"You have company," Tic observed.
"One of our favorite guests," Voostor said. "A biologist who visits often to study the rain forest." He went to a grass-and-lath door leading off the far side of the patio and knocked lightly on the red-bamboo frame. "Breakfast time. How are you feeling this morning, Maya?"
Festina was closest to the door. Without a hair’s hesitation, she drove her heel into one of the wood door slats, a full-strength side-kick that snapped the slat in two. The force of the kick didn’t stop there; the door flew backward, slamming against the wall of the next room with an impact that shivered the grass-thatch roof. Shouting a kiai, Festina leapt through the doorway, fists in a tight guard position.
Tic went straight through after her. Ditto me, as soon as I’d snatched up a heavy clay porridge bowl for throwing.
All three of us came to a halt in the middle of a small bedroom. Spring mattress on the floor, sheets rumpled. Wide-open window, looking out on the orchid grove.
"Shit!" Festina growled. "Missed her."
"She must have seen Mother and me walking out back," I said. "Took to her heels as soon as we were out of sight."
"Would she recognize you?" Tic asked.
"My picture was on every broadcast when Chappalar died," I told him. "She must have thought we were coming for her."
"What’s going on?" Mother demanded, storming in through the patio doorway. "What’s all this noise?"
"Your visitor," Tic said. "Maya Cuttack, correct?"
"Yes. So?"
"You really don’t listen to the news," I muttered. My mother stood on the far side of the patio, her face flushed: clearly thinking I’d gone bad-girl again, smashing the house to tinder. I told her, "Maya Cuttack is the most wanted woman on Demoth."
"She’s a dear friend," Mother replied, fierce as frost. "What’s she wanted for?"
"Questioning," Tic said. "Possibly murder."
Festina was at the window. "She climbed out this way; I can see her tracks in the dew. Heading inland."
"What is there in that direction?" Tic asked Voostor.
"Nothing. Our fields. The rain forest."
"I’ll bet there are mines," I said. "Ma told me there’ve been Freeps poking around back there."
"There is a sort of alien mine in the jungle," Voostor admitted.
"Which explains why Maya’s a frequent visitor," Festina said. "Her and Iranu."
"Do you think she has more androids here?" I asked.
"Maybe androids, maybe worse," Tic answered. "Why are we standing around when she’s getting away?"
"You want to go after her ourselves?"
"We have to," Tic said. "The nearest police are at least half an hour off. If she’s headed for the mine, she could activate robots, destroy evidence—"
"Maya?" my mother interrupted. "Impossible!"
"Time’s wasting," Tic replied, bouncing up to the window sill. "Voostor, show me the mine. Faye, you call Protection Central, then follow on foot."
Without waiting for an answer, he bent his knees and vaulted into the sky, spreading his gliders to catch whatever thermals might be rising in the tropical dawn. Voostor gave my mother a weak glance, helpless apology, then jumped out the window himself. As he flapped into the sky, that "Sorry, my dear," look on his face switched fast to a grin, caught up in Tic’s excitement.
"Well," Mother said, "what a charming guest you’ve been, Faye. Perhaps you’d enjoy setting fire to the house before you start hunting down my friend like a dog."
"You’ve got it all wrong, Ma." I speed-linked to Protection Centraclass="underline" Maya’s here. Send cops. Back in a beat came the ETA — Pistolet police would take at least thirty-seven minutes to reach Mummichog.
By that time I knew it would all be over, one way or another.
I squinched up my thoughts, fierce concentration. Peacock, can you reach out to help the police get here faster?
No response.
"Come on," Festina shouted. "We have to go!"
"One more second." Peacock, I thought again, Xe, Father, whoever you are, can you get us to the mine before Maya?
A swirl of light appeared outside the window. Festina leapt into it without asking questions.
"What is that?" my mother cried.
"Dads," I said. "Or whatever you were sleeping with the last few months of his life." I leaned in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek; I thought she might flinch, but she didn’t. Maybe too shocked to react. "When this is all over," I told her, "I’ll call and explain."
Then I sprinted forward, bounced off Maya’s mattress, and sailed out through the window like a diver from a springboard. The Peacock caught me in its mouth long before I touched the ground.
The Peacock dumped me on a game trail deep in the rain forest. As usual, the tube disappeared instantly, back… back… well, I’d shot the chute often enough by now that I wasn’t quite so queer-head dizzy as I’d been the first time I’d gone through. I had the presence of mind to look around fast, hoping I might catch sight of where the Peacock went. For just a second, I thought it was coming toward me: straight at my face, tangly-jambly lights plunging right at my eyes; but then the Peacock was gone, vanished, and I felt no different than I ever had.
I got to my feet. Dusted myself off. Thought about that phrase, "no different than I ever had" and wondered just how long the Peacock had been guarding my botjolo butt.
In the bad old days, sometimes I’d been Christly lucky to miss getting killed. And considering my habitually tin-sober state, would I have noticed a few more flickery lights?
Hmm.
Festina stood a few steps away, staring up at the trees with a gloomy expression.
"What’s wrong?" I asked.
"This place looks too much like my home."
"That’s bad?"
"My home was a damned dangerous place." She glanced at me. "Do you know anything about jungles?"
"No."
"Never mind — you’ll be all right if you remember one simple principle."
"Which is?"
"Everything here wants you dead."
It sounded like a joke.
"I mean it," Festina insisted. "Everything wants you dead. Even the things that won’t directly kill you still want you dead. You’re a waste of good nutrients; they want you recycled back into the ecosystem."
She reached to her belt holster and drew her stun-pistol… the first time I’d seen her do that in days. She hadn’t bothered with her gun in the face of androids, reporters, or dipshits, but now she wanted a weapon handy.
Okay. Chalk me up as intimidated.
"Keep to the trail," she said. "Don’t touch anything, don’t step on anything, don’t brush against anything. Understand?"
"Yes. Everything here wants me dead."
Which was too bad. To someone who’d grown up with Great St. Caspian’s half-throttled flora and fauna, the rain forest was a heady gush of abundance. Take the insect life, for instance. In Bonaventure, bloodflies were puny things, traveling in fast-moving swarms that dodged and weaved like drunken dockworkers. Here in Mummichog, I was buzzed by a single fly near as big as my thumb — no need for safety in numbers, this guy could take care of himself. Slow and bullish, able to withstand a head-on swat: the supertanker of bloodflies, with a monstrous hemoglobin-carrying capacity. Thank God this beastie had one thing in common with his baby brothers up north; evolution had only taught him to suck on native Demoth lifeforms, not humans. Perhaps he gave me a sniff as he flew by… but I didn’t smell like his natural prey, so he continued bumbling past.