That Demon said nothing, just seemed to shift next to her spine, put her on alert. What was the little shit thinking?

“Yeah,” she told him as she took in the bank on either side. “I’ll bet you’re wishing I’d finally get mine.”

Slipping over the aircar’s side, she walked warily to where the bank had been broken down and climbed. At the top, she skirted wide of a sucking scrub and started into the trees. These were aquajade and stunted chabacho. None of them reaching more than three or four meters in height given the poor soil and shallow bedrock.

The chime changed as she passed, the invertebrates reacting to her presence. The branches on the gotcha vine seemed to track her as she stepped wide around it.

Winding her way up through the trees, she could see where wood had been collected, branches lopped off, and prospect holes had been dug here and there. Nothing looked recent.

At the camp, she circumvented the trip wires and other early warning devices Liz had laid out to alert herself to the presence of a lurking quetzal. Stepping into the camp, Talina stopped, and yes, there, old and barely detectable, she caught it. That faint tang, almost a memory of scent.

Demon shifted, flipping around inside her with excitement.

Talina nodded to herself, asking, “You know that smell?”

“Whitey,’” Rocket replied.

No wonder Demon was bouncing with joy. Her first infection with quetzal TriNA had been from Whitey’s lineage. Nor had it been the last. She’d been dosed with strains from the same tainted TriNA several times over the years. They’d all tried to kill her in one way or another. The hatred went all the way back to Donovan himself. He’d been eaten by one of Whitey’s ancestors, and the lineage had been at war with humans ever since.

Talina—catching no recent trace of Whitey’s presence—stepped over, took another look around, and then inspected the tattered clothing that lay on the ground. She could see the long-dried bloodstains where the invertebrates hadn’t eaten them. The rips had that characteristic look: quetzal claws shredded rather than cut through fabric. Left it looking frayed. Same with the boot, though it had been partially eaten and still swarmed with some variety of red-shelled invertebrates.

“Two Spot?” she accessed her com.

“Here, Tal. What have you got?”

“Bloody and torn clothes. And the place still has Whitey’s scent. It’s old. Maybe a month.”

“Roger that, Tal. Stay frosty out there. Anything goes wrong, I’ll have the cavalry sent your way ASAP.”

“Roger that.”