Flinn turned back to Hayes.
"I never thought to ask before," Flinn said. "Dobbs—did he have any close living relatives? A wife? Children?"
Hayes shook his head.
"Thank God for that!" Flinn said.
He started down the hall toward the stairs. The men there grew silent as he approached and moved soundlessly out of his way.
He went down the stairs, through the room off the kitchen, and outside to the driveway. He looked up at the dark sky.
It's over, he told himself. And now I'm a murderer. All of us are. A guilt shared by the few to save the many. But the few are the product of the many, just as each individual is, so where are we to place the blame?
Twenty years of research, and where had it led?
Somewhere he had failed as society had failed, and, even in success, Flinn could feel no flush of victory.
The Earth was safe, but every human upon it had died a little without even knowing it.