Wills stared at them for a moment and then turned back to the console, studying the blinking lights and the bright empty screens as if they had something to tell him. He thought about it for a long time, and the prospect became a faint buzzing in his brain that teased at him with feathery touches, causing him to itch all over.

Why not? He could launch just one, see what happened. Just one.

What difference could it possibly make?

Once, not that long ago, such an act would have been unthinkable. But he had become increasingly convinced that no one deserved to live once he was gone. After all, what had they done to help look after things? He had seen what was out there, and it wasn’t human. Or not human enough to matter. Even so, he still required a better reason than that. He had that much discipline left in him. You launch one, you might attract attention. Someone might come for you, get you out. Perlo again. He glared over his shoulder at the other man, wanting him to mind his own business. The command center was his responsibility. The missiles were in his care. No one had the right to tell him what to do with them. Certainly not a ghost.

But Perlo did have a point. If there were still someone out there with the right training, they might be able to come for him. It was possible, after all. He couldn’t see everywhere. There might be someone left. The faces of his wife and boys stared out at him from the framed picture on the shelf in front of him. He had abandoned them. He had left them to die. He could see it in their eyes. They knew. He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing. He forgot about Perlo and Abramson. He forgot about everything but his dead family and his lost life. He began to cry softly.

“What the hell?” he whispered.

Impulsively he pulled out the red keys and inserted them into the locks. He leaned forward to allow for the retinal scan, waited for the clearance authorization to kick in, and turned the keys. The panel concealing the launch switches slid back. He heard the locks to the switches releasing, one after the other. And then the lights above the switches turned amber and everything was activated. Just one.

He studied the switches intently, trying to decide which. There was a book with codes designating targets and launch sites, but he didn’t know where that was anymore. He wasn’t entirely sure he remembered the codes, in any case. Five years was a long time to remember something you didn’t ever use.

Abramson and Perlo were standing at his back, watching him. Anderson was there, too, come to join them. Maybe it was time, he thought. Maybe they knew. He studied the switches some more. Finally, he flipped one.