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Chapter Twelve

“Oh no! Not more of the damned things!”

Isaac’s ears perked up at the familiar voice. He turned a corner near the station canteen, fresh steaming cup in his hands. Nina stood facing the wall, shoulders hunched and a hand against her brow.

“Nina?”

“Hey, Isaac,” she groaned without looking up.

“Something wrong?”

“Thirteen more.”

“More what?”

“Malfunctioning printers.” She pressed her forearm against the wall and faced him. “Another thirteen were added to my work queue while I was on your case, all in and around New Frontier. It’ll take me days to clear through all of them. I swear, this Apple Cypher business is like a hydra.”

“But that’s just your job. Why sound so depressed?”

“Because now I’m stuck in this smelly armpit of a city!”

“Aren’t you being a little overdramatic?”

“You saw Shelf One!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Says the person who thinks the Howling Bow is a nice place to live,” she mocked.

“Because it is,” Isaac defended. “It’s homey.”

“Whatever.” She put her back to the wall and crossed her arms. “You have any luck with your case?”

“Mixed. I was hoping your report might shed some light there.”

“Check your mail. It’s all there, and I think you’ll be happy with what I found. Got an ID on one of the thieves.”

“Wonderful!” He beamed at her. “I’ll share the good news with Susan and Cephalie. Later.”

“Take care.”

He returned to the interrogation room to find Susan sitting on the edge of the table, chatting with Cephalie.

“We have a forensics report,” he started. “Nina’s finished with the apartment.” He set his mug down, opened the mail, and sent Susan a copy. As he expected from his twin sister, the report was well organized, with information categorized under separate tabs. He started with the FORCED ENTRY tab and expanded it. “The thieves used a Trades’n’Crafts ‘Cut-All’ Pattern D vibro-knife to saw through the lock. That doesn’t tell us much.”

“Why not?” Susan asked, opening her copy.

“That specific pattern is public domain,” Cephalie explained. “Anyone can print it. No permit required. Trades’n’Crafts places some of their low-end patterns into public domain for promotional reasons.”

“Which is why gangs use it as a weapon,” Isaac added, scrolling down. “Ah, but this is more interesting. The thieves tried using the keycode first. Nina pulled the door infosystem records, and it shows they entered the same code five times with no luck.”

“Sounds like they expected it to work,” Susan noted.

“Yes.” Isaac traced through the report with a finger. “And the keycode they used was the room’s old code. But Delacroix put in a request to have it changed near the end of his last visit three weeks ago. It’s worth noting that that’s the only change request on record, so it doesn’t appear we’re dealing with a habit of his, such as changing keycodes at regular intervals.”

“Maybe he expected trouble?” Susan said.

“Maybe,” Isaac agreed, nodding. “I’m wondering how the thieves obtained his original keycode in the first place, though. But this explains why they cut through the lock. They didn’t expect any problems breaking in, and when their code didn’t work, they improvised.”

“Real clumsily, too,” Cephalie added. “That must have created a ton of noise. I’m surprised NFPD didn’t receive a civil disturbance call.”

Isaac clicked the next tab, and his eyes twinkled.

“Way to go, Nina!” he said with a broad smile. “Positive ID on one of the thieves. Derrick ‘Hatchet Man’ Fuller. Age twenty-three, known Fanged Wyverns member since 2972.” He expanded the criminal’s record. “Assault, robbery, intimidation, and the like. He’s already done two years in a juvie panopticosm.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work.”

“What’s more, Nina found traces of three accomplices,” Isaac continued. “She doesn’t have positive IDs on them, though. They might not have criminal records yet, which is not uncommon as the gangs drop and pick up members.”

“What’s this tab do?” Susan asked as she clicked her interface.

The interrogation room vanished, and an abstraction of Delacroix’s apartment sprang up around them. Numbered icons dotted the virtual space, ready to expand with detailed information if selected.

“Whoops,” Susan uttered.

“No, no. It’s fine,” Isaac assured her. “I wanted to see this next anyway. Beats having to drive out there again.” He clicked on one of the floating icons, and translucent outlines appeared on and underneath Delacroix’s desk. “Timeline estimate places the theft half an hour after the murders. Items stolen include three TurboCruncher ‘Azimuth-G’ infosystem towers, a TurboCruncher ‘Eclipse-XX’ wrist attendant, two Gordian Division uniforms, a smattering of synthoid care products, a few articles of civilian clothing, a physical portrait of Delacroix’s wife, and two bottles of Old Frontier redcap whiskey.”

Susan chuckled. “That’s an odd list.”

“The infosystems are what matters. I get the impression these goons were told to strip the place, top to bottom, without a lot of detailed instruction.” Isaac sighed. “Moving on, we now have a clear course of action.”

“Bring in Fuller?”

“Not quite.” He flashed a half smile. “Cephalie, is the precinct captain in?”

“He is, and he’s at his desk right now.”

“Splendid.” Isaac closed the abstraction and opened the door. “Let’s go have a chat with him.”

“You’re going to cause trouble, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Isaac led the way to the precinct’s central elevators, and they took one up to the tenth floor. Captain Sylvester Lasky sat at a cluttered desk, straight backed and broad chested, with a wide window behind him overlooking Shelf Zero. His synthoid skin was the same dark green of his uniform, making it difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. Perhaps that was the intended effect—a man who was his uniform.

He looked up as Isaac and the others stepped into his office.

“Can I help you, Detective?” Those were the captain’s exact words, stiff and formal, though his tone made it sound like he’d actually said, I don’t want a Themis troublemaker in my precinct, but I’m obligated to work with you.

“Captain, I need your assistance.”

“I assigned Lieutenant MacFayden to support your case. Please work with her directly. I’m very busy.”

“I’m aware of that. However, I suspect the assistance I require exceeds her authority.”

Lasky made a noncommittal grunt in the back of his throat. He closed the virtual reports over his desk and leaned forward.

“What, exactly, is it you need from me?”

“I have evidence at least four members of the Fanged Wyverns are involved in the case. I need them brought in for questioning.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Lasky relaxed a little. “Which ones? There are a lot of Fanged Wyverns in the city.”

“All of them, preferably, until we find the ones we’re looking for. I don’t have positive IDs on all four.”

Lasky glowered at him.

“I’m serious, Captain.”

“I’m sure you are,” Lasky fumed. “Everything must look so binary up on Kronos. The world is either black or white, but down this deep in the Shark Fin, there are many shades of gray. Do you realize what you’re asking of me?”

“I believe so.”

“Then let me highlight your ignorance. Right now, the New Frontier gangs are relatively calm. We haven’t had any major turf wars in months, and violent crime is trending down across the board. The gangs aren’t interested in picking fights with us, and we, frankly, don’t have the resources to go after every little crime they commit. So we focus on the worst offenders. We make a few examples, and the rest hunker down and play it safe. Everyone wins. The citizens of this fair city experience less crime, my hardworking troopers get harassed by the gangs less, and yes, even the gangs win a little breathing room, a little discretionary enforcement. We’ve found a comfortable equilibrium.

“And you”—he pointed a large finger at Isaac—“are telling me to rile up the hornet’s nest!”

“No, Captain,” Isaac said, undeterred. “I’m not ordering you to do anything.”

“Then why are you bothering me?”

“Captain, I fully acknowledge this is your precinct, and you’re the expert in your city. And so, I’m asking for your assistance. I suggested a way to pursue my case’s evidence trail, but I welcome your input when it comes to the gangs you regularly deal with.”

“Then you don’t plan to throw your weight around?”

“No, Captain. I don’t, unless I find myself with no other recourse to solve my case. I understand we have different priorities, you with your city and me with this homicide, but they’re not mutually exclusive.”

Lasky wrinkled his brow. “You sure you’re with Themis?”

“Last I checked, Captain.”

The big man tapped his fingers on his desk. Then he grinned at Isaac.

“All right. I’ll bite. Let’s see if we can figure out an approach where you don’t make a mess of my city. Got anything other than they’re Wyverns?”

“Only one positive ID. Derrick Fuller.”

“The Hatchet Man!” Lasky’s eyes burned with barely contained fury.

“You know him?”

“Damn right I do. He knifed MacFayden in the leg a few years back and landed himself in prison for assault. The jury went way too easy on him, if you ask me. He’s kept a low profile since being released.”

“Then you’re not inclined to ‘rile’ things up over him?”

“I’ll make an exception for that floating turd, and I’m sure MacFayden wouldn’t mind another crack at him. Also, we know the scum he floats around with, so we can perform a targeted grab.” Lasky paused, then leaned back in his chair. “You want him when we’re done?”

“Not unless I can directly tie him to the murders. I figured I’d leave his handling up to your discretion.”

“Even better.” Lasky keyed open a comm window. “MacFayden, get up here. We’ve got work to do.”

“Right away, boss.”

* * *

The New Frontier Police Department knew their city well. They knew where the gangs hung out, they maintained unofficial member lists, and they actively cross-referenced every entry with known associations, both lawful and otherwise. That meant when Lasky and MacFayden looked up Fuller, they immediately knew the best places to find him, which gang members he’d been spotted with recently, and where to find them.

SSP dispatchers put out calls to all available squad cars and quadcopters, and even more left the station garage. All totaled, they brought in eleven Fanged Wyverns for questioning: Derrick Fuller, four Wyverns unlucky enough to be found with him, and six more known associates the troopers pounced on at other locations. Patrols were out in force looking for another three, but the investigative gears of the precinct had already shuddered into action with those brought in.

Every interrogation room on the ground floor was filled as SSP sergeants questioned the gang members, and Isaac sat in a second-floor command-and-control room with Susan, Cephalie, and Lieutenant MacFayden, a woman who looked tough enough to chew through industrial prog-steel despite the gray at her temples. Images from each room orbited them, and he enlarged one and enabled the sound while nursing his latest cup of coffee.

Derrick Fuller sat across from a sergeant, looking unconcerned. He wore a black hoodie with a subtle scaly pattern and a large neon yellow jaw on the back. His abstraction visor sat on the table.

“We know you did the Oasis job,” the sergeant said. “You’re in a heap of trouble this time, Fuller.”

The gangster didn’t make eye contact with the cop. He stared at the wall with a bored expression and picked at an incisor with his thumb as if trying to dislodge a stuck piece of food.

“You have any idea who you stole from? A dead cop, that’s who. And not just anyone. We’re talking SysPol Gordian Division. You listening to me, Fuller?”

Isaac pulled out and muted the window. Fuller had been with the Fanged Wyverns for eight years and had already done time in jail for them without blabbing. They needed something more potent than additional prison time to loosen his lips, and Isaac didn’t see any obvious leverage they could use.

However, the other gangsters might prove more…malleable, he thought as he reviewed their files.

Some of them didn’t have criminal records yet, and Isaac suspected three of those had been brought along for their muscles, essentially acting as pack animals to haul away the goods while under Fuller’s command. They might not be as interested in prison time as Fuller, and Fanged Wyverns were, on average, less wealthy than the Numbers. Chances were none of these gangsters enjoyed the equivalent of the Skylark family fortune to lean on; no high-priced lawyers coming to their rescue, he suspected.

He picked a window at random and listened in on a gangster named Long Lie, age sixteen, no criminal record. His neon yellow hoodie featured a large dragon-like silhouette on the back.

“Where were you from nine to eleven this morning?”

“Home. Playin’ games.”

“Not at school?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Cuz.”

“Which games were you playing?”

“Just one.”

“Which one, then?”

RealmBuilder.”

“What were you doing in the game?”

“Buildin’ stuff.”

“Anyone see you playing?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“My ma.”

“Anyone else?”

“My sis.”

“They see you the whole two hours?”

“One of ’em.”

“Which one?”

“My ma.”

“Will she tell us the same thing?”

“I guess.”

“Well, we’re going to call her right now and see if your story checks out. You’d better hope it does.”

“Sure. Whatev.”

Isaac picked another window, enlarged it and enabled the sound. The caption identified this young man as Yang Zhao, age nineteen, no criminal record. He wore all black except for stylized yellow bite marks on his arms and chest. His muscles strained against a hoodie on the edge of being too small for his bulk.

“What’s this?” The cop pulled up Yang’s left sleeve, revealing an expensive wearable infosystem. “What the hell is this?”

“What’s it look like?” He jerked his arm back.

“You have a permit for that?”

“Sure do.”

“Then let’s see it, Yang. Show me. Right now. Prove to me you’re not a troublemaker.”

“It was a gift.”

“Gift or not, where’s your permit?”

“I don’t have it with me.”

“What kind of permit is it, then? Single use? Limited replication? Destruct and reuse? What kind of permit you got for your wearable?”

“I don’t remember.”

“The hell you don’t!” snapped the cop. “Out in public without your pattern permits. I could charge you right now, if I wanted. Add that to the theft.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy! I didn’t steal anything!” Yang tried to sound confident, but his voice cracked.

Isaac zoomed in on the wrist-mounted infosystem and took a sip from his coffee. The camera IDed it as a TurboCruncher Eclipse-XX.

“And we have a winner,” Isaac remarked with a mischievous smile.

“Could something like that be in the public domain?” Susan asked.

“Not one that nice,” Isaac said. “Public domain patterns are for the poor. Anything else, you need to buy.” He opened a private channel to the interrogating cop. “Thank you, Sergeant. Looks like you’ve got the suspect limbered up for me. I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. My pleasure.”

“What?” Yang asked, his voice cracking again. “What’s going on? Who’re you talking to?”

“He’s all yours, Detective,” the cop finished.

“A detective!” Yang blurted. “A SysPol detective’s here?”

“That’s right, Yang. And you’re next on his shit list.”

The sergeant stood up and departed without another word, leaving the gangster alone with his mounting anxiety.

* * *

Isaac sat down across from Yang Zhao with the slow, deliberate patience of a man ready to apply some much-needed pressure—and in full possession of the tools necessary to do so. He waited for Susan to take her own seat and for the LENS to float down onto the table. Then and only then did he activate his virtual interface and review it within a long, drawn-out silence.

Yang Zhao shifted in his seat, a deep, nervous frown on his face. His eyes slid from Isaac to Susan and back, and his discomfort grew.

“Let’s start with your wrist attendant,” Isaac said at last.

“What about it?”

“Where did you get it, really?”

“Like I said, it was a gift.”

“Lying to a police officer is serious offense, punishable by up to one year in prison.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Who gave you the wearable?”

“It was…umm.”

“When did you receive it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You’d better start remembering.” Isaac fixed him with a piercing gaze. “One last chance. Where did you get it?”

“Don’t recall.” He looked away.

“Enough of this.” Isaac gestured the LENS forward. “Check the pattern serial.”

The LENS floated over to Yang and extended a mercurial pseudopod to his wrist.

“You can’t.” Yang jerked his wrist back and stuffed it under his other armpit. “I know how this works. No warrant, no search.”

“Which I would have no difficulty obtaining under these circumstances,” Isaac informed him patiently. “But I don’t even need that to search you under the probable cause statute. I have several good reasons to suspect you’ve committed a crime, and the statute provides me with limited authority to perform unwarranted searches. We know at least one Fanged Wyvern robbed an Oasis apartment this morning, and we know one of the items stolen matches the wrist attendant in your possession. Now, you can either stick out your wrist or I can have the LENS do it for you.”

Yang paused longer than he should have, but with a resigned huff, he stuck out his arm.

“Collect a DNA sample, too,” Isaac added.

“What for?” Yang asked.

“To see if you were in the apartment.”

“I wasn’t.” He stood straighter and raised his chin, some of his confidence returning.

“Then you have nothing to fear,” Isaac stated evenly.

“Fine. Take it then.” Yang leaned forward, offering his left cheek. “It’s not like I have a choice here.”

“No. You don’t.”

Interesting. You think this is going to exonerate you, Isaac thought. You might be in for a rude surprise.

The LENS produced two pseudopods. One removed the wearable infosystem from his wrist and enveloped it in liquid metal, and the second caressed the gangster’s cheek. A prog-steel capsule formed around the shed skin cells, which then traveled up the pseudopod back to the LENS’s main body and its internal forensics module.

“The pattern serial’s been changed,” Cephalie reported through her speaker as the LENS set the device on the table. “Someone replaced the manufacturer’s code with what looks like a random string of characters. Might be Delacroix’s, but I can’t be certain. I’ll need a few moments to process his DNA.”

“Who’s Delacroix?” Yang asked.

“Yang Zhao, you’ve been found in possession of illegally modified property. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Okay, fine.” He flashed a smile. “Look, you’re right. It wasn’t a gift.”

“Then how did you obtain it?”

“Well, it was sort of a gift.” He leaned in, suddenly all buddy-buddy. “A gift I gave myself. You see, back at our hangout, I saw this pile of goodies. Someone was going to toss that”—he pointed to the wrist attendant—“down the reclamation chute. Can you believe that? So I…helped myself to it.”

“Knowing it was stolen.”

“I didn’t know that. Just saw it with a pile of stuff about to be thrown out. It looked nice, so I grabbed it.”

“What other ‘goodies’ did you see it with?”

“Oh, let me think.” He rubbed his chin and glanced up at the ceiling. “It was an odd pile. Some nice infosystem towers. Two or three, I think. A bunch of clothes. A whiskey bottle.”

“Who brought those items into the hangout?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who wanted those items reclaimed?”

“Don’t know.”

“Then how do you know they were due to be thrown out?”

“That’s what the pile next to the chute is for. Just trying to keep the hangout clean, you know.” Yang chuckled. “Some of us Wyverns are slobs!”

“I see.” Isaac knew a tall tale when he heard one. Yang’s burst of confidence meant he thought he’d figured out a way to navigate the mess he’d landed in, and Isaac wasn’t about to turn down even more leverage. He glanced to Cephalie’s avatar, lounging on the table. “Finished with his DNA yet?”

“I am.”

Yang put both hands behind his head and leaned back with a broad grin on his face, reveling in his own brilliance.

“And the results?” Isaac asked.

“His DNA was all over that apartment.”

Yang almost slipped out of his chair.

“Why am I not surprised?” Isaac sighed.

“B-b-but! That can’t be! There’s no way that’s mine!”

“And why not, Yang?”

“Because we used—” His jaw clapped shut and his face reddened.

The room was silent for long, uncomfortable seconds before Isaac raised a questioning eyebrow at the gangster.

“Ohh,” Yang whimpered, deflating as the magnitude of his error slammed home. “Shit.”

“Because you used…what?” Isaac asked.

“Umm.”

“Let me make your situation crystal clear for you.” Isaac knitted his fingers together on the table. “You’ve been placed at the scene of the crime, you were found in possession of an item stolen from the same scene, and you’ve lied repeatedly to us. You’re in trouble. A lot of trouble, and the only way to make matters any better for yourself is to cooperate with us. If you do, I’ll pass on a recommendation for leniency.”

“But—”

“I’m not finished,” Isaac interrupted, and Yang clammed up. “We’re not talking about lukewarm, wishy-washy cooperation, either. You’ve already tried to lie your way out of this. No, I want everything, and you can start by giving me the names of the people with you and an explanation for why you hit that apartment.”

Yang’s mouth hung open as he stared at the table, a pale expression on his face.

“What’ll it be? This is the best offer you’re going to get all day.” Isaac leaned back with an indifferent grunt. “Frankly, I don’t care either way. I’ve got plenty of other gangsters I can lean on after you, so mark my words, I will discover the truth.”

Yang swallowed audibly, then took a slow, shuddering breath.

“D-detective, sir?” he asked, his tone totally transformed from before. He was ready to beg, and Isaac didn’t mind this at all.

“Yes?”

“You promise?” He looked up, eyes filled with fear. “I’ll get a good sentence.”

“That’s not my role. I’m not a judge. Nor am I a prosecutor, though any recommendation I make will reach the prosecutor for your case.”

“Then you’ll recommend a good one?”

“If you cooperate, yes. On that, you have my word.” Isaac cleared his throat. “As long as you’re not guilty of murder, that is.”

“Murder!” Yang cried. “Who said anything about that?!”

“You asked who Delacroix was. Were you being honest there?”

“Yes! Never heard the name in my life!”

“He’s the murdered cop you robbed.”

The blood drained from Yang’s face, and he gulped again.

“I’m waiting.”

“Uhh, yeah,” Yang uttered, in the process of a stumbling attempt to regain his composure. “Yes, sir, Detective. Where should I, umm, begin, sir?”

“Who was at the apartment?”

“Me, Derrick, Manobu, and Hao. We took Hao’s truck.”

Isaac checked the list of gangsters at the station and flagged Watanabe Manobu’s and Huang Hao’s files for further review.

“Why were you there?”

“Derrick gathered us up this morning. Said he was helping a friend move.”

Isaac gave the gangster an incredulous glare.

“I swear it’s the truth, sir!” Yang pleaded. “I didn’t know what any of this was about until it was too late. And yeah, it sounded shady from the start, but what was I supposed to do? It was the Hatchet Man himself giving us orders. You been around the guy? Man, he’s crazy. Lunatic knifed a cop once! A cop!”

“Continue.”

“When we got to the apartment, Derrick tried the keycode a couple times, but it didn’t work. He started cussing up a storm, and that’s when I knew we wasn’t there to help nobody ‘move.’ But I was stuck there with the others. Manobu, he suggested he call his friend, but then Derrick just pulls out his shiv and starts cutting through the damn lock!” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that! I had to plug my ears, it was so loud!”

“And then what?”

“Derrick told us to haul everything not bolted down back to the truck, so we did.” Yang’s shoulders slumped. “And then Hao grabbed four cans of Grime-Away out of his truck. Man, if I’d still had any doubts what we was really doing, that finished ’em off. Derrick said we needed to leave the place ‘minty fresh’ for his friend, but I knew what was going on.”

“Who used the Grime-Away?”

“We all pitched in. I didn’t want this coming back to bite me, so I lathered the place. Emptied my whole can.” He chuckled sadly. “Didn’t help in the end, did it? Pissed Hao off, too. He yelled at me for using too much.”

“What did you do with the stolen goods?”

“We took all of it back to our hangout on Shelf Two.”

“Where?”

“In the alley between the city’s reclamation plant and the air processor. Same place the cops picked me up.”

“Are the stolen goods still at your hangout?”

“The booze is. Derrick took both bottles for himself, then ordered us to recycle the rest.”

“And did you?”

“Yeah. Most of it was easy, but we had to bust up the towers to make ’em fit. They made a lot of racket going down.”

“And this?” Isaac held up the wrist attendant.

“I…figured all that hard work was worth a little pay. So, I kept it instead of tossing it down the chute.”

“Who changed the pattern serial?”

“Manobu did. I promised to share it with him after, so he hooked me up with this little eyedropper of reprogrammed microbots. Just a squeeze or two, and they seep in and reorganize the printed number. Said he’d help me get a forged permit later.” Yang blew out a resigned breath. “Turned out to be too late.”

“Did all four of you know this was a robbery?”

“By the end, we did. Hao and Derrick knew from the start.”

“Do you know why this apartment was targeted?”

“No.”

“Did any of the others say anything that might indicate why it was targeted?”

“No.” Yang shook his head. “Derrick kept saying it was a ‘friendly favor’ all the way through.”

Isaac glanced to Susan. “Let’s have a chat with MacFayden.”

They both rose from their seats.

“Wait!” Yang pleaded, reaching for him. “I told you all I know, and you promised.”

If your story checks out.”

The door sealed Yang Zhao inside, and they headed up the stairs to the control center.

“You think he was finally giving us the truth?” Susan asked as they walked.

“That’s what my gut says, but you know what they say.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“I’m sure you have this one back in the Admin.” He gave her a smile. “Trust but verify.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Yes, we have that one.”

“See? We’re not so different.”

“I didn’t say we were.”

“But you and I have both been thinking it.”

“Umm. Maybe?” she conceded.

They stepped into the control center, and MacFayden sat up in her seat.

“Yes, Detective?”

“Did you catch the names Yang gave us?”

“I did. We’ll collect the wearables off those four as evidence. Our forensics group isn’t as well equipped as SysPol, but I think we can hack the security on a few cheap visors without too much trouble.”

“You read my mind. Thank you.”

“Hell, Detective.” She flashed a sharklike grin. “Thank you. You’re giving me another shot at that bastard Fuller, so I want to see this go well as much as you do—if not more so. Care to interrogate the other three scum buckets next?”

“Actually, they can wait. I’m much more interested in what we learned from Yang.”

“What’s next for us, then?” Susan asked.

“Only the most glamorous of pursuits,” Isaac said with false enthusiasm. “Time to start digging through the trash.”


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