No response for the longest time. Then Blakely spoke up. “Heretic said they were traitors. With the rebels. Brought them here last night. They had to be liquidated, Heretic said.”

Gustat wouldn’t look at Blakely. Wouldn’t look anywhere.

“So Heretic was here?” Finch asked.

“Yes, he was. Last night.”

“And you just plan on leaving the bodies here?” Failing to hide his disgust. At them? At the situation?

“He told us to.”

Gustat spoke up. “There’s talk of the gray caps getting ready to cleanse whole neighborhoods with spore clouds. They’ve closed off the streets nearest the bay and the towers. The towers will be done in the next day or two.” The words said with a mixture of awe and dread.

“They’re pretty well done already,” Finch said. “They took out the whole fucking Spit this morning if you hadn’t noticed. Where are the others?”

“Told to go work on the towers, so I guess they aren’t done,” Blakely said.

Finch sat down at his desk. Anger building in him. For having to go through the motions. At the casual cruelty of his position.

New case notes on his desk. In Blakely’s hand. A domestic dispute. A mugging. Someone had stolen someone else’s food. Someone’s dog had gone missing and the owner had filed a missing person’s report. Amazing how the mundane shit never ended. While the world went to hell. Again tried to chart the sequence of events that had led him to this moment. Couldn’t.

“Heard anything from Wyte?” he asked, to distract himself.

“He’s alive?” Gustat seemed shocked.

“Yes, he’s fucking well alive.” Then realized he hadn’t called in to the station after the shoot-out. Need to call Wyte. “Dapple’s dead, though. We had a shoot-out with rebels and Partials.” The words came out so matter-of-factly. So easily.

“Dapple’s dead,” Gustat said, hand still on the radio tuner. A blank stare into the distance. Began to cry. As if Dapple had been his best friend, instead of just tolerated.

Harsh laugh from Blakely. “Sorry we didn’t have a chance to catch up on your exploits before now. But last night we were too busy sticking it out here in the station next to a pile of corpses.”

“It happens, Gustat,” Finch said. With a toughness he didn’t feel. Ignoring Blakely. Hadn’t expected Gustat’s tears. Hadn’t expected a lot of things. Wondered how much longer he could endure it. When would whatever kept him going run out?

“Look in your memory hole, Finch,” Blakely said.

A message? He leaned down. Pulled the pod out uneasily, with the other two watching. Went through the ritual of opening it. Just a note. From Heretic.

PLANS HAVE CHANGED. FILE A FINAL REPORT ON YOUR CASE. THEN REPORT WITH WYTE TO THE TOWERS FOR WORK DETAIL.

A vast improvement over the last message.