Through it all, Falise—stumbling and fatigue-stupid—panting for breath, voice cracking with thirst, followed with one clumsy step after another.

Gut it out, Kylee told herself, praying that the woman wouldn’t collapse, fold into a heap like she had that night on the avenue in Port Authority.

And then, just as Kylee figured it would never end, Flute came trotting out of the night, his collar flaring in the IR, communicating that he’d delivered Soukup to the “sky fly,” as he called the airtruck.

He let out a happy chortle through his vents.

“Relax,” Kylee told Falise as the woman’s grip tightened. “You can’t see him in the dark, but Flute’s back.”

“How far?” the spent woman asked.

“So, except for falling into the roots, we’re made. Five minutes.”

It was probably more like four. It was that last climb. The one that necessitated scrambling up the blocks of basalt. Kylee was wondering if she’d need to carry the tottering Falise, or perhaps have Flute pluck her up by the clothes and . . .

The sound was unmistakable. The fans were spinning up on the airtruck.

“What the hell?” Kylee cried.

She didn’t know where she found the strength; she manhandled Falise up the rocks, Flute leaping up behind her. Then, as she crested the outcrop, the downwash almost knocked her off her feet.

“Bogarten!” she bellowed through her too-dry throat. “Damn you! Set it down! We’re here, you stupid slug fucker! Set it down!” She let loose of Falise, running forward, waving, blasted by the grit blown out as the airtruck rose, turned, and headed off to the east.

For the moment—Flute standing at her side, interrogatives running across his hide—all she could do was watch the vehicle’s outline as it vanished into the night.

“Toilet-sucking piece of shit!” Kylee cried one last time.

“What the fuck?” Falise rasped, dropping onto the basalt. “They just left us?”

“Yeah,” Kylee ran a sleeve over her dry lips. “Shit fuckers.”

“What’s that mean?” Falise looked up with hollow eyes.

“It means they left us to die”

Chapter 65

  65  

The sun was dropping behind the screen of trees that marked the start of deep forest on the horizon. Long shadows were extending across Southern Diggings. A breeze—blowing in from the sea—carried the scents of salt and sand. Kalico sat with her butt on a duraplast container, her back hunched, chin propped on her palms as she stared off at the forest just beyond the pad. Overhead, blue fliers—some sort of distant cousins to the scarlet fliers she was used to—swooped and cavorted as they chased buzzing invertebrates. She could hear the crunch when they caught one low overhead.