Mac squinted through a pair of binoculars. He gazed along that meandering tangle of disorganized vermin. Abruptly, he halted. A mile beyond the ravaged fence was a small patch of integrated activity, a regiment of centaurpedes that still functioned in unison. "There's the truth," he muttered. "Or more likely, there are six of them, one from each undersea colony. They probably formed a council of war to attack us. That's why we almost lost." "_Almost?_" Swede echoed. "But we can't fight them now!" Mac shook his head. "We won't lose," he said grimly. "I'm going to kill the council of war." "You're crazy!" Limpy cried. "You'd have to run through a mile of mud and 'pedes. Brain or no brain to direct them, they'll pull you down instinctively. Mac, you won't have a chance!" MacAloon looked out at the wandering army. "I think I will," he said. He went to the door. "They won't attack together. Open the wall, Limpy. Don't mind if a few 'pedes get through. You can take care of them. Just keep that ultra-short-wave blanket clamped down over their minds. So long." * * * * * He ran down the metal steps and across the mud toward the smelter. Tearing open the door of the closed-cabin tractor, he jumped inside and slammed the port shut. He started the motor, drove past the blockade house. Swede and Limpy were at the window. Mac waved. A door in the wall swung wide for him. He tooled through, the door closed and he was among the centaurpedes. Infinitely disgusting things, a few individuals attacked the tractor in blind rage, clamping their mandibles on the steel parts and clinging senselessly. Others gaped up in blank wonder as the machine bore down on them. He heard them _crack_ and _squish_ beneath the threads. He drove straight at the fence. It went down and he was out of the enclosure, entirely surrounded by vermin. On all sides, farther than he could see, were purposeless animals, no longer in orderly ranks, obeying a single dictate. How long would they remain severed from the controlling brains? Desperately, Mac fixed in his mind the position of the place where he had seen unified activity. He headed directly for the war council of intelligent centaurpedes. The treads of his tractors made sucking, splashing sounds through the mud. 'Pedes, not bright enough by themselves to get out of the way of danger, died by the thousands under the grinding chains. He was drawing closer, into the thickest cluster of all. The vermin here were also wandering around, but they seemed to be trying to make up their minds. Mac knew the blanketing wave was weaker here, that the council of queens 'pedes was struggling to get its nearer minions under control again. Before that happened, they had to be destroyed.