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starting to form on their lips, and troubled expressions slowly began to dawn on their faces. It

wasn’t working anymore!

Knowing their control was slipping, he and Kathleen threw themselves forward in unison

with all the speed they could muster. Jommy seized the first guard’s pistol and shot the second

man, while Kathleen knocked away the skinny courier’s arm. Because the man’s hands were

already slick with nervous sweat, the pistol slipped out of his grip and clattered to the floor.

Gray reached through the bars of his cell. “Kathleen! Jommy! You shouldn’t be here. You’re

going to get caught.”

“No, sir—we’re going to free you,” Jommy said.

Kathleen snatched the courier’s pistol from the floor and pointed it at the remaining two

men. “Step away from the bars.”

Jommy found the controls and opened the cell door. Breathless with relief and grim-faced

with urgency, Gray stumbled out into the corridor. He said, “Petty has seized control of the

government, but he has no clue what he’s up against. We’ve got no time to lose.”

Before they could get away, though, four uniformed guards threw open the double doors

through which Jommy and Kathleen had entered. At the opposite end of the security wing,

another group of secret police barged in, led by John Petty himself. A trap! Kathleen, holding

the pistol in her hands, pointed from the two men they had disarmed, then toward the

oncoming guards.

“Don’t shoot, Kathleen,” Jommy warned. From both sides, the secret police closed in.

Gray’s shoulders slumped, and the slan hunter came forward. “Well, well, look at the two

fish I caught in my net!” He looked down at the dead guard whom Jommy had shot. “I seem to

be losing a lot of guards today.”

Petty disarmed Kathleen himself. The meek courier looked woefully embarrassed, and the

other thug at the cell looked sheepish for having been duped.

The slan hunter shook his head. “We’ve been watching this pathetic little escape attempt

unfold. After one of my own guards almost shot me, you didn’t honestly think I would leave

your cell unmonitored? You could have spies everywhere.”

“Then what took you so long?” Jommy asked.

“I found it amusing, but time pressure forced me to act. I require your access codes and

your command knowledge, Mr. President.”

Gray straightened. “Then you finally believe me about the extent of our current crisis? How

deeply the tendrilless infiltration goes?”

Petty looked as if he had just swallowed a lemon whole. “I don’t trust you, Gray, any more

than I trust these other two dirty slans. But I have no choice at the moment.” He gestured to

the guards. “Bring the three of them to the command-and-control center. Even with all the

resources of the secret police, I can only destroy one enemy at a time.”

«
^
»

Even though the enemy spacecraft continued to drop their bombs all across the city, the looters

were already out. They wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this.

Ducking instinctively against the concussions of explosions and showers of dust and debris,

Anthea ran alongside the trembling buildings in search of a place where she could protect

herself and her infant son. She still wore only her hospital gown, the loose overcoat, and

too-large shoes stolen from the doctor’s office.

In an upscale shopping district she found several department stores with smashed display

windows, brick and stone fallen onto the sidewalk. Before this, Anthea had never stolen

anything in her life, but many things had changed. She clung to the baby and picked her way

over the rubble, venturing into one of the stores.

A young man loomed in front of her. He had bad teeth, frizzy black hair, and dust all over

his face. “This is my store! Don’t you even think about coming in here to steal.” His clothes

hung awkwardly on him—a new and expensive leather jacket, suit pants, a formal shirt. She

noticed tags still dangling from the garments. He squared his shoulders and leaned closer, as if

to frighten her away with his bad breath. “The police have orders to shoot looters, you know.”

“I just need some clothes. That’s all.”

“Steal clothes from somewhere else. Don’t take mine. These are all mine!”

Remembering how she had sent the ambulance driver crashing through the windshield

with a single kick, Anthea knew that she could easily subdue this overblown creep. But she did

not want to draw attention to herself, and she was afraid of what she might do to him. “I’ll go

somewhere else, then.”

“That’s for sure.” The young man puffed out his chest and pretended to threaten her again.

She continued along the street, dodging debris as a nearby building exploded. Four of the

angular attack craft swooped toward one of the Centropolis defense planes as soon as it took

off, blasting it out of the sky. A fireball erupted in a skyscraper directly across the street,

sending a shower of broken windows and shattered concrete. Anthea ducked under the

green-and-white awning of a deserted coffee shop as shards of glass rained down, stabbing into

the stretched canvas.

Farther down the street, Anthea found another clothing store, as yet unclaimed by scrawny

looters. She kicked open the door. Inside the dim shadows, she ransacked the hangers and

racks until she found a serviceable dress and comfortable shoes. She also tried on a beige

overcoat and rounded up a soft powder-blue blanket for the baby. She wrapped him carefully

to hide his fine tendrils.

Now they appeared normal, even if the rest of the world had gone crazy. She felt a faint

hope that she and her baby might actually have a fighting chance. “I won’t let you down,

Davis,” she whispered.

Anthea longed to go back to the brownstone apartment she had called home, but after the

alarms in the hospital, the secret police would have tracked down Davis’s address. They had his

body, his wallet. Even during the ongoing attack, the ruthless slan hunters might have sent

operatives to her home.

Neither she nor her husband had ever done anything that might threaten the security of

Earth, but the secret police weren’t going to ask for explanations or alibis. If they found her and

the slan baby, they would simply open fire and chalk up the victims as another victory.

She kept looking for a place where she and the baby could hole up and wait. The city itself

was on fire. Curls of black smoke rose like chimneys to the sky. Attacking spacecraft and

Centropolis defense planes engaged in dogfights overhead.

Then she came upon a building made of thick, reinforced stone. So far it had withstood the

air attacks. Chiseled in crisp letters above the entrance were comforting words:
Main Public

Library
.

Anthea dashed inside the large building. Due to the attack, all the patrons had fled, and the

library was like a hollow mausoleum. The homey, familiar scent of books surrounded them.

“Hello?” Her voice echoed among the stacks.

Hearing her voice, a pot-bellied man with a blue-striped necktie strutted out of an office

and came to greet them with open hands and a broad smile. “Hello, hello! Welcome to the

library.”

“Are you open? Can we come in here?”

“Oh, ma’am, we’re certainly open for business. Didn’t you see the library hours posted on

the door?”

“I was afraid with the air-raid sirens and everything—”

The man made a dismissive gesture. “Tut, tut! The library hours are set in stone and have

been followed for many years. We can’t change things just because of an external distraction. Is

there something in particular you were looking for? A reference book, perhaps? A good

novel?”

Relief rushed through her. “Sanctuary. My baby and I need a place to … to wait out the

attack. We can’t go home.”

“Ah, of course. I was hoping you might want to browse the shelves, but you’re certainly

welcome here. All are welcome.”

The librarian had large, expressive eyes and heavy jowls that looked like hanging suitcases

of extra skin. His straight hair was chestnut brown, but an inch or so near the roots was

grayish-white, as if he had once regularly dyed his hair but had given up because it was too

much effort. Round spectacles made his eyes seem larger.

“I’m Mr. Reynolds, the head librarian—apparently the
only
librarian who puts his

responsibilities above personal fear.” Reynolds scratched the jowl on his right cheek. “As soon

as the bombs began to fall, my fellow workers became ill and had to go home. Apparently,

something called an ‘air-raid flu.’ I intend to research it when I have a spare moment.” He

pushed his glasses up on his face. “Come into the central stacks and my administrative office.

It’s safest there.”

They reached a room filled with shelves of bound reference books, neatly organized

volumes of records and transcripts. “I keep our history section here. Fiction is on Floor 1,

periodicals and study carrels located on Floor 2. Is there anything in particular I can assist you

with right now? Since all of my co-workers have disappeared, I have gotten behind on my

shelving work. But the patron always comes first.”

Anthea felt intolerably weary. “I’d just like a chair to sit in and maybe a glass of water.”

Soon she would have to breast-feed the infant. She had no supplies, no diapers or bottles.
I’m

not a very prepared new mother
, she realized. Then again, she hadn’t expected to be hunted

down like an animal, or for enemy ships to bombard the city.

Reynolds showed her a comfortable chair and dutifully brought her a cone-shaped paper

cup from the gurgling water cooler. She took a grateful sip. Outside they could hear the

rumbles of continued bomb strikes.

The librarian looked toward the window with indignation. “The enemy can destroy our

buildings and kill our people, but so long as they do not eliminate our books, they cannot

destroy our civilization.” He smiled at her. “Without our historical and scientific knowledge,

without our great tales and brave heroes, we would be giving up our very humanity.”

Humanity
, she thought, suppressing a shudder.

He saw the desperation on her face, the helpless baby wrapped in a powder-blue blanket.

“Of course I will help you. Stay here, and I’ll do whatever I can.”

Then, as if to spite him, all the power went out. The racks of fluorescent lights died,

plunging the stacks into darkness relieved only by the faint light from outside windows. The

baby fussed and cried, picking up on Anthea’s own anxiety.

Untroubled, Mr. Reynolds moved chairs and a metal cart like a blind man perfectly

familiar with the layout of the room. Before long, he returned, struck a long wooden match,

and lit several candles, which he placed in holders on the table. “Always be prepared, that’s

what I say. I would never want to be without the ability to read.”

Carrying a candle in one hand, he rolled a book-laden cart through the stacks and,

squinting in the dimness, continued to shelve volumes where they belonged. He piled

reference tomes in the middle of a table so that all could peruse them.

Within moments, surrounded by unread books in the glow of candlelight, Anthea felt

warm and cozy and safe for the first time in hours. She held the baby on her lap, kissed his

forehead. He began to coo and make noises, not crying but simply experimenting with his

vocal cords, his lungs.

“I hate to be a bother, but I must remind you that this is a library, ma’am.” Mr. Reynolds

pushed a battered old book back into place. “I will allow you to stay, but only if your baby

remains quiet. We abide by strict rules here.”

As soon as Reynolds had half-jokingly stated his conditions, the baby in her arms instantly

fell silent.

«
^
»

Guards and emergency-response personnel ran through the halls of the grand palace. Panicked

civil servants scrambled for bomb shelters or tried to evacuate from the huge building,

streaming to designated rendezvous points. Others frantically grabbed telephones to call their

families and loved ones.

Despite the evacuation signal, many functionaries and bureaucrats remained at their desks,