Those who have everything value nothing. Those who have nothing value everything.
— RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL,
Assessments of Philosophical Revelations
Richese would be doomed as soon as Omnius returned with a full-fledged military force. Upon escaping, the damnable Seurat had certainly provided the evermind with vital information about the Titan rebels. By assessing their past failures, the machines would calculate the necessity for a much larger fleet, accept larger losses, and return with enough battleships and firepower to wipe out the cymek installations. The Titans didn’t have a chance.
General Agamemnon doubted he had more than a month.
He and his cymek followers needed to leave, but he could not simply run like a mad dog to the nearest available planet, which might be fiercely defended by the hrethgir or even other machines. He did not have sufficient information, or personnel, to find and subjugate a new stronghold.
From a thousand years of experience as a military commander, he understood the need for accurate intelligence and a complete analysis of all options. Since only three of the original Titans remained alive, Agamemnon could not afford to take needless risks. Though he had already lived for well over eleven centuries, he valued his survival more than ever.
Juno, his lover, had matching ambitions and goals. Returned from the other cymek planet of Bela Tegeuse, she faced him in their expansive stronghold on Richese, swiveling her head turret to show off her sparkling optic threads. Even in this strange inhuman configuration, Agamemnon found her brain and her personality beautiful.
“Now that we’ve broken free of Omnius, we require new territory, new populations to dominate, my love.” Her simulated voice had a rich, thrumming quality. “But our numbers are not overwhelming enough to face either the hrethgir or the Synchronized Worlds. And the thinking machines will be coming back to Richese. Soon.”
“At least Omnius is prohibited from killing the three of us.”
“Small consolation! Omnius will destroy everything we have built, slaughter all our followers, and rip the preservation canisters from our walkers. Even if we aren’t dead, he could strip away our thoughtrodes and leave us in an eternal hell of sensory deprivation. Worse than dead— we would be useless!”
“Never useless. I would kill you myself before I allowed that to happen,” Agamemnon said in a bass projected rumble that made the columns in the spacious chamber vibrate.
“Thank you, my love.”
Moving with implacable speed, he lurched his walker-form through the archway, already transmitting orders to the neos to prep his fastest ship. “You and Dante remain here and shore up our defenses against the thinking machines. I will locate another world for us to rule.” He flashed his optic threads, which sent a constellation of Juno images flooding into his mind. “With luck, Omnius won’t find us for some time.”
“I prefer to count on your magnificent abilities— not luck.”
“Perhaps we’ll need both.”
Racing away from Richese under acceleration that would have killed any fragile human being, the Titan general traveled to his secret contact inside the machine empire.
Wallach IX was an insignificant Synchronized World, where Yorek Thurr held dominion over a pathetic herd of captive humans. For decades, Thurr had been a reliable yet surreptitious source of information about both Omnius and the League of Nobles. He had notified Agamemnon about the return of long-lost Hecate and her unexpected support for the hrethgir cause, and he had also divulged the travel plans of Venport and the hated Sorceress Cenva, so that Beowulf could ambush them in the Ginaz system. Thurr was not the least bit nervous about playing three sides against each other.
The Titan general had ensconced himself in an extravagant vessel built with intimidating angular structures, a full suite of exotic weapons and powerful grappling arms. It served both as a spacecraft and a ground walker. When he settled down in an open plaza on Wallach IX, he extended flat, powerful feet, reconfigured the robotic body, and rose up in a fearsome new form. Thurr’s advice might be useful, but the general did not entirely trust him.
Cowed human captives backed away as the Titan plodded down the boulevards to the imposing citadel Thurr had built when crowning himself king of this planet. Though Wallach IX ostensibly remained a Synchronized World, Thurr claimed to have bypassed and manipulated the evermind’s external controls. He kept the local Omnius incarnation deviously isolated and fooled, with programming of his own.
Agamemnon was not concerned. If the evermind had secret watcheyes to prove the human’s duplicity, then Thurr himself would face execution. After all, the cymek rebels were already under a death sentence.
Because his walker-body was so enormous, he had to sweep his armored arms from side to side to knock down walls and constrictive arches so that he could enter the citadel. It made good military sense to demonstrate his power and put the turncoat firmly in his place.
When he entered the audacious throne hall Thurr had designed, the man seemed neither disturbed nor intimidated. He sat back on his gaudy, elaborate throne, gazing with a jaded eye at the cymek. “Welcome, General Agamemnon. I am always pleased to receive such a distinguished visitor.”
Thurr had constructed his throne atop a massive dais. The chair and its pedestal were fashioned from polymer-reinforced bones; long femurs formed the support, and rounded skulls made an ornate foundation. The design seemed unnecessarily barbaric, but Thurr savored the mood it evoked.
Large display cases lined one wall, containing exotic weapons. Momentarily distracted by the beauty of an antique projectile gun, Agamemnon stared at it. The workmanship on the white bone handle was exquisite with scrimshawlike markings depicting scenarios of violent death caused by the weapon. For many years, Agamemnon had collected such weapons, amused by their potential as museum relics rather than as actual threats.
“Do you have an opportunity for me, General?” Thurr sniffed. “Or are you here to request a favor?”
“I never ask for favors.” Agamemnon expanded his powerful arms and the body core, puffing himself up like a bird. “From one such as you, I would demand assistance, and you would be pleased to give it to me.”
“Always. I can offer you refreshment, but I believe a fine vintage would be wasted on you.”
“We obtain fresh electrafluid whenever we need it. That is not why I am here. I need copies of your intelligence files, your astronomical maps and geographical assessments of other planets. It is past time that I expanded my cymek empire. I need to decide which world to conquer next.”
“In other words, you plan to abandon Richese before Omnius comes back to destroy you.” Thurr snickered at his insight, fidgeting with excitement. “And it is good that you cymeks plan ahead and strengthen your defenses, because before long Omnius will have utterly defeated the hrethgir and absorbed them into the Synchronized Worlds.”
“That’s a bold statement, since the Jihad has already been simmering for a century.”
“Ah, but the thinking machines have changed their tactics, thanks to me. My idea!” He preened with pride. “Corrin has recently released a potent biological plague. We fully expect the epidemic to spread across the hrethgir worlds and wipe out entire populations.”
Agamemnon was surprised at the information. “You certainly like to kill things and cause great pain and damage, Yorek Thurr. In another age, Ajax himself might have recruited you.”
Thurr beamed. “You are too kind, General Agamemnon.”
“Are you not concerned that you will be infected yourself? Once Omnius learns of your treachery, you will be left to die here on Wallach IX.” He thought of his son Vorian, wondering if he might succumb to the infection, but the life-extension treatment should have greatly enhanced his immune systems.
Thurr waved a hand. “Oh, I would not have suggested unleashing the plagues until I received the immunization myself. The vaccine gave me a strange fever for several days, but ever since then my thoughts have been… clearer, sharper.” He grinned as he massaged the smooth skin of his scalp. “I’m pleased to make a mark upon history for all time. These plagues demonstrate my influence more than anything I have previously done. At last I can be satisfied with the accomplishments of my life.”
“You are a very greedy man, Yorek Thurr.” Agamemnon maneuvered his large mechanical body closer to the weapons display shelves. “You succeeded in everything you’ve attempted, first with Jipol, then guiding the League from behind the skirts of Camie Boro-Ginjo, and now as a king of your own world.”
“None of it is enough!” Thurr stood from his throne of skulls. “After only a few decades, ruling this planet has become tedious and pointless. I hide within the boundaries of the Synchronized empire, and no one even knows what I have accomplished. Back on Salusa Secundus, I guided the policy of the Jihad for years, but no one believed it was me. They all thought the Grand Patriarch was intelligent. Hah! Then they gave credit to his widow and her milksop son. I want to make my own mark.”
Agamemnon understood, but still he found the little man’s prideful ambition quaint and amusing. “Then you had best help me, Thurr, because when the new Time of Titans comes to pass and my cymek empire comprises many planets, our history will remember you as an important touchstone.”
He strutted over to the weapons display cases, ripped the door off its hinges, and reached inside.
“What are you doing?” Thurr demanded. “Be careful. Those are valuable antiques.”
“I’ll pay you whatever this is worth.” Agamemnon removed the projectile gun that he had admired.
“It’s not for— “
“Everything has a price.” Agamemnon opened a compartment on his body and slid the gun inside. He had other keepsakes in there as well, a variety of intriguing killing devices that he had begun to collect. While Thurr glared, the cymek closed the compartment. “Send me a bill.”
The man’s eyes glittered. “Keep it, please, as my special gift to you. Now, General, what is it you need? More planets to dominate? As my plagues spread, you’ll have ample opportunities to invade and secure League Worlds. Soon all hrethgir planets will be graveyards, all that territory available for the taking. You can pick up the pieces wherever you like.”
“Not good enough. I am a conqueror, not a plunderer. I need a new stronghold now, one that doesn’t have its own overwhelming military force. My reasons are of no concern to you. It is only necessary for you to give me an answer, before I lose my patience and kill you.”
“So, Agamemnon wants to feel safe and strong.” Unconcerned, Thurr sat back down on his throne of skulls, tapping his long fingers together as he pondered. Soon a huge grin split his face. “Ah, there is another alternative. Knowing you Titans and your long-held grudges, you’ll consider it quite satisfying.”
“We have made many enemies over the centuries.” Agamemnon paced the floor in his monstrous walker-form, cracking the tiles beneath his immense weight.
“Yes, but this is different. Why not go to Hessra and destroy the Ivory Tower Cogitors? As a practical matter, they have electrafluid fabrication plants, which you would find useful. But I think the mere satisfaction of obliterating them would prove enough.”
Agamemnon bobbed his articulated head. Thoughts rushed through his ancient brain. “You are quite correct, Thurr. Attacking Hessra will not immediately draw the attention of either the hrethgir or Omnius. Crushing the maddening Cogitors would be pleasurable for its own sake.”