Kylar Luppas glared through the bug-smeared windshield of his Saab Dynamit 776TI at the confused tangle knotting up passage along I-5, blaring his horn to warn the GMC Bulldog Step-Van with parcel post markings ahead of him. The Bulldog’s driver stepped on the brakes hard, setting off the ruby taillights bright as the spotter lamps Luppas’s mercenary team had used for rapid dust-offs in the Desert Wars a few years back. He flinched instinctively. His own men had died in the brightness of those lights used in the same fashion against them, pin-pointed for snipers.