They met in the Banana, sitting around the long conference table. To one side of it was death: the sick bay where Zeke, the last man alive, had given up the ghost a day and a half ago, after making a joke about what a shame it all was: being the only man alive, with eight women to choose from. They had scrubbed the place down with bleach and made the beds with clean sheets in the hopes that none of them would be occupied for a long time. To the other side was life: the series of compartments where Moira had been setting up her genetics lab.