At one side of the arena, Hovhannes Margolian watched from his power chair.
The beautiful black rex stood against the far wall, leashed to an iron ring. The glittering ape shifted slowly from foot to foot in a cage of shock fiber, its tiny, dark eyes fixed intently on Veek. His madness stirred, converted the ape into a caricature of a man: lipless, chinless, hairless. «Hah!» said Veek. «Look if you like.»
Overhead, in the darkness above the arena lamps, Veek's security mech hovered, ready to intervene, if, as almost never happened, he lost control of his new beasts. «I'm a cautious maniac,» Veek muttered.
«What do you plan, Ortolan?» The Trader's voice was flat, disinterested.
Veek took offense. Who was this slug of a Trader to dismiss Ortolan Veek? Why was Hovhannes here, if he found Veek's skills so boring? But he could not resist explaining. «I do a rare thing; I've decided to train these two as a team. When I took the rex, the ape appeared. The ape followed me. They're companions.»
Veek touched the controller he held in his armored hand, fed a small, painful charge into the ape's cage. It hopped about vigorously, making small, anguished grunts. The rex lifted high on its powerful back legs, pawed with its clawed forelegs, bellowed.
«See?» Veek shut off the cage. «The rex cares.»
«How could they be companions? They're of different species, different orders.»
«It's the Big Dimple. There's so much mutation here. Many creatures can't find companions of their own kind. I've seen stranger associations, by far….» Veek darted a look at the Trader, caught a look of condescend ing tolerance. Rage overpowered Veek. «Laugh at me, will you?» He shook his fist, fumbled with the controller.
His security mech swooped down on the Trader, menacing Hovhannes with a tranquilizer rod.
«Wait,» the Trader said, holding up his plump hands. «Please, Ortolan, be calm. I meant no offense, and I have no wish to wake up in one of your cages. And I do truly wish to see how you make your miracles.» Hovhannes spoke easily, confidently; his face was placid.
Veek struggled to control his anger. Finally he gestured, and the mech rose back into the darkness.
He gave his attention to the beautiful rex. He had attached controller pads to the base of her skull and over the major ganglia. Veek touched the controller; her leash fell away, and a slow, sweet music played from speakers above the arena.
Veek's fingers played over the keypad of the controller. The rex danced to his tune: little, mincing, tail-swinging steps, delicately graceful. His madness receded, disappeared in the exercise of his skill. «This,» he said, «this accustoms her to my touch, helps her learn to bear it. See her eyes;
are they so fierce? No, no; they grow soft....» Veek smiled, felt happiness spread through him. Was anything else as satisfying? No.
THE GLIMMERCHILD watched the Midnight Beast from his cage, wondered if he would dance so well when his turn came.
He touched Veek's thoughts. At the moment, Veek was calm, focused, free of that unbearable confusion. The Glimmerchild tried to reach Veek, to plead for the Midnight Beast, to make his humanity known. But he failed; the Midnight Beast possessed the only mind he could project his thoughts into over any distance – a result, perhaps, of their long and intimate association. If he could lay a hand on Veek's naked skin, he might be able to communicate usefully.
At least the madman was gentle. The Glimmerchild could feel the Midnight Beast's relaxing fury. He could even sense a trickle of pleasure from her. She seemed to anticipate the movements of the dance with a certain relish. His attention wandered to the fat Trader.
Black purposeful malevolence streamed from the Trader. The emotion was so strong that the Glimmerchild's gaze jerked toward him.
Oh oh....
The Trader's vast body bulged and writhed. The Trader's mouth was stretched wide in a silent rictus of pain and glee. The Trader's skin lifted in hard lines along his arms and legs, as if his bones were trying to burst from his flesh. A large, round shape bulged from the Trader's vast belly. The stretching skin split suddenly and peeled back, spattering blood. From the ragged wounds rose shiny black rods, articulated into a nightmare shape. A skull-like head broke from the Trader's belly, shedding tattered skin.
Veek's back was turned, all his attention on the dance.
In an instant the killmech stood free. Tiny red eyes locked on Veek's back. The Trader held a controller similar to Veek's; now he punched at bloody keys, and the killmech sprang forward, a blur.
It slapped away Veek's controller before the madman even knew it was there. A punchgun rose from its crest and fired up into the darkness. Pieces of Veek's shattered mech rained down. It flung its slender limbs around Veek's servoarmor, a black spider.
Rage detonated in Veek's mind, making the Glimmerchild's head hurt. Servomotors whined, as Veek struggled to free himself. Just as quickly, the rage evaporated, leaving nothing but a cool watchfulness. Veek stood meekly in the killmech's grip.
The Glimmerchild realized that the Midnight Beast, free of the controller's compulsion, was preparing to spring at her tormentor. BE STILL; DON'T MOVE; NOT A QUIVER! he shouted silently. He pushed the thought at her with so much force that his vision went dark for a moment.
She froze, as if immobilized by the controller.
The Trader was laughing. «Got you, oh, got you, old fool,» he shouted. He shook his controller at Veek. «Now you'll dance to my tune!»
The Traders mind was so hot with triumph that the Glimmerchild could not touch it. The Glimmerchild was confused; who was the madman here?
«Clever,» Veek observed. «Why?»
«Why? You ask why?» The Traders lips pursed; he blew out a gusty breath. «Because I wont ever have to pay you again. Because of your insults; you'll never speak so to me again. Because it's beneath my dignity to humor filthy madmen, and henceforth you'll break the beasts 1 want you to break, for the purposes I select. Yes! But mostly for the fun of it. The fun of it, Veek!»
«You enjoy besting fools, Hovhannes?»
The Trader frowned. «Peel him,» he told the killmech.
The arena filled with the sound of tearing metal, snapping conduit. Then Veek stood naked in the midst of his scattered armor, his thin old body wrinkled and white, marked here and there by purple stains from the armor's sensor pads. His colorless hair stood up in wild tufts, giving him the look of a startled bird. His narrow face was composed. The killmech gripped his arm.
«How do you plan to control me?» Veek asked, smiling.
The Trader smiled back. «Ah, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking of all the crude ways of making slaves obedient – like the ones you use in your animals – chemicals, crude electromechanical devices, and so forth. Marionette makers. No, I'll use nothing so clumsy on you. After all, we wouldn't want to impair your famous skills, eh? What would be the point?»
«Right,» Veek said dryly. His smile slipped.
The Trader extended his open hand. In it lay a bit of shiny metal. «In a minute you'll sleep, Ortolan. Then this little worm will crawl into your ear, burrow down to the base of your brain, and make one small change in your emotional balance.»
Veek made a small, wordless, hopeless sound.
«Just like the fairy tale,» chortled the Trader. «When you open your eyes, you'll love the first thing you see; you'll do anything to please your beloved. Your skills will be intact. You'll be so anxious to please, so anxious.»
The Trader activated his chair, lifted from the packed sand of the arena, moved toward Veek. «Guess who?» the Trader said. «Guess who'll be hovering over you as you wake. Not a princess, sadly.»