The town itself was an oval, a cluster of domes laid out in a north-south grid that had been filled in and clogged by square structures and larger warehouses. She took in the high fence, then the moat-like ditch. Agricultural land ran in a swath from the aircar field on the west, curving around south, green and flat where they butted up against the bush lands and extended almost to the shuttle landing on the east. On the town’s north side, the bush ran right up to the fence, the trees transected by a strip of road that ran die-straight a couple of kilometers to the deep-pit clay mine with its few buildings. Transparent greenhouses had been erected on the town’s northeast edge; their roofs reflected a glare of sunlight as the airplane caught just the right angle on its descent.

“The home of my enemies,” Kylee muttered under her breath.

Madison gave her a sharp look. “We just want Tip taken care of. We’re not looking for trouble.”

“Neither were Dya and Mark when they brought me here the first time. Ended up with Mark shot, Kalico Aguila hunting us down, and Rocket murdered.”

“Hey ease up,” Dek called over the pilot’s seat. “Mother Su, Damien, Shine, Tuska, and the rest of your brothers and sisters live here. So, it’s not the same town it was then. They’re going to want to see you.”

Kylee closed her eyes, the stab of guilt cutting through her. “Come on, Dek. What can I say? I’m so sorry I stood there and watched Rebecca and Shantaya get eaten by quetzals? Sorry I destroyed your world? Sorry I ran off to the forest? Sorry I wasn’t fast enough to keep Dya and Mark alive outside Tyson Station? Or that I still haven’t hunted down the creature that killed them?”

To her surprise, it was Tip, who rasped out, “Stop being so hard on yourself.” He swallowed hard. “You always think”—he stifled a groan—“you have to be perfect.”

Do I? Through her window, she watched the ground seem to rise; the airplane pressed her into the seat as Dek dropped the flaps and rode the glide down toward the landing field. The airbrakes roared, and the plane passed over the stacked shipping containers with a mere meter to spare; then Dek rotated the thrust, setting them down with barely a jolt. Through her window, Kylee could see two A-7 shuttles parked side-by-side off to the right. Machines with forks were moving crates around at the far end of the field. The reddish clay looked as if it were fired and reflected a slight glaze in Capella’s morning light.

“Welcome to PA,” Dek called, shutting down the jets and killing the avionics.

Yeah, Kylee thought, Home of my nightmares.