Talina let her aircar drift closer and rose high in her seat, studying what she could see of the camp. A couple of cabinets stood atop skinny stainless-steel legs. The kind that couldn’t be climbed by invertebrates. That the doors hung open—the contents scattered on the ground—didn’t bode well. An elevated bed in a plastic cocoon—the kind commonly used by Wild Ones—looked to be undisturbed, and through the transparency, Talina could see the bedding. No Liz was inside.

The firepit looked long-cold; what had been a stack of chabacho branches to one side was now scattered. No smoke rose from the hearth, and from the looks of the ash, it didn’t appear to have been used since before the last rains.

Talina reached under the dash, retrieved the megaphone, and called, “Liz? You around? Hello?”

That’s when she saw the clothing. What might have been tattered rags were strewn across the rocky ground, sort of like they’d be if the wind had blown them. And there, to one side, she could see a boot. Lying on its side.

Not good. Wild Ones left boots upright so that creatures couldn’t crawl inside. And if the boots were being left for any length of time, Wild Ones put them—and anything else leather—into a sealed container to keep the invertebrates from turning the edible portions into a meal.

“Well, that sucks toilet water,” Talina said softly, her heart dropping.

She accessed her com, saying, “Two Spot? You copy?”

“Roger that, Tal.” His voice came clear through her earpiece.

“I’m at Liz’s camp. It looks abandoned. Worse, it looks like something got her. I’m going to set down and take a closer look.”

“Roger that. Watch your ass, Tal. You need anything, holler.”

“You’ve got it, old friend.”

Talina gave the terrain a look, shook her head. There was no good place to land away from the more deadly plants or the questing roots that would trap an aircar. Instead, she turned toward the dry streambed fifty meters to the west. There, she could set down on the sand and gravel, knowing that the vegetation wouldn’t send roots or branches to tangle themselves in the aircar’s fans.

As the fans spun down and the sand and dust settled, Talina reached over and pulled her rifle free of the rack on the dash. Habit made her do a chamber check as she carefully surveyed her surroundings. The chime rose in a familiar melody, a sort of off-tune symphony. A slight breeze blew down the canyon, carrying the scents of water and damp soil on the perfumed air. The odors of anise and cardamom came from the plants. She caught no vinegary hints that would indicate a bem or spike anywhere close. Nor did her quetzal-augmented senses detect so much as a trace of quetzal.

“Well, boys, what do you think?” she asked.

“Careful,” Rocket reminded.