“I’ve been waiting all week,” said Woolf, and strode forward. The guard stepped up to follow him, but Vinci waved him off. “General Trimble,” said Woolf, “my name is Asher Woolf, I’m a commander with the Long Island Defense Grid and a senator in the Long Island government. I’ve come to you as a duly appointed representative of the last remaining human population on Earth, to broker a treaty of peace and a sharing of resources.” Trimble didn’t respond, or even acknowledge him. He stepped forward again. “Your people are dying,” he said, gesturing at the death and destruction that plastered the walls. “My people are dying, too, and we both know it’s not just from fighting. We’re sterile and diseased, both of us. In a few more years we will all be dead no matter what we do—no matter how many wars we win or lose, no matter how many times we shoot or shoot back or lay down our arms. Your people have two years left, I understand; mine will live longer but still be just as dead in the end. We have to work together to change this.” He stepped forward again. “Do you hear me?”

The guard moved in as Woolf’s voice rose, but Vinci ran forward to Woolf’s side. “Thank you very much for seeing us, General,” said Vinci. “We realize that you’re very busy, coordinating so many different wars at once—”

“She’s not coordinating anything,” said Woolf quickly, gesturing at the screens dismissively. “She’s just watching.”

“Please check your tone or I will ask you to leave,” said the guard.

“You want me to wait quietly?” asked Woolf. “I can wait quietly. I’ve been waiting for a day and a night out there, but we don’t have time—”

“Be quiet,” said Trimble softly, and Marcus stepped back in surprise as Vinci and the guard both staggered under the weight of her will. The guard regained his footing and stared silently at Woolf; Vinci opened his mouth, his face turning red with the effort, but he couldn’t speak. Marcus had seen the same thing when Dr. Morgan had ordered Samm to obey her—the leader commanded, and thanks to the link the Partials had no choice but to obey.

“We’re not Partials,” said Woolf. “You can’t just force our minds with your ‘link.’”

“I’m not a Partial either,” said Trimble.

This stopped Woolf in his tracks, confused. Marcus saw him struggling for a response and stepped forward with the first thing he could think of—anything to keep her talking.

“You’re human?” he asked.

“I used to be.”

“What are you now?”

“Guilty,” said Trimble.