Falise was forming her response when Flute stopped so short that she was scrambling to keep her hold. The quetzal froze and flared his collar. The colors running along his hide went from forest pastels to vivid yellow and black.

“What have you got, Flute?” Kylee asked, unslinging her rifle.

A pattern flashed on Flute’s hide and he craned his head around as if searching. As he did, the chime changed, the half-symphony eerily cacophonous.

“Shit!” Kylee spun on her heel, staring off to the east. “Falise! Get off! Now.”

“What’s happening?” she asked, kicking a leg over and sliding down. As she did, she slipped her rifle around from where it was slung across her back. When she looked back, Flute had vanished. Or seemed to. His hide had changed, mimicking the surroundings, blending so well she could barely make out the quetzal’s form where it cowered on the trail.

“Mobbers,” Kylee told her. “Coming this way. You might be dead sooner than I thought.”

That’s when Falise first heard the distant chittering and squealing.

Chapter 70

  70  

When Ensign Schulyer set the A-7 shuttle on the ground, Kalico barely felt the big bird settle on the baked red clay at the Port Authority landing field. After thanking the ensign, she collected her rifle before stepping through the hatch and into the main cabin. The ramp was already dropping; Raya, Talina, and Dek were wheeling the comatose Private Aberash on her gurney down and into the morning light. Raya thought the woman’s signs were good enough to justify monitoring her recovery at the hospital instead of shipping her up to Turalon.

Two Spot had reported that IG Soukup was already at the hospital. On the flight in, Raya had been in conversation with Vik Lawrence over the IG’s condition. Vik had given him a painkiller based on Dya’s blue nasty recipe and had last reported that the man was sleeping peacefully. The good news was that Tip Briggs seemed to be out of danger and was recovering, and that Fenn Bogarten’s broken leg had been set.

Descending the ramp, Kalico pulled her hat up, using the brim for protection against the sun. She followed the gurney across the fired clay, glancing across at where Pamlico Jones and his crew were stacking shipping containers offloaded from Turalon. On the other side of the field, the high stack of clay containers was being dismantled and loaded aboard shuttles to be lifted into orbit.

As she stepped through the gate, giving the marine guard a salute, she could hear Schulyer’s shuttle spooling up. The ensign had a ten-minute window to clear the space for another incoming bird.

To her surprise, Fenn Bogarten—perched on crutches—waited in the shade of the warehouse, out of the hot morning sun. He looked all in, eyes swollen, blinking in exhaustion.

“Fenn?” She shifted her rifle, let Raya, Tal, and the rest go on ahead.