by Eric Flint
Joanna let out a sarcastic snort. "A strange way to define victory—your planet taken over, your government disbanded, your cities destroyed, and your secret police force wiped out, while you hide here, underground. Yes, Petty, it sure sounds like you've won."
With a defensive snarl, Petty set the pistol down on a lab table next to his armored vehicle. He turned back to face Jommy. "She's right, you know, much as I hate to admit it. There isn't really a point anymore. I killed Lorry, but the tendrilless are still coming. We can't fight them, and we're all going to be wiped out before long—but I'll do this for my own satisfaction." He lifted his fists, too. "I don't need anything but my bare hands to put an end to you once and for all, Jommy Cross."
Jommy held the slan hunter's gaze. "Whenever you're ready."
They slowly circled each other. Joanna and Kathleen stepped back toward the armored car. Anthea watched warily next to Kier Gray.
Jommy knew that the chief of secret police had thorough practice in hand-to-hand fighting, while he himself had never been formally trained. However, Granny had turned him into a scrappy young man who could take care of himself. Right now he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Petty's throat.
He punched, ducked as the other man swung back, then withdrew to hold up his guard. With a sneer, the slan hunter said, "Why so fancy? This isn't some formal boxing contest." Then he threw himself headlong into Jommy's abdomen, butting with enough force to knock the wind out of him.
Straining to catch his breath, Jommy pummeled him on the back. The two men grappled, broke apart again, then flung themselves upon each other. Jommy didn't have his tendrils, no way of using his abilities to read Petty's thoughts for a hint as to the moves his opponent might be planning. He defended himself with animal fury.
Petty crashed a fist into Jommy's left eye, and an explosion of pain made him reel backward. He shook his head to clear his vision, but his eyelid began to swell, puffing shut.
Petty slashed with an open hand and curled fingers, trying to use his nails to jab the other eye, but Jommy caught his wrist. He pulled, practically wrenching his opponent's arm out of its socket, and tumbled the other man to the floor. Shaking his head again, Jommy regained his balance. He stood back and allowed Petty to get to his feet again.
The slan hunter stood up, flexing his sore arm, and gave Jommy a curious look. "Following rules and niceties? What's your game, Cross?"
"You think fighting fair and being honorable is a game? I feel sorry for you, Mr. Petty."
That angered the slan hunter, who flung himself upon Jommy again in a flurry of pummeling fists. Several hard blows caught the young man on the shoulder, in the chest. One even glanced off his chin, but Jommy struck back, a quick rabbit punch to the middle of the man's chest, another to his abdomen. Then, as Petty tried to recover, Jommy hit him again squarely on the jaw.
The slan hunter staggered backward—and tripped on Jem Lorry's body. With his feet knocked out from under him, he sprawled flat on his back, cracking his head on the hard floor.
Jommy pounced, putting one foot on the fallen man's chest, glaring down at him. "I should just kill you, Petty. You deserve it. But I've defeated you—that's worse. It doesn't matter how long any of us lives now, because you know you've been bested by me."
The slan hunter worked his jaws as if looking for words to spit. Jommy glared at him one last time, then took his foot off the man's chest. "It's over. Nothing will bring back my parents or undo all the harm you've done, but I've had my revenge."
Petty glowered as he struggled to get up, to gather his dignity. Then, moving with the swiftness of a striking rattlesnake, he reached into the lining of his tattered black jacket and yanked out a second pistol, one of the weapons favored by the secret police. "Maybe none of us will survive—but I'll certainly survive longer than you."
Only a few feet from the slan hunter and his pistol, Jommy tried to dive out of the way. The sound of gunfire was deafening inside the underground slan hideout. Kathleen screamed, rushing forward.
Then John Petty twitched, spasmed, and slumped face-first to the stone floor. His gun clattered on the ground, and his head lolled to one side. He blinked his eyes in shock. A great wound on the side of his chest pumped blood. He gasped and gurgled.
Kathleen set his other weapon back on the table. "It's what he deserved," she said matter-of-factly. "It's what he did to me."
She ran up to Jommy, throwing her arms around him and gave him a hug nearly strong enough to knock the breath out of him again.
CHAPTER 41
The gigantic tendrilless occupation fleet was still on its way. Earth didn't have a chance.
Jommy and his four companions gathered in the surveillance room to study images from small slan sentry probes that drifted in space beyond the Moon. The bright lunar backdrop filled most of the visiplates, its barren landscape reflecting golden sunlight. The mountains and craters were scorched by unfiltered solar radiation during the half-month of day and frozen by impenetrable cold the rest of the time.
As Joanna worked to adjust the views on the visiplates, he marveled at the extreme resolution of the pictures being transmitted from so far away. It only made the heavily armed enemy fleet seem more terrifying.
"They're passing the Moon now." Joanna looked up at her companions. "That means they're ahead of schedule. They'll be here in less than a day."
"How can we possibly stop them?" Kathleen said. Gray, Anthea, and Joanna all looked just as hopeless.
Jommy wracked his brain, hoping to pull a miracle out of his hat. Even slan technology wouldn't help them now. If his father or any of the surviving slans had been capable of stopping a force so powerful, then they would never have needed to hide underground for so many years.
As rank upon rank of attack ships cruised by, huge atomic-powered wheels, Anthea was more intent on the round, dark lunar craters. She leaned closer to one of the large viewing plates. "Look, something's happening on the Moon."
Jommy saw that, indeed, as the armada cruised over the stark lunar landscape, the circular gouges scooped out by ancient meteor impacts began to shift and change. Unexpected lines of orange sliced across the crater bottoms, as if the rocky floor were cracking . . . splitting open.
Then craters all across the surface of the Moon began to glow and open. Joanna exclaimed, "The crater floors are artificial!" The neat fissures widened, spreading apart as camouflaged doorways to reveal a huge and mysterious complex beneath.
"Those aren't craters at all," Kathleen said. "They look like—"
"They're hangars," Jommy cried. "Hidden hangars."
The tendrilless occupation force reacted in a flurry to the remarkable and unexpected changes below. Their formal ranks broke apart as the gigantic atomic-powered ships took evasive action.
After the artificial crater floors yawned open, enormous warships climbed out like moray eels hidden in a coral reef. A few tendrilless ships opened fire without further provocation—and without effect. The strange vessels continued to launch by the hundreds, thousands, then tens of thousands.
Kathleen was frantic and confused. "What are those ships? Who are they?"
"This is not possible," Gray said in barely a whisper. "I never suspected!"
Jommy couldn't keep his grin hidden. "You know who they are, Kathleen. It's no wonder even John Petty couldn't find them. No one could find them! They chose the most unexpected, the best possible hiding place. That's where they've been all these years—the true slans!"
After being defeated in the centuries of war, the bulk of the true slans had simply vanished. Everyone assumed that the defeated race had been wiped out, with only a few stragglers living in fear of their lives. But in reality, they had fled to the Moon, using their knowledge and ingenuity to tunnel deep underground. Looking at all the open craters, Jommy could barely comprehend the scope of their vast civilization.
"They've been busy all this time," Jommy said with admiration in his voice.
Wa
rship after warship launched out of the huge crater hangars, arced gracefully around in lunar orbit, and utterly overwhelmed the occupation force from Mars.
Several of the panicked tendrilless ships continued to fire, but their weapons had no effect on the exotic armor of the lunar fleet. Instead of retaliating, the true slan warships simply blocked off the invaders and prevented them from proceeding to Earth.
Joanna was both amazed and agitated. "Those slan ships can easily wipe out the tendrilless fleet. They should remove the threat. It's the obvious thing to do."
"Obvious perhaps . . . but maybe not the correct action," Gray said. "The true slans know that the tendrilless are our brothers, too."
"More like prodigal sons," Kathleen pointed out.
The lunar warships sent out energy bursts that dampened the power fields of the invading fleet, shutting down the tendrilless ships and deactivating their weapons. The entire invasion force hung silent and helpless in space. To Jommy, it seemed like a patient parent dealing with a child having a tantrum.
While the true slan ships corralled the defeated occupation fleet, several warships from the Moon streaked off at incredible speed toward Earth. The true slans' engines were obviously far superior to anything the tendrilless had used.
Even before the emissaries arrived, the leader of the true slans commandeered all transmission bands. He broadcast stern words across every radio, every communication line, every wireless set. The words boomed out, clear and final. "We demand a cessation of all hostilities. We will allow no more of this destructive war between tendrilless slans and humans. We are all bound by our common humanity, regardless of our genetic differences."
On one of the visiplates an image resolved to show a distinguished older gentleman with a silvery gray beard, a high brow, and neat hair. He stood on the command deck of one of the lunar warships. Distinctive tendrils were plain from the back of his neck, fine fleshy threads that extended longer than his hair. Jommy thought he looked strangely familiar, though he was sure he'd never seen the man before in his life.
"I have detected a clear signal transmitted from a primary slan base, and I will go there immediately. I wish to speak to any government representatives, any leaders who have survived this unfortunate conflict." The man leaned forward and introduced himself. "I am Commander Andrew Cross."
CHAPTER 42
While President Kier Gray prepared to face the slan delegation from the Moon, Jommy felt a knot in his stomach. He was about to meet his own grandfather.
With Jem Lorry dead on the floor, Joanna volunteered to speak for the Tendrilless Authority. President Gray was ready to tackle the rest of the negotiations himself, deciding to deal with the remnants of Petty's secret police later.
Commander Cross arrived in the underground base with ten slan emissaries. Cross wore a black military uniform with gold piping, crisp creases, and a panoply of complex awards and badges. The other delegates were a mixture of politicians, scientists, medical staff, and tactical experts. All the true slans had long, healthy looking tendrils; secure beneath the craters of the Moon, they had never needed to hide what they were. Jommy knew instinctively that a flurry of silent thoughts must be flashing back and forth between them, but he was cut off from them all.
Commander Cross's eyes flicked from side to side, inspecting the underground laboratory and base. He extended his hand toward Gray. "Mr. President, it's a pleasure to meet you in person, at last."
Gray smiled. "Occasional messages and secret couriers aren't good enough any more. I'm glad your people finally decided to come out in the open."
"You knew where they were?" Kathleen asked, surprised. "You knew the slan civilization existed all along? I thought all those widely publicized slan messages and the unmanned drones were fake!"
"Not all of them. I was aware that someone spoke for the true slans, but I didn't know any concrete information until now. The main populace of slans remained in hiding. I was only aware of a few solitary slans, some of whom worked with me in the grand palace. Others accomplished quite a bit all by themselves." Gray shot an encouraging glance toward Jommy. "Like this young man."
Jommy drew a deep breath and stepped forward. "Commander Cross, it's my pleasure to meet you. My name is Jommy."
The older man's eyes lit up. "Jommy Cross? You're Peter's son. You're alive!" Throwing aside his military reserve, Cross wrapped his arms around the young man and clapped him hard on the back. "But why can't I sense you? You're a true slan, just like your mother and father—" He turned Jommy around, then looked with a sick horror at where his tendrils had been cut off. "What have they done to you? Oh, Jommy!"
As Jommy explained in a halting voice, he felt great emotions bubbling up within him, both excitement and sadness, hard determination and total exhaustion.
Cross stepped back and looked appraisingly at his grandson. "You're safe now, Jommy. You're all safe." His lips quirked in a smile. "As you might have noticed, we've brought enough reinforcements to see that everyone behaves. Our ships will root out any last tendrilless resistance and stop the continued destruction."
"But what took you so long?" Kathleen asked. "The tendrilless attacked days ago. Most of our cities are already ruined."
Andrew Cross hung his head. "I am ashamed that we didn't take action sooner. We slans are much longer-lived than normal humans, and after so many generations, so many centuries, hiding had unfortunately become a habit for us.
"Centuries ago, after the great breach between the tendrilless and true slans, we went underground in our complex on the Moon. We faced many difficulties in those first few years. Lunar resources are scarce. We had to manufacture water and air, scavenge metal from meteorites beneath the craters. While the original wars had knocked Earth's civilization back to a level from many centuries before, we were able to build our base and develop our technology. If the humans had known we were hiding on the Moon, they would have devoted every resource to a space program. Nothing like an enemy to focus the attention of a government! So we maintained a low profile.
"Recently, when the tendrilless war started, we watched by tapping into news broadcasts and wireless transmissions. We had known for some time that the tendrilless were infiltrating your political systems and your communications, but still we did not act.
"Some true slans insisted on letting the factions hammer it out for themselves. They insisted that we shouldn't get involved, that we had no debt to either side. When the great air-strikes began and your cities fell, those same isolationist slans wanted to let you all destroy yourselves while we remained safe on the Moon. They were willing to abandon any true slans remaining on Earth." He hung his head. "I knew that my son Peter and his wife had been killed long ago. We thought the same thing had happened to you, too, Jommy."
Jommy felt a lump in his throat.
"A large group of dissenters—including myself—demanded that we take measures to save our human and tendrilless step-brothers. Sadly, we were out-voted. But when we detected the clear distress signal emanating from the base here, I had the leverage I needed. I showed the proof, called for another vote, and my isolationist opponents backed down. That was when we launched our raids."
"What distress signal?" Anthea asked, carrying her infant in her arms. His tendrils waved in the air, as if he could sense the other slans in the chamber. "Is that what my baby and I triggered when we found this empty place?"
"It was just you and your baby? The base was empty?" Commander Cross said, amazed. "You did it yourselves? Only two of you?" The slan delegates, the scientists and politicians, looked up at her. Cross's disbelief began as a chuckle, then grew to full laughter.
"What's so funny?" Anthea asked.
"I argued that there must be a whole enclave of true slans. Hundreds if not thousands! I convinced the isolationists that we'd have an entire resistance movement here, ready to go."
"You do have a resistance movement," Jommy said. "The five of us."
The commander grinned. "And if you
're anything like your father, Jommy, I should not underestimate you."
* * *
Gray motioned for the slan emissaries to sit at a long conference table in the underground chamber. Anthea, who was the most familiar with the layout and the stored items in the secret base, found food and drinks for them, then went to nurse her baby.
"Now this is the way a summit meeting is supposed to be," Kathleen said with a bittersweet smile. "I miss Granny and her apple pie, though."
Jommy felt a pang, trying not to keep a score of how much he had lost in recent days.
Commander Cross laid out his plans, which were already set in motion. "We will certainly encounter hot spots of tendrilless activity for some time yet, even without Jem Lorry to provoke them. Some of the invaders will still fight, but it's a lost cause. They will realize that eventually. I just hope we can impose peace before too many others die."
