"You're askin' the guy who didn't finish the ninth grade, I don't think I'm the one for you to ask when it comes to job opportunities," Sawyer tells the scientist, just for a bit of clarity. He doesn't mind having someone flaunt their education in front of others. Hell, if he had half the patience necessary to sit through class and write enough papers to earn several doctorates, he'd be parading it around too, just like he already parades the fact that he's pretty damn familiar with guns and other weaponry.

But he listens to the scientist's explanations anyway, with enough background in science fiction to paint a fairly complete picture of the threat at hand. "Right, so you've got these monsters, and chances are they're communicatin' on some level that we ain't capable of, and they hate us enough that that makes 'em band together in that hive mind or whatever," he speculates, drawing aimless circles against the counter. "So did someone push 'em to the point where they became massive living bombs against humanity, or did God just have a ball and decide to leave us some landmines deep under the sea? And, here's the better question. Say they end up swarmin' Darrow. You gonna start building up defenses for us to fight 'em now, or are you gonna let that bridge wait until if and when we cross it?"