Her radio sounded just then, calling out a time for debriefing.
Trike groaned. “Can’t let us rest, even for a minute.”
Stacy kneaded her thighs with her knuckles, massaging out the cramps from sitting atop Trike’s armored back all day. “You’d think that the raptors would need a break sometime, too. At least Tara and Rexie are back.”
Tara swooped into the hangar, underscoring Stacy’s point. She flew to her perch, grabbing hold with her claws and coming into her upside-down resting position. Her perch was basically a tall pull-up bar a few meters in front of Stacy’s desk.
“I quit.” Tara scowled as she spoke.
“What did she do this time?” asked Stacy.
“Nothing. And that’s the problem.” Tara twisted her head, turning around on her perch to look comfortably at Stacy. “A hurricane nearly killed me today, and where was she?”
Rexie arrived as Tara spoke, her grin showing her massive teeth. “Performing for the cameras is hard work, but someone has to do it.”
“Unbelievable,” said Tara, hiding her face behind a stretched out wing. Stacy had been around her long enough to know that expression indicated exasperation. Tara used that expression a lot around Rexie. “I should’ve been grounded, and you should’ve braved the storm.”
“Not my fault that I was made for the camera.”
“Is that so? You, a comically over-sized monster, weren’t made for the hard work of rescuing people?”
Rexie shrugged, her little arms lifting only a few inches. “I didn’t ask to be born practically a goddess. My very presence alone inspires greatness among the humans.” She lowered her head to scratch it. “Just ask Stacy.”