His explanation makes me nervous, not because of what he said, but what he didn’t say. There’s something in his tone that tells me Arizona wasn’t quite as easy as he’s making it sound. His expression is closed, his fists clenched. Whatever happened in Arizona, Luka didn’t like it.

“And you don’t think they’ll have learned from that? You don’t think this might be a trap?” I ask.

“No,” Tyrone says, surprising me with how certain he sounds. “One weird thing about the Drau . . . they don’t seem to learn from their mistakes. It’s as if one group doesn’t communicate with the others very well.”

“They don’t,” Jackson says, stopping and turning to face us. “The Drau are violent. Predatory. Think of a pride of lions with rage issues. They have a degree of community within the pride, but they fight with rivals. It’s a predator thing. The Drau are like that, and it’s one of the few things working in our favor. Whatever organization they have in regard to attack, there’s infighting and aggression within their ranks. Groups are only loosely affiliated, and half the time they’ll as soon kill each other as work together. They’re poor communicators, and the right hand doesn’t always know what the left hand is doing.”

I consider—and decide against—pointing out that he’s not exactly the king of communication either. Instead, I ask, “If they’re so bad at communication and organization, how have they managed to conquer so many worlds?”

“Tenacity, brutality, viciousness, and sheer numbers,” Jackson says, his tone hard and ugly.

Last word, as usual.

We walk on, and after a bit Luka says, “I think their predatory nature must make them competitive to an astronomical degree.”

“Makes sense.” Tyrone glances back. “And that would just drive them to conquer more and more worlds, even if they aren’t exactly working together.”

“Like the space race,” I say. They all look at me. Even Jackson stops and waits to hear what else I have to say. I’m more than surprised. It isn’t like I’ve offered up anything brilliant. Maybe they don’t know what I’m talking about. “The space race in the 1950s. You know . . . the Soviets launched Sputnik, and that drove the race to the moon. . . .”

“Are you saying the Drau are like humans?” Jackson asks, and there’s something in his voice that makes me think my answer is enormously important.

“I don’t know. I don’t know much about the Drau.” I give him a look that says, And whose fault is that? “I think some people are predatory. Some people are competitive.” I pause. “And some people are just secretive, uninformative, reticent—”

“—assholes,” Jackson finishes for me with a tight smile. “Got it. Let’s go.” He heads off down the tunnel.

Tyrone’s brows shoot up. Luka looks back and forth between Jackson and me, his jaw slack. I shrug and start walking. I can’t explain Jackson’s actions any better than they can, and trying to figure him out just makes my brain hurt. On the one hand, I feel like he’s trying to let me get to know him a little. On the other, I feel like he’s put up this solid metal wall between us that even a tank couldn’t break through.

Tyrone moves ahead, with Luka and me bringing up the rear.

“Luka, what happens to the Drau after we fire our weapons? I mean, they’re there and then they’re gone, and I have this horrible thought that it’s like the amoebas we learned about in bio. That the Drau get engulfed and digested by the black stuff.”

He glances at me, his expression somber. “I’m sorry, Miki. I don’t know what happens to them. But I’ve had similar thoughts to yours.” He pauses, looking faintly ill. “So I try not to think about it.”

Before I can say anything else, Jackson holds up a hand to halt our progress. “Weapons.”

I pull mine out, my adrenaline rush so forceful it actually makes my head spin. I would have thought it would start to get easier. But it doesn’t; it isn’t. I’m still terrified. Jackson grabs my arm and hauls me back so we’re side by side against the tunnel’s wall. Tyrone and Luka fall back on the opposite side. My entire body feels like it’s a spring compressed until it’s ready to explode. We wait in tense silence, each second an eternity.

I get this weird feeling in my gut, telling me to close my eyes a millisecond before Jackson orders, “Close your eyes.”

The light that explodes in front of me is so bright it pierces my closed lids and feels like it’s burning clear through my eyelids and pupils to my retinas.

My gut clenches and I’m already dropping to the ground when Jackson barks, “Down.” His hand is on my shoulder, a light pressure silently telling me to stay down.

“Now,” Jackson says.

Cracking my lids, I squint and see the shapes of two aliens coming at me from far down the now-bright tunnel. They’re fast and fluid, bright white, their skin like glass, their features almost human. Jackson’s already on his feet, in front of me and a little to my right. I come up on my knees and aim. Inhale. On the exhale, I force my will into the cylinder and feel gratified when it releases its greasy, powerful surge.

But life’s not that easy. The two aliens veer apart, and my shot misses completely. They’re faster than the last two. Not so easy to take down.

Luka said there were sentinels, specialists, leaders, commanders. What are these? What were the ones we encountered earlier? How can I tell?