"I forgot to thank you," Challis said. "For saving me up there."

Groffoco gently thumbed some more ointment onto her hand where the thrike's claw had ripped it. He also tended to the cuts that ran across her forehead and neck from the unavoidable branches on the way to the bottom of the ravine where they were camped.

"Heh. Don't thank me," he said. "Flasher must have seen you. I was just along for the ride." His spindly voice turned to pack away the ointment into his backpack. "Thought she'd gone crazy until I saw you hanging up there."

"Maybe she did."

That was Thax's voice, a throwaway comment if it hadn't been spoken so low and slow. Challis turned her head in his direction to where he sat against a log.

Thax glanced away from the untracking eyes, then back. It was still rude to stare, wasn't it? Her presence was only partially eased by the relaxed laughter that still lingered around her from the ride. Challis had her knees tucked in close and her arms wrapped around them in the cooling air because, like him, she had no cloak. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and Thax could see the wire still hanging behind her neck. It partially covered the mechanizo tattoo spot of color that flickered strangely on her skin.

Thunder shuddered down the walls of the ravine. A low, constant noise filled the air, wind in the trees, and misty rain started to fall. Groffoco stood and adjusted the shallow shelter of branches they had constructed. He was older and taller than Thax, though built uncomfortably for his height and always seemed to be slouching his shoulders, even while he reached upwards. His bones protruded sharply from joints and knuckles, but Thax knew from experience that the man's unapparent strength was tightly wound in whipcord that could force an untamed thrike to ground if need.

"Damn," Groffoco said into the silence, wiping a hand over his short black beard. "This isn't much help." Thax got up with a heave and the two of them gave the branches another go.

Thax shoved a stubborn one back in place. "It's fine. What, never camped in the rain?"

"Never had to go looking for someone in the rain," Groffoco said. "Flantain is still out there, Toff."

"I'm aware of that, Groff," Thax responded in a singsong tone.

"Then will you lend me your sidearm or not?" He pulled Thax slightly away from Challis, pitching his voice low so the patter of rain would drown him out, and continued the conversation they'd begun as soon as Flasher had touched ground with Challis aboard. "I have a good idea of where she went down."

"You've never held one of these in your life. A blind turkey hawk is a better aim than you," sputtered Thax. "And you can't whistle worth beans. Do you even know Flantain's signal?"

"That's what the thrike is for."

"We can't risk thriking it. This whole territory is swarming with border patrols."

"Look, she's not your, uh, responsibility anymore."

"She's still part of my team, Cameron!" Thax ran a hand through his hair, wiping back the raindrops. "And in case you haven't noticed, we're not much of a fifty-pack caravan anymore. Don't pretend that just because someone decided to stick you in the mix, you know the half of what it takes to be the big onion."

"I'm being serious, man."

"So am I."

Groffoco frowned at him. "Should have figured that out yourself before forfeiting your position."

"He tied her up like a dog," Thax said, forcing buoyancy in his tone. "Did you not see that? I did what anyone else would have done."

"Right, and the boss is going to be here any minute. We need to decide now, before he pulls rank on us. Or hell, we can both go."

"That's a moron idea. We're not leaving him alone with her."

Groffoco flung a hand toward Challis. "Then you stay with them. Problem solved."

"Groff," Thax straightened. "Flantain could be hurt. The thrike already is. Who do you think will track her down faster? You? Or her trusted team captain – who knows an ounce or two about women, by the way."

Groffoco pushed him off balance. "Is everything a joke to you?"

Challis leaned her head back, letting weariness seep into her. Raindrops danced on her boots, but the men had somehow rigged enough branches above to keep the rest of her dry. Where she sat was pure dirt, runneled down from the sides of the ravine, and it would turn into mud in a short time. Between the three of them, they had a single cloak, and that was Groffoco's. When Drunnel found them, probably by means of her slot screen, he would have another cloak that could be shared. Maybe someone at least had food.

"Thax," she called out. Then, louder. "Thax!"

The not-so-hushed argument ceased. Boots tromped over to her. "What?"

"Flantain has a slot screen," she said. "Can't you use that to locate her?"

There was silence, and Challis could only guess the expression on his face. Maybe she had forgotten something obvious and he was trying to figure out how to tell her.

"Well, grapes," Thax chuckled. "Groff, if you had half the brains she does, we'd be there and back by now."

"What now?" Groffoco joined them.

Thax sat down heavily. "Slot screen. We can locate Flantain in twenty seconds flat. Way to use the noggin, Gannagen."

Challis gave a small smile.

"Well?" Thax pulled Groffoco's backpack closer and started rummaging inside it.

"Still processing. Hey, get your hands out of there. What's wrong with you?" "Oh sorry, I lost mine while being shot at by a crowd of crackle-hopping wild raiders," Thax said, then paused. "No, wait. Onaya had it. Noodles, I haven't the foggiest where she is either. Is that screen loaded yet?" "No. Why not use yours?"

He sighed. "The Director took it."

"Hmm. And your pack's gone."

"Onaya's got it."

"Where's your cloak?"

"In my pack."

"What happened to your thrike anyway?" "Downed by the raiders, smart-ass."

"Badge?"

"Alright, I think we all –"

"Brains?"

Challis heard Groffoco's laugh cut short by a thwack. Then something landed in her lap. A wrapped packet smelled vaguely nutty as she cracked a piece out. It crumbled in her mouth and left a sweet aftertaste on her tongue. She guessed it was heart of palm, or something similar that Groffoco certainly would not have shared if he'd been given the choice.

She thought about her own slot screen, useless in her pocket. Her own pack, still hanging on Speck's saddle. Her cloak was gone, too. And who knew where the mule was now. She had her stubnicker and the tripwire, and that was it. At least Thax had somehow gotten his firearm back.

Thax jiggled the weapon over his wrist and sighed while he chewed. He had two rounds left, and that was it. That rotten Powder Horse Rancher had pocketed his ammunition when Drunnel had ordered Thax stripped of weapons yesterday. Fine timing, that.

Rhythmic footsteps sounded just beyond the flattop trees near their little cliffside camp. The big black gelding, drooping in the rain, clumped up to where Groffoco's thrike was picketed near the stream in the middle of the ravine. Director Haske dismounted, unsaddled and curried, and walked in silence over to where the other three waited without a word. They sat in in a semicircle around where a firepit ought to be. If there were no danger of being caught and killed by Hannowold patrols.

He stacked the saddle and his pack up against a rock, and leaned himself against a tree with a sigh. Thax guessed he was too saddle-sore to sit down. A long grey cloak repelled the raindrips from the leaves, though the hood was still rolled up behind his neck. When he took off his hat, the Director's pale, bug-eaten face stood out raw against the unnatural black hair coloring that was still as unblemished as ever despite exposure to the elements, as was the platinum-blonde stripe running front to back. The jaw was fuzzed over and fixed solidly in a cranky forward thrust. After a long minute of scrutinizing the ground, the Director pushed his hands into deep pockets and looked around at them, that damned eyebrow up. Nobody else met his gaze with anything other than hostile silence. Challis sat with eyes closed, tracking every move. The tension weighed so heavy in the air that Thax had to think twice about breathing, in case he drowned in it.

Director Haske cleared his throat, and Thax looked up to see the man looking straight at him. Drunnel gave a small head tilt toward the outer depths of the Reach.

"Go get her," he said nonchalantly.

Groffoco and Challis snapped their heads toward Drunnel, while Thax's mouth went dry. Holy crickets.

"Sir?"

Drunnel didn't move or change his expression. He only inflected the words with just enough menace in them to make Challis wince. Maybe Groff did, too.

"Go. Get. Her."

Thax winced.

He thought about everything this man had done to keep the expedition on its toes. Thax remembered his first introduction to Haske procedures in the dark Mawsch alley. The so-called tracking device that he'd forgotten all about until now. The unruffled stare when Thax had threatened to shoot the Director for striking Challis. The calm confiscation of Thax's badge, firearm, and dignity in front of the entire assembly for challenging his authority. Then there was the order to have Thax searched, practically turned inside out, and his thrike's wings clipped. The man had stood up to the band of raiders like it was child's play. There was nothing, nothing that the Director couldn't do.

And, suddenly, Thax realized what had happened to Rasalas.

He stood up slowly, wiped his hands on his trousers, and glanced at Groffoco before giving the Director a nod.

"Whatever you say, sir."