Challis watched Rasalas eat, revulsion twisting at her stomach even more. Her mind was still in the cavern and its shuddering darkness, and the best she could do was pick pitifully at a mango.

"We can't tell anyone what we saw," Rasalas' voice came again, his mouth full. "Not yet."

They kept a wary eye out for their father, and either of the FHF agents. And Shanty, and Kailett, and Forge, and any Polescos patrol members looking for them. As it happened, they sat alone at one of the tables on the side of the eating area, their talk muffled by the nearby chopping and hissing of vegetables on open grills. Platters of meat strips drenched in sauce were emptied as quickly as they were prepared, this season's cooking staff laboring to feed the influx of students released from their classes. Eyes strayed to the Gannagens.

Challis, for her part, listened to the students going by in their groups. She placed heavy elbows on the table. Even if she and Rasalas could afford any higher education, she would never read or write on her own again. Maybe through her brother's eyes, but he was far less willing to sit with a book as often as his sister wanted. Challis blew out a breath and closed her eyes against how wrong it all was. She gathered it up, and pushed it away. And again.

"Alright, then," she said finally. "We take these next two months to train. Then, whether it's with the expedition or not, we leave."

"Agreed."

"We'll find some way to make enough to fill out our debt."

"Works for me." Rasalas saw the expression on her face, put down his last piece of food, and tilted his head. "What is it?"

"How are you so okay with this now? Two hours ago, you were all ready to fight over it."

He smiled. "Chall, all I know is that nothing I do can ever stop you." Then he stared thoughtfully down at his tray. "Listen," he said, fingering the cold wire strung through his belt loop. "There's something I haven't told you. Those…"

"I know."

Challis gave him a flat look. He gave a nervous laugh, then she waved him on to continue.

"Um, those wires that we found down there. They're dangerous. This situation is way bigger than us, but we really can't afford to tell anyone."

Challis leaned in, glancing to the sides as her voice dropped. "I saw what you saw, Ras. There were caves, multiple caves, full of animal corpses obviously meant to be hidden, and you're talking about the wires?"

"They all had one," he went on defensively. "There has to be a reason, right? You need to think about the ­­–"

"Solution, not the problem," she finished with a sigh. "I know. You're right, of course. It just gives me the shakes."

He pressed on his forehead. "Yes. But what I'm trying to say is that those tripwires are dangerous. I know what they are. Both Drunnel and Lakko have one."

"Tripwires?"

"We'll get nothing out of meddling. If the administrators of this expedition have anything to do with what we found, which they obviously do, we're better off staying away from them and all that they represent. You know, Cormellican technology."

The words made Challis go silent. Smoke drifted over them, as slow and heavy as her train of thought seemed to be. Whatever memories Rasalas had of the hospital within the Cormellican Institute, he was weighing them against the assurance of a money-making maccoton excursion enough to start agreeing with her. And risk taking off for good.

She looked away, his lack of argument discouraging.

"How's the food?"

A bright female voice broke into her musings and scattered them like wood chips. Through Rasalas' eyes first, Challis recognized the brown piled hair and rather plump build of Onaya Derrick, youngest of the twelve children of old cropsmacking Rib-eye himself. She carried a jubilant, confident air about her as infectious as a fresh flux wave.

"Looking really good today," Challis said brightly. "The food. Meat day, you know."

Onaya eyed the mango and Rasalas' empty tray. "Disappearing fast, too, I imagine. Typical." Her gaze landed on Rasalas, whose wits had scattered woodchip-like as well.

"Coming, 'Naya?"

Thax stepped up beside her, placing a hand around her hip as he looked longingly over at the food platforms. Challis noticed her brother sitting up straighter, bringing his hand up to cover his patch as if rubbing an itch. She sensed his rapidly rising heartrate, and concentrated on his flux enough to blur into his eyesight. His view moved from Thax's hand to Onaya's face, to Challis, to the opposite direction, then back to Onaya. Something of a hot flash broke over him and he pushed the other hand through his hair.

He said something of general affirmation, and Onaya went off with Thax toward the platforms. Challis came back to her own mind in time to wave goodbye. Then she turned back to Rasalas with a smirk.

"What?" he asked stupidly, his hand still clapped over the side of his neck.

She gave the most noncommittal shrug she could. "You remember her father was our boss, right?"

"Of course I do. I just want to know why her brothers let a string bean like Tofflar –" Rasalas pushed hard to his feet. "Forget it. Let's move."

Challis had to jog to catch up, and followed him up the side of the canyon. Cooling air from the walls breezed down into the windcatchers, sometimes blowing hard enough to flap the twins' clothing at the steepest places. They squeezed past a trundling donkey cart and then strolled through a cluster of children too young to be playing on the cliffside unsupervised, unless the goat that accompanied them was enough.

Since Drunnel had mentioned not registering until after half-light, they searched for an afternoon stakeout that would keep them away from people. One of the stone skyways overlooked the pterosaur grounds from a height of only two hundred feet and was less trafficked than others in the district. When the twins walked out onto the bridge, the rows of wind turbine blades made them feel as if they were floating on wheels in the sky.

Challis had insisted that they snag the medical bag from the lodge and get themselves properly bandaged up before starting any sort of training. The queline peeled away without too much discomfort when Challis took it one millimeter at a time. Rasalas preferred to yank off entire strips at a time, only pausing in between to gasp and get his breath back before going again. Finally, disinfected and cleanly wrapped, they settled down to watch thrike recruit training in the courtyards. Challis lay on her back with her eyes closed, piggybacking Rasalas' eyesight while he stared down. In one session, trainees stood well back from a thrike and its handler, the latter performing a proper saddling and securing of the animal. They had to be just kids, Rasalas thought, not even twenty. At one point one of them went out of sight to fetch something small and furry. The trainee tossed it nervously at the thrike, who gobbled it up, at this distance looking like a mere bird with a bug.

Rasalas noted every movement, his eyes taking it all in until he had become part of the bridge itself, a silent sentinel high above the action. The flux brimming from the turbines washed over him, sharpening his vigilance and aiding every breath. Challis, too, felt the flux flow over her as a healthy restorative that seemed to streamline her thoughts until time slowed to a crawl.

She jerked awake when Rasalas sprang to his feet.

The sun had disappeared over the far edge of the canyon, coloring the cloud underbellies a rich orange while lights poked into view in the darkened city below. At this point the fodder bins would need refilling and stacking, Challis thought in a panic. Rib-eye would be after them in a windstorm for wasting the whole –

She stopped, relaxing in relief.

"I need to run," Rasalas said. Challis stared up at him in confusion.

"Where to?"

"You go register us at the thrike services office," he said, then took off at a dash. He ran along the bridge, leaped off the side of it near the wall and landed a steep pathway at a sprint. "I'll see you later!" He sent a flock of fowl skittering into the brush, then disappeared into the haze of the streets of Polescos.

* * *

Cooling air parted for Rasalas as he shot through it. Glowing glass windows flashed orange when he passed, and bright lanterns bumping on top of street wagons made them easy to avoid. Rasalas let the excitement of the rush fizz through him, a frothing energy of the sort that only thickened tripwire flux could provide. It was glorious. What else did he need if he had this? At least, until it ran out. He tried to imagine running without any sort of floxogelene aura launching his steps, a wind at his back driving him dangerously onward until the momentum simply overpowered his physical abilities. At that thought, Rasalas skidded to a stop in the center of an intersection.

"What are you even doing, Gannagen?" he gasped, spinning around as he looked. He saw an opportunity and almost knocked over two women carrying baskets as he swerved around them. Then Rasalas jumped onto a crate, pushed one foot off a sconce, and scrambled up onto an awning that barely held him as he climbed up onto the flat rooftop. He rose high on his toes on the edge, stretching up in desperate hope to catch sight of his prey once more.

A shape streaked across an open intersection behind the buildings to his right, momentarily visible through one alley, then another. Rasalas flung himself forward, keeping to the rooftops this time as he quickly gained on the white piece of FHF tearing over the cobblestones.

Lakko puffed on, unaware of his pursuer in the dark. The ends of the tripwire were tapping his ribs with every thump of his boots, but the prickles of fresh energy kept easing into the back of his neck. He let the artificial instincts drive his actions as the sharp, clear edges of storefronts and street corners slid in and out of his vision just long enough for him to adapt his course at every moment's notice. This neighborhood of the city was well known to him after all these months up north.

The showgrounds were just past the brewery at the next corner. Lakko inhaled the fruity tang of alcohol, and tried not to think of how much he would miss that particular piece of Polescos after he was gone. But he needed to get out of the district, tonight, and get word to those involved in the expedition back in Eastwedgen as soon as possible.

His brother's little skimmer, a Picaroon, was fastened to a railing where its lights blinked in a row on its steel top. Lakko slowed and glanced down at his wrist. He'd written Drunnel's code there in pen, and after a frustrating minute the machine's lock beeped and unwound from the railing to slurp into the side of the sleek one-seater. Lakko heaved it upright and planted himself onto the seat with a satisfied grunt. One boot stuck out to the ground, balancing out the curved bottom of the skimmer while Lakko slid the controls into gear and relished the gentle vibrations that hummed out from beneath his footboard. Dust scattered in all directions, green in a gentle glow that lifted the Picaroon six inches off the ground.

He paused, the tripwire's energy alerting him of a new presence. A resolute, reckless feeling broke over him from the outside in, and the agent hurriedly pulled in his foot and leaned forward to leave the north bend of Oedolon canyon behind him.

Because he had leaned, his back rather than his head took the full weight of Rasalas' landing. The Picaroon crunched down, bobbed up again, then careened around in a lopsided circle before dumping its load onto the cobblestones. It spun once more and flopped over to rest on its side next to the railing as if nothing had happened.

"Jabberchunks and trippers!" Lakko shouted over the clatter. "What the hell, man!" He tried to unroll to his feet but only managed to fall back again onto his hands. Rasalas had gotten an arm up to stop his head from cracking on the street, but one ear was ringing to high heaven and he was still trying to figure out which way was up. Lakko finally realized who had splatlanded him. "Gannagen?"

"Hold on," Rasalas slurred, teetering up onto his backside and using one hand to hold his head up. "You can't just…" He stopped, trying to remember the word. "Leave. You can't."

"Go trip over a wire," Lakko said disgustedly. He staggered up, but the other man was between him and the skimmer. Rasalas scooted back, one hand reaching toward the machine as he glared.

"But that's just it," he said. "Where do you think you're going? You can't just drive off, tripwire and all. We agreed, dammit, we keep at it until the end of the season."

Lakko's palms swung out on either side as he huffed in frustration. "That was then, idiot. Something happened – the macs are moving and we need to get after them. We're leaving in a week. And I need to get back to Eastwedgen pronto and organize that side of the excursion. Get your greasy scalp out of my way."

"A week? Are you serious?" Rasalas got to his feet. They were both still breathing hard as he glanced around them and lowered his voice. "I need a tripwire. I can't drop it in a week, and you know that better than anyone. Please, Lak."

The other rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Don't take it so hard," he drawled. "Just get it from Drun. He can ease off the withdrawal for you before we leave, and no one's the wiser."

"Hell with that," Rasalas said with a sigh. "Challis already knows."

Lakko winced. "Really?"

"I'm certain she's figured it out already."

"Damn."

"Hey, I made it this long," Rasalas shot back. "Will you help me or not?"

"Drun's wire is just as good as ­­–"

"I mean, help me figure out how to charge this."

The agent's face masked over with shock. Held in one of Rasalas' fists, carefully low, was a thin, white-tipped tripwire from the cave hidden by the gillig thicket. Rasalas' expression was partly hidden in shadow, but the tripwire swung tauntingly back and forth in the lamplight out of his own field of vision.

Lakko's voice came out in a rough whisper.

"Is she watching?"

Rasalas shook his head. "Yes, but no. And she can't hear you anyway."

"Good." Lakko stalked up to him and seized his throat, pushing up instead of squeezing to deftly steer Rasalas over to the railing. He forced him to lean backwards over it, all balance gone. Rasalas fought at the grip but he had as much chance of loosening Lakko's hand as he did pulling apart a tree. The hold was firm, unrelenting, but not choking, so he concentrated instead on simply drawing breath in and out through gritted teeth.

"Where," Lakko snarled, shoving at him with each phrase, "the hell – did you – get that?"

"I – the hell – found it," Rasalas rasped. His entire back was trembling to keep from snapping in half. At every shove, a searing ache shook down his spine. Despite that, Rasalas closed one hand around Lakko's tripwire as he struggled to keep talking. "And if you don't –" he coughed, "show me how to charge it… I'll tell everyone… what's down in those caves!"

Lakko grunted and flung him up and over the railing as if he were flipping a log. Rasalas tumbled onto the edge of the showgrounds, the trampled ground still sizzling hot where he hit. Crusty sand dug into his elbows, but he clutched two tripwires in his hands and smirked triumphantly. The other just stood there, wary and calculating and, for the first time since Rasalas had known him, uneasy.

"You little thief," Lakko hissed. Then, "I'm not helping you with that thing. If you really found it down there, it won't work. Defective. It'll take weeks to fix, Ras. Even treating it every day." He bent to lift the Picaroon again. Rasalas flashed to his feet and, flinging both cords around the back of his neck, shoved both hands at the front of the skimmer. Steel vibrated under his fingers.

"Then I'm coming with you. And you'll fix it, or I mean it, I'll tell –"

Lakko snorted. "Just ask Drun to do it. Now give me mine back before it gets contaminated by that piece of trash."

Rasalas paused, his brows heavy over piercing yellowed eyes, then stepped to the side. "Don't take it so hard." He backed away toward the shadows of an alley, running his fists down the double wires. "We're coming with you. See you in a week, Lak."

He turned and ran, savoring the look on Lakko's face and dreading what Challis would say.