Allen had leadership skills, but imposing his will on others wasn’t one of them. As he’d done the last time there was trouble, he divided the supplies and said goodbye. Bates looked at his pile thoughtfully.

Bates knew he was smarter than other people. He wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t even happy about it. He’d have been happier if he were more like Riley. But that was okay, because being alive is better than being happy. The killings in the city had taught him that other people’s lives don’t matter much—especially when shortening theirs lengthened his own.

During their farewell meal, it was a simple matter to slip Mebaral into the other men’s food. When they grew still, Bates suited up and opened the camouflaged membrane at the mouth of their cave. The air burst out like an explosion. He stepped outside.

From the inky shadow of a projecting butte, he saw a USNE shuttle, and beyond it four silvery figures approaching the spaceport.

Bates tore off the tape covering his helmet’s USNE insignia.