When Vinci answered, the other soldier put a hand on his arm to stop him; Vinci ignored him and spoke anyway. “She’s been like this for a while now. We’ve been fighting Morgan for years, mostly just little skirmishes, all stemming from one fundamental disagreement: what to do with you humans on Long Island. Whether or not your existence is a threat, or a necessity. Whether we had the right to exterminate your race, or leave you alone and let you live or die as best you could, or whether it would be in our best interest to keep a population alive . . . But when the expiration date kicked in and people started dying, it got worse. Morgan wanted to start using the humans as test subjects, experimenting on them, and Trimble didn’t think it was right. Or, at least, didn’t think it was the right time. But while Morgan’s been getting stronger, rallying more Partials to her cause and becoming more violent in her methods, Trimble has been refusing to act. When she says anything, she says she doesn’t want to condone a course of action that could lead to the eradication of the human species. But she is offering no alternative, no course of action whatsoever, and with more Partials expiring every day, Trimble’s caution has begun to look more like fear and indecision. We’ve been losing soldiers to Morgan’s faction in a massive flood, and still she does nothing to stem it.” He looked at Marcus. “We want to help you—we’ve sent as many teams as we can to harry Morgan’s rear flank, to disrupt her and avoid the elimination of the last of the human population, but without any real leadership from Trimble . . .” His voice trailed off, and Marcus heard an explosion in the distance.

“Who are you fighting here, though?” asked Marcus. “It can’t be Morgan’s company, and you’ve already confirmed as much.”

“They’re fighting themselves,” said Woolf softly. Marcus looked at him, surprised, then looked at Vinci and the other soldier. They didn’t answer, only looked at the floor.

“Your faction is fighting itself?” asked Marcus. The implications frightened him—he remembered the riots in East Meadow when the fight between the Senate and the Voice finally came to a head. He remembered how vicious it became when friends suddenly turned on one another, incensed by ideological differences. “The battlefront that’s coming,” he said, “that’s a revolution? Soldiers from your company who now support Morgan? This city’s going to tear itself apart.”

“We should be safe in here,” said Vinci, then hesitated. “We might be safe in here. Everyone in this building is a loyal to General Trimble.”

Woolf frowned. “Why? Even if you disagree with Morgan . . . Trimble’s useless.”

“We’re loyal because that’s how they made us,” said Vinci. “Because it’s who we are.”