“Definitely a quetzal.” Trish stood just outside the shuttle field gate, binoculars to her eyes as she watched the creature duck along the edge of the distant tree line.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Smit Hanzen, the young guard who’d been on duty at the gate replied as he watched through his own binoculars. “Why’s it parading like that? White and red stripes, flashes of orange. It’s acting like it wants us to know it’s here.”
“Maybe that’s the plan.” Trish lowered her optics, took in the shuttle field where Kalico’s A-7 sat no more than one hundred meters away, the ramp down. A couple of completely clueless crew lounged beside the ramp telling stories in the shade of the aft tail section.
“Two Spots?”
“Go, Trish,” her implant answered.
“Got a quetzal hanging out just at the edge of the tree line beyond the shuttle field.”
“Roger that.”
A moment later, Two Spot’s voice called through the loudspeakers, “Attention. We have a quetzal sighting at the edge of the bush just east of the shuttle field. This is just an alert.”
Trish grinned as the two crew leaped for the ramp, drawing it up after them.
Out by the containers, Pamilco Jones and his crew moved with considerable alacrity, scrambling up into one of the loaders and heading for the gate.
Trish checked her watch, seeing that it was almost quitting time anyway. The distant quetzal had stopped, and was studying them as Trish raised her glasses and returned stare for stare. The thing had spread its collar, now shooting rainbow patterns along both ruff and sides.
To her com, Trish said, “Keep your eyes open people. This might be a decoy. Might be another one or two trying to sneak in from another direction. On your toes and don’t be shy using the thermal gear. That’s what it’s for.”
“Roger that.”
“The farms are all shutting down,” Wejee Tolland reported. “Everyone outside the fence is on alert.”
“Roger that,” Trish replied, searching past the distant quetzal, looking for any others that might be accompanying the first. At that distance, a quetzal could only be seen if it wanted to be. As masterful as they were at camouflage—Trish had almost stepped on them in the past—this was highly unusual behavior. Like it meant something.
A rifle banged on the afternoon air. Banged again. Then came the crackle of pistol shots.
Trish turned. “That was inside the fence. Sounded like the middle of town.”
“I’ll lock the gate behind you,” Smit called as she charged through the small man gate.
She didn’t look back, figuring that at any moment . . .
“Trish? Got shots fired.” Two Spots’ voice echoed in her ear. “Main avenue. Just out front of The Jewel.”
“On my way.”
Shit. And Kalico Aguila’s people were all over the place. They hadn’t been in town for more than two hours.
Trish rounded the admin dome, rifle gripped as she called, “Coming through!” Not that so many people were in the street, but they were all looking toward the north where the shots had come from.
Just about everyone had a rifle or pistol in hand. Shots coming that close to a quetzal alert? What the hell were they to think? Wouldn’t be the first time one of the beasts had slipped into the compound in broad daylight.
The only reason everyone wasn’t flocking toward the shots was that they halfway expected to hear the siren blare for a lockdown.
A knot of people was gathered in the street in front of The Jewel. Some were crouched over a sprawled body. Lieutenant Spiro stood to one side, hip cocked, hand on the butt of her pistol.
The lieutenant had a crooked but amused smile, her dark eyes flashing. The breeze flipped insolently at her shoulder-length black hair.
Dan Wirth stood in The Jewel’s doorway, arms crossed on his quetzal-hide vest, a grim amusement betrayed by his wry expression. His people crowded the door behind him, heads bobbing as they tried to see.
“What’s going on here?” Trish demanded, pushing her way through the crowd. “Oh, shit. What happened?”
Trish bent down. Shan Strazinsky lay facedown in the avenue’s packed gravel. Three gaping wounds in the middle of his back leaked blood into the fabric of his bright blue shirt. More was pooling under his chest; bright crimson, it flowed around the angular chunks of gravel. From the looks of things, he’d fallen face-first onto his rifle. One arm was flung out, the dirt clawed at, as if he’d been reaching for something when he died.
Trish felt for a pulse in the man’s still-warm neck, but wasn’t surprised to find nothing. Not shot through the chest like he was.
Trish slowly stood, looking around. Spiro was grinning at her, the woman’s left hand lifted as in a “so what” gesture. Her other hand remained suggestively on her pistol butt, as if it were a dare.
“The guy just started shooting,” Spiro said. “Never seen him before in my life. He called out, ‘Hey, you, Deb Spiro,’ and I turned. That’s when he shot. Bang.”
Spiro fingered a frayed spot in her uniform about midway down her right arm. “Fucker came that close. Can you believe? I’m just walking along, minding my own business, and this guy starts shooting.”
“It’s Shan, you idiot,” Friga Dushku called from where she watched at the edge of the crowd. Two of her kids were peeking around her skirt with wide eyes.
“Who’s Shan?” Spiro asked. “And why would he care to kill me?”
“Shan Strazinsky,” Trish told her, stepping forward. “Felicity’s husband. You murdered his wife with that bomb you set for Talina.”
A muttering of anger broke out in the crowd behind Trish.
Spiro’s smile, weirdly, stupidly, grew wider. “Whoa now. Don’t you go laying that on me. That was Talina’s fault. I told the woman. Shouldn’t be leaving explosives lying around the house.”
“You did it, bitch!” someone called from behind.
Spiro’s smile went deadly. “You come out here, you piece of shit. You look me in the eye when you shoot your lying mouth off like that!”
“Hey!” Trish yelled, turning, seeing Rude Marsdome, the boot maker, looking like he’d just swallowed a slug. “All of you, shut the fuck up. Now, anyone see this?”
“I did,” Friga said warily. “Shan hasn’t been doing well. Him and the kids. Alone in that house. Said he was going to fix things. That it wasn’t right that some bitch like Spiro could just walk free after what she’d done to Felicity.”
“Done what to Felicity, bitch?” Spiro started forward.
Friga, went pale, swallowed hard, but stood her ground.
Trish pointed a finger at Spiro. “You don’t want to so much as look mean at that woman, Lieutenant, or these people will shoot you into hamburger on the spot, and I’ll step back and let them do it.”
Spiro’s crazy smile was back. “Ohhh. I’m so scared, Officer Monagan.”
“What happened next, Friga?”
“Shan was coming from the Mine Gate. Saw Spiro from behind. Recognized the uniform. He called out ‘Hey, you, Deb Spiro.’ That’s when I stopped.”
“And when Spiro turned and said yes,” Rude declared, “Shan pulled up his rifle and shot.”
“Shan shot first?” Trish asked just to be clear.
Nods and mutters of assent came from around the circle.
Trish’s gut sank. “No provocation? Spiro didn’t taunt him? Didn’t challenge him?”
“Fuck, no!” Spiro almost spat the words.
Around the circle of witnesses, everyone shook their heads.
“Self-defense,” Spiro told her. “Hey, the bastard got off two shots. Look at this friggin’ hole in my uniform. That the best you scum-suckers can do with a rifle at twenty paces?”
“Shan wasn’t a hunter,” Trish said softly. “Mostly he took care of the kids. Especially during the hours when Felicity was called away. He did most of the sewing in their clothing business. But for quetzal drills, the man probably never held a rifle in his life.”
“Maybe he should have,” Spiro offered with a shrug, her predatory eyes on Trish. “Can I go now? Or do you want to try and pick up where good old Shan, here, left off?”
“Self-defense,” Trish said wearily. “Sure can’t call it murder.” But just for once, couldn’t Shan have let honor slide? Just shot Spiro in the back and saved them all a world of grief?
“Sure you don’t want to try me?” Spiro hinted, a crazy gleam of anticipation in her black eyes. Her fingers were tapping suggestively on her pistol butt.
Trish pursed her lips, slowly shook her head, and realized she was afraid like she’d never been in her life.
Her heart pounding, her mouth dry, she watched Deb Spiro turn on her heel and stride purposefully for the door of The Jewel, acting for all the world like she owned the place.
Dan Wirth backed out of the way, gesturing for the lieutenant to pass. After she’d strode inside, Wirth shot the shaken Trish a smile, then flicked a sort of mock salute and vanished into his lair.