There is an archosaur whose eyes shine with ferocity and cunning beyond the
common run of all other beasts, as tall as a etherfield mast and as massive as a
farm mecha. The Council of Ten resolves to shackle the beast, but their stoutest
electromantium chains merely enrage the archosaur when it feels the cold
touch of metal through its feathers. And so a quantum artist is commissioned
to make a net as light as spidergoat silk and yet stronger than electromantium.
“It has strength the eye cannot discern,” says the artist, “Because I have forged
it from secret and impalpable things: the footstep of a cat, the uncertainty
principle, the roots of a cloud, the breath of a fish and the spittle of a bird.” By
this time the archosaur is at the Council’s very own door, and they know that
they can waste no more time in debate. The archosaur eyes the ten councillors
hungrily as they approach, and announces that if the fetter is as insubstantial
as it looks then he will gain no likes from his followers by snapping it. The
ten councillors reply that if the archosaur cannot escape from so flimsy a
net, they will fear it no longer and allow it to do as it wishes. The archosaur
consents– provided one of the councillors places a hand between its teeth,
as a sign of good faith and a security for the archosaur’s freedom. The net is
wrapped again and again around the archosaur until it resembles a piece of
furniture. At last the brave councillor pays the price of tricking the archosaur
as it savagely snaps shut its teeth upon her hand. But the archosaur is bound
beyond all hope of escape, and never again does it bother the colonists.
