Colin frowned at his suddenly bitter tone but let it pass. All the diagnostics had said the planetoid Sherkan was safe to operate without extensive overhaul—but it had been Hatcher’s expedition that found her, and he’d been the one who’d had to tell Vladimir Chernikov.

So far, Survey Command had discovered exactly two once-populated planets of the Fourth Empire which retained any life at all—Birhat, the old imperial capital, and Chamhar—and no humans had survived on either. But much of the Empire’s military hardware had survived, including many of its vast fleet of enormous starships, and they needed all of those they could get. Humanity had stopped the Achuultani’s last incursion—barely—but defeating them on their own ground was going to be something else again.

Unfortunately, restoring a derelict four thousand kilometers in diameter to service after forty-five millennia was a daunting task, which was why Hatcher had been so pleased by Sherkan’s excellent condition. But the tests had missed a tiny flaw in her core tap, and its governors had blown the instant her engineer brought it on-line to suck in the energy for supralight movement. The resultant explosion could have destroyed a continent, and six thousand human beings had died in it, including Fleet Admiral Vassily Chernikov and his wife, Valentina.

“Anyway,” Hatcher went on more briskly, “we’re coming along nicely on the other projects, as well. Adrienne will graduate her first Academy class in a few months, and I’m entirely satisfied with the results, but she and Tao-ling are still fiddling with fine-tuning the curriculum.

“On the hardware side, things are looking good here in Bia, thanks to Tao-ling. He had to put virtually all the surviving yard facilities back on-line to get the shield operational—” Hatcher and the star marshal exchanged wry smiles at that; reactivating the enormous shield generators which surrounded Birhat’s primary, Bia, in an inviolate sphere eighty light-minutes across had been a horrendous task “—so we’ve got plenty of overhaul capacity. In fact, we’re ready to start design work on our new construction.”

“Really?” Colin’s tone was pleased.

“Indeed,” Dahak answered for the admiral. “It will be approximately three-point-five standard years—” (the Fifth Imperium ran on Terran time, not Birhatan) “—before capacity for actual construction can be diverted from reactivation programs, but Admiral Baltan and I have begun preliminary studies on the new designs. We are combining several concepts ‘borrowed’ from the Achuultani with others from the Empire’s Bureau of Ships, and I believe we will attain substantial increases in the capabilities of our new units.”

“That’s good news, but where does it leave us on Stepmother?”

“I fear that will require considerably longer, Colin,” Dahak replied.

” ‘Considerably’ is probably optimistic,” Hatcher sighed. “We’re still stubbing our toes on the finer points of Empire computer hardware, even with Dahak’s help, and Mother’s the most complex computer the Empire ever built. Duplicating her’s going to be a bitch—not to mention the time requirement to build a five-thousand-kilometer hull to put said duplicate inside!”

Colin didn’t like that, but he understood. The Empire had built Mother (officially known as Fleet Central Computer Central) using force-field circuitry that made even molycircs look big and clumsy, yet the computer was still over three hundred kilometers in diameter. It was also housed in the most powerful fortress ever constructed by Man, for it did more than simply run Battle Fleet. Mother was the conservator of the Empire, as well—indeed, it was she who’d crowned Colin and provided the ships to smash the Achuultani. Unfortunately (or, perhaps, fortunately) she was carefully designed, as all late-Empire computers, to preclude self-awareness, which meant she would disgorge her unimaginable treasure trove of data only when tickled with the right specific question.

But Colin spent a lot of time worrying over what might happen to Battle Fleet if something happened to Mother, and he intended to provide Earth with defenses every bit as powerful as Birhat’s … including a duplicate of Mother. If everything went well, Stepmother (as Hatcher had insisted on christening the proposed installation) would never come fully on-line, but if Mother was destroyed, Stepmother would take over automatically, providing unbroken command and control for Battle Fleet and the Imperium.

“What kind of time estimate do you have?”

“Speaking very, very roughly, and assuming we get a firm grip on the computer technology so we don’t have to keep pestering Dahak with questions, we may be able to start on the hull in six years or so. Once we get that far, we can probably finish the job up in another five.”

“Damn. Oh, well. We won’t be hearing from the Achuultani for another four or five centuries, minimum, but I want that project completed ASAP, Ger.”

“Understood,” Hatcher said. “In the meantime, though, we ought to be able to put the first new planetoids on-line considerably sooner. Their computers’re a lot smaller and simpler-minded, without any of Mother’s wonder-what-the-hell’s-in-’em files, and the other hardware’s no big problem, even allowing for the new systems’ test programs.”

“Okay.” Colin turned to Tsien. “Want to add anything, Tao-ling?”

“I fear Gerald has stolen much of my thunder,” Tsien began, and Hatcher grinned. Technically, everything that wasn’t mobile belonged to Tsien—from fortifications and shipyards to R&D to Fleet training—but with so much priority assigned to rounding up and crewing Hatcher’s planetoids there was a lot of overlap in their current spheres of authority.

“As he and Dahak have related, most of the Bia System has now been fully restored to function. With barely four hundred million people in the system, our personnel are spread even more thinly than Gerald’s, but we are coping and the situation is improving. Baltan and Geran, with much assistance from Dahak, are doing excellent work with Research and Development, although ‘research’ will continue, for the foreseeable future, to be little more than following up on the Empire’s final projects. They are, however, turning up several interesting new items among those projects. In particular, the Empire had begun development of a new generation of gravitonic warheads.”

“Oh?” Colin quirked an eyebrow. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Me, too,” Hatcher put in. “What kind of warheads, Tao-ling?”

“We only discovered the data two days ago,” Tsien half-apologized, “but what we have seen so far suggests a weapon several magnitudes more powerful than any previously built.”

“Maker!” Horus straightened in his own couch, eyes half-fascinated and half-appalled. Fifty-one thousand years ago, he’d been a missile specialist of the Fourth Imperium, and the fearsome efficiency of the weapons the Empire had produced had shaken him badly when he first confronted them.

“Indeed,” Tsien said dryly. “I am not yet certain, but I suspect this warhead might be able to duplicate your feat at Zeta Trianguli, Colin.”

Several people swallowed audibly at that, including Colin. He’d used the FTL Enchanach drive, which employed massive gravity fields—essentially converging black holes—to literally squeeze a ship out of “real” space in a series of instantaneous transitions, as a weapon at the Second Battle of Zeta Trianguli Australis. An Enchanach ship’s dwell time in normal space was very, very brief, and even when it came “close” (in interstellar terms), a ship moving at roughly nine hundred times light-speed didn’t spend long enough in the vicinity of any star to do it harm. But the drive’s initial activation and final deactivation took a considerably longer time, and Colin had used that to induce a nova which destroyed over a million Achuultani starships.