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you’re my age. You’ll find a lower
place to work out your troubles.”
    “What makes you think I’m troubled?”
    “’Cause you’re a Heywood,” the old man said mildly, “and I
used to come up here for the same reason.” He looked out at the setting sun,
beams of red and orange shafting through the jungle canopy. “Good place to get
some thinking done, but thinking’s highly overrated, if you ask me…”
    “If I could stop, I would.”
    The older Heywood nodded. “That was the reason I first came
up here,” he said quietly, looking down at the drop beneath their feet, “to put
an end to the thinking.”
    Rick turned his head to look at his father. It wasn’t
entirely surprising to hear he’d considered such a thing. Rick could relate to
that, but it was the first time Carrol Heywood had ever admitted it to his son.
    “What stopped you?”
    Carrol was quiet for so long that Rick began to think he
wasn’t going to get an answer. When the older man finally spoke, it was a
surprise.
    “I’d just found out we were expecting your older brother,”
Carrol said quietly. “What kind of world have we made for ourselves when a
man’s first emotion at such news is guilt? I was dooming him to the same
soul-crushing existence that I’d endured and the shame of it nearly drove me
over the edge.”
    Another long silence followed. Rick didn’t want to risk
prompting him for fear of breaking whatever spell had finally led the old man
to open up.
    “I realized I wasn’t doing your brother any favors by making
him grow up a pariah and an orphan, so I figured I’d better stick
around.” He looked over, waiting for Rick to meet his gaze. “I’m glad I did.”
    “I’m glad too, Pop, but…”
    “But nothing,” Carrol cut him off firmly. “So people treat
us like dirt – it is what it is. We know the truth of things because we
were taught by our parents. The others know hate because they were
taught to think that way.”
    Carrol put a four-fingered hand on his son’s shoulder. “I
know you’ve been tempted to lash out because I’ve been in your shoes myself,
but you have to remember the stupid bastard in front of you is acting the way
he does because he was taught to be that way.”
    “I doubt things will change in our lifetimes.” Carrol swung
his legs up onto the hull. “But it doesn’t mean we should stop trying. Now,
help your old man get back on his feet, will ya? You’re brother’s waiting for
me down in dorsal thermodynamics.”

Predators
    Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic
    T he
patrons of the small pedway diner grew quiet as Graadt Fell and his two
comrades stalked in through the gate. Graadt shoved an inattentive greeter aside
and headed for a table by the railing.
    The small establishment was completely full but that was
hardly a problem if you were in the right frame of mind. He walked up to a
table and grabbed a computer slate from its occupant, flinging it over into the
roiling mists of the atrium. “Time’s up.”
    He pulled the Eesari out of his chair and handed him off to
Kaans, who enjoyed throwing people out of places. He turned to claim the still
warm chair when his eyes lighted on the object on the table.
    “Kaans,” he growled sharply. Looking up, he saw his man
still holding the Eesari near the gate. “Bring that back over here.” He dropped
his bulk into the seat as the frightened patron was shoved back over to his
former table.
    Though the Eesari were a relatively large race, this one
showed no inclination to resist. Graadt and his cronies weren’t exactly lycohunds themselves. They were at least twice the size of their Dactari ancestors and
they had an almost feral air about them.
    After six generations living on Oudtstone and mixing with
the local primitives, his people had become something new. They’d lost their
tails generations ago. The gene was a recessive one, and Dactari tails would
have had little impact on the balance of such large bodies.
    It wasn’t