“My name’s Falise Taglioni. Kylee’s giving me a look at the bush.”

“Any relation to Dek?” Vartan asked.

“He’s my brother,” Falise told him.

“Not much resemblance.” The woman crossed her arms.

“Must be the scar,” Falise said, instantly on the defensive.

The man laughed. “Yeah, well, I was the one who gave it to him. Hello. I’m Vartan Omanian. This is my wife, Shyanne. Welcome to Tyson.” The wry smile clung to his lips as he asked, “Eaten? We’ve got breakfast on.”

“Had a bite at Briggs,” Kylee told him, voice off-handed.

Again the laugh. The man gave Falise a wink. “We haven’t chowed down on anyone since we threw Batuhan out. Breakfast is just broccoli, peas, and fried corn cakes. But try and convince anyone of that.”

Kylee told him, “As much as we’d like to stay and socialize, what do you know about that missing shuttle?”

“Marta happened to hear the radio. Call coming in for Tyson Station. She got to the receiver and answered. The guy on the other end told her he was fourth, whatever that means. Asked her to change frequency to a different wavelength. When she did, Mr. fourth said that the general would like to inspect us.” Vartan shrugged his ignorance. “I didn’t know we had a general on Donovan. Didn’t even know we had an army.”

“He’s an Inspector General,” Falise explained. “Appointed by the Corporate Board to investigate conditions on Donovan. A fact finder. He’s kind of like a Corporate detective.”

Shyanne, still watching Falise with that hard brown glare, said, “Thought he’d be here around dusk. Heard that roar the shuttles make when they’re entering atmosphere. Sounded off to the north. It was loud enough we all came out . . . and then nothing.”

Falise noticed that Flute had wandered off and was now standing at the edge of the cliff just beyond the dome; his three eyes were fixed on the forest off to the west. And then his colors changed. Patterns of yellow, green, and pink were broken with bright crimson patches.

Kylee turned, called, “What have you got, Flute?”

The quetzal tooted something soft from his vents, hide rippling into a light blue interspersed with strange yellow-green-pink combinations.

“Son of a bitch,” Kylee muttered, breaking away, trotting across the thin soil to where Flute was staring out at the forest. Falise, having no idea what was going on, followed, along with Vartan, Shyanne, and the rest.

Reaching Kylee’s side, Falise could see the girl’s expression, the hard set of her jaws.

“What is it?” Falise asked.

“The motherfucker’s back,” Kylee told her in an acidic voice. “Out there. Somewhere. It’s like raising hackles, that sense of threat. Flute’s got it. I can just barely feel it.”

“What motherfucker?” Shyanne asked, narrowing her eyes as she stared out at the billows of treetops and undulating canopy.