Me, like he knew me, like he was asking why, since our species had grown on different planets, thousands of lightyears apart, and we'd lived completely different lives, why had our paths crossed like this? Had it come to pass that the only time in our entire lives we met, I fired an alien missile and ended his life? Why? He wasn't asking the universe, he wasn't asking karma or fate or whatever divine being he worshiped, he was asking me.

That haunted me for a long time.

Both Whales rolled on their sides after they lost their port jets, one of them briefly managed to get a semblance of control before they both plunged almost straight down into the mountain jungle slope, tumbling over and over, braking apart amid secondary explosions. What we should have done is retreat into the conduit immediately after triggering off our missiles, instead we stood watching, mouths agape or cheering, which is what happens when a thrown-together squad is led by an inexperienced sergeant. Wayne brought me back to focus when he and Pope sprinted across the road to us. "Time to go, Sergeant?" He asked, eyes wide.

"Yes. Yes, go, Amaro, get that hatch open!" One of the Vultures had soared vertically high above us, the other had swung in a circle toward us and was looking for a target to kill. Looking for us. Without thinking, I unstrapped my second Zinger, glad now that I'd carried the extra thirty pounds, got a lock on the Vulture, and squeezed the trigger. The Vulture's defenses zapped my Zinger before it got close, I still accomplished my objective because the Vulture veered away and zoomed off at high speed, buying us precious time to get back into the conduit.