The night was cool, the breeze blowing off the snow-capped mountains to the north. Tulo suppressed a shiver, less of actual cold and more of revulsion. He longed for the heat and humidity of his homeworld, but he had long ago learned not to complain. He raised his beam rifle, sighted his target, and pumped off a shot. The Sentry had been pacing across the entrance to the military complex. Now he crumpled up in a heap, a neat hole between his eyes where the shot had pierced his skull. With a silent wave, Tulo motioned for the troops to move forward. Glory awaited. “So why did they come back? Sir.”