Sula opened the bedroom door and looked at Spence, who was sprawled on her bed, her wounded leg on one pillow, her straw-colored hair strewn over another. “It’s over,” Sula said. “You can turn down the volume now.”

 Her voice probably had more bite than she’d intended. Over the last few days she’d had her fill of Spence’s romantic videos.

 “Yes, my lady!” Spence said in proper military style, and from a position on the bed that approximated attention commanded the wall to silence.

 Sula was embarrassed by Spence’s overreaction. “Lucy,” Sula said. “Call me Lucy.” It was her cover name. Then, “Do you need anything?”

 “I’m all right, Lucy, thanks.” Spence shifted her sturdy hips on the bed.

 “Right,” Sula said. “Call if you want something.”

 Sula closed the door and returned to the figures she’d scribbled on her pad. There was a tap on the door, and then it opened to reveal Constable Second Class Gavin Macnamara, the third member of her action team. Tall and curly-haired and ingenuous, he had been Team 491’s runner, traveling through the city on his two-wheeler to collect and distribute messages. But that had been in the days when there were people to send messagesto. Now he wandered Zanshaa’s Lower Town at random, collecting what information he could.

 He glanced at the video wall as he entered, his expression tentative. “Is it over?” he asked.

 “Yes.”

 “How was it?”

 She gave him a look. “A hundred and seventy-five reasons not to surrender.”

 Macnamara nodded and sat on a chair.

 “How are people taking it?” she asked.

 Macnamara’s open, friendly face clouded over. “They’re trying to ignore it, I think. I think they’re telling themselves that the condemned were all military, and that it doesn’t apply to them.”

 “And the hostages?”