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exposed.” He grinned. “The results should be quite readily apparent.”

“You mean the tendrilless on Mars are even now—?” Jommy tried to fit all the pieces

together.

“Yes. The mutation rays are engendering the growth of tendrils. The Tendrilless Authority

and all the people remaining in Cimmerium are rubbing the backs of their heads and finding

quite a surprise. Everyone aboard the occupation ships is doing the same. They’re all true slans

now.”

Jommy pictured what must be happening in the Martian city and aboard the giant

wheel-shaped vessels. Tiny strands would emerge from the backs of their heads, growing like

fine antennas. They would suddenly be able to pick up each other’s thoughts—and what chaos

that would cause! But the newly awakened tendrilless wouldn’t know how to use their new

skills. It would be a cacophony in their heads and an uproar in Cimmerium.

Kathleen shook her head wryly. “If Jem Lorry were still alive, I can just imagine the

expression on his face as he transformed into one of his most hated enemies.”

“And he would suddenly know just what everyone else thought of him,” Joanna added.

“So, you see, there is no longer any need for conflict because the two parties can’t tell each

other apart,” Cross concluded.

Jommy touched the back of his head, gathered the courage to ask his question. “And what

about me? Can you regrow my tendrils? Can I be a normal slan again?”

His grandfather shook his head sadly. “Alas, it isn’t the latent genetics to be triggered in

you, Jommy. The mutation rays won’t do anything to you, or to humans.”

“We don’t know how to convert humans yet, but the key is at hand, I’m sure.” Philcroft

looked at one of the other slan doctors, who nodded.

Kier Gray responded with a tired smile. “People can always find a reason for conflict,

Commander, but you’ve just removed one of the largest ones.”

Joanna looked from the military commander to the slan scientist. “You mean … I won’t

have to be tendrilless anymore, either? You can transform me as well?” She scratched the back

of her head as if searching for delicate tendrils there. “I’ll know what it’s like?”

“You have the genes,” Dr. Philcroft said. “All tendrilless slans do.”

Anthea was also intrigued, holding up her baby. “Even those of us who didn’t know we

were tendrilless slans.”

*

*

*

While the political delegates worked with President Gray to hammer out the details of an

interim government, Commander Cross sat with Jommy and Kathleen.

“I miss your father terribly,” the older man said. “He was such a brave and brilliant young

man. Peter and your mother insisted on staying on Earth even though we could have brought

them—and you—to safety on the Moon. But Peter was too dedicated to his work, and your

mother refused to leave him. She clung to her hope. They both wanted to make a better world

for you.” Commander Cross shook his head. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t keep them safe, that I

couldn’t protect
you
, Jommy. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your tendrils.” His

voice quavered.

“I survived,” Jommy said, sitting straight, “and I’ll continue to survive. Those tendrils

defined what other people thought of me, but they didn’t define
me
.”

“What was Jommy’s father working on that was so important down here?” Kathleen asked.

“We have his disintegrator weapon, and we read many of his journals and lab notes.”

“Peter was laying the groundwork for the return of the real slans and the conversion of the

tendrilless, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy. He understood that slans had to defend

themselves in the meantime, which is why he invented that horribly destructive disintegrator.

He was a good man, Jommy.”

Jommy smiled. “I remember that much.”

Anthea walked in holding the baby boy. Commander Cross looked at her, his tendrils

raised and waving; he seemed to be in contact with the infant.

“That child is a sign that the waiting is over. More and more true slan children will be born

again. This is the start of a new order, a new hope.” His brow furrowed. “But that baby is so

young, what psychologists call a
tabula rasa
—a blank slate or empty vessel, just waiting to be

filled.”

Anthea kissed the baby’s pink forehead. “Maybe he’s waiting for a safe and happy life.”

Suddenly the scientists shouted from across the underground chamber. Dr. Philcroft’s

voice rang out clearly. “Commander Cross, come quickly! And Jommy, you too—this is

important. You’ll never believe what we found!”

«
^

Inside one of the underground medical labs, the slan scientists had discovered equipment they

had not expected to find away from the lunar complex.

“This is some of the best slan medical technology that we’ve developed,” said Philcroft.

“Peter Cross, or someone with him, must have built them according to our designs from the

Moon. And the machines are still operational.”

Kier Gray had also come running, hearing the urgency in the scientists’ voices. “That’s the

same sort of technology we used to save my daughter.” He gave Kathleen’s shoulder a warm

squeeze. “Otherwise she would never have survived the bullet wound in her head. But with a

slan miracle device like this, we brought her back. I was sure the only such machine on Earth

was destroyed when the tendrilless leveled the palace.”

“I saw the tendrilless use that technology in Cimmerium, too. They reconstructed a woman

with a severe head injury.” Jommy looked at Dr. Philcroft. “But why the sense of urgency? You

called us in here—”

Philcroft blinked his eyes. “Don’t you see? It’s a
reconstruction
device.” Clinically, the doctor

touched Jommy’s head, turned him around to inspect the scabbed-over ends of his severed

tendrils. “We can use it to grow your tendrils back.” The other slan doctors agreed. “Given this

equipment, it should be a simple enough procedure.”

Kathleen threw her arms around Jommy. He had not dared to hope, not even imagined a

miraculous solution. “I’m ready right now,” he said. “Let’s not delay.”

The reclining medical chair had armrests and an array of probes, mirrors, crystals, and a

dishlike metal cap that lowered over Jommy’s skull. It looked like a bizarre torture device that

John Petty might have created.

Dr. Philcroft adjusted the equipment. “Just lean back. We’ve already run diagnostics, so

there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll hear a pulsing sound and feel a tingling. I doubt it’ll hurt

… much.”

“It could never hurt as much as when they cut my tendrils off.” He closed his eyes, and

Kathleen took his hand.

The slan medical specialists discussed the various settings and readings; the machine was

already powered up. Lights blinked furiously, and the crystals glimmered. Jommy could

indeed feel throbbing transmission pulses like tiny electric ants crawling over the back of his

head and inside his brain. He imagined his cells dividing furiously, healing, growing. The

reconstruction device worked with incredible speed.

“I see them!” Kathleen cried. “It’s working.”

As the seconds passed, the room illumination seemed to grow brighter to Jommy, and

every background noise became clearer and sharper. Moment by moment, his senses increased

by orders of magnitude. The new-grown tendrils spread out, questing, drinking in

impressions.

Philcroft and his companions clucked excitedly amongst themselves. Then a shift happened

in Jommy’s mind, and he felt his primary sensory input starting to come from the back of his

head. Suddenly, beginning as a whisper that grew to a roar, he could hear other thoughts, fresh

impressions.

And there, like a bright light at the end of the tunnel, he found Kathleen’s mind and her

heart. They were connected again, mentally reunited at last. He felt a surge of love.

Philcroft switched off the machines, and Jommy sat up, breathless. He was healed—aware,

and alive, and
intact
. He gingerly touched his tendrils, then Kathleen’s. He climbed out of the

chair and drew a deep breath. “For all the misery and prejudice I experienced because of these

tendrils, I’m certainly glad to have them back!”

*

*

*

For the rest of the day, President Gray, Commander Cross, and Joanna Hillory made joint

announcements to the public at large. The three of them worked carefully to reassure the

survivors in the cities. They described their plans for rebuilding Earth and creating a bright

future for everyone, with peace among the races.

Meanwhile, now that Jommy’s tendrils had been healed, the slan scientists were intrigued

by the rest of Dr. Lann’s ancient equipment, which had been installed so long ago down here

in the secret base. They devoted their studies to understanding the brain-pattern records and

mental storage devices, mounting intact dataspools on the bulky generators. “Even we haven’t

concocted innovations like this.” Dr. Philcroft ran his finger along the transparent covering that

shielded a set of spinning information disks.

Anthea Stewart, feeling safe but somewhat lost, took care of her baby and tried to plan

ahead. She entered the research room, watching Philcroft and his unsuccessful attempts to

activate the strange, ancient device. When Anthea brought the infant close to the great

machine’s embedded detectors, though, the datadisks began spinning faster, lights flashed. The

machinery hummed with furious energy.

Philcroft cried out to his partners. “Did you do that?”

“I didn’t touch a single switch! It responded by itself.”

“It can’t activate spontaneously—there must have been some trigger.” Then the men

looked over at Anthea.

“I didn’t do anything!” She set the baby down in his blanket to keep him safe from the

machinery. His tiny tendrils were questing in the air as the old machinery spun and buzzed.

“The sensors detected a new presence,” Philcroft said. “It’s the baby.”

Anthea remembered how the Porgrave signal in the library archives had activated because

of her baby, how the whole underground base and its locator beacon had awakened from

dormancy when she had carried the child inside.

The pulsing continued. The slan doctors rubbed their own heads. “Can you feel it? A

targeted transmission, but I can’t understand it.”

Suddenly, the machinery stopped, the datadisks halted, the lights went dark on the control

panels.

“Did it short out?” Philcroft said.

“No, I think … I think it was just finished.”

Anthea glanced back down at her baby—and to her astonishment he lifted his head and

looked around with hungry curiosity. Using his small hands, he propped himself up, sitting in

his blankets. His tiny lips curved in an amazingly adult smile.

Then, in a perfect voice, he said, “The memory storage and transference worked perfectly.
I

am Samuel Lann
!”

*

*

*

Written by A. E. van Vogt and Kevin J. Anderson

Illustrated by Jennifer Miller

Kevin J. Anderson
is the author of many books and stories.

A. E. van Vogt
died in 2000 and was the author of
Slan
as well as many other books and

stories.

Lydia van Vogt
is the widow of A. E. van Vogt, the author of
Slan
.

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