Falise felt the airtruck settle onto an irregular surface, rocking as it did.

Flute was instantly on his feet, claws scraping on the sialon deck. Rudely, he shoved Falise out of the way, trying to maneuver his big head into a position so he could see out the side window with more than just one of his eyes.

“Oh, let him out.” Kylee’s voice leaked irritation.

Falise—her skin crawling at the sensation—slipped her arm between Flute’s warm hide and the side of the cargo bay and flipped the latch open.

Flute clawed and scrambled his way out, riotous white, mauve, and orange patterns flickering and rolling down his hide.

At the controls, Kylee had picked up the mic, dialing the radio up. “Two Spot? This is Kylee Simonov. We’ve located the downed shuttle. We’re on the north slope of the mountain maybe fifteen klicks north and slightly east of Tyson Station. I’m turning on the emergency beacon so you can find us.”

“Roger that, Kylee. To repeat: You’ve located the shuttle on the mountain north of Tyson Station. Any survivors?”

“Yeah, Roger that. Somebody stood in the top hatch and waved at us. Looked like a man. Nobody I recognized. So, listen, we had to set down on a basalt outcrop. We’re about six or seven hundred meters uphill. Falise and I will go take a look. In the meantime, there’s no place here to land a shuttle. We’ll have to ferry the survivors to Tyson if Kalico wants to pick them up with an A-7.”

“Roger that, Kylee. Tal and Kalico should be there within the hour.”

“So,” Kylee told Falise, “this is going to be tricky. It’s up to you and me. We’re going to have to get whoever’s alive down there up to the airtruck here. Then we can ferry them down to Tyson.”

Falise shot a look out the door, wondering where Flute had vanished to. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

Kylee put a hand on her arm, those quetzal-alien eyes gleaming. “Between us and the shuttle are a hundred things that can and will kill you. I mean it. You do anything and everything I tell you.”

Falise pursed her lips, nodded.

Kylee pulled Falise’s rifle from the rack, ran a chamber check, and handed it to her. “Do your own chamber check. And let me watch you do it.”

Falise pulled the bolt latch back far enough to see the cartridge and let it snap shut. “That’s on a high velocity round. Should I change?”

“Nope.” Kylee pulled her own rifle down, running her own check, then looked to her pistol. “Let’s go.”

Falise followed her out of the airtruck, reacted when the odd green vegetation squirmed under her quetzal-hide boots. The effect was like walking on strings of rubber.