He was just on the verge of climbing the next tangle of ceiling-high roots when movement caught the corner of his eye. He wheeled, bringing the rifle up.

The blade monster came like a rocket: fast. As it did, it emitted a deafening squeal that might have been rage augmented by a bloody spray that misted around its three jaws.

Dek made a snap shot. Recoil hammered his shoulder. The impulse came out of nowhere; he pitched sideways at the last instant. As he did, he heard the sound of rapid gunshots, the meaty hollow pops of bullets spatting into flesh.

The closest blade hissed through the air less than an inch from Dek’s face. He caught the blur of it—and then the bulk of the thing hurled past, knocking him off his feet as the barrel-thick body twisted. The impact tore the rifle from Dek’s hands. Tossed him like an afterthought. His head hammered the thick root, hard.

And then everything was . . .

79

Kalico had demolished most of a chamois steak, beans simmered in red sauce, and roasted squash when Shig Mosadek appeared at her elbow and climbed up on the high barstool. This was midday; the lunch crowd—such as it was—had flocked in, calling boisterously for beer, bread, and the lunch special. The noise was louder than usual, speculation rampant over a quetzal sighting out at Rand Kope’s claim. Quetzals—it had been learned—had no conception of trip wires tied to strings of tin cans. A big quetzal had run afoul of Kope’s primitive but effective early warning system.

Kope had forted up, his rifle at the ready, and reported that the would-be raider had a scarred hip and a mangled left front arm.

Everyone in PA assumed it had been Whitey making another try at an isolated Wild One. Kope—who’d arrived fourth ship—was a grizzled old timer, and his diggings consistently turned up very nice pigeon’s-blood rubies.

“I was surprised when I heard that you’re here,” Shig noted. “I just got the news that the shuttle dropped you off and lifted again for Corporate Mine. You heard about Whitey being sighted out at Kope’s?”

“Too bad Kope didn’t get a shot. A lot of us would enjoy a big, thick steak cut off that bastard’s carcass.” Kalico wiped her lips. “You heard about my missing man? Ozawa lost his woman in the cave-in. She was three months pregnant. He’s been off his feed ever since. Didn’t make the return trip this morning. Thought I’d come up and see if I could run him down. Inga says she hasn’t heard a word.” Kalico made a circular gesture. “Not a whole lot of places he could go. Someone’s going to see him.”

“Maybe he just needs time.” Shig lifted a single finger when Inga glanced his direction. “Grief does funny things.”

“Yeah,” Kalico lifted her glass of whiskey, sipped.