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    themselves with using blunt clubs, perhaps even sharp-pointed electrical prods. He needed the
    “slan President” alive.
    The burly guards stopped as Petty faced the other man’s holding chamber. Inside, Gray
    paced and sweated, desperate to get out. Seeing the chief of secret police, he rushed to the bars.
    “Why didn’t you listen to me? You have to let me out.”
    “I don’t have to do anything, but you do. Remember who’s holding the cards here.”
    “You’ll just be holding a handful of rubble if we don’t solve this.”
    Grudgingly, Petty gestured for the guards to activate the cell’s unlocking mechanism. The
    barred door rattled aside, and the slan hunter stepped into the chamber with his three guards
    close behind him. “The slans are bombarding our city. Tell me how we fight against them.”
    “They aren’t true slans. They are our step-brothers, tendrilless slans bred centuries ago to
    move undetected among humanity. Now they mean to destroy both races.” When Petty gave
    him a skeptical frown, the deposed President insisted, “It is the tendrilless ones you should
    fear, not us. They have infiltrated your news media, your utility companies, your transportation
    systems.”
    “You’re trying to make me paranoid.”
    “You had a head start on that all by yourself.”
    “Why should slans hate other slans, whether or not they’ve got tendrils?”
    “Many shameful acts have been committed by both sides, and all the while humans were
    blind to it. Samuel Lann, the father of all slans, would disown every one of us if he were here.”
    A small-statured mousy man dashed down the hall, panting. He wore the crisp gray
    uniform and a blue armband of the palace service personnel, a courier. He clutched a scrap of
    paper in his hand. “Mr. Petty, President Gray … uh, whoever’s in charge. I have an urgent
    message! News.” He skidded to a stop and heaved great breaths. His face was red from the
    effort of running.
    The three guards glared at the mousy courier. Petty said, “Well, out with it, man!”
    “Jommy Cross and Kathleen Layton have escaped. Those two slans are on the loose!”
    The President saw his chance. While the others were startled by the announcement, he
    lunged from the cot and wrapped his hands around Petty’s thick neck. The momentum
    knocked the burly slan hunter back. “You fool, you’ve brought us all to ruin! We could have
    set up defenses in time. Now how many thousands, maybe millions, are going to die?”
    Two of Petty’s thugs grabbed the President’s arms, fighting so hard they ripped his shirt,
    but finally they tore his hands free from the chief’s throat. Petty coughed and choked. Thick
    red marks stood out on his neck. “How … dare you!”
    “In order to achieve true victory, one must dare a great deal.” It was the voice of one of the
    three brutish guards. He sounded unexpectedly erudite.
    Rubbing away his blurred vision, Petty turned to look at the man who now stood in a
    broad-shouldered fighting stance, his heavy-caliber pistol drawn from its holster. The wide,
    blunt muzzle pointed directly at John Petty.
    “What’s going on?” His damaged voicebox allowed no more than a rasp.
    The guard continued to act strangely. “Once I kill you and Kier Gray, the humans won’t
    have even a thread of hope. No one can lead them.” The pistol never wavered.
    “You—you’re one of them!” Petty squawked.
    “A tendrilless victory is assured.”
    With an explosive sound, the gunshot echoed in the cell, but the burly guard merely
    staggered, then stared in astonishment at the wet red hole the size of a grapefruit that had been
    blown through his chest.
    Outside, trembling at the door of the cell, the meek courier held his own gun in shaking
    hands. The blast seemed to have deafened him, while the recoil had nearly knocking him
    backward off his feet. “They … they said I was supposed to come armed before I delivered my
    message.” The man blinked,