Zeds believed differently; half of planet Earth was under the domination of a dangerous alien race! One four-armed ally shouldn’t frighten anyone, and might even give some hope that the universe wasn’t completely hostile!

He would not blatantly contradict Rachel and Pav; they were good friends, though not, perhaps, as close as Xavier, and certainly not as close as Yahvi, who had grown up with Sentries.

But Zeds felt quite comfortable engaging in activities that had not been specifically forbidden.

Besides, he required less rest than humans. He was no longer capable of entertaining himself in isolation, even with various items in his vest.

He was not a prisoner, so if the door to his chamber happened to be somehow stuck, he was within his rights to open it, was he not?

Which he did, using one of his tools to disassemble the closure mechanism, and another one to remove the hinges.

He had a moment of concern about the depletion of his semiaquatic environment . . . the moist atmosphere quickly dissipated, but that could easily be replaced. The pool in which he rested remained full; it did not evaporate or boil off.

And while he did not anticipate hours of freedom, he chose to wear the external suit. It turned what was likely to be a mundane excursion into a bit of an adventure.

Zeds had heard many tales of human space exploration from Harley Drake and even Dale Scott. He especially enjoyed Drake’s account of a “space walk” outside the International Space Station, wrapped in an environment suit, floating at the end of a tether, seeing the Earth hundreds of kilometers below you . . . that was what this felt like.

He had barely taken half a dozen steps when he detected the first anomalous sound—possibly an explosion.

He had prepared himself for an unpleasant encounter with one or more Indian Air Force police, but none showed. He was able to leave the hospital building by a side exit and walk freely into the Bangalore night.

He opened his mask and his vest to fully experience the environment. It was warm and humid, he knew, by human standards . . . notably different from the temperature and humidity the Houston-Bangalores preferred in the Keanu habitat. To an amphibian Sentry, however, evolved in an aquatic environment, the air felt cold and thin . . . likely what a human would feel walking on Mars (well, not that bad; Zeds and Harley Drake had spent considerable time educating him about the difference).

But he was not able to truly enjoy the experience; he was troubled by the nature of the anomalous sound.

There was a fence along the rear perimeter of the hospital—a wire mesh of some kind, its sections strung between metal poles. The fence had been damaged—one entire section had been blown open.

Zeds sensed a team beyond the fence—saw shadows, felt footfalls, heard breathing from multiple beings, half a dozen at least. Their guards? Or assailants.

To his left and rear he detected other humans—four of them—in a position that suggested these were his guards.

There was a flash of light followed by a concussion that flattened the guards and rocked Zeds.

Then a third explosion—there was no longer any doubt about what these were—blew open the fence. The figures from beyond rushed toward it, all of them armed. All were humans with fit profiles wearing black clothing, helmets, and goggles of some kind, likely for night vision.

Three quickly slipped around the building, leaving Zeds to confront one of them.

Had Zeds not been traveling in an environment suit . . . had this encounter taken place on Keanu, for example . . . he might have triggered his vest, with the inflatable, expandable fluid sac frightening his opponent.

And he would have simply opened all four arms, swiftly wrapped up the human, then collapsed into transport mode and rolled away with him.

The suit prevented that. And he had no use for a captive. This man was an assailant, and so were his companions.

He removed two tools from his suit. Just as the opponent saw him—and reacted with obvious surprise, firing a wild burst with his weapon—Zeds lashed out with upper and lower right arms, each with its own blade, neatly dividing the opponent into three sections.

My first kill, he thought. So fast and so easy, little more than a second.

Sentries, he had learned, from Houston-Bangalores, from brief encounters with the Skyphoi, and especially from his own kind, had a history of violence—at least on the long-lost home world, where limited resources created a culture where the struggle for dominance and status was the same as that for survival.

A Sentry had killed Patrick Downey, an American astronaut exploring Keanu twenty years back; another had killed Megan Stewart. Zeds’s twice-removed connate, Dash, had killed at least one human as well.

Yes, a history that he now shared . . . it was actually difficult to suppress the surge of sheer pride this swift kill triggered—followed almost immediately by shame. (He had grown up with humans, some of them eager to remind him of past Sentry crimes.)

What if he had erred? What did he truly know about this human’s motives or actions?

What if he had made matters worse?

Two more explosions, one right after the other, convinced him his actions had been correct . . . that these men were attackers. Pieces of the hospital building filled the air, raining down on Zeds. His e-suit provided a great deal of protection, but he still found himself taking shelter. Reflexes again.

Then, equally reflexive, he was in motion, running toward the site of the explosions and almost colliding with two of the attackers as they attempted to enter the hospital through a door they had blown open.

Both men reacted with surprise, possibly confusion—for them, fatal delays.

Zeds slashed first right to left, then left to right. Both men were down, in three pieces each.

The view inside the hospital was disturbing—two Indian Air Force guards in bloodied pieces, killed by the explosion. Zeds wondered about Rachel and Pav, Yahvi and Xavier—and Sanjay. Were they safe?

What other actions could he take? There had been three other attackers . . . where were they?

He retraced his steps back to the side of the hospital, where he had originally exited and spotted the attackers. Yes, there were the other members of the team, in full retreat.

Another Indian guard lay on the pavement—still alive, as far as Zeds could tell. He considered offering medical assistance but rejected the idea; he knew nothing of human physiology and could do nothing for the man.

And his appearance might worsen the guard’s condition. Best to return to the hospital and summon aid.

As quickly as possible, he made his way back through the side door and down the hallway. He could hear noise in the hospital now and saw four Indian guards hurrying past.

“Please!” Zeds shouted.

One of the hurrying men turned toward Zeds and stopped. It was Wing Commander Kaushal, the stout, energetic Indian Air Force leader who, at full height, reached barely to the middle of Zeds’s chest. “What are you doing out here? Are you injured?”

“No,” Zeds said. “Why do you ask that?” Of all the humans he had met since landing, Kaushal seemed the least ill-at-ease. Perhaps it was due to his age or seniority.

The wing commander gestured to Zeds’s midsection. Looking down, the Sentry realized that the front of his e-suit, and his two right arms, were covered in human blood. “I’m not injured. Sentry blood is a different color,” he said. “There is a human outside that door who requires assistance.”

Kaushal spoke, and two of the guards sprinted off in the direction Zeds indicated, leaving one behind. “Come with me, please,” he said to Zeds.

He didn’t wait for comment. Zeds saw no grounds for argument; in any case, he had been on his way back to the chamber.