“Father,” said the boy.

Tar`ro stood on one side, Nissim the other. It was the teacher who put a strong hand on Diamond’s shoulder, squeezing as he said, “We’ll be down in another recitation, don’t worry.”

Perched on his boy’s head, Good clucked softly.

“Why aren’t we at the hangers?” Elata asked.

“They want us where we can take off fast,” Seldom said.

“Why would we take off?”

“Hanner might fall,” Seldom guessed, making everyone uneasy, including the boy who made the claim.

But Tar`ro said, “No, the tree’s strong enough. They don’t want this little balloon in one of their berths.”

“I suppose they wouldn’t,” said Nissim.

“Why not?” asked Elata.

The adults pretended not to hear. But from the back, Karlan said, “They’re saving space for the warships. District reserves are going to fuel up and arm up, and then we’ll launch the counterattack.”

There was a pause.

Then his brother asked, “Who will we attack?”

“Whoever we want,” Karlan said, buoyant enough to laugh. “Anyone who gives us reason gets smashed and burned.”

That’s when Diamond and Good leaped out the doorway.

Falling through the sunshine was a pleasure. Falling had a beginning and some inevitable end, but there was the great middle where a mind could concentrate, drawing out details and slowing time until it felt as if there was nothing in Creation but the busy sound of wind in the ears and wind against the clothes, hands twisting like tiny wings, dancing with the air that was trying its best to make the plunge last forever.

Legs bent, the boy struck the landing with as much luck as grace.

The crowd immediately pressed towards him.

Then the monkey landed and bounced, ending up on Diamond’s right shoulder, showing the world how bravery looked with its orange fur fluffed wide and every tooth shining.

Diamond ran for Father, and Father ran before falling back into a quick shuffle, arms crossing on his chest, squeezing once before the hands lifted, wiping at his miserable, joyous face.

The two called to each other.

Good shouted, “Merit.”

Tar`ro’s colleagues formed a protective ring around the boy.

Father was allowed through, smothering his son with shaking arms, and the same as when he was falling, his son struggled to make the next breaths last forever.

Good hissed at the unknown faces.

Standing at a polite distance, the Archon spoke to a younger woman. With an urgent voice, the aide said, “The scout ship’s reporting.”

“Reporting what?” Prima asked.

“I wish I knew, madam. The captain wants to speak to you, alone.”

The Archon nodded, eyes fixed on Diamond.

And just like that, time charged ahead, and the boy could do nothing but watch the world doing everything at once.

“For the time being, you’re me,” Prima told the aide. “Welcome each survivor, make everybody comfortable, and make certain, please, that Diamond and his people remain together. Understood?”

“Yes, madam.”

The little woman walked away.

Diamond didn’t want to speak, and he wished that he could stop thinking. But he heard himself ask, “Where’s Mother?”

Dripping eyes looked at him. Fingertips touched the bullet holes in the school uniform’s chest, and Merit said nothing. His face seemed weak, and then his face changed. Diamond couldn’t name what changed. But Father had stopped crying, gazing out at the emptiness and inviting his son to do the same. Hanner was solid enough to trust, but many of the named branches had been sheered away by Rail’s collapse. A dozen mature trees had been lost, fires roaring far above and one giant hole ripped into the forest, and the sun-washed air couldn’t seem more vacant or anymore dead, reaching for a fantastic distance until the trees began all over again.

Three old men wearing green silk uniforms and fur busbies stood at attention, speaking about their competence and their innocence, and with blood shining beneath naked faces, single mouths cursed the enormous evil that had brought this day’s treachery.

King listened from a distance, and sitting much closer, Father listened.

Father used nods and little winks, assuring his generals that he understood their words and respected them deeply. Indeed, he was walking with them down this very ugly branch.

That subterfuge made the old warriors courageous.

Of course the generals had to promise their Archon that the bloodwood forest was secure. Scouts and assorted fortifications saw no evidence of intrusions, much less sabotage, and no full-scale attacks were in the offing. What happened in the distant Corona District could never happen here.

“Besides, our trees are stronger,” said Father.

“And far less flammable,” said the general of generals, rocking slightly as his legs weakened. “Blackwoods and fire like each other far too well.”

His colleagues said nothing, nodding in ways that might mean anything.

“What did our allies do wrong?” Father asked.

Possibilities were offered, and they came too quickly. Quickness signaled reflexes at work, which was different from level, rational thought. These military creatures knew what was expected, and their speculations chased the premise that the Corona District was ruled by incompetents and possibly worse.

“You think they have traitors in their ranks,” said Father, speaking from behind his large bloodwood desk.

The three generals were in sad agreement; that awful possibility was very much in play.

“Traitors who want Diamond dead,” said Father, glancing at King. “Or at least they’d like to put him out of our reach again, I suppose.”

“But the boy has survived,” one general reminded everyone.

“And so the Creators have blessed us again.” Father nodded. “Now I have another foolish question. Blackwood burns, you say. That seems like a critical detail.”

Three faces nodded agreeably.

“But I know those trees. I’ve seen Marduk for myself. It isn’t a bloodwood . . . it wasn’t . . . but that trunk was massive, a proven survivor. Yet you seem to claim that an ordinary fire can tear a pillar of wood out of the world’s ceiling.”

“This was no natural fire,” said the youngest general. “That kind of blaze requires special explosives, very powerful, with almost supernatural heat.”

The general of generals nodded enthusiastically, happy to finally say the words everyone was thinking: “The papio are certainly involved.”

Father shrugged. “I don’t know much about bombs. My apologies.”

The ranking officer was happy to teach. “Our enemy has stockpiled many kinds of weapons, and destroying our trees would be one of their immediate goals.”

“And we have nothing like this?”

The generals hesitated.

“If I recall, there are some enormous, coral-shattering weapons in our armories,” said Father, flashing a proud smile. “You showed me those stockpiles once, right after I won this office. I remember rockets as long as this room, and you explained how those corona-bone tips would let them burrow deep inside the reef before detonating.”

The other humans exchanged glances, deciding who would reply.

Finally, the youngest old man said, “Coral-splitters, yes. But they wouldn’t be any use in tearing down a forest.”

“What would be?”

“We don’t make a habit of discussing the issue, but our District does maintain a small number of bombs designed to cut wood, not coral. They can demolish any tree trunk, and we keep them in case an outlying area has troubles.”

The human was describing civil war.

Father put on a satisfied expression. “But you’re sure that our great enemy, the papio, attacked us. Yes?”

The generals were happy with that conjecture.

“The papio in conjunction with traitors,” Father said. “They must have infiltrated the Corona District with allies.”

Each man relaxed his arms, in one way or another saying, “Yes.”