"They hit us hard," Nightwalker told him, his voice emotionless. "There was me and . . . and my friend, plus the rest of my team from Seattle. And then six more from out of the sprawl." He glanced at Falcon, lips twisted in a grim smile. "Real tribal types, you’d probably have lots to talk about." Then the smile faded. "It was their run. They brought me on board as tactician and because I know the sprawl. The tribals were good, but only in small-unit actions. They needed me to coordinate the multiple teams. Marci—my friend—and the rest of my team were just guns in case things went bad." His eyes were slightly glazed, his gaze distant. Falcon knew he was replaying events like a trideo show against the screen of his mind.