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over two decades ago. Did the New Men know then they were going to invade the Oikumene? Did they begin to infiltrate the Commonwealth back then?
    The inferences were horrible. The evidence pointed to a long-term infiltration. There were traitors among them, people who had sided with the invaders.
    Maddox laughed bleakly. Lieutenant Noonan’s tale would unleash a witch-hunt among the military. How long would he last under that kind of scrutiny with a burning mentality for vengeance? If High Command came to a similar conclusion about him…would the Intelligence people torture him for information he didn’t have? If the New Men were that superior in technology and ability— I have to run. But where will I go? Will my father’s people take me in? Wouldn’t genetically superior people look down on a half-breed?
    Maddox stared at the melting cubes in the tumbler. He laughed again, a hopeless sound. He wasn’t used to making those. This was all a theory, nothing more. Surely, there were other explanations for his enhanced physical abilities.
    Maybe I’m just gifte d. Maybe I’m a sport, a mutant. Don’t those appear in a population from time to time?
    He cocked his head, realiz ing he’d just heard a quiet click from outside. Slowly, he lowered himself until he crouched on the rug and concentrated, listening. His eyes widened. He heard the soft hum of antigravity pods outside his apartment.
    Yes, s omething was outside his window. The drapes were shut. He’d have to crawl over to the window and peer out to see what it was. He lived on the fortieth floor. That meant— A crash sounded. The living room window blew inward. Because he crouched low, the spray of shards that shredded his curtains flew over him except for one. That sliver of glass grazed the top of his shoulder, drawing blood.
    Maddox hadn’t turned on the lights. That was a piece of good fortune because he wasn’t spotlighted now. He looked up from his position. A sleek air-van lifted into sight about thirty meters away. A side door slid open on the van, and two operatives readied themselves for a leap. They wore repulse-packs, body armor and helmets with masks. Each of them carried a stubby shotgun-type weapon.
    Tanglers! They’re man-hunters. Did Octavian Nerva send them?
    Maddox had no way of knowing. He also lacked a weapon. Simply running seemed like a poor idea. He had to upset their timing.
    As the van closed the distance, sliding nearer to the window, Maddox reached up to the liquor cabinet. His fingers curled around the tumbler. The two hunters jumped, gliding toward his smashed window. Beyond them hovered the air-van with the open side door. Through that, Maddox spied the driver at the controls. It was a narrow opening.
    With a snarl, Maddox stood, cocked his arm and hurled the tumbler. It paid to do the unexpected. His glass would bounce off body armor and mask alike , so hurling it at the approaching hunters seemed futile.
    The tumbler sped past the two, reached the open van and shot through the narrow opening. It failed to connect with the driver’s head. Instead, the glass struck his armored window and shattered. A shard struck the driver’s face. His arms shot out and , likely, his foot didn’t remain in the right place. The air-van lifted, accelerating fast. One of the hunters must have noticed something amiss. He glanced back.
    Maddox was already moving away from them.
    The second hunter cocked his head as if listening to an earbud. Then their repulse-packs brought them through the window and into Maddox’s living room. One of them struck the back of the couch with his shins. That upset his balance. The hunter slammed onto his chest against the rug. The other landed smoothly, his legs churning as he ran.
    Already moving, Maddox thought fast, gauging his options. They must have struck in the living room because someone in the van had radar and knew his precise location. Now, for as long as it took the driver to recover and bring the