She saw the flashing of patterns, the meaning now going way beyond her ability to read. Then the increase in the crimson, the anger, and finally the patterns for Kill rogue.

“That’s the final word?” she asked.

Got a single spot of orange on Whitey’s forehead in response.

“Wrong answer.”

Kylee almost jumped out of her skin as a high-velocity explosive round blasted Whitey’s head apart. The cracking snap of the bursting bone and spattering tissue made her hunch. The big quetzal’s body spasmed before the limbs jerked out straight and it slammed hard into the ground.

Kylee was snatched backward as Flute grabbed her by the collar and pulled her out of the way.

Even as she was being manhandled, she kept hold of her rifle. Caught the images as the two quetzals on either side stopped short in their attack. Stared in disbelief at Whitey. Their eyes rotated, staring upward; colors shifted from crimson to yellow and black. An instant later, they were blown apart by explosive rounds.

The sound of it would haunt her. Like a meaty bang-splat mixed together.

And then silence, the chime uninterrupted.

Catching her breath, Kylee turned, seeing Flute’s left eye giving her a thoughtful look. Had to be tough for him, too.

We give chance. The colors and patterns flashed across Flute’s extended collar.

“Yeah, we did,” she told him, hearing the whir of the airtruck as it made a wide circle above.

From the door, Talina was waving, her rifle in hand.

“Steaks and leather.” Talina’s voice came through Kylee’s earpiece. “Looks good from up here. You and Flute head back to town. We’ve got you covered.”

Chapter 80

  80  

Falise Taglioni snugged her hat brim down tight as the night rain began to fall on Port Authority. Beside her, Cinque Suharto paced, wearing a rain suit with the hood pulled up. They walked down the avenue that led to the shuttle gate, the whole of the route now illuminated by the newly installed overhead lights that had been included in Turalon’s cargo. The misty rain left silver streaks as it passed beneath the bulbs.

The night chime could be heard, coming from beyond the fence.

Port Authority had a quiet, almost serene feel to it after the hubbub and carousal they had just left at Inga’s. Over the weeks Falise had been in PA, the tavern had grown on her.

“Thanks for walking with me,” Falise told him, amazed at how Cinque could vanish in the night. Better than a quetzal under a cloud of mobbers.

She worked her hands, thankful that the last of the scabs had fallen off.

“I suspect that you want to remind me of our bargain?” he asked suggestively. “We haven’t had to take drastic measures against each other.”