Rolm kept close to the wall in order to make himself as 
small a target as possible.  His heart raced from the run he 
and his first sergeant had just made through booby-trapped 
halls and armed defenders to reach this far inside enemy 
headquarters.  Most of his troop had either been injured and 
fallen back to the outside again, or were killed outright by 
enemy soldiers.
	It was dangerous, he knew; fighting inside buildings.  
There was no room to run, and a leapord's normal tactic of 
stealth and surprise was all but useless.  Here the foxes 
who built the pyramid he was invading had all the surprises 
and stealth.  Here his camouflage spots offered no strategic 
advantage, nor did the jet-black pelt of his sole-surviving 
enlistedman.  Even their forest-pattern uniforms stood out 
in stark relief against the wood and paint walls.  
	Normally he would have retreated, saving what little 
was left of his platoon for another attack.  But they were 
too far inside to turn back now.  Besides, he was an officer 
in the military wing of the Leopard Clan, and he had his 
duty.  His duty, currently, was to work together with the 
military arms of all the other clans in destroying the 
diabolic organization known only as 'unity.'  
	They seemed to appear almost overnight, creating chaos 
throughout all the clans with their deceptively simple and 
seductive religious message.  The clan-leaders who were 
vying for this world didn't recognize the threat for what it 
was until it was almost too late.  When all the clans began 
to lose significant percentages of their people to the 
blasphemous group, then and only then did they declare a 
ceasefire amongst themselves and work out a plan to destroy 
Unity while it was still limited to only this one 
insignificant and still hotly-contested border world.
	It was the first time in recorded history that all the 
species of known space were working together.  The irony of 
the war against Unity wasn't lost on Rolm.
	He glanced to his side, making sure Median wasn't 
losing her nerve.  He was counting on her heavier and fully 
automatic Sweeper weapon to suppress any enemy fire once 
they got closer to the inner sanctum of Unity's charismatic 
leader, who called himself simply 'The One'.  Rolm had to 
credit the enemy soldiers with this much; they were 
committed to their cause, no matter how strange and evil it 
might be.
	Median noticed his gaze and tightened her grip on the 
long beryllium-copper barrel of her weapon.  "You needn't 
worry about me, Colonel," she smartly told him.  "I haven't 
let you down yet, have I?"
	"You and I have never had to fight indoors like this. 
This is their territory, and they have the home advantage."
	"Well.  Widowmaker here," she said while hoisting her 
weapon higher, "and I don't care.  These looneys are toast 
for what they did to my family.  And for what they did to 
me."
	Rolm looked down, almost without thinking.  Median was 
once a very attractive looking feline, sporting the deepest 
black fur and the brightest yellow eyes that he had ever 
seen.  Once upon a time, back when she wasn't wearing leaf-
patterned battle armor, she could catch any male's attention 
with nothing but a smile and a low throaty rumble.
	But that was before the civil war began; a lifetime 
ago, or a year, depending on whether you were in the 
fighting or not.  Before a Unity terrorist bomb killed all 
four of Median's family, amputated her tail at the base of 
the spine, and took out her right eye, leaving her 
disfigured and scarred for life.  Where once stood an ideal 
of leopard beauty, now stood a scarred and embittered 
warrior.
	Rolm looked up once more and locked gazes with Median's 
one remaining eye.  "It's almost over you know," he told 
her.  "Once we've captured The One, all these fanatics will 
surrender and quit trying to destroy the clan system that 
has served our collective races since before we first took 
to the stars."
	Median squinted, her eyepatch rising up a short 
distance.  "If I get the chance," she snarled, "I'm gonna 
blow the bastard to molecules.  Would serve him right after 
the way he sabotaged that Wolf Clan starship to drop halfway 
back into realspace in the middle of their flight back to 
the Primeworld!  I'm not afraid of dying, but being smeared 
into a ribbon 3 lightyears long." She shuddered.  "Not even 
a wolf deserves such a fate."
	"You are still under orders, sergeant," Rolm forcefully 
reminded her.  "We are to take him alive at all costs.  The 
only way you can shoot him is if he does something 
dangerous."
	"If he's breathing, he's dangerous!"
	"Median..."
	"All right, all right.  If you say we take him alive, 
then we take him alive... sir."  
	Rolm nodded and turned back to the corner once more.  
He was satisfied that Median would carry out his orders to 
the letter, though it was clear that she wasn't happy about 
it.  But this was a combat operation and he didn't have time 
to worry about such things.
	"Seems strange," he said, his ears alertly perked and 
focused ahead of him.  "We should be facing stronger 
opposition than this.  After all, this -is- his biggest 
stronghold, and we are almost to his chambers."
	"Maybe we've killed most of his fanatics already."
	"Fine by me, but I doubt that's the case.  They're 
holed up, collecting somewhere for a massive last-ditch 
defensive effort."
	"That, or intelligence botched up again and we aren't 
anywhere near his chambers.  Or maybe they are all in one of 
their prayer meetings."
	"A prayer meeting Median?  In the middle of combat?"
	"Why not?  They're all crazy anyway, believing what 
they do."  Median snorted in disgust.  "'Everyone is created 
equal.'  Bah!  It ignores the very foundation of natural 
law!"
	"Maybe.  But chasing a fox into his den is dangerous no 
matter how you look at it.  He has plenty of soldiers left, 
and he isn't afraid to throw them at us."
	"He should just give up and save us all some time.  
He's lost.  All of his followers are dead, except for those 
guarding him here."
	"Don't ever expect reasoning from the insane, Median."  
Rolm eased his head carefully around the corner, checking to 
see if the way was clear. 
	The long hallway was empty.  The white walls were 
adorned with colorful posters, reaching from the top of the 
ceiling to the floor every 10 feet or so.  He could just 
make out some of the revolutionary jargon written upon them.  
The symmetry and seemingly disciplined spacing was pleasing 
to Rolm's senses.  He could almost forget what they 
represented to him and his clan.  To all clans.
	At the end of the hall, he could make out a set of 
double sliding doors leading to his target's audience 
chamber.  That was where he and Median needed to go.
	But where the hindclaw were all of the guards that he'd 
expected here?
	"The way looks clear, Median," he said aside to her.
	She snorted again.  "Yeah, right.  And I'm a possum." 
	"I know, I know.  There's no way things are as safe as 
they'd have us believe.  But there are no doors or hiding 
places for them to surprise us from.  It's a straight shot 
right into the auditorium."
	"If you are so certain," Median said with a smirk, 
"then you can go first.  Sir."
	Rolm shook his head.  "I'm not certain of anything," he 
said, tensing up his legs.  "Just stay alert for trouble."  
With that he cautiously eased his way into the hallway, 
ready to jump back for cover in an instant. 
	Nothing happened.  
	He kept his back close to one wall while Median hugged 
the other, facing him.  They looked at each other for 
several seconds.  Rolm nodded, and the duo quietly walked 
down the eerily empty hallway.  Each step sounded like a 
thunderclap to Rolm, and he half-expected the very ground to 
grab his ankles as he walked.  He took his finger off the 
trigger of his pistol so that his nervous finger wouldn't 
accidentally fire it.  
	He looked around alertly, searching for anything that 
could offer either ambush, or cover in the event of a 
firefight.  But the wooden walls were smooth, save for the 
propaganda posters on the wall.  There wasn't even a 
suspension ceiling in the hall; just point-lights on a 
flexible rail running the entire length giving special 
illumination to the posters.  It was a 100 foot long killing 
field with nowhere to run or hide if there was any 
opposition at the end.
	Somebody had to go first.  He knew it, and so did 
Median.  Neither of them really wanted to be first on the 
scene, but here they were and here they would fight; 
provided there was someone to shoot at.  If worse came to 
worst, his clan would sing their praises from star to star 
for centuries to come.  It gave some comfort as he and 
Median carefully made their way down the hall; exposed and 
ripe for killing.
	Rolm looked at his partner, who appeared just as 
confused about the lack of defense as he did.  They were 
halfway to their target, and both looked nervously about the 
long hallway for anyplace the enemy could hide.  Rolm could 
smell the tension in Median's sweat from across the hall.  
If anyone was going to ambush them somehow, now was the time 
to strike.
	"Now!!" some unknown voice cried out.  Almost 
immediately there were ripping and tearing sounds as the 
dozen of enemy soldiers broke through the posters and rushed 
out of hiding!  In a flash, Rolm could see the alcoves 
hidden by the propaganda posters and the soldiers hidden 
inside them.
	Rolm raised his pistol and fired pointblank at the 
closest target.  There was a burst of light, a sudden scent 
of burned flesh and fur, and a painfilled cry.  The vulpine 
soldier never knew what hit him.  His cloth and leather 
armor weren't even close to being adequate against Rolm's 
Xenon Pulse laser.  The fox was scored through the heart in 
less time than it took his heart to beat its last. 
	At the same time Median had turned to face behind them.  
She began firing in full automatic mode!  The railgun spit 
out dozens of quartz monocrystals in rapid succession; each 
one travelling at more than twice the speed of sound.  She 
was gritting her teeth against the pain of the tremendous 
noise her weapon made as she mowed the attacking foxes down 
enmass.
	But 2 against 32 was impossible odds, no matter how 
good the weapons.  No sooner than had Median wiped out a 
dozen foxes, those behind her quickly swarmed over her and 
pinned her to the wall!  Their knives and bayonet-tipped 
Solsa rifles rose up and down through the joints in her 
armor.  Blood splashed behind each retreating stroke of 
every blade.  She screamed in pain, the sound ending with a 
gurgle as she was overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
	For his own part, Rolm wasn't doing much better.  
Seeing Median go down he suddenly realized that the way to 
the audience chamber was clear.  All the soldiers were 
concentrating on silencing their biggest threat first.  Her.  
Once they finished the job, then they would turn on him.  
	He didn't plan on sticking around.  Median was as good 
as dead, and he still had a mission to accomplish.  He ran 
as fast as he could down the hall, ignoring the vulpine's 
cries of alarm and orders to halt as they realized he'd 
somehow slipped past them.  He swore vengence for his fallen 
comrade as he dropped a smoke grenade and rushed headlong 
toward the auditorium.  He could hear the shouts of rage as 
the grenade suddenly went off and filled the hallway with a 
thick acrid-smelling smoke, preventing them from shooting 
him in the back.
	Rolm could feel moisture on his cheeks.  He told 
himself that it was due to catching a whiff of the smoke 
from the grenade.  He knew he didn't have time to mourn for 
his friend and comrade right now.  Not just feet away from 
the bastard responsible for her death!  A terrible resolve 
flashed through him as he reached the end of the hall and 
the set of double-doors, causing him to grit his teeth.
	Orders or no orders, he was going to kill their leader 
in as vicious and slow a method as he could think of!  It 
was the least he could do for Median.
	Raising his pistol to the ready position he gripped the 
handle to the double-doors with his left hand.  Then he felt 
a sharp pain flow up his arm and bloom out all over him.  
Rolm watched in shock as his pistol fell from his grasp and 
his hand fell away from the door's handle.  
	As his body crumpled in a heap at the door, he 
belatedly remembered the vulpine fondness for stuntraps on 
doorhandles.  

***

	He awoke later with his paws tied to his tail behind 
his back.  He was laying on his side, atop a wooden stage 
and surrounded by multicolored lights.  He groaned as he 
tried to shake the fuzziness from  his head and struggled to 
get his paws freed.
	"Ah.  You are awake at last," a quiet male vulpine 
voice said beside him.  "Good.  I was afraid you might miss 
the final act of our play, if you stayed unconscious much 
longer."
	Rolm lifted his head to see who was talking to him.  
Sitting in a simple woven chair next beside him was a 
smallish, grey fox dressed in a brown, loose, ill-fitting 
robe.  
	It didn't take long for Rolm to figure out who he was 
looking at.  "So," he said faintly.  "You must be the fox 
everyone calls 'the One,'."
	The fox smiled, and raised a glass of what looked like 
wine in a salute.
	"I never could put anything over on one of the leopard 
clan," he casually said.  "Not before catching you in my 
hall trap, that is."
	Rolm rolled over, and pulled his legs into his chest.  
He stretched, and managed to settle his body into a crouch 
facing his adversary.
	"Perhaps you'd like to try for two times out of three?" 
Rolm asked, a hint of ice in his voice.  "Cut me loose and 
I'll see if I can make it through the gauntlet again."
	"Now, what would be the point of that?"  The fox 
casually sipped his wine, never taking his eyes off the 
leopard.  
	"The point would be saving yourself and what's left of 
your followers.  Your war is over."
	"Oh, yes.  The war most certainly _is_ over."  The fox 
grinned even wider; a cocky, self-sure smile.  "But not the 
way you probably think it is."
	Rolm began to wonder if the tales of 'the One' being 
completely insane and divorced from reality were true.  
	"You'd better take a look outside, sir," he said, 
trying to free his hands once more.  "We have you 
surrounded.  Our clan system may not be perfect, but the 
constant competition amongst us has taken us from slogging 
around in the dust all the way to the stars and beyond."
	The fox leaned on his free hand and gazed thoughtfully 
at his captive.  
	"But at what price, hmm?  How many millions, if not 
billions of souls have perished in the centuries of constant 
bickering between the species?  How many starships and 
cities have been destroyed, all in the name of glory for one 
clan or another?  Do you know?  Do any of you even care?"
	"Competition is nature's way," Rolm replied, still 
struggling with the bindings around his wrists.  "'Only the 
strong shall survive.'  That was true before we all gained 
intelligence, and it is still true today."
	The fox shook his head several times.  "But it doesn't 
have to be that way," he said.  "We can work together, and 
accomplish feats far greater than we can by fighting each 
other."
	"A nice dream.  A beautiful and peaceful dream, but 
nothing more than that.  You'll never be able to make all 
the different species in the galaxy cooperate with one 
another.  It's impossible."
	"You all banded together to fight me, didn't you?"  The 
fox chuckled, and took another sip of his wine.  "Seems 
you've disproven yourself by your own actions."
	"Banding together to fight a common foe is one thing," 
Rolm said through clenched teeth.  "Living together is 
another.  It can't work.  All the clans are too different; 
too competitive.  And even if you could eliminate the 
ferocity and aggressiveness, all you'd accomplish would be 
the universal weakening of everyone in unison."
	"I don't believe that would happen."
	Rolm glared at his captor.  "And who the scrill do you 
think you are?" he yelled.  "You megalomaniac!  Who gave you 
the right to change the way the universe runs?  You whine 
and you cry about all the life lost in the clan method of 
rule!  How many have died in your name on this planet?  And 
how many have died fighting to stop you?"
	The fox shrugged unconcernedly.  
	"Surely you understand, being a soldier and all, that 
some losses are inevitable when fighting a war."
	"A war you lost!"
	"Oh, but I haven't lost..."  The fox smiled once more.  
A knowing smile that chilled Rolm's spine.
	"You and your ridiculous religious beliefs," Rolm said 
scornfully, "have murdered millions of people, your 
followers and others.  Now your followers are almost all 
dead, and your final stronghold conquered.  Yet you say you 
haven't lost the war."
	"I have not lost.  I have won."
	"The stories were right after all; you _are_ insane!"
	"I am not insane, Colonel Rolm."
	Just then, the noise of automatic weapons fire could be 
heard just outside the auditorium.  Rolm swiveled his ears 
to listen, and made out several dozen lupine voices yelling 
out over the din of the battle.  He also heard a number of 
vulpine voices, either cursing in terror or screaming in 
pain as they died.  
	"Do you hear that racket?" he said, his lips in a 
snarl.  "Those are wolf shock troops.  They work in teams, 
and they are expert in wiping out opposition inside 
buildings."
	The One nodded, seemingly unconcerned with the 
approaching wave of enemy soldiers.  
	"If they're wolves, then they'll probably have a score 
to settle with me, since my people sabotaged one of their 
ships."
	"You are beaten!" Rolm announced over the din.  "In 
about one minute, warriors are going to come through those 
doors and they are either going to capture you, or kill you!  
Why won't you wake up and face the facts?"
	The fox reached into his cloak and pulled out a small 
glass vial.  A test tube, the type of which was used to hold 
chemical or biological agents during experimentation.  
	He stood up, and left his wine sitting beside his 
chair.  Moving gracefully, he walked the few steps necessary 
to stand over Rolm's crouching body.  The fox looked down on 
the leopard, meeting his angry gaze with one of pure ease.  
He then turned the open vial upside down , letting a single 
drop of amber liquid bead onto the lip of the glass, then 
fall onto his captive's forehead.
	"You'll forgive me the theatrics," the fox stated.  
"But this is a theater, after all.  And besides, I can think 
of no better way to show you that my war is far from lost.  
I've won, colonel.  I've gotten everything I've dreamed of."
	Rolm blinked as the liquid rolled down his fur, just 
missing an eye.  "You've dreamed of dying on the stage?" he 
asked.
	"No, good sir.  Not at all.  See, you people, all of 
you, haven't really been listening to what I've been saying.  
None of you have.  So, I've had to come up with some other 
way to get my message and my dream across to you.
	"This vial is one of dozens I've ordered opened in the 
past day.  All my troops have been annointed thusly with it.  
So even in death, they will be able to deal your outdated 
and obsolete Clan system a certain and fatal blow."
	"Poison," Rolm said with disgust.  "You've poisoned 
your own people, and now me.  It won't work.  No matter how 
many die..."
	The fox grabbed Rolm's muzzle with a quick paw, and 
gripped it tightly shut.  With his other, he held a single 
claw to his lips, signaling for silence.  His eyes were 
strangely peaceful and serene.
	"Sh, now.  Do not speak; listen.  No, it is not poison.  
It is a viral agent.  A virus that will spread across this 
world and out into space.  I had hoped it would not be 
necessary to use it.  But I see now that it was inevitable.  
And no, before you ask, it won't kill anybody.  It isn't 
designed to kill anything except your Clan system of 
government.  
	"The virus strips the host's genetic material of all 
but those things that all our species have in common.  Skin.  
Eyes.  Ears.  A mouth.  Only the most basic of features 
survives the infection.  After a few dozen planetary 
rotations, the host loses all his fur, his claws, his fangs, 
his tail, everything that makes him a different species from 
all the rest.
	The fox took his hand away from Rolm's muzzle and gazed 
lovingly down on him.  "Can't you see what I've done here?" 
he asked.  "I haven't lost.  I've won.  I've made it so that 
everyone, whatever their species, will now look almost 
exactly the same.  Oh, there will be some minor differences 
in skin color, but that won't really mean anything.  Our 
descendants won't even notice it."
	Rolm nodded, but began to tremble.  "And if there are 
no differences anymore," he haltingly said.  "If there are 
no longer any different species left in the universe..."
	"Then there will be no more clans," the fox finished, 
stepping back to sit in his chair once more.  "And after the 
end of the clans, there will be no more bloodshed or 
warfare.  All the different species will become as one.  One 
race, with all the universe laid out before it and ripe for 
the taking; without any of the petty squabbling and 
bloodshed."
	"You bastard!" Rolm cried, struggling against his bonds 
with renewed strength.  "Do you have any idea what you've 
done?"
	The fox nodded.  "I've brought peace to the universe, 
at last," he said quietly, barely audible over the rising 
voices and yelling just on the other side of the doors 
across the auditorium.  Rolm turned his head to face them, 
praying that for once the wolven soldiers would take the 
time to aim before shooting.  He knew that at any instant 
the commandos would blow the door off its frame with shaped 
HyperKinetic explosives.  He tightened his muscles and 
readied himself for the coming concussion.
	A split second later the doors flew apart and into the 
room with a thunderous explosion.  Shards of wood and metal 
spun through the air as the charges shattered the door and 
frame, allowing the half-dozen of heavily armed and armored 
warriors entrance into the auditorium.
	They rushed in and quickly spread out.  One of them 
watched the door, protecting against any surprises from 
behind while the others dropped into defensive postures 
behind the seats at the back of the auditorium.  The wolves 
were heavily armored; their thick grey and white pelts were 
covered by multiple layers of Polychromium armor.  Each one 
of them also wore a eyepatch which augmented their already-
excellent vision with infra-red and RF-reflective imagery.  
	All six warriors carried the wolf-clan's version of the 
Sweeper gun Median had used.  Rolm had faced them in combat 
before, and knew first hand what kind of damage they could 
cause.  He also knew firsthand how inaccurate the weapons 
were.
	Five of them aimed their weapons at the fox, who was 
rising up out of his chair, still clutching his glass of 
wine.  The One made a show of opening his robes to them, and 
spreading his arms wide in a clear challenge for the wolves 
to shoot him, if they dared.  He smiled as he bared his 
white-furred chest to them all.
	Rolm half-crawled, half dove off the stage to put as 
much distance and mass between himself and the target area 
as possible!  It was a wise move.  Before he even crashed to 
the floor, he heard the thunderous reports of the wolves 
assault rifles.  They fired as one, not even taking turns 
shooting as wolves were usually wont to do.  Rolm almost 
didn't notice crashing into the concrete floor, so intent 
was he on listening to what was going on the stage.  
	Then the gunfire stopped as suddenly as it began, and 
Rolm became aware of a coppery taste in his mouth.  He 
struggled to sit up, failed, and cracked his muzzle on the 
floor once more.  He let out a sharp yelp of pain as his 
teeth gouged another chunk out of his already bleeding 
tongue.  He silently cursed the bonds that held his arms 
behind him, and he wondered if the wolves would cut him 
loose, or drag him back outside still tied up in order to 
laugh at him.
	A moment later, he was rubbing his wrists while the 
strike team took turns laughing at him, and inspecting the 
remains of the fox they'd so brutally killed.  So all told, 
Rolm knew he'd gotten off easy.  He climbed up onto the 
stage with the aid of one of the soldiers, and joined them 
all in a half-circle around the enemy leader's body.
	Or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.  The 
stage was sticky with blood, and gaping holes in the brown 
robes oozed ochre out onto the floor.  Guts and bits of 
flesh were scattered about behind where the fox stood.  Rolm 
wondered if the maniac was still smiling, but there was no 
way to tell.  The face was gone; blown apart by a lucky shot 
and probably part of the bloody slick underneath Rolm's 
boots.
	Rolm stared for several moments, taking in the bloody 
scene along with the other soldiers, and wondering what, if 
anything, it meant for the future.  He snapped out of his 
revere when his eyes locked and froze on the upper half of a 
glass vial, sticking out from one of his enemy's many 
pockets.  
	He instantly knew what he had to do.  Rolm spun to the 
ranking wolf and held out his hand expectantly.  "Major, 
give me your radio," he ordered.  
	The wolf half-raised his weapon again before 
remembering that a truce was on.  But he clearly wasn't used 
to taking orders from other species.  "Excuse me?" he 
snapped.  "Who are you, and what do you want with my radio?"
	"Colonel Rolm, Leopard Clan," he quickly answered.  
"And I've got to get a message to command right now!"
	The wolf glared at him for several seconds before 
concluding that he was outranked, at least as long as the 
truce held.  He unclipped the metallic foot-long cylinder 
and slowly, deliberately handed it to Rolm, making clear 
that he didn't like doing so.  
	"Don't you go anywhere with it, kittycat," he growled.  
"I'm responsible for it."
	Rolm ignored him and his barbed speciest slur.  He set 
the radio to the secret frequency that granted quick access 
to the high commanders, and prayed that General Shar was on 
duty.  "Command," he began.  "This is Colonel Rolm, Leopard 
clan.  Flash message for all command, come in."  
	There was nothing but static for several seconds, and 
Rolm was about to call again when a voice cut through the 
white noise.  "Rolm, Command.  We hear you loud and clear.  
Did you say you had a Flash message, colonel?"
	Rolm let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was 
holding.  "Yes!  Pass message immediately to all commanders.  
All starships are to be sent away, and all shuttles are to 
be grounded and disabled.  A virulent biological agent may 
have been released, and we cannot allow it to get off this 
world. 
	"Planet Earth is now quarantined!  I repeat, planet 
Earth is now quarantined!"