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body slumped against the wall. A man, his throat torn out in a bloody mess that made Skyler’s stomach clench. No rash marked the poor bastard’s neck, which meant he’d managed to stick close enough to the aura tower to survive, for a time. Too bad his comrades hadn’t.
    Five of the six accounted for, Skyler backed away fromthe building and walked a wide circle around the edge of town. Made up of perhaps fifty small structures, the tiny village turned out to be otherwise devoid of life. He crisscrossed from building to building and found nothing larger than a two-meter-long snake, which he happily left alone.
    Satisfied there was no immediate danger, he returned to the aura tower and sat near it. A full hour passed in quiet solitude. He ate some dried mango, a staple of the fledgling Belém colony, and a Preservall-packaged granola bar, something he’d pocketed earlier in the day. It tasted like almonds and honey, not bad if he ignored the chemical aftertaste the preservative gave. Two long draws from his canteen washed down the midmorning meal, and he took his time refilling the stainless steel bottle with rainwater dripping from a plate-sized leaf, allowing the carbon filter in the canteen’s lid ample opportunity to purify the cool liquid.
    The sixth member of the doomed group never materialized. Skyler had no trouble imagining the man or woman lying dead in the tangled undergrowth, vibrant rash proudly worn on their once-human neck. Or maybe they were a survivor, doomed to a life as a subhuman, and even now were stumbling through the rainforest in search of a meal or shelter like any other primal creature.
    Whatever their fate, he doubted they would ever be found. Certainly they posed no danger to him anymore.
    He lifted his radio and spoke. “Karl, Skyler. I’ve got bad news.”
    When Karl responded, Skyler painted the scene for him. He knew the stoic man well enough not to sugarcoat any of it.
    “The Mercy Road team brought back a bunch of stretchers,” Karl said, sounding numb. “We’ll send a team back out there tomorrow to recover the bodies and their gear.”
    “Suits me,” Skyler said.
    “Can you bring the tower in?”
    “Sure,” he said. “See you soon. Over.”
    Ten minutes later, as he packed his gear in the shadow of the aura tower, Skyler heard singing.
    Not singing , he decided.
    No, this was a chorus of primal humming. He knew thesound well enough: subhumans, and a lot of them. The sound was distant still, coming from the northeast, by his estimation.
    He listened for a full minute. The voices were just on the edge of his hearing, fading in and out. There was, he realized with dread, an unmistakable rhythm to their hum.
    “Perfect,” he said to himself. “Every time I figure you bastards out, you change again.”
    Kneeling in the mud, Skyler set to work disconnecting the flashlight attached to the barrel of his gun. He slipped it into his backpack and pulled out a plastic green case. Willing himself to remain calm, he thumbed the latches and opened the hard-shell box, revealing a grenade launcher within.
    He’d yet to fire it. The weapon had been recovered the same day he found the gun itself, in the munitions locker of a Belém police precinct. Normally he would test any equipment before taking it into a dangerous situation, but with only five rounds of ammunition, he’d erred on the side of conservation. The flashlight would do him little good in the outdoors, though, so he took the risk and slid the launcher module into position until it snapped into place.
    Skyler slipped his backpack on again and pulled the shoulder straps as tight as they would go. Satisfied it wouldn’t jostle about, he focused on the sound and began to walk toward it.

Melville Station
    27.APR.2283
    “R EMOVE YOUR CLOTHING ,” Zane Platz said, “and lie facedown on the floor. Please.”
    Tania held her breath and watched, uncomfortable with the order but unable to deny the wisdom of it.
    The new arrivals