Renegade of Callisto

“Not a bad idea,” Valkar assented. “It’s obviously hopeless to try to follow Fido’s tracks in this thick grass, and he may have just been running in circles himself. Come, help me get him into the rear seat.”

Fido proved rather recalcitrant and uncooperative, for the pup had unhappy memories of having recently ridden in one of these ornithopters and was reluctant to undergo such an experience again, if he had any say in the matter. Between the two of them, however, Prince Valkar and the young officer managed to manhandle the yelping and ungainly othode pup into the rear part of the cockpit, tethering him securely with the safety straps so that he could not jump out again.

Then they ascended to their former height and began to scrutinize the plain, searching in everexpanding circles from the point where they had found the son of Bozo.

As for Bozo himself, the mighty othode had traversed the endless plains for sixteen days without discovering the slightest sign of his vanished friends.

In early morning, just before daybreak, he had come upon a nest of plump, timid uggars amidst the tall, dew-wet grasses. He had made his kill and had devoured the warm, fresh meat as if he were famished, which indeed he was. Then he had continued on at an easier, more comfortable pace until he succeeded in locating water. Once he had drunk his fill, the exhausted othode had rested for a time in the shade of thick-leaved low bushes which grew close to the ground.

Shortly after dawn, Bozo was suddenly aroused to full wakefulness from his weary slumber. The wary beast did not at once realize what it was that had triggered his awakening.

And then he felt it again, that faint, mysterious vibration in the ground itself.

Bozo lifted his head and cautiously sniffed the wind, but it was blowing from his back and even his sensitive nostrils could discern nothing.

Lying flat, the othode laid his ear against the ground and listened intently. A dull drumming, as of many feet pounding the earth. Dim thoughts moved through his puzzled brain. Was it perhaps the sound made by the hooves of a vast herd of vanth, for this was the season of the year during which the migrant herds of that elk-like animal are accustomed to wander the Great Plains in their numberless thousands.

Or was the distant vibration perhaps caused by a stampede of beasts, fleeing from advancing walls of flame? At times the endless leagues of scarlet grass catch fire, and the ensuing conflagration can rage on unchecked for days,, scorching many square korads black with ash, driving all manner of plains-dwelling creatures before its inexorable advance. But Bozo could not discern the bitter and unmistakable aroma of burning grass upon the morning breeze.

Whatever it was, the sound was coming in his direction.

And―it was coming nearer all the time!

Half an hour, or a trifle later, Bozo’s keen eyes saw a line of moving shapes upon the horizon. At length these moving objects became clearer, resolving into a rank of massive glymphs. These huge, ponderous, and lethargic beasts of burden, Bozo knew, are most commonly domesticated by man, and are used to draw wains, much in the manner of oxen.

Not that they resemble terrestrial oxen in the slightest, of course, for evolution has diverged widely on our two worlds. The glymph looks much more like the African rhinoceros, in fact, with a few details borrowed from an extinct species of dinosaur called triceratops. They are immense, heavy, lumbering, slow-footed creatures with a capacious bony shield which grows back from the skull to protect the back of their necks. The brow shield and their hooked, beaklike snouts are armed with sharp horns like the rhinoceros. Generally, their leathery hides are colored a dull slate-gray, which turns to pale yellowish ‘white at throat and belly. This hide is spotted or sometimes striped and splotched with patches of an amazing bright red, as if some teenaged hoodlum had amused himself by tossing the contents of a can of red paint over the hapless glymphs.

Bozo watched the line of plodding glymphs from his place of concealment under the bushes.

Soon he discerned that the ponderous brutes were harnessed to enormous metal chariots wherein rode a number of tall, gaunt, stalk-legged Yathoon warriors armed with twenty-foot spears. Behind the row of chariots came herds of smaller, more fleet-footed thaptors ridden by cadets and less-important warriors, servitors and artisans. Behind these came yet a second rank of glymphs, dragging huge, cumbersome wains which were filled with gear, folded tents, and stacked weapons.

And slaves …

A whimper of eagerness broke from the throat of Bozo the othode. But his instinct for caution overruled his eagerness, and he lay without moving, concealed from the eyes of the Yathoon scouts and outriders by the shadows of the bushes and the thick scarlet grasses.

The Yathoon caravan rolled slowly by and wound its leisurely way to the south.