“Issues?” asked Marcus. “I thought you were going to say ‘other factions.’ What does ‘other issues’ mean?”

Vinci said nothing, and Marcus couldn’t tell whether he was thinking of a response or just refusing to answer. They waited, trying to decipher his actions, when a voice called out from the far side of the room.

“Trimble’s ready for you.”

They all looked up, surging to their feet. Diadem practically ran to the guard at the big double doors, but he stopped her with a look and, presumably, a burst of link data. “Not you, the humans.”

“I’ve been here longer.”

“Trimble wants to see them,” said the guard. He looked at Vinci. “Bring their commander and their ‘Partials relations consultant’ and follow me.”

The hallway beyond the double doors was wide and clean, nearly empty because of what Marcus was starting to recognize as the Partials’ typically pragmatic style—they didn’t need any plants or pictures or cute little tables in this hallway, so they didn’t have any. At the end of the hall was another cluster of doors, one of which was surprisingly loud; Marcus could hear shouted arguments and . . . yes, and gunfire. Why is there gunfire? The guard opened this door and a wave of cacophony rolled out to envelop them, shouts and cries and whispers and battle, and Marcus recognized it as the chaotic blend of multiple radios all blaring at once. The room itself, as they entered it, was lined with wall screens and portable screens and speakers of every shape and size and even, in one corner, another holovid depicting a giant glowing map of New York, including Long Island, as well as parts of New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and even further north. It wasn’t a multitude of radios, but of video feeds. Red dots blinked on the map, faces and bodies ran back and forth on the screens, Jeeps and trucks and even tanks rumbled through televised walls and cities and forests. In the center of it all, bathed in the light and sound of a hundred different screens, was a single woman sitting at a circular desk.

“That’s her,” said the guard, standing to the side and closing the door behind them. “Wait for her to talk to you.”

Woolf and Vinci stepped forward; Marcus, more self-conscious, hung back by the door guard. The woman was facing away, so Woolf cleared his throat loudly to get her attention. She either didn’t hear him, or ignored him outright.