“Yeah,” Kylee told the quetzal, “surprise, surprise, you arrived alive again.” She opened the side door. Falise barely leaped out of the way as Flute scrambled for the door and out into the morning sunshine.

“He really hates to fly,” Kylee explained as she pulled her rifle from the rack.

“I didn’t know terrible predators feared anything,” Falise told her, grabbing her own rifle when Kylee pointed to the rack.

“You bet they do.” Kylee leaped agilely from the door. “Get them close to deep water, and quetzals go catatonic.”

“Why’s that?” Falise climbed down using the steps, slung her rifle, and turned. The first thing that hit her was the perfumed scent rising from the forest. Second was the chime, louder, raucous, a different kind of half-mad symphony than she’d heard that morning at Briggs’.

“Quetzals drown.” Kylee turned toward the big dome where people were emerging, shielding their eyes from the morning sun as they took in the airtruck. “Their lungs go straight through from the mouth to the vents, right? That’s what allows them to run so fast. They can’t plug their tracheas or close off their vents. So, drop a quetzal in deep water, and the lungs flood. Poof. Dead quetzal.”

“I’ll remember that next time one of the beasts is eating one of my people.” Falise followed a half-step behind as Kylee and Flute crossed the barren stone toward the waiting people.

“Welcome!” a man out front called as he raised his hand in greeting. “Kylee, Flute, good to see you.”

“Hello, Vartan,” Kylee replied. “Sorry to bother you. We’ve got a missing shuttle with a Corporate big shot aboard.”

“Is that what happened?” Vartan came to a stop a couple of paces shy of Kylee, and Falise got her first good look at a cannibal. He stood about five foot eight, with dark eyes and black hair that hung down in two braids from under his floppy hat. The scars, however, took her breath away. Long lines of them that ran down the man’s arms, across the backs of his hands. Spirals had been cut into his cheeks, and she could see lines of scar tissue that ran down his neck into the loose shirt he wore.

People were emerging from the dome, mostly women dressed only in skirts, all of them bearing the same patterns of scars, especially spirals on their breasts that started at the nipples. Lines of scars ran down their chests and stomachs to vanish into their skirts. Just the sight of it made Falise cringe. Damn! Who’d do that to themselves?

One of the women came to stand at Vartan’s side, also tall, just as intricately scarified. Her umber-brown eyes fixed on Falise, hard, evaluative. The usual Donovanian hat was tipped back; long brown hair hung down in a ponytail that reached past her belt. She gave Kylee a slight nod, then asked Falise, “Who are you?”