Step made a dismissive gesture. “Who the hell do you think is more important? Some Corporate appointee, or a marine who can kill quetzals and keep important people like Mishka out there alive?” Then he gave her a ribald wink. “Naw. Just kidding.” Then a frown. “Or maybe not. Truth is, Raya will give priority to whoever’s at the most risk. And fuck the Board.”

Shig fought a smile as both marines’ eyes went big.

He turned his head away as the airtruck spun, its fans blowing dirt, and slammed down. As quickly, the fans were shutting down.

“Here goes,” Step muttered, telling the marines, “You can open the gate now. Yank it closed as soon as Bogarten gets in. He’ll drag a cable over and plug the airtruck in to recharge first.”

As the gate swung open, Shig followed the big exozoologist and the cart out, winding between the rows of aircars and the web-like maze of charging cables.

The door to the aircar swung open, and Fenn Bogarten, looking exhausted, hopped, one-footed, to the door. His other foot was in some kind of jury-rigged splint. The man’s face was drawn, his eyes haggard and pain-pinched. “Got the IG here. He’s pretty messed up. No telling how serious. Take him first.”

“What happened to you?” Step asked.

“Broken leg.”

“And you flew in from out at Tyson?” Shig asked. “At night?”

Bogarten’s expression tightened. “You’d be surprised what you can do when someone’s got a pistol pointed at your back.” A beat. “Kalico said I had to obey the scum-sucker’s orders. No matter what.” A flicker of a snarl bent his lips. “Now, get him out of my sight.”

Step rolled the cart round back, pulled the cargo door open, and with Shig’s help, reached in and slid the gasping and mumbling IG across the deck.

“One, two, three,” Step counted, and on three, he and Shig lifted the whimpering and panting IG onto the cart. The man—true to Bogarten’s word—clutched a large-bore five-shot revolver. Bogarten’s belt holster was suspiciously empty.

Step gave Shig a sidelong look, and before the IG could react, peeled the big gun out of his hands. Said, “Want to wheel him to the hospital while I take care of Bogarten?”

“Of course.” Shig took the handles, rolling the cart around, and said, “Inspector General, we’re delighted to have you back safely. Must have been a traumatic event. You have the honor of being on the first A-7 to go down on Donovan.” He paused. “I’m sorry to hear about your companions. It’s my understanding they didn’t make it.”

Soukup winced, fought for breath, as one of the cart wheels bounced over a bump. The man swallowed hard. Eyes flickering. “You know . . . the only difference between hell . . . and Donovan?”

“I suppose that would depend upon your epistemology and eschatology,” Shig mused.

“On your . . . what?”