His grin widened. Excellent analogy, he told himself. He had gone away from his usual narration, but he didn’t care. It felt good.

“You think about it a moment, you’ll see I’m right. We just ignored what was right in front of our eyes. We didn’t take care of business. Not the business that really mattered. We were too busy living our lives to do that. So now what do we have?”

He paused, considering. “I’ll tell you what we have. We have what we deserve.”

He saw both Abramson and Perlo nod in agreement and was encouraged. They understood. They knew he was right. That was a part of why they stayed with him. They liked listening to what he had to say. It helped pass the time for them, too.

Impulsively, he walked over to the command console and seated himself at the launch board. A faint memory surfaced of that time, now long past, when the last general strike had been called in from the National Command Authority, and he and the other key holder, Graves or whatever—now, that was an appropriate name—had activated the triggers to missiles housed in launch silos all over the country. How long ago had that been, anyway?

He could do that again right now, if he chose. It was a thought that crossed his mind at least several times a day. His retinal scan and the keys slung around his neck were all that was needed. Once, he would have needed authority from farther up the chain of command, a direct order come down from the general. But there wasn’t any chain of command left. There wasn’t anyone left but himself. He had to accept that. All his efforts at communication with the outside world had failed. He still tried, now and then. He still kept an open channel on the broadband. He still scanned the surrounding countryside through the monitors. He still hoped.

But he knew it was pointless.

Why don’t you just do it?

He jumped at the sound of the voice. It was Perlo who had spoken. But Perlo never spoke! None of his buddies did. He wheeled his chair around and stared at the other’s face, shocked. Really, I mean it. Why don’t you just do it?

He knew what Perlo was talking about, and he was vaguely resentful that the other man thought he had a right to make such a suggestion. It wasn’t up to him. He was dead, a ghost. What did he know?

But then he saw Abramson nodding in agreement. Abramson, for whom he had more respect, thought Perlo was right!