“Lots of stuff won’t attack us while we’re accompanied by a quetzal. And Flute’s senses are better than mine.” Kylee shot her a look. “Biggest worry is you. Soft meat usually gets killed right off because they don’t listen. And I don’t know if you have the strength or stamina to make the hike.”

If only I had told Father to go fuck himself.

“There,” Kylee pointed at a tall, flat-topped basalt ridge that stuck out on the south side of a north-south trending massif. A bend of green river looped at its base. “That’s Tyson Station. That’s our next stop.”

“Thank God, I can see the buildings. Who lives here?”

“Cannibals. They call themselves the Unreconciled.”

“Why are we going to see cannibals?”

“See if they know anything about a shuttle going down. If they heard anything, saw anything, or if maybe Makarov had been in contact, telling them that he was bringing this guy Soukup.”

“This is the death cult from Ashanti. I read the report.” Falise squinted distastefully. “Cannibals? Really?”

Kylee shrugged. “They say they’re not anymore. Just stay close to me and Flute. Oh, and if they invite you to have a meal with them, politely decline.”

“This is a nightmare that never ends.” Falise tried not to think about it.

“Oh, sure they do.” Kylee turned the wheel, descending toward the now-visible landing pad beside one of the five white domes. “Nightmares never extend beyond the highest branches of a mundo tree.”

Falise shot her a questioning look.

Kylee shook her head, muttered “Soft meat” under her breath.

Chapter 51

  51  

As the airtruck set down on the exposed basalt, the barest amount of dust blew from under the fans. Falise bent to the side window and looked out. The flat top of the old basalt flow was home to five sun-bleached ivory domes, a series of sheds, more abandoned equipment, and to the south, agricultural ground that ended in three solar collectors. Beyond, she could see the drop-off where the basalt rim overlooked the forest below. The few trees dotting the rim looked small and scrawny where they kept a tenuous hold on the thin soil, though to the north, the forest picked up, trees rising in height as they dominated the slope leading up to the mountains.

“So, this is the famous Tyson Station?” Falise asked. Then, she jumped half out of her skin as Flute clattered to his feet, blinking, his hide displaying a series of flashing orange interrupted by alternating blue and pink bands. They gave way to white and pink patterns as the quetzal vented a harmonic from the vents at his tail head. He opened his jaws, snapping them shut with a clap that made Falise jump like it was a gunshot.