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“Pathetic.” The square-shouldered man stepped away, satisfied with what he had done. The

rest of the mob came forward to finish up. Awash in agony, Jommy tried to face them, to fight

one last time.

Then they looked up into the sky, shouted, and scattered in all directions. A shadow like a

giant hawk swept over the debris of the palace, then explosions rocked the rubble nearby.

Jommy squinted, saw one of the tendrilless ships cruising very low. The pilot took potshots at

Deacon and his mob, like shooting fish in a barrel.

As the unexpected attack continued, Jommy crawled into the uncertain shelter of a fallen

wall. The tendrilless pilot could easily have targeted him, but instead seemed interested in

blasting away at the frantic scavengers as they clattered through the shifting rubble of the

collapsed palace. Some of Deacon’s men shot their firearms at the ship, but its hull was far too

tough.

Groaning, feeling little more than his pain and his absolute loss, Jommy crawled and

staggered, trying to get away from all the various enemies who wanted him dead. He ducked

into a black crevice, out of sight, as the tendrilless ship came back around, searching for him.

«
^
»

Back at Granny’s ranch, Kathleen waited anxiously for the summit meeting, now that Altus

Lorry and the Tendrilless Authority had agreed to the terms. She had done everything possible

to be of assistance to her father, but until the emissary ship arrived from Mars, she and Gray

had little to do but wait. If the President could talk sense into the tendrilless leadership,

convince them of what had really happened in their history, her father just might cement a

peace between humans, slans, and tendrilless. It was their best chance.

Despite all the turmoil and uncertainty, Kathleen knew she could count on Jommy to get

through, to find his disintegrator if it was at all possible—and to investigate the slan hideout

from the maps in Peter Cross’s logbooks.

She had felt a pure love for Jommy as soon as they’d been reunited; their thoughts, their

hearts, were linked through their tendrils. Slans could know each other’s minds, could look

inside each individual soul. She knew Jommy was a good person, and she knew she loved him.

From the moment they had encountered each other in that first slan redoubt, years ago, it

seemed as if she and Jommy had lived a lifetime together.

But then the slan hunter’s bullet to her head had crashed everything into silence. Some

long time later, after a slan medical miracle had helped her recover, Kathleen was amazed to

find herself alive but dismayed to be without Jommy. Completely separated, cut off. She knew

he had to believe she was dead. For a long time she had been so miserable, but when they were

reunited in the grand palace, all her agony had passed away like smoke in a rain shower.

Missing him, she busied herself in Granny’s kitchen, helping the old woman bake apple

pies to welcome the representatives for the important meeting. “You mark my words, girl,

once they taste Granny’s apple pie, they won’t have any further thoughts of war and killing in

their minds. I might even sell them the recipe—if the price is right.”

Kathleen was better versed in politics and scientific studies than she was in cooking, but she

enjoyed working beside Granny, rolling out the dough, peeling and slicing apples, sneaking a

few bites whenever the old woman wasn’t looking. When Granny thought Kathleen was

paying no attention, she snitched a few bites as well.

When the pies were in the oven, filling the house with a delicious cinnamon-sugar aroma,

Kathleen went out to the hangar shed and studied the rocket-plane Jommy had built. She

instinctively understood the controls, the design. Jommy’s genius never ceased to amaze her.

Also waiting for the tendrilless emissary to come, her father wandered around the ranch

house and found her in the hangar. “A splendid machine, isn’t it? If only we could find the lost

slans, we could have a whole race of people building advanced vessels and weapons like that.

With such geniuses at our disposal, no tendrilless would dare threaten Earth. They might just

as well hide in their Martian city and never show their faces again.”

“Given the chance, Jommy could probably do all those things by himself,” Kathleen said,

forcing a smile.

Gray detected something in her voice. “You’re concerned about him, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. I know how dangerous the city is and … and Father, I love him.”

“I didn’t need slan tendrils to figure that out, Kathleen.”

She blushed. “I suppose it’s obvious.” She turned from the silver rocket-plane, noting the

red fins and the personal symbol Jommy had painted on its side. “I’m going back to study his

father’s notebooks. Maybe I’ll learn something there.”

While the President went off to plan his negotiations and prepare for the meeting as much

as possible, Kathleen entered the brightly lit underground rooms. She looked at the encrypted

diagram again, studying the tremendous headquarters that the slans had used in the original

wars.

She stared at the designs and notes, amazed at all the work one man had done while trying

to protect his wife and young son. Peter Cross had sacrificed everything for them, and then

Jommy’s mother had also been killed. How many more sacrifices would be required? They had

already paid such a high price.

Thinking of Jommy, she tried to sense him with her tendrils. Their connection was strong

enough that she detected him even far away, though she couldn’t capture specific thoughts. An

uneasiness tingled through her, and with a gasp she understood that this was more than just a

flickering contact. This was strong emotion, a powerful urgency—Jommy sent his panic out

like a beacon. Or a scream!

Was he trying to contact her, or was he just afraid—or in pain? Kathleen closed her eyes to

concentrate, and her tendrils quested like antennae to pick up any thought he might be

sending. She caught a flash inside of her mind.

Yes, Jommy was in danger, struggling. Many men, punching him. He fought back, but

more attackers came—and they had weapons. She sensed a flicker of a knife, a gleaming blade

that burned a perfectly clear image in her thoughts.

Someone touched Jommy’s tendrils, lifted them away … and then as clearly as if a siren

had blasted in her ears, she felt a slash of pain as hot as a molten wire.

Unable to stop herself, Kathleen screamed. Suddenly all of Jommy’s thoughts, all awareness

of his presence, went black and silent. The afterimage of pain inside her head still throbbed.

“Jommy!” she cried aloud. “Jommy!”

She quested out, but received no answer. No thoughts whatsoever. Just silence.

She was completely cut off. Sobbing, she ran out of the laboratory room and up the stairs,

shouting for her father, for Granny, for anyone who would come to her. As tears poured down

her face and the memory of the pain continued to pound in her head, she ran into Kier Gray.

He grabbed her. “What is it? Kathleen, tell me, what happened?”

“It’s Jommy. Jommy’s dead!”

Part 3

«
^
»

On the sheer edge of the red-stone balcony overlooking the glassed-over canyons of Mars, Jem

Lorry stood with his old father. The head of the Tendrilless Authority had a calm smile on his

face, as if content just to be next to his ambitious son before Jem’s departure to meet with

President Kier Gray. He was glad of his son’s apparent change of heart. To an outside observer,

it might have looked like a tender father-son moment.

Jem wanted to kill him.

Even with the urgent need to cement their victory on Earth, the old man did not seem

inclined to hurry. Altus was calm and confident that everything would work out exactly as it

should. Jem, however, understood that things worked out only when someone with drive and

vision took charge of the reins of history.

“A beautiful view, is it not, my son?” Altus said. “Look at the white rocks, the rusty cliffs,

the red dust. We tendrilless have been here in Cimmerium so long, I think the need to see red

has supplanted my desire for lush greenery.”

Jem had always wanted to see red. Blood red.

Even though the wide Martian canyon was covered over with a transparent roof, the

enclosed space was vast enough that breezes wafted up from side canyons, air currents moving

about from the exchangers, filters, and processing machinery. Far below lay a bone-dry

riverbed from ancient days, a ribbon of broken rocks. It seemed a very long way to fall.

“I would be happy to let the humans have this place instead of us. Let Mars be their new

Botany Bay. Since you don’t want me to kill them all, that seems a perfect alternative. Exile the

few surviving humans here and have them scrabble tooth-and-nail for an existence.”

Mildly, the old man looked at his son. “Come now, Jem, when have you ever had to fight

‘tooth-and-nail’ to survive? You had a comfortable life. You don’t fool me with your imagined

hardships.”

“Imagined? I know what those people are really like. Primitive, prejudiced, easily led by

propaganda. They’re a danger to themselves, and they deserve the punishment that we’ll

impose on them. I don’t know what else Kier Gray expects.”

Altus seemed troubled. “You are supposed to arrange a peace, negotiate acceptable terms.”

“Negotiate? Father, they are broken and defeated. They have very little leverage. We should

be able to get what we want, for the good of the tendrilless.”

The older man heaved a long sigh. “Perhaps you aren’t the best choice to go to this summit

meeting after all, Jem. I’m afraid you may not approach the matter with the same goals as the

Authority.”

He felt a moment of panic. “No, Father, you can count on me. You know I have the bright

future of our race in my heart. I will do what’s best for all of us.”

Altus considered. “Maybe we should wait until we hear from Joanna Hillory before we

make any brash decisions. She’ll have reached Earth by now. If she’s found Cross, then the

strategic balance has changed.”

Jem tried to control his impatience and temper. “If you were going to kill Cross, I should

have been the one to go there. In fact, I can make that my priority, after I’ve dealt with Kier

Gray and his summit.”

Altus scratched his beard, pursing his lips. “The more I think about it, maybe I should be

the one to go talk with President Gray personally. He and I can resolve this war.”

“The war is
over
, Father, even before our occupation ships arrive. Someday you’ll recognize

what I have accomplished and grant me the reward I deserve.”

The old man patted him condescendingly on the shoulder. “Now, Jem, don’t feel bad. Of

course I am proud of you. You’re my son. But right now I can do a better job. I’ll suggest it to

the Authority. I’m very sorry, son.”

Jem lashed out. “If you had spent years on assignment there, cut off from your heritage,

living in their squalor, you’d think differently about humans. You can’t know what it was like

to be among them.”

The old man remained silent for a long moment. He clutched the decorative rail with his

sinewy hands and leaned over the drop-off. Like a playful child, Altus worked up a mouthful

of spit and let the droplet fall, watching it drift downward in the low gravity, bounced along in

the air currents until finally it disappeared. Smiling, he turned back to his impatient son.

“Actually, I can, Jem. You see, in my younger years I, too, served on Earth. I was part of the

initial spy organization that helped set up and infiltrate the humans’ Air Center.”

Jem reeled backward. “You were on Earth? Impossible.”

“Why is that impossible? You think me so incompetent?”

“I just didn’t think you had ever set foot away from Mars. That you would—” He cut

himself off before he finished his sentence.
That you would ever leave your comfortable council

chair and do anything active with your life
.

“My experiences were not quite so horrific as you make yours out to be.” Altus continued

to gaze out at the stark cliffs, reminiscing. He actually had a
smile
on his wrinkled face. Jem

wanted to strike him, to wipe off that beatific expression, but he held himself silent to hear