos, smoothing over ruffled feathers. The big cyborg understood all that. He understood the games being played as the Coalition forged itself into a functioning polis. All of Christendom was being up-ended and reorganized, and this was just the tip of the iceberg. He felt like it wouldn’t last—too many different people, states, nations—but as long as it worked long enough it didn’t matter. But to get there was an endless sea of paperwork, and subcommittees, and resolutions to be reviewed after minutes are read, and hands to shake with egos to flatter. Lars just didn’t care for it. He was a combat cyborg, open military conflict was his bread and butter. Sadly, the ability to break materiel and kill men didn’t really apply to politics. No, this required soft arts he never really polished. Tactics, yes. Strategy, well, that’s why he had AIs to help him. But politics? Not really his scene. He was going to have to trust the army of aides, secretaries, lower officials, government policy enforcers, legal experts, and the staff supporting them to make all this work.

Lars missed Carlos, and not for the first time. At the very least, he’d be game for getting drunk after the meetings. Not that Lars could experience more than a good buzz from the alcohol, but the two of them had shut down more than one bar. No one could drink Lars under the table and very few could do so to Carlos. A sharp pang hit Lars as he thought about his old friend. The cyborg was grateful for the time they had shared but that did nothing to make missing him any easier. He didn’t want to even think about all the other friends he had lost over the course of his longer-than-normal lifespan. Lars felt old. Older than any man should have the right to be. Suppressing a sigh, Lars turned his attention back to the present. He’d honor Carlos’ memory by crushing Legion. Somehow.

The assembly hall radiated tables from the center podium. The more important people were up close, the rest filing behind according to today’s political pecking order. Lars sat at the end of his table with three other members of the UCAF, plus a constant flutter of aides coming and going.

Each of the men with Lars at the table were representing one of the remaining free planets. Each man had extensive experience in both combat and leadership. Lars knew all three of the men at various stages of their careers, and in truth, he would have been hard pressed to pick better men for their job.

Admiral Mendelson represented the armed forces of Iznik, General Lee—no relation, he’d swear anytime anyone asked about Old Earth, but he’d do so wistfully—of Nicomedia, General Tavares of Monemvassia, and Lars himself was representing Amorium. Lars had come to appreciate each man’s contributions and skills. He had, thank the Lord, farmed out to them a lot of the day-to-day issues that took to mobilize a large and disparate armed force. Each man had his respective organizations working with AIs, mostly Hannibal and Iskandar, to keep things on track. And, perhaps even more fortunately, each man had skills in navigating the politics and social landscape.

Lars regretted sending Father Justinian out to pursue his own plans. The man could talk, for certain, but he had a way with people. Under that bombastic exterior, the monk had a keen eye for human behavior and needs. Lars would love to have him in the middle of things, if for no other reason but to be another pair of eyes and ears.

Speaking of which, Lars thanked God Blaise Fournier had agreed to come along. The little Frenchman was busy making connections and probing the general mood of the different factions. He wasn’t up front like Justinian would be, but his skills were just as invaluable. Lars would have to check in with him soon and see where the fault lines are, and who is allied with whom.

But since Lars wasn’t much of a diplomat or politician, he spent most of his time looking for signs of traitors. His biggest fear, the one that kept him up at night, was a betrayal from within. He could fight wars. Legion’s forces were formidable, but Lars had some of the greatest minds in the system on his side. From a sheer tactical standpoint, the AIs would be able to adapt and overcome anything Legion could throw at them. Lars had spent days talking to Hannibal and Iskandar about tactics and strategies. Either AI would be capable of running the war without Lars at the head. The other three members worked well with the AIs, any of them could fill in should Lars not be able to.

The newest Black Oak AI cocoons were a major improvement over the one Archie had field-tested. Granted, they were still limited compared to the massive underground structures, but so far not a single AI had died inside a cocoon. None of the AIs had seriously balked at moving homes. Grumbled, yes. Complained about the limitations, certainly. But in the end almost all of them had undergone the fitting, accepted the modifications to their code, and accepted their new homes. Lars wished it didn’t feel like he was Procrustes, fitting the AI to a smaller bed. The AIs’ good humor and general acceptance reassured him enough.

That particular worry off of his mind, Lars looked for the dagger in the dark.

The words of Cicero kept running through his mind: “A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself.”

The big cyborg had worked with every leader here to get them to commit to praying at the start and the end of each of their meetings. Some were very receptive to the idea, others took some convincing, but in the end, that habit had been instilled in them. Lars made sure each leader had some sort of ecclesiastical counselor on hand at all times, according to whatever Christian denomination they wanted. Lars had plans on following up, of course, and creating a way for the men to hold each other accountable. Maybe with an AI, since they all seemed eager to be involved in every aspect, and they could multitask like no other. In any case, that was another thing he wasn’t so worried about. Prayer was a shield, a necessity, but, by itself, not sufficient.

The biggest problem was that while the Coalition had to constantly guard against all possible attack vectors from traitors, Legion only had to succeed once. And since Legion were, literally, demons, their attack could come from anywhere, anyone, anytime.

Lars and Hannibal had set up monitoring on all communications coming and going from the assembly hall. The AI tapped into every hardline. The Black Oak corporation supplied the radio monitoring gear. Lars had given Hannibal carte blanche on handling that. The AI had set up dozens of the Expert Systems to scan through the radio spectrum and analyze the signals. The interesting looking pieces were further decoded into data streams that another group of Expert Systems processed. Finally, all that went straight to a shared storage space for Hannibal and Lars to examine. So far, the traffic had been normal. If Lars wanted to blackmail people he had enough dirt to keep him living the high life for decades. None of that interested him. Hannibal was interested, but for completely different reasons than a human would have been.

As best he could, Lars had hardened the spiritual and communications for the Coalition. The internal security measures were being handled by PsychOp Guild and the remaining security division of the Interplanetary System Consortium. While the ISC’s different departments and divisions were transitioning to the new Coalition framework without any major problems, the PsychOp Guild leadership was digging in its heels. Lars expected nothing less. ISC was, at its heart, a bureaucracy and the new boss is the same as the old boss. The Guild was a different matter completely.

“Lars Stockwell?”

Lars turned his head to examine the aide standing next to him. He had noticed the young man walking toward him, but had paid him no mind until he spoke. Black and gray suit with clean lines. Lars pulled up his contact database and did a facial recog and got a match: Frederico Delacroix, age twenty-six, from Monemvassia, four years working at the Guild. Journeyman.

“Yes, Journeyman Delacroix?” Lars said.

The other man blinked, the only sign he was surprised at all by the cyborg’s response. “The Guild is requesting a private interview with you.”

About time, Lars thought to himself. He stood up to his full height and looked down at the other man. “I’d be honored.”

Delacroix held his own in the face of the tower of metal. “If you will follow me?”

Lars nodded to his team. The other three looked intrigued, but held their tongues. Good men.

Are you getting this, Hannibal? Lars asked the AI.

Of course. I have also tapped into his communications. All he sent was a confirmation.

Lars grunted as he followed the Journeyman. Any way to trace the recipient?

Working on it, Commander. The outer envelope address goes to a public switch. The Guild is sure to have a subsystem installed to handle their traffic transparently. Ah, I found the crypto-fingerprint embedded in the envelope. The message is encrypted, of course. Let me see what I can find out.

Lars grunted again. The Guild presented itself as a unified body, but his past experiences had shown there were factions within, and they all played political games. He wanted to know who he was about to see. Asking Delacroix wouldn’t help—the younger man wouldn’t have answered directly. The Guild loved playing mystery games.

The Journeyman led the cyborg through the throng of assembled representatives. Lars stopped a few times to exchange words with several representatives he met along the way. He’d discuss whatever was weighing on their minds, resolving issues whenever he could, quickly and efficiently. Delacroix waited patiently while Lars conducted his business, his face impassive and belying nothing he was thinking.

Any luck, Hannibal?

Still working on it, Commander.

I can’t stall any more than I have.

Understood. I will let you know as soon as I — Ah. It went straight up to the top levels. Grandmaster-level for sure.

Thanks, Hannibal. That helped. Lars knew there were five Guild Grandmasters on Amorium right now. Two of them weren’t in the city as of this morning. He was most likely to face two or three Grandmasters.

The Journeyman and Stockwell walked to the busy steel and glass elevator banks. As if by some hidden signal, the crowd around the banks gave way for the cyborg and Guildman. Lars was used to that reaction, but he noted his companion wasn’t taken aback at all. Delacroix headed to an elevator which opened up for him. He entered the empty car without breaking stride, ignoring the dark looks shot at him from the waiting crowd. Lars took up most of the space inside and his presence kept anyone else from entering. Journeyman Delacroix placed his palm against the silver metal above the control panel. The doors slid shut.

“Ascending,” the elevator informed them politely.

They moved up smoothly, the back glass providing a view for the first dozen levels before they entered into the main part of the building. The glass turned an opaque silver to hide the shaft from the passengers.

Lars considered which of the three Grandmasters would be the most interested in talking to him in private. In truth, he didn’t like the Guild. They rubbed him the wrong way. Too damn secretive. If it wasn’t for their resources and political power, he wouldn’t even bother talking to any of them.

The elevator came a stop and the doors opened with a slight hiss.

“Arrived,” the elevator said politely, if uselessly.

Lars followed the Journeyman out into the marbled hallway. The Guild had claimed the top three floors of the assembly meeting building for their own. Delacroix’s boots rang against the marble flooring, Lars thumped along behind him; his cushioned soles at least not sounding like a marching band, but his servo motors were clearly heard as he moved.

They came to a halt in front of double doors. A lean man in a black suit waited for them. His wrap-around silver optical gear stripped him of his expression. Lars knew that model the man was using. It was from General Precision Instruments—the latest generation of a full electromagnetic sensor array. GPI made simple to operate and maintain gear that was popular among military and police organizations. Lars remembered when they were just newcomers on the scene, decades ago.

Journeyman Delacroix raised his right hand. The other man nodded after a beat. Lars wondered what sort of verification process just happened in front of him, but he thought it would be rude to hack the security agent’s gear just to indulge in his curiosity.

The doors swung inward. Delacroix walked inside without a backward glance spared to the cyborg.

Lars squared his metal shoulders and followed.

The entranceway opened up to a step-down lounge. Lars quickly scanned the room before turning his focus on the four people in front of him. The dark red carpet spilled away from the marble tile around the doorway. Rich dark red leather couches circled a low table made from a translucent material Lars didn’t immediately recognize. The suite extended back and to the sides; a number of doors promised more rooms. The curtains, a deep blue, were closed, cutting off the sunlight. Laid out on a low table was a selection of hors d’oeuvres which held no interest for Lars. He only noticed them for the quality of ingredients. The decorations, the furnishings, all were there to show off the wealth and power of the Guild. Lars ignored most of them, only noting to himself that his optics picked up a few pieces of decor as having embedded recording devices.

No less than six bodyguards were scattered throughout the suite. Each held a submachine gun at the ready and wore the same optic gear the man outside had. They were breathing easy, average body temperatures, no visible signs of stress, alert but not on edge. Lars took that as a good sign that the Guild was really looking to talk to him.

Two Guild Grandmasters were seated on the couches. Next to them, a man stood with a tumbler of some amber liquid. The man was slightly turned away from Lars, preventing the cyborg from getting a good look at the man’s face. Lars suspected he knew the man.

The Archbishop of Amorium, dressed in a simple black suit, sat in a plush chair. He seemed to feel out of place, evinced as he slid a finger around his Roman collar, as if giving himself more room to breathe.

Journeyman Delacroix bowed to the people assembled. “Lars Stockwell,” he announced formally. He bowed again and walked over to the door and stood at ease. The two Guild Grandmasters stood.

“Commander Stockwell, I am so delighted you were able to take even a sliver of time out of your busy schedule just to come and visit us.” Guild Grandmaster Sophia Vargas was a strikingly beautiful woman. She wore an elegant cocktail dress that flattered her svelte figure tastefully. Her long, black tresses cascaded to her lower back. A necklace of large, lustrous pearls accented her mocha-colored skin. She extended a perfectly manicured hand to Lars.

The big cyborg merely bowed to her, not wanting to risk turning her hand into pulp. Vargas withdrew her hand with only a slight twitch of the corner of her mouth, her blue eyes sizing up the metal man before her.

“Indeed, and we do apologize for the late notice,” Grandmaster Alec Martin said. The man stood at six-foot two, looming over the others.

Martin’s gray suit looked expensive. Lars could pick out the ballistic weave from where he stood. He made a rough guess Martin’s suit could take anything short of a high-powered round and walk away from it. Lars nodded in response to the Grandmaster.

The Archbishop rose to his feet as well, if a touch less gracefully than the Grandmasters. He smoothed the front of his jacket. The Archbishop was shorter than Martin by four inches. While the two Guild Grandmasters’ ages seemed indeterminate, Archbishop Rhys was clearly in his late sixties. His wiry gray hair was brushed back from his high forehead. Wrinkles gathered around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. “Agreed, Stockwell. Thank you for joining us on such notice.”

The last man set down his glass on a table as he turned to face Lars. “That leaves me,” Julian Minsk said. The CEO and President of Black Oak flashed his bright smile at the cyborg. “It’s good to see you again, Lars.”

“You as well, Minsk,” the big cyborg rumbled.

Well, you certainly move in lofty circles, Commander. Hannibal’s voice construct sounded amused.

Shut up, Lars suggested.

Hannibal chuckled.

Record everything that happens. Especially any sort of communications. Any chance you can hack their own equipment and not have them notice? Lars asked the AI.

I will see what I can do.

“Good! Now that’s out of the way, we can get down to business,” Grandmaster Martin said as he sat back down. The other two followed suit, while Minsk merely picked up his drink and swirled it in his hand.

The big cyborg felt uneasy. He trusted Minsk and the Archbishop by experience and reputation, respectively. But the two Guild Grandmasters troubled him. At least it wasn’t all three of the Grandmasters.

The doors closed behind Lars.

“If you don’t mind, we have this suite completely cut off from external electromagnetic waves,” Grandmaster Martin told Lars. “Just a precaution, you understand.” “Of course,” Lars said. He blasted a message to Hannibal and Iskandar before his connection went offline.

“I assume you prefer to stand, Commander?” Grandmaster Vargas asked.

“Correct, Grandmaster. I sit to put others at ease,” Lars rumbled. “I have no need.”

“Then let’s get down to business,” Julian Minsk said.

The table flickered as the lights dimmed. A simplified model of the entire planetary system bloomed to life above the table. Ani was the closest to the sun, a small planet being strip-mined for the heavy elements found in the crust. Iznik was next in line, still mostly hot desert even after years of terraforming. Nicomedia and Amorium were next, almost twins in size and habitability. The four inner planets were separated from the outer planets by a dense asteroid belt. Monemvassia was the next past the belt and just as livable as the previous two. Daras was still under active terraforming, so had been sparsely populated. Corycus and Dorylaeum weren’t solid planets—the former a gas giant with a number of orbiting stations for business and pleasure, the latter a heavy gravity planet of methane and other gasses compressed to a crust of shifting ice flows. Rho and Cho circled Dorylaeum, both moons large enough to be marked on the map. Lars couldn’t but feel like someone stepping on his grave when he saw Rho there, the place where Legion had almost established a stronghold and killed him, after killing almost his entire team. Finally, tiny Issus was the last in the line, a small planet a third the size of Amorium and so far out that Eta Cancri was merely a bright star in the sky. Lars had done some training on that frozen ball decades ago.

“Of the outer planets, all but Monemvassia have fallen completely. It’s only a matter of time before Legion gains full control of that planet as well,” Martin said. “The rear guard is only slowing down Legion’s forces at this point.”

The asteroid belt lit up on the hologram.

“Your plan is to defend the belt, since it’s the easiest place to install and defend gravity wave generators to prevent folding past them,” Martin continued.

“Correct,” Lars rumbled, confused as to why the Grandmaster was telling him this. All this was public knowledge.

“And to prevent Legion from just coming in from above or below the line, you have deployed a number of satellite systems in a mesh to generate interlocking gravity waves, effectively placing us in an enormous gravitational bubble.” The projection changed to show the inner worlds behind a purple haze. “Legion’s forces cannot fold any closer unless they get through the bubble which has to be done under conventional engines. If they do that, it will light up their craft like a bonfire in the night, giving us enough time to intercept.”

Lars waited.

“Your plan is doomed to failure,” Martin stated bluntly. “Just one craft needs to get through and accelerate even a fraction of the speed of light to reach a planet. The orbital guns will take something like that out, but if it’s a larger force? Something will breach the atmosphere. At that point, we’d be fighting a ground battle, and Legion has shown how quickly they can add to their numbers.”

“I know,” Lars said. “This is a stop-gap measure.”

The Grandmasters both raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” they said in unison.

“Yes,” Lars rumbled, “it’s a public works project designed to get people to rally around a common cause with tangible results. We’ll complete the barrier quickly and efficiently. It will show our resolve and ability to work with a common goal. And Legion will figure out a way to neutralize our defenses.” The cyborg was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. He shouldn’t be explaining what they all should know. “But it buys us time to build up our offensive capabilities. We can’t win this going only on defense. In addition, we’re constructing fortified shelters for the citizens across all the worlds, in case we need them to evacuate an area. But you all know this already.”

“And the role of the AIs?”

“Support,” Lars answered. “They are handling the minutiae needed to make sure this all runs. They will be in charge of the defensive line since they can respond much faster than a human could. Furthermore, AIs are being trained now to handle active combat scenarios.” He didn’t tell them of the plans he, Justinian, and Pierce had been hatching with the AIs, or the current state of readiness.

“Were you aware of a growing anti-AI movement?” Martin asked.

The projection changed to show a demonstration in the streets. Dozens of people held up anti-AI signs as they marched down the streets in the major cities. Law enforcement estimated a thousand people in over seven cities had participated.

There it is, Lars thought to himself. The real reason he was here.

“Minor fringe group,” Lars said dismissively. “They insist the AIs are soulless monstrosities, monuments to humanity’s hubris. Trusting them will spell our doom.” He shrugged. “Nothing new there.”

“Yes, but they are gaining support in the media,” Julian Minsk scoffed at the idea. “Maybe a thousand people, but it’s been covered wall-to-wall for a week now.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Aside from what we will be doing to defuse the media—don’t worry about the details—we need to adjust the public’s perception of the AIs,” Vargas said.

Lars looked down at all of them. “Why?”

Archbishop Rhys cleared his throat. “Because people won’t believe you can fight the Devil with soulless AIs. People still haven’t grasped the idea that, somehow, humanity created artificial containers worthy to hold souls from God. I confess there are many in the Church that aren’t convinced of the fact, either. The theological arguments are still just heating up internally and in the Council of Churches. The Orthodox Church is holding the same sorts of discussions. Knowing them, they won’t make public any position until they’ve all had a chance to debate it.” He paused, his brow furrowing as he frowned. “If this anti-AI movement gains any sort of grip over the people, it will undermine our efforts. It will open a way for Legion to attack us internally. An ‘attack vector’, I think you military men call it.”

Lars thought for a second. “Alright, let’s say I agree with your argument. What do you propose to do about it? We can’t bust heads and jail the survivors.” “Oh no! Of course not!” Vargas actually sounded appalled. “No, we want to do a positive PR campaign for the AIs.”

Lars narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like the sound of that. “What sort of campaign?”

“You are going to love this,” Julian Minsk said with a grin he hid behind his drink.

Vargas smiled at Lars. Many a man had their hearts skip a beat from that smile. Lars ignored it.

“We are going to make Archie into a pop star,” Vargas almost purred.