Hyena Eyes

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THENDARD LOAM WAS larger than any human being should be. Cayten Borlavinda always saw him with a small start of amazement, though she had known him for many years. He was nearly three meters tall, and almost as wide. He had three hearts, two sets of lungs, and remote boosterpumps in each massive limb. His skin was charcoal black; his hair, which rose in high, spiraling twists, was bone white.

Cayten wandered aimlessly through Thendard's loft, which had once been an autofac. A few dead robots still stood on the steel floor, towering above the other furnishings. During some long-ago fit of domesticity, Thendard had painted the robots in fanciful pastels — pinks, aquas, powder blues — so that they seemed like enormous toys. She leaned against one of them and touched her forehead to the cool metal, which still smelled faintly of machine oil.

"Well, we must have him killed, Cayten," Thendard said. Thendard filled an oversize powerchair, his flesh spilling over the arms in dark, shiny billows. His great face bore an expression of painful concern.

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