Back at the bit of broken-down corridor he called home, he ate the gray spratlings first, and fed the leftovers to their black sister. He watched her clean predators mind form, and he was intrigued. Her beauty emerged, and he was not immune to beauty. For a while the hunting was good, and so he kept her in reserve. One day he realized that she had become a companion. She learned to help him hunt, so that he no longer needed his spear. By the time she could carry him through the ruins on her glorious back, she was his beloved.
The Glimmerchild hid at the edge of the cleared area surrounding the madmans nexus, behind a broken meltstone column.
In the Big Dimple, unfortified dwellings soon were sacked, and the inhabitants eaten or sold to specialty slavers. So the Glimmerchild looked for defenses. The madman was tech-rich, judging by the armor and the floater; did he also possess mech guard units? Perimeter sensors? Sniffers? Autogun emplacements: Snuff fields? The possibilities were many and intimidating.
The Glimmerchild slumped down behind the column. The Midnight Beast was only an animal; perhaps she was already beyond assistance. True, she was magnificent, and he loved her. Still, he had only one life, and the Big Dimple was full of magnificent beasts. And if he had to tame another, the process would be swifter this time.
Dawn found the Glimmerchild still wavering. He had almost decided to be sensible, to run away, when he sensed a large group of humans approaching.
One was potent, a large, energetic mind, cold and controlled, throwing off a black radiance. The other minds slept; like the animals in the nexus, they were still, bitter, defeated.
The Glimmerchild's curiosity was aroused. He slid a little deeper into his hiding place.
When the red sun lifted above the rim of the Big Dimple, a train of six armored gondola cars rolled down into view, pulled by a landwalker with a dozen short, powerful legs. Lemon polka dots, cerulean chevrons, sea-green fleur-de-lis covered the landwalkers chassis. Florid script, woven into the pattern, proclaimed the Traders name: Margolian. A dorsal weapons blister bristled with deadly mechanisms: a big graser, a brace of smartmortars, a battery of high-cycle splinter guns, a flame ring.
The train stopped beside the Glimmerchild's hiding place. The large mind concentrated, narrowed its focus. A series of images flickered past, so fast that the Glimmerchild could barely sense them: a vat boiling with flesh, the sharp odor of ozone, an old hand holding a flask of pale liqueur – finally an ancient face, sly, mad, gleeful. The large mind clenched, grew quiet.
A bullhorn unfolded from a niche in the landwalkers side. «Ortolan!»a deep voice shouted. «Wake up in there! It is I, Hovhannes. Let me in, old friend.»
A dozen sensor masts popped from the nexus. The Glimmerchild cringed back. Evidently the madman was vigilant. The mechanisms on the mast whirred and clattered; finally another voice boomed out, which the Glimmerchild recognized. «Hovhannes? Is that you? How do I know it's you?
A sharp twinge of annoyance came from the large mind. «Of course it is I. Who else, Ortolan?»
«I got lots of enemies – as you ought to know if you're really Hovhannes.» A mad titter came from the nexus.
The Glimmerchild read sour resignation. «I will show myself. Please, old friend, hold your fire.»
The bow of the landwalker split open, slid back. An armorglass pod rose from the opening. Inside, lying on a gel couch, was a monumentally fat man, dark-skinned, bald, and naked. A glittering cluster of medical limpets clung to his vast chest. His features seemed tiny and ill-formed, except for his mouth, which was large and full of strong white teeth.
The pod sank; the armor closed protectively around the Trader.
«Hovhannes! Who else could be so ugly? Come on in!»
From the Trader came cold loathing, an emotion so intense that the Glimmerchild felt his stomach twist.
The train moved toward the nexus. When it paused to allow the heavy doors to open, the last gondola stopped right beside the Glimmerchild's hiding place. The Glimmerchild squirmed from his crevice and looked at the dark opening into which the Midnight Beast had disappeared.
A strong current tugged his heart toward the madmans lair. He shrugged, leaped onto the back of the gondola. He hung from the coupling, motionless, and was carried inside.
UNUSUAL EXCITEMENT gripped Veek; first the beautiful new beast, and now a visit from Hovhannes Margolian. He deactivated the snuff fields that surrounded his fortress, set the autoweaponry to Hold. When the train was close enough, he opened the blast doors. He watched half a dozen screens as the train slipped quickly inside. When the last carrier passed the threshold, Veek caught a glimpse of something out of place, a lively flicker of light at the back of the carrier, where only weathered alloy should be.
His carefully nurtured paranoia ignited. «Hah!» he shouted. «Trick me, would you?» He cycled the blast doors shut, so that the train was trapped in his security lock.
Hovhannes's amplified voice thundered in the tight confines of the lock. «What's wrong, Ortolan? Why would I trick you?»
Hovhannes was trying to make his voice soothing, but Veek saw the protective covers retract from the Trader's weapons. 'Now we'll see! Oh yes!» He stabbed at a red button on his security console. Anesthetic gas flooded the lock, a thick lavender fog. Something dropped from the last gondola.
The Trader's sensors swiveled about, searching for the source of Veek's alarm. One lifted away from the landwalker and flew back along the train, moving in a looping, evasive pattern. «That's right,» Veek shouted. «Make it look good.»
The sensor swooped down on the thing that had fallen from the gondola. Its rotors blew away the fog, and Veek saw that it was the pretty little ape. It must have followed the black rex, he thought. Sentimental tears blurred his vision.
«I'll burn it,» the Trader said. «It's nothing of mine.»
«No!» Veek shouted. «I want it!»
«As you wish, Ortolan. Shall I have my mech bring it inside?»
All Veek's instincts shouted against allowing one of the Traders devices within the nexus, even though Hovhannes was a friend, proven so over the centuries. «No. No. HI attend to it later. Let it lie for now, and you come in alone.»
Veek scanned the pod for hidden weapons, found none. Metal filled the Trader, as always. To keep his vast bulk alive, Hovhannes needed three auxiliary hearts pounding away in his chest. His bones were braced with alloy to keep him from collapsing into a puddle of crushed meat. Perhaps the Trader hid a bomb in his belly. Veek quelled his paranoia. If he never removed his armor, how could the Trader hurt him, even with a bomb? He let Hovhannes inside.
The Glimmerchild woke in a cage. His head pounded; his mouth tasted vile; his eyes seemed full of sharp grit. He rolled over on the steel floor, got to his hands and knees.
When he raised his head, he saw, through the bars, the Midnight Beast. She pressed against the bars of a larger cage, across an aisle. A single glowbulb, high overhead, lit her dimly.
He reached out, touched her with the fingers of his mind. Sad anger filled him. The Midnight Beast had never been handled so roughly, had never been made to feel helpless. Her small, strong mind was dull with bewilderment.
The Glimmerchild soothed her as well as he could, hid his own helplessness. Don't be afraid, he thought. I'll think of something. Don't give up.
He almost wept; he wished he could curse. But all he could do was wait.
After a bit he looked around. He was in a very large space. The dimness obscured dozens of cages and hundreds of stasis chambers, stacked on concentric ledges that marched upward to the pitted metal of the roof.