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whoever tended my dying wife might be a kindly nurse or an altruistic doctor, someone who

would recognize her pain and help her. Though I had to go, to stay out of sight, Rose remained

connected to me through her tendrils. I could sense her with our special bond. I could feel

what was happening to her, though she herself had dulled her mind and body with painkillers.

When the medical professionals in the emergency room discovered that she was a slan, there

was quite an uproar.”

“I’ll bet,” Petty said. “They should have called my secret police right away.”

“One doctor did,” Gray continued, his voice like a razor. “They gave Rose a bed, realized

there was nothing they could do for her except to alleviate her pain, and so that’s what they

did. The secret police came, prodding her, interrogating her, attempting to rip information

from her brain in her last moments of life. But she clung to the promise I’d made, and she

found her own sort of peace.”

“What did she make you promise?” Kathleen asked.

Gray fell silent for a long moment and swallowed twice, gathering his thoughts. “I knew

she didn’t have long. I took you to a conservatory, a large greenhouse filled with flowers. That

was what she wanted.

“Rose regained consciousness before she died. Even without tendrils, I could sense her in

my mind. I held you in my arms, little girl, and we stood among the roses, the tropical plants,

the beautiful orchids. She could see them through my eyes. Despite what the secret police were

doing to her, she could share my thoughts. Those were her favorite things in all the world, and

even though I longed to be with my darling in her last moments, I gave her something better. I

smelled the flowers, the sweet perfume that she loved so much. It’s the last thing she

experienced. When Rose died, it felt like a cold wind passing through my soul, and I held onto

you very tightly.”

In the moment of openness, Kathleen could sense that her father had lowered part of his

impenetrable shield, letting her inside for the very first time. She picked up on his emotions,

his bright memories, his love for her. And some of the distant, blurred recollections overlapped

with her own vague memories.

Kathleen was crying. “I remember that. I remember the flowers, but I wasn’t sure what

they meant. It was when I was just a baby.”

“It wasn’t until long after that I tracked down her body. I wanted to give her a proper

funeral, but the secret police had already taken her for dissection. After that day, everything

changed.” Gray’s voice became hard now. “I decided I had to make a difference. I couldn’t just

allow slans like Rose, like you, to live like rats in hiding.

“Since I had discovered Rose, I knew there must be more slans, though no one guessed

where they might be hiding. After I lost my parents, I had no further connection with any of

the organized tendrilless. So I went to work with grim determination, all by myself. With my

job in the communications ministry and with full access to the informational archives, I built a

detailed and impressive history for myself. It was masterful. No one could find any flaws or

mistakes. And then I launched my political career.

“I did find other slans, eventually. We arranged meetings, extended our influence, and

made our plans. Because I could pass so easily among the normals, they wanted me as their

champion. I built my network, manipulating, strengthening, growing. Using slan skills,

nudging the thoughts of certain followers, I built a campaign organization—but I kept my

personal life intensely private. No one knew about you, Kathleen.

“I won my first three elections by landslides. My career was meteoric. When many of my

supporters, and even several defeated rivals (whose minds I had manipulated), supported me

as a dark-horse candidate to be the next President, I felt sure I could accomplish what I needed

to do.”

“But what about me?” Kathleen said. “I remember someone taking care of me, an …

uncle?”

“A kindly blind man watched over you. I paid him well,” Gray said. “Either he never knew

you had tendrils, or he didn’t mind. You were smart enough to take care of yourself. I thought

everything was set.

“But on the day of the election, in my finest hour after I had won the office of President,

secret police raided the old man’s home. Someone had tipped them off that he had a slan girl

there. The blind man couldn’t defend himself. He didn’t know very much about me, but he

could probably have revealed enough. Fortunately for us, I suppose, the secret police thugs

killed him before they could interrogate him. They captured you—and then I had to act. It

risked my political career, my best chance for changing the whole world, but I had to find a

way to do both. You are my daughter, Kathleen. I had to take the chance and save you.

“As the newly sworn President, I issued a decree, announcing that in order to understand

the slans and whatever threat they might pose, we needed to study them, not just react with

automatic fear. I insisted that you be kept in the palace with me, where you would be safe and

where, unfortunately, you would be scrutinized every moment of your life.”

“Then why did you originally agree to let her be executed on her eleventh birthday?” Petty

asked. “It makes no sense.”

“That was a concession I had to make at the time. I had many years to work around that

loophole, and as you can see, it didn’t cause a problem, ultimately. But now look where we are.

See how much has changed?” He reached over, picked up the fork, and took a bite of pie.

Granny looked on, as if hoping for a compliment.

“I still miss my Rose. Sometimes I can hardly bear it. Even with my power as President, I’d

gladly surrender it all just to have a quiet, normal life with my wife and daughter.”

Petty, still pouting at the flaky pie that Granny had denied him, grumbled. “Sentimental

crap.”

With a swift movement, the old woman swatted him again on the back of his head.

«
^
»

Alone inside the secret slan redoubt, Anthea counted eleven skeletons. Three were sprawled on

the floor; others had collapsed into piles of bones beside desks and laboratory tables. Sensing

her disappointment, confusion, and uneasiness, the baby boy squirmed and began to

whimper.

Anthea picked her way among the skeletons, looked at the grinning teeth, the empty eye

sockets. Several of the rib cages were broken, the bones shattered and blackened. All around,

she found discarded weapons, bullet casings, and empty charge packs. Black marks stained the

tables, floor, and walls. Chunks had been blasted from the high rock ceiling, and bullet holes

stitched a zig-zag pattern across a chalkboard that hung askew.

A terrific battle had occurred here, a shootout—but with whom? And how long ago? Was

there some sort of civil war among the slans, or had the secret police discovered this place and

ambushed the hiding slans? She doubted she would ever know the answers.

She strained her ears, as if there might still be fading echoes, but she heard only the hum of

buried generators. The lights were strong and steady, never flickering. The air smelled clean,

though with a faint metallic odor and thankfully without any residue of the decaying bodies.

Had the skeletons been here since the days of the Slan Wars, centuries ago? She looked

down at the sprawled figures, wondering if they might be the last remains of the children of

Dr. Lann. She didn’t think so.

She picked up one of the unusual energy weapons on the floor—a stunner?—and saw that

it had been completely discharged. She couldn’t use it for her own protection, should slan

hunters threaten her here.

After her initial surprise, Anthea cautiously explored the large chambers, calling out, but

finding no one else there. The redoubt was completely empty, completely silent.

She found fresh running water and sanitary facilities, several rooms with comfortable beds,

clean clothes. In a dining area she discovered a wealth of preserved packaged food. After

recognizing slightly old-fashioned brands and label designs, she concluded that someone
had

occupied this place within the last few decades. The food was still good, and she ravenously ate

a wrapped chocolate bar. If necessary, she could stay here a long time.

At last feeling a warmth and contentment she hadn’t experienced since Davis had rushed

her to the hospital—on what she thought would be the happiest day of her life—Anthea

realized how utterly exhausted she was. She sat in a chair and kept herself awake long enough

to nurse the baby, who sucked greedily. He must have been starving as well.

Barely able to stay awake, Anthea chose one of the soft beds and took just enough time to

pull out a blanket and a pillow. She lay back, cradling the baby against her, and fell asleep

within moments.

*

*

*

Later, rested and refreshed at last, she arranged a makeshift crib for the baby and then

turned to the first order of business: removing the grim reminder of the skeletons. These bones

weren’t just random garbage that she could sweep up and toss in a trash bin. Every one had

been a person, probably an unjustly persecuted slan. She imagined that they must have died

fighting, as heroes.

Finding a pair of gloves and some empty boxes, she gathered each of the remains and

reverently put them in separate containers, like makeshift coffins. She didn’t know what else to

do. Someday, there might be a way to identify these people and bury them properly so they

could rest in peace. After she had quietly tucked away each of the boxes and cleaned the dark

stains, she felt drained.

Now, she could devote her full attention to investigating the place that would be her refuge

during the war above. The buried complex was quite remarkable with laboratory equipment

that far surpassed anything she had seen in the library archives. The tall, blocky units with

spinning tape feeds and blinking lights were obviously powerful computers. Thick electrical

conduits ran through the walls, distributing power from generators that must have been

located in a deeper grotto.

In a separate control room, she found a throbbing device studded with crystal rods and

vacuum tubes. It glowed blue-white with energy, crackling as tiny sparks discharged across

electrodes and thrummed through conduits into the ceiling. A signal generator? It seemed to

be sending out a pulsing message—but to whom? The system itself must have been designed

by those long-ago slans, perhaps the original children of Samuel Lann, or maybe the more

recent inhabitants who had died in the shootout. Either way, was there anyone left who could

receive such a transmission? Were there still slans out in the wreckage of Centropolis? Staring

at the machinery, she didn’t know how to respond to the signal, how to listen to what it might

be saying.

As she continued her explorations, Anthea realized that the whole underground facility had

been steadily changing ever since she and the baby had arrived—powering up,
awakening
.

When the Porgrave sensors had recognized the arrival of a slan, dormant systems began to

come online again.

The slan scientists in this base, whoever they were, had created technology capable of

detecting members of their race. Anthea realized that if such sensors had fallen into the hands

of the secret police, then no slan would ever be safe. The inhabitants of this base would have

given their lives to protect that invention.

In the laboratory rooms, she found neatly stacked notebooks, records signed by a slan

scientist named Peter Cross. In addition to the hand-written logs, she also found a recording

loop and a viewer similar to the one she had used in the library archives. She installed the reel

and played it, seeing Peter Cross in person. He was a handsome man with bright eyes, dark

curly hair cut short, and a high brow. He made no effort to hide the fine slan tendrils that

dangled at the base of his neck.

Cross spoke at length into the recorder about complex technical matters, describing how