Within the peaceful, amethyst-lit safe hall of the earth-heat oasis, the smell of burnt void bile and fiery sulfur gave way to the rich, mouthwatering aromas of high-calorie campfire cooking.
Arthur Vance sat cross-legged on a polished slab of snake-like beside the warm stone pool. In front of him, he had built a field stove using four heated blocks of glow-stone and a flat slab of pre-Cambrian slate. A gentle flame, channeled from one of Pip’s micro-fusion solar satellites hovering three inches above the stone, provided clean, smokeless cooking heat.
His combat rig, rifle, and stitch lance were neatly stowed on a dry crystal ledge nearby. Wearing only his dark work undershirt and rolled-up cargo pants, Arthur looked less like a hardened Vanguard Commander who had just performed surgery on an earth-shaking giant statue, and more like a weary field beast-doctor preparing a late-night meal for his beloved animals.
Beside him, five sets of hungry eyes tracked his every movement with rapt, unblinking devotion.
For Grimm, Arthur had unpacked a massive, forty-two-pound empty pocket-sealed haunch of dry-aged venison ribeye, harvested from the high-sky aether deer of the Eurasian ranges. Arthur seasoned the meat with crushed sea salt, dried rosemary. A powdered supplement of refined star-iron to nourish the hound’s void-devouring teeth. He seared the thick steaks over the solar slate until the outside was deeply caramelized. Meanwhile, the center remained raw, juicy, and rich in bio-aether.
