"Hand me the binoculars, please," I said to Hickory, as we climbed out to the roof of the bungalow. It obliged me. "Thanks," I said. Dickory was below us, on the ground; old habits die hard.

Even with the binoculars General Gau and Dad were little more than dots. I looked anyway. I wasn't the only one; on other roofs, in Croatoan and in the homesteads, other people sat on roofs with binoculars and telescopes, looking at Dad and the general, or scanning the sky, looking in the dusk for the Gentle Star. As night finally fell, I spotted the ship myself; a tiny dot between two stars, shining unblinkingly where the other stars twinkled.

"How long until the other ships arrive, do you think?" I asked Hickory. The Gentle Star always arrived first, alone, and then at Gau's command, the hundreds of other ships would appear, a not-at-all-subtle bit of showmanship to get a reluctant colony leader to agree to get his or her people to leave their homes. I had watched it on previous colony removal videos. It would happen here, too.

"Not long now," Hickory said. "By now Major Perry will have refused to surrender the colony."

I took down my binoculars and glanced over to Hickory in the gloom. "You don't seem concerned about this," I said. "That's a different tune than you were singing before."

"Things have changed," Hickory said.

"I wish I had your confidence," I said.

"Look," Hickory said. "It has begun."

I glanced up. New stars had begun to appear in the sky. First one or two, then small groups, and then entire constellations. So many had begun to appear it was impossible to track every single appearance. I knew there were four hundred. It seemed like thousands.

"Dear God," I said, and I was afraid. Truly afraid. "Look at them all."

"Do not fear this attack, Zoë," Hickory said. "We believe this plan will work."

"You know the plan?" I asked. I didn't take my eyes off the sky.

"We learned of it this afternoon," Hickory said. "Major Perry told us, as a courtesy to our government."

"You didn't tell me," I said.

"We thought you knew," Hickory said. "You said you had spoken to Major Perry about it."

"We talked about the Colonial Union attacking the Conclave fleet," I said. "But we didn't talk about how."

"My apologies, Zoë," Hickory said. "I would have told you."

"Tell me now," I said, and then something happened in the sky.

The new stars started going nova.

First one or two, then small groups, and then entire constellations. So many expanded and brightened that they had begun to blend into each other, forming an arm of a small and violent galaxy. It was beautiful. And it was the worst thing I had ever seen.

"Antimatter bombs," Hickory said. "The Colonial Union learned the identity of the ships in the Conclave fleet. It assigned members of your Special Forces to locate them and plant the bombs just before the jump here. Another Special Forces member here activated them."

"Bombs on how many ships?" I asked.

"All of them," Hickory said. "All but the Gentle Star."

I tried to turn to look at Hickory but I couldn't move my eyes from the sky. "That's impossible," I said.

"No," Hickory said. "Not impossible. Extraordinarily difficult. But not impossible."

From other roofs and from the streets of Croatoan, cheers and shouts lifted into the air. I finally turned away, and wiped the tears off my face.

Hickory noticed. "You cry for the Conclave fleet," it said.

"Yes," I said. "For the people on those ships."

"Those ships were here to destroy the colony," Hickory said.

"I know," I said.

"You are sorry they were destroyed," Hickory said.

"I am sorry that we couldn't think of anything better," I said. "I'm sorry that it had to be us or them."

"The Colonial Union believes this will be a great victory," Hickory said. "It believes that destroying the Conclave's fleet in one engagement will cause the Conclave to collapse, ending its threat. This is what it has told my government."

"Oh," I said.

"It is to be hoped they are correct," Hickory said.

I was finally able to look away and face Hickory. The afterimages of the explosions placed blotches all around it. "Do you believe they are correct?" I asked. "Would your government believe it?"

"Zoë," Hickory said. "You will recall that just before you left for Roanoke, my government invited you to visit our worlds."

"I remember," I said.

"We invited you because our people longed to see you, and to see you among us," Hickory said. "We also invited you because we believed that your government was going to use Roanoke as a ruse to open a battle against the Conclave. And while we did not know whether this ruse would be successful, we believed strongly that you would have been safer with us. There is no doubt that your life has been in danger here, Zoë, both in ways we had foreseen and in ways that we could not. We invited you, Zoë, because we feared for you. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

"I do," I said.

"You asked me if I believe the Colonial Union is correct, that this is a great victory, and if my government would believe the same," Hickory said. "My response is to say that once again my government extends an invitation to you, Zoë, to come visit our worlds, and to travel safe among them."

I nodded, and looked back to the sky, where stars were still going nova. "And when would you want this trip to begin?" I asked.

"Now," Hickory said. "Or as close to now as possible."

I didn't say anything to that. I looked up to the sky, and then closed my eyes and for the first time, started to pray. I prayed for the crews of the ships above me. I prayed for the colonists below me. I prayed for John and Jane. For Gretchen and her father. For Magdy and for Enzo and their families. For Hickory and Dickory. I prayed for General Gau. I prayed for everyone.

I prayed.

"Zoë," Hickory said.

I opened my eyes.

"Thank you for the invitation," I said. "I regret I must decline."

Hickory was silent.

"Thank you, Hickory," I said. "Really, thank you. But I am right where I belong."

"Admit it," Enzo said, through the PDA. "You forgot."

"I did not," I said, with what I hoped was just the right amount of indignation to suggest that I had not forgotten, which I had.

"I can hear the fake indignation," he said.

"Rats," I said. "You're on to me. Finally."

"Finally? There's no finally," Enzo said. "I've been on to you since I met you."

"Maybe you have," I allowed.

"And anyway, that doesn't solve this problem," Enzo said. "We're about to sit down for dinner. You're supposed to be here. Not to make you feel guilty or anything."

This was the difference between me and Enzo now and then. There used to be a time when Enzo would have said those words and they would have come out sounding like he was accusing me of something (besides, of course, being late). But right now they were gentle and funny. Yes, he was exasperated, but he was exasperated in a way that suggested I might be able to make it up to him. Which I probably would, if he didn't push it.

"I am in fact wracked with guilt," I said.

"Good," Enzo said. "Because you know we put a whole extra potato in the stew for you."

"Gracious," I said. "A whole potato."

"And I promised the twins they could throw their carrots at you," he said, referring to his little sisters. "Because I know how much you love carrots. Especially when they're kid-hurled."

"I don't know why anyone would eat them any other way," I said.

"And after dinner I was going to read you a poem I wrote for you," Enzo said.

I paused. "Now that's not fair," I said. "Injecting something real into our witty banter."