She unbuckled, then helped Madison with her seatbelt. As the dust settled outside, Kylee caught a glimpse of people pushing a high-wheeled cart toward them. At the front came Talina. A fact that filled Kylee with no little relief.

The quetzals inside her began to stir, colors changing in her imagination. She caught elements of Rocket’s memories, of crouching on the floor in the operating room, of armored marines staring hatefully down at him from behind deadly rifles, and fear.

Kylee sat and waited as Talina opened the door, and with the help of a big man, carefully extracted Tip from the passenger seat.

“How’s he doing?” the big man asked in the process.

“Fevered. In pain. Got him drugged with Dya’s blue-nasty painkiller,” Dek told him. “Bad news is that, as you can smell, that leg’s really infected. From Kylee’s assessment, it’s about as serious as it could get.”

“When did this happen?” the big man asked, taking Tip’s wrist, feeling for a pulse as he glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. The guy had a block-like head, close-cropped hair, and bloodshot blue eyes. Kylee caught his odor, thought he smelled of sweat and alcohol. He was dressed in quetzal leather, chamois, and wore an embroidered fabric shirt.

“Don’t know, Step,” Madison called from the back. “Couple of days maybe? He was out in the bush.”

Step? Had to be Stepan Allenovich. Kylee gave the big man a curious inspection. He was a known womanizer, gambler, part-time biologist, hunter, and sometimes security second when Talina needed backup. Looked tough enough, and Kylee approved of the way he was being so careful of Tip as he and Talina carefully shifted him to the cart.

“Go,” Tal called.

“On it.” Step was already wheeling the cart around, headed for the tall gate at a fast trot.

Tal helped Madison out, and Kylee hopped out on her own, taking in the surroundings. So, this was Port Authority. Up there on the hill was the graveyard with its tall stone monument to Donovan himself. Kylee knew the place. Had Talina’s memories of lowering Mitch’s dead body into the dark red ground. The containers surrounding the landing field were set up seven-tall like a sheer wall. She’d heard it was arranged this way so that it was easier to spot quetzals when they raided the town.

The place smelled of burned fuel. The quetzal inside her hissed, tense, ready to spring to the attack.

Madison was already stalking after Stepan Allenovich and the cart. Kylee reached in for their travel bags and weapons, slinging the straps for each over her shoulders.

“You all right?” Talina asked, eyes on Kylee as Dek rounded the airplane and plugged in the charger for the powerpack.

Kylee spared her a sidelong glance. “Why should I be? Tip’s dying. I’m in fucking Port Authority with its quetzal-hating creep-freaked people. What’s not to love?”