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Updated: June 27, 2025
It seems to be true that as a rule the lower animals catch the meaning of but few words; usually the tone of the voice and the gesture that accompanies it interpret a spoken order in a dog's brain. On this occasion, it was as if Fenris had read his master's thought. He lay supine, his eyes intent on Ben's rugged face. And now, for the first time, Ben found himself regarding Beatrice.
Originally, it was an office, at a time when a lot of Fenris Company office work was being done here. Some of the furniture is original, and some was made for us by local cabinetmakers out of native hardwood. The dining table, big enough for two ships' crews to eat at, is an example of the latter.
I was born on Fenris, and have never been off it in the seventeen years since. Everything else, however, is not equal. The Fenris year is a trifle shorter than the Terran year we use for Atomic Era dating, eight thousand and a few odd Galactic Standard hours. In that time, Fenris makes almost exactly four axial rotations.
He's just a shade older than I am; he was eighteen around noon, and my eighteenth birthday won't come till midnight, Fenris Standard Sundial Time. His father is Joe Kivelson, the skipper of the Javelin; Tom is sort of junior engineer, second gunner, and about third harpooner.
Fenris is going to be in the news for a while. You may make some more money writing. That's why I was careful to give you the by-line on that Gerrit story." His pipe had gone out again; he took time out to relight it, and then added: "Anything I spend on this is an investment. The Times will get it back." "Yes, that's another thing; the paper," I said.
So they built Port Sandor, here on Oakleaf Island." "And for convenience in monster-hunting?" I shook my head. "No. The Jarvis's sea-monster wasn't discovered until after the city was built, and it was years after the company had gone bankrupt before anybody found out about what tallow-wax was good for." I started telling him about the native life-forms of Fenris.
He half jerked it off its feet, till he held it so that its eyes burned straight into his. "Fenris, Fenris!" he breathed. "We've got to make them pay. And we must not stop till we're done." It was more than a command. It had the quality of a vow. And now, as they knelt, eyes looking into eyes, it was like a pagan rite in the ancient world.
"Well, that's wonderful news for everybody on Fenris," I said, and added mentally, "with a few exceptions." Then I asked if he'd heard who had gotten splashed. "No. I know it happened; I passed the ambulance on the way out. I certainly hope they get to work on him in time." Then more wax started sliding off the piles, and more fire came running out at the bottom.
The gods now despaired of ever being able to secure the wolf with any chain of their own making. All-father, however, sent Skirnir, the messenger of the god Frey, into the country of the Black Elves, to the dwarfs, to ask them to make a chain to bind Fenris with.
Ben watched him, fascinated. Then the wolf sniffed at the paper again and trotted away into the night. In one leap Ben was on his feet, following him. The wolf turned once, saw that his master was at his heels, and sped on. They turned up a slight draw, toward the hillside. It became clear at once that Fenris was depending upon his marvelous sense of smell.
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