City of Night

weak. Among other things, the freezer contains three quarts of ice cream.
    Randal Six loves ice cream. He never gets enough ice cream.
    His initial excitement abruptly turns to crushing disappointment when he sees that none of the choices before him is vanilla. There is chocolate almond. There is chocolate mint. There is strawberry-banana swirl.
    For the most part, Randal has only eaten white and green foods. Mostly white. This restriction of colors in his food is a defense against chaos, an expression of his autism. Milk, chicken breast, turkey, potatoes, popcorn (without butter because butter makes it too yellow), peeled apples, peeled pears… He tolerates green vegetables like lettuce and celery and green beans, and also green fruit, like grapes.
    The nutritional deficiencies of a strict white-and-green diet are addressed with white capsules of vitamins and minerals.
    He has never eaten any flavor of ice cream other than vanilla. He has always known that other flavors exist, but he has found them too repulsive for consideration.
    The O’Connors, however, have no vanilla.
    For a moment he feels defeated, and drifts toward despair.
    He is hungry, starving, and as never before he is in a mood to experiment. To his surprise, he removes the container of chocolate mint from the freezer.
    Never before has he eaten anything brown. He chooses chocolate mint instead of chocolate almond because he assumes there will be bits of green in it, which will perhaps make it tolerable.
    He withdraws a spoon from the flatware drawer and carries the quart of ice cream to the kitchen table. He sits, quivering with fearful anticipation.
    Brown food. He may not survive.
    When he pries the lid off the container, Randal discovers that the mint appears in thin ribbons of bright green, woven through the cold brown mass. This familiar color heartens him. The quart is full, and he digs out a spoonful of the treat.
    Raising the spoon, he comes up short of the courage needed to put it in his mouth. He must make four halting attempts before he succeeds on the fifth.
    Oh.
    Not disgusting, after all. Delicious.
    Galvanizingly delicious: He thrusts the second spoonful into his mouth without hesitation. And a third.
    As he eats, he settles into a peace, a contentment, that he has never known previously. He is not yet happy, as he understands the concept of happiness, but he is closer to that desired condition than he has ever been in his four months out of the tank.
    Having come here in search of the secret of happiness, he has found something else first: home .
    He feels that he belongs here in a way that he never belonged in the Hands of Mercy. He feels so safe here that he can eat brown food. Maybe later even the pink-and-yellow strawberry-banana swirl. Anything, no matter how daring, seems to be possible within these sheltering walls.
    By the time he has devoured half of the quart of chocolate mint, he knows that he will never leave. This is his home.
    Throughout history, men of the Old Race have died—and killed—to protect their homes. Randal Six knows a little history, the usual two gigabytes downloaded in the tank.
    To be torn from this peace and thrown into the bright and noisy world would be akin to death. Therefore, any attempt to force him from his home should be regarded as a murderous assault, justifying a swift and lethal response.
    This is his home. With all his strength, he will defend his right to it.
    He hears descending footsteps on the stairs.
     
     
     

Chapter 29
     
    Gunny Alecto, a garbage-galleon driver, came into the shack that served as the manager’s office, sat on the edge of Nick Frigg’s desk, and said, “Rain rail rape raid rag rascal rack.”
    Nick didn’t reply. She was just having trouble getting started; and if he tried to guess the word for which she was searching, he would only further confuse her.
    “Rabid race rabble rap rat. Rat!” She had found the wanted noun. “Have you noticed about the rats?”
    “What about them?”
    “What about who?”
    “The rats, Gunny.”
    “Did you notice, too?”
    “Notice what?”
    “The rats are gone,” she said.
    “Gone where?”
    “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
    “Asking me what?”
    “Where are the rats?”
    “We’ve always got rats,” Nick said.
    She shook her head. “Not here. Not now. No more.”
    Gunny looked like a movie star, except dirty. Nick didn’t know why Victor had made her gorgeous and then assigned her to the dump. Maybe