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what his father would say. “I worked among them, lived among them, talked to them. It was

very difficult at first, pretending to be a mere human and knowing their unreasonable

prejudices against the slans. I had to parrot their words so no one would suspect me.”

“Of course you did, Father. We tendrilless hate the slans as well.”

“The humans don’t even know of the existence of tendrilless. I felt sorry for them in their

ignorance. But life there wasn’t so bad. We made great progress setting up newspapers and

radio stations, silently taking over their communications so that we could manipulate their

fears. It was easy for us to help them because we did everything so much better than a mere

human could. They thought we were geniuses. The hardest part was never letting on how

smart we really were.”

“That’s what I did,” Jem said. “That’s how I became the President’s chief advisor.”

“Yes, yes.” Altus didn’t sound interested at all. “I wonder if it’s possible that President Gray

knew who you were all along and simply didn’t let on. Your mental shields are some of the

best I’ve ever seen, but he’s a smart man. Gray may have figured it out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It was because of my talent and skill that no one suspected.”

“Even so, you were with
him
all that time—did you ever suspect Gray is a slan, even a rogue

tendrilless? Or were his mental shields even better than your own?”

Jem scowled but didn’t answer.

“At any rate, I found some things quite admirable about human society—their music, their

congenial friendship, ah, and some of their gourmet foods. Nothing like what we have here on

Mars. You blinded yourself with hate, and that is not the mark of a good diplomat.” Again, that

annoying paternal pat on his shoulder. “You see, Earth is where I met your mother. She was

another worker in the communications towers. Oh, she was beautiful, had such a musical

laugh. She had chestnut-brown hair and large blue eyes, a delicate chin. Your features remind

me of her very much.”

Jem tried to grasp what his father was saying. “My mother was also part of the operation?

She was one of the tendrilless slans sent to infiltrate the cities?”

“No, no.” Altus chuckled. “She was one of
them
, a human. She was very sweet. I wish you

could have met her.”

Jem choked. “You’re lying. That can’t be.”

“Your mother was the best thing I found on Earth, kind and caring. She played a musical

instrument, a stringed device they called a guitar, and her voice was like gold. She and I liked

to dance. We must have spent three or four nights a week out in clubs and ballrooms. We even

won a prize once. Hmm, I think I’ve still got the ribbon in my quarters somewhere. I took it

with me when I left Earth after your mother died.”

“This can’t be!” Jem searched inside himself as if he could suddenly discover a fatal flaw, a

hitherto-unsuspected weakness in his genes.

“Oh, it is, Jem. You’re only half-slan, you see.”

“That means I’m half-
human
.” His stomach roiled and he felt as if he was going to vomit.

“I’m half-human!”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my boy. You can’t help who you are. In fact, we can use it

to our advantage after I go to Earth. Don’t worry, I’ll bring you there in due time. We would

seem the perfect go-betweens in creating a new world order. You could have a good deal of

interim power. Ah, your mother would have been proud—”

In a fury, Jem whirled and struck his father in the face, making the old man snap backward

in stunned surprise. A large red mark stood out on his left cheek. “Calm yourself! I won’t stand

for this sort of behavior.”

Jem roared and grabbed his father by the collar, screaming in his face with such force that

spittle flew onto his cheeks. “You betrayed our race. You fell in love with a weakling human.

You slept with the enemy.”

“She was your
mother
, Jem.”

“I will never accept that.” He felt cold steel within him. “And you are no longer my father.

You’re a traitor. I will never let you go to Earth in my place.”

With strength fueled by adrenaline and anger, he lifted the old man. Altus seemed no more

than a large rag doll in the low Martian gravity. Without taking time to think, merely following

his instincts, Jem hurled his father over the guard rail and sent him falling into his beloved

Martian canyon. His thin terrified wail vanished into the background breezes.

Jem stared for a long moment, shaking after what he had just done, not from horror or

grief, but merely surprised at how he had reacted. The old man had certainly deserved it; he

would have ruined everything. Worse, if the news got out that Jem was half human …

He silently vowed to keep his heritage a secret. Certainly his father would never have told

such an embarrassing fact to any of his peers. No one need ever know about his tainted blood.

He leaned over the deep, breathless drop, gathered a mouthful of saliva, and then he, too,

let a long droplet of spit drop into the void. He was just full of impulsive decisions today.

Jem made his way back to the Authority chambers. It would be a long time before anyone

discovered what had happened to old Altus, and by that time he would be long gone to Earth,

where he would have consolidated his rule.

Inside the crystalline meeting chamber, all alone, he climbed to his father’s traditional seat

and lounged in the comfortable chair behind the impressive bench. Then he rang the

prominent summoning tone, knowing the other Authority members would rush to the

emergency meeting.

The group of old men arrived, hastily straightening their robes, donning their ceremonial

caps. They looked up to see Jem Lorry sitting in the middle of their high bench and no sign of

Altus anywhere. From his high position, the younger man looked down upon the other council

members. “I am prepared to depart for Earth. I just wanted you to know that I’m on my way.”

After today, all the tendrilless would be willing if not eager to follow him, despite the blood

on his hands. The proof would be in his strength of rule. “I am going to meet with President

Gray—and I will accept his surrender.”

«
^
»

The pain and emptiness did not go away, but after an infinite falling moment Jommy found

the strength to endure. Even as he heard the humming engines of the tendrilless scout

combing the wreckage for him, searching for him, Jommy discovered a lifeline within himself:

He thought of Kathleen, beautiful Kathleen, and somehow he found the resolve to raise his

head up. To
survive
.

Sharp agony was like a spear in the back of his head. He gasped and let himself collapse

breathlessly onto the rubble, struggling to hide in a dim hole. The scout ship had driven away

the murderous scavengers, but he did not dare let himself fall into the hands of the tendrilless.

He could feel the biting scrape of rough stone on his cheek, discovered raw skin and a bit of

blood marring the concrete debris, but that was a mere distraction, a tiny whisper compared to

the bellow of hurt inside his head.

The mob had slashed his tendrils off! It was as if they had lopped the wings off a bird or

pulled the fins from a fish.

When the sounds of the enemy ship finally faded, giving up the search, he got to his hands

and knees and coughed, but each jarring motion, each inhaled breath, sent more thunder

through his brain. He fought against passing out, and then he retched, squeezing his eyes shut.

His body was wracked with tremendous waves, but he crashed through them like a small boat

against a hurricane.

With the mental silence yelling inside him, he could hear the blood rushing behind his ears.

But he strained to hear something else, anything else, afraid he might pick up the noises of

laughing scavengers returning for him, knife-wielding Deacon and his brutal gang. How long

would the tendrilless ship frighten them off? They had left him alive, but maybe he was better

off dead.

Jommy bit back a moan and forced himself not to follow that line of thought. He was
still

alive
. He was
still himself
, with or without his tendrils.

He opened his eyes into the fading light of dusk. The sky was a darkening blue with a

scudding of clouds and finger-paint smears of smoke from the burning buildings. All of his

senses—even the normal ones—were different now, blunted. He felt shut off. When he got to

his feet, his balance was gone. Jommy reeled like a drunken man and then stumbled once

more. He fell back onto his scraped hands, then with a grunt of effort, he stood up again,

swaying but managing to remain erect.

Weaving, he made his way through the rubble, barely able to see, hoping the scout ship

wouldn’t return. He accidentally found shelter, the corner of a collapsed room, and he curled

up behind a fallen block of structural stone, shuddering. And night fell.

He had been born a slan. All his life he had unconsciously depended on his tendrils, like a

cat used its tail for balance. Every waking moment the slender fibers in the back of his head

had picked up the signals of thoughts, the endless droning babble of other people, other

minds. It was like the background noise of the ocean in a coastal village, always there, soothing

and comforting. He hadn’t even noticed it—and now it was entirely gone.

His dreams and thoughts were like fever visions, recollections and hallucinations. Jommy

remembered going to sleep when he was just a little boy. His mother had sung him lullabies,

but she did more than just give him the soothing music of her voice; her comforting thoughts

wove a nest around him, letting him know he was
protected
, that she would always be there for

him. Everything had changed when he was nine years old—and now he was faced with an

even greater shift, a handicap.

Without his tendrils, Jommy felt both blind and deaf.

After fearing it for so long, he gingerly touched the back of his head and felt the raw

stumps. The nerve endings sent a rocket of pain through him. He drew his fingertips away,

saw only tiny specks of red. Though Deacon had sliced him, Jommy’s slan healing powers had

halted the bleeding. He was in no danger from the injury, at least.

But now what was he to do?

Next morning, after a dizzying and pain-wracked night without sleep, he picked his way

forward, stumbling again. The palace wreckage shifted with an ominous patter of falling stones

and sliding rubble, and he knew he could fall through at any moment.

“I am not helpless,” he said aloud, then repeated it to reinforce the thought.

He blinked and looked around, trying to see in the growing dawn light. All of his senses

and impressions seemed muffled, muted … useless. But he reminded himself that this was

how normal human beings lived every day, and they managed to survive without enhanced

senses or telepathic powers. Yes, he
could
smell rock dust and old sooty smoke. With his ears

he
could
hear the sounds of distant aircraft cruising overhead.

But he no longer had the ability to sense Kathleen in his head. He had lost that connection

with her.
Forever
.

He staggered through the rubble. The secure vault containing his disintegrator weapon was

sealed again, and he had no way of defending himself. Another failure! He had come so close,

but he couldn’t find any means to retrieve the disintegrator now. He was too weak. He didn’t

know what he could do.

In all of the desperate situations he had encountered, Jommy had never felt so powerless.

Previously, he had been so cocky, so sure of himself, never doubting that he would find a way

out of any trouble he might encounter. Now all he could think of was to get back to the

serenity of Granny’s ranch, where he could be with Kathleen, where he could heal … though

he would never be what he was before.

Disoriented and still in great pain, he could barely remember where he had hidden his car.

He paused in a bombed-out street, holding onto a twisted iron girder. He squeezed his eyes

shut, forcing himself to concentrate, dragging the memory to the front of his mind, until he