He was Chandler the giant killer, who had destroyed the creatures who had destroyed a world, but he was all tired out. He poked at the filigree of the coronet absently, as a man might caress the pretty rug which once had been the skin of a tiger that almost killed him. It was all that was left of the exec power. Who held this single coronet still held the world. Of course, said a sly and treasonable voice in a corner of his mind, the job was not really done. Not quite. Not all. The job would not be done until it was impossible for anyone to find enough of the installations to be able to reconstruct them. And then, said the voice, while Chandler stared at the dawn, listening, what about the _good_ things the exec had done? Would he not be foolish to throw away so casually this one, unique chance to right every imaginable wrong the world might do him? Chandler went back into the building and brewed some strong black coffee. While it was bubbling on the stove he slipped the coronet back atop his head. Only for a while, he promised. A very little while. He pledged himself solemnly that it would be just long enough to clean up all loose ends--not a moment longer, he pledged. And knew that he was lying. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Plague of Pythons, by Frederik Pohl