In the admin dome, Kalico, Allison, and Step huddled shoulder-to-shoulder over the town’s quetzal map. Unrolled beside it, and covering the other half of the table, was an aerial view of the bush surrounding Port Authority as far out as the mine. Not that it told Kalico much. An X had been penciled in to mark the spot where the marines had been attacked that morning.

In the back of the room, closely packed, like some curious organism, the Four stood. IG Soukup had seated himself at the far end of the table and watched the proceedings with dispassionate black eyes, no expression crossing his face.

Step kept throwing scowling glares in the direction of the Four. “Bastards give me the creep-freaks,” he muttered. “It’s like they’re not even human.”

“They aren’t,” Kalico told him, heedless of their attention. “The First, Second, and Third are engineered for a specific function. All part of the evidence-gathering process. They don’t care what you think of them. Don’t have feelings that you can hurt. They’re just tools to help the IG in his investigation.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Allison whispered.

“Not particularly. I’ve called on the IG’s office before. Back when I was Supervisor of Transluna. Not Soukup, but several of his colleagues. They’re very good at what they do. Unbiased, totally efficient, and absolutely dispassionate.”

Step, dabbing at his swollen eye, asked, “So, what’s worse? Quetzals sneaking around in the bush, trying to tackle marines, or these guys, staring at us like we’re a freak show?”

“Quetzals,” Kalico told him. “I say that because none of this makes sense. Why hit the marines?”

“Whitey knew the marines were looking for him and his lineage?” Allison suggested.

Kalico lifted a scarred eyebrow. “Before this morning, Whitey’s quetzals have never directly attacked human beings wearing armor. I’m not sure he knew what they were. I mean, yes, we’ve used armored marines during quetzal hunts, but even during Whitey’s last raid, three years ago, he was never in direct contact with armor. Tal shot him up, killed one. But Benteen blew a hole in the fence before my marines could take him down with tech.”

Step kept prodding at his swollen eye. “That’s a point. Abu Sassi says three attacked from the front, three from the rear. It happened so fast, the poor marines, even with their helmet displays, barely saw it coming. Then, wham, they were on the ground being savaged.”

“Must have shit themselves inside out,” Allison agreed. “One minute they’re bored out of their skulls on a nature hike, the next jaws are being clamped around their helmets.”