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light, also coming from behind him. An intense, ammonia-like smell burnt its way into his nostrils.
    The alien tried to turn to face its attacker, but it was too late. Its assailant was a man, a big man wielding a pair of machetes, and he had already cut off most of the thing’s tentacles. Although mouthless, the creature somehow managed to scream. More men came running by him, also armed with machetes, uttering war cries as they went at the aliens in the tall grass.
    In a few moments, the creatures were all down. The man who had saved him stood up from the twitching remains of the thing and grinned. Dikembe recognized the face.
    It was his own, or very nearly so.
    “Nice work, big brother,” the man said. “You led them straight to us.”
    “Bakari?” he gasped.
    “Don’t be so surprised,” Dikembe’s twin said. “Didn’t you think we could get along without you?”
    * * *
    Bakari and his men took Dikembe to a temporary camp on some high ground about a half a mile away. There he had meat for the first time since leaving the yacht, unless he counted caterpillars. It was probably bush meat of some sort, but he didn’t ask what kind.
    By the flickering fire, watching the sparks rise like star seeds, Dikembe listened as his brother told him of the war.
    “Mom was in Kinshasa, on a shopping trip,” he said.
    “Oh, no—” Dikembe began.
    “Easy,” his twin said. “She made it out. The ship that hit Lagos went to Kinshasa next, but it took a bit of time. Dad sent a helicopter.”
    “You might have started with her being okay—” Dikembe said “—to spare me the cardiac arrest.”
    “He tried like hell to get hold of you, too,” Bakari said. “We thought you died in London.”
    “I was visiting a friend,” Dikembe said. “I tried to call, but the lines were all tied up.” He poked at the fire. “How is the old man?”
    “Stubborn, as usual. The whole world is turned upside down. It’s not even clear who is in charge, nationally. All Dad knows is, that this is his territory, Umbutu territory, and he won’t budge. He was stubborn enough when we had a working government, such as it was. Now… well, we’ve had a few offers of help in troops and materiel from other places.”
    “How did that go?”
    “He didn’t chop the emissaries’ hands off before sending them packing, at least, but he’s not letting anyone in.”
    “So where is the ship these things are coming from?” Dikembe asked.
    “Northeast, near Little Babale.”
    “That’s not far,” Dikembe said.
    “No it isn’t,” his brother agreed. “It’s far too near. If it was light now, you would see it. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it coming in.”
    “There were clouds covering the horizon,” Dikembe said, but he remembered the vague dome shape.
    “That wasn’t all clouds,” Bakari said. “It’s… big.” He reached into a bag and pulled out a bottle of Scotch. “You were supposed to bring the Scotch, remember? When you finally returned.”
    Dikembe smiled and nodded his head.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “Getting a good single malt wasn’t exactly the thing on the top of my head. I only wanted to get back here, even if only to die. Bakari, I’ve never felt anything so powerfully in my life.”
    “And here you are,” Bakari said. “You and I, reunited for our drink. Though we’ll have to make do with a blend.”
    “I think I’ll manage,” Dikembe said. He took a sip from the bottle. “Good,” he said.
    “It isn’t bad,” Bakari said.
    “So how did you shoot it down?” Dikembe asked. “The spaceship. I mean, where was it going? I heard a different ship was taken down near Nairobi?”
    “Oh,” Bakari said. “We didn’t shoot it down. We’re pretty sure it just fell, and not from far up. It may even have landed.”
    “So how many aliens…?”
    “We’ve killed more than two thousand,” Bakari said. “They just keep coming, and we’ve lost…” He sighed and shook his head. “A lot.