"Yeah. We've been tanking for months. I've been standing on the bridge of this sinking ship with my biggest smile pasted on for two consecutive quarters now. I've thrown out the most impressive reality distortion field the business world has ever seen. Just because I'm giving up doesn't mean I gave up without a fight." Suzanne had never been good at condolences. She hated funerals. "Landon, I'm sorry. It must have been very hard --" "Yeah," he said. "Well, sure. I wanted you to have the scoop on this, but I had to talk to the press once the story broke, you understand." "I understand," she said. "Scoops aren't that important anyway. I'll tell you what. I'll post a short piece on this right away, just saying, 'Yes, it's true, and I'm getting details.' Then I'll do interviews with you and Lester and Perry and put up something longer in a couple of hours. Does that work?" He laughed again, no humor in it. "Yeah, that'll be *fine*." "Sorry, Kettlewell." "No, no," he said. "No, it's OK." "Look, I just want to write about this in a way that honors what you've done over the past two years. I've never been present at the birth of anything remotely this important. It deserves to be described well." It sounded like he might be crying. There was a snuffling sound. "You've been amazing, Suzanne. We couldn't have done it without you. No one could have described it better. Great deeds are irrelevant if no one knows about them or remembers them." Her phone was beeping. She snuck a peek. It was her old editor. "Listen," she said. "I have to go. There's a call coming in I *have* to take. I can call you right back." "Don't," he said. "It's OK. I'm busy here anyway. This is a big day." His laugh was like a dog's bark. "Take care of yourself, Kettlewell," she said. "Don't let the bastards grind you down." "Nil carborundum illegitimis to you, too." She clicked over to her editor. "Jimmy," she said. "Long time no speak. Sorry I missed your calls before -- I'm in Russia on a story." "Hello, Suzanne," he said. His voice had an odd, strained quality, or maybe that was just her mood, projecting. "I'm sorry, Suzanne. You've been doing good work. The best work of your career, if you ask me. I follow it closely." It made her feel a little better. She'd been uncomfortable about the way she and Jimmy had parted ways, but this was vindicating. It emboldened her. "Jimmy, what the hell do I do now?" "Christ, Suzanne, I don't know. I'll tell you what not to do, though. Off the record." "Off the record." "Don't do what I've done. Don't hang grimly onto the last planks from the sinking ship, chronicling the last few struggling, sinking schmucks' demise. It's no fun being the stenographer for the fall of a great empire. Find something else to cover." The words made her heart sink. Poor Jimmy, stuck there in the Merc's once-great newsroom, while the world crumbled around him. It must have been heartbreaking. "Thanks," she said. "You want an interview?"