“Emotion, Flute. Very primate. Mad and hurt because someone has what you think should be yours. But then I ask myself why I think Tip should be mine. And I realize I don’t want Tip for a mate. He’s my friend. That’s why the sex didn’t work for either of us.” She chuckled. “Maturity sucks toilet water, but it’s better than being stupid-young. Like when you don’t know why you’re pissed off.”

The sudden patterns of yellow and black alternated with light blue. Flute’s collar expanded like a sail around the back of his head.

“Yeah,” Kylee told him. “I’m picking it up, too.”

She pressed the stud at her throat to access com. “Tal? We’re about to . . . Holy shit.”

They came out of the scrub chabacho. Three of them. One on each side and one in front. And that quetzal blocking the way? Big. Maybe bigger than Flute. And all three of the quetzals were glowing in crimson, signaling their mood.

“Kylee?” Talina asked in her earbud.

Kylee raised her rifle, got a good look at the big quetzal that stood in the way. Touched the throat stud. “Why, what do you know? Maimed left front leg, bullet scars in his right thigh.” Louder, she called, “Hello, Whitey, you piece of shit!”

Kylee swung a leg over, sliding off of Flute’s side to the ground. Cradling her rifle, she lifted a hand as Flute’s hide began to turn bright red, saying, “Tone it down. Not yet.”

She walked out ahead of Flute, rifle at the ready. Whitey and his two cohorts were flashing a series of questions as the crimson attack colors faded to be replaced by interrogatives, out-and-out astonishment, and curiosity.

“Yeah, it’s real,” Kylee told them. “I’ll bet it’s a total shock to see a human riding a quetzal. See, it’s not always like your fucked-up lineage thinks. And no, Flute’s not a rogue. We’re here to make a deal.” Still holding the rifle, she made a low bow, arms out wide, squawking in her closest approximation of a juvenile quetzal. And—like it had that day with the Rorkies—it got a stunned reaction.

“So,” Kylee said, not needing to look behind to see that Flute was translating, “you’ve got a choice to make. On your behalf, Flute and I can broker peace with the humans.”

She raised a hand as the chaotic colors, edging into violent crimson, began to flash between the three quetzals. Kylee could grasp most of what they were saying, given her knowledge of quetzal.

“Hey! I know,” she cried. “Lineage is a bitch. All that bad blood. But you can bring this to an end. Yeah, you’re good at killing humans. And you’re getting better. But so are they. Flute and me? We’re offering you a way out. Want to make peace?”