Zoe's Tale

by John Scalzi

  “Yes, baby steps in the right direction,” Dad said. “It’ll be nice not to have to worry about being knifed by members of my household.”

  “There’s always Mom,” I said.

  “Trust me, if I ever annoyed her that much, she wouldn’t use something as painless as a knife,” Dad said. He kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for coming to tell me what Hickory said, Zoë,” he said. “And thanks for keeping it to yourself for now.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, and then headed for the door. I stopped before I turned the handle. “Dad? How long do you think it will take before the Conclave is here?”

  “Not long, Zoë,” he said. “Not long at all.”

  In fact, it took just about two weeks.

  In that time, we prepared. Dad found a way to tell everyone the truth without having them panic: He told them that there was still a good chance the Conclave would find us and that the Colonial Union was planning on making a stand here; that there was still danger but that we had been in danger before, and that being smart and prepared was our best defense. Colonists called up plans to build bomb shelters and other protections, and used the excavation and construction machinery we’d kept packed up before. People kept to their work and stayed optimistic and prepared themselves as best they could, readying themselves for a life on the edge of a war.

  I spent my time reading the stuff Hickory and Dickory gave me, watching the videos of the colony removals, and poring through the data to see what I could learn. Hickory and Dickory were right, there was just too much of it, and lots of it in formats I couldn’t understand. I don’t know how Jane managed to keep it all straight in her head. But what was there was enough to know a few different things.

  First, the Conclave was huge: Over four hundred races belonged to it, each of them pledging to work together to colonize new worlds rather than compete for them. This was a wild idea; up until now all the hundreds of races in our part of space fought with each other to grab worlds and colonize them, and then once they created a new colony they all fought tooth and nail to keep their own and wipe out everyone else’s. But in the Conclave setup, creatures from all sorts of races would live on the same planet. You wouldn’t have to compete. In theory, a great idea—it beats having to try to kill everyone else in the area—but whether it would actually work was still up in the air.

  Which brought up the second point: It was still incredibly new. General Gau, the head of the Conclave, had worked for more than twenty years to put it together, and for most of those years it kept looking like it was going to fall apart. It didn’t help that the Colonial Union—us humans—and a few others expended a lot of energy to break it up even before it got together. But somehow Gau made it happen, and in the last couple of years had actually taken it from planning to practicality.

  That wasn’t a good thing for everyone who wasn’t part of the Conclave, especially when the Conclave started making decrees, like that no one who wasn’t part of the Conclave could colonize any new worlds. Any argument with the Conclave was an argument with every member of the Conclave. It wasn’t a one-on-one thing; it was a four-hundred-on-one thing. And General Gau made sure people knew it. When the Conclave started bringing fleets to remove those new colonies that other races planted in defiance, there was one ship in that fleet for every race in the Conclave. I tried to imagine four hundred battle cruisers suddenly popping up over Roanoke, and then remembered that if the Colonial Union’s plan worked, I’d see them soon enough. I stopped trying to imagine it.

  It was fair to wonder if the Colonial Union was insane for trying to pick a fight with the Conclave, but as big as it was, its newness worked against it. Every one of those four hundred allies had been enemies not too long ago. Each of them came in to the Conclave with its own plans and agenda, and not all of them, it seemed, were entirely convinced this Conclave thing was going to work; when it all came down, some of them planned to scoop up the choice pieces. It was still early enough for it all to fall apart, if someone applied just the right amount of pressure. It looked like the Colonial Union was planning to do that, up above Roanoke.

  Only one thing was keeping it all together, and that was the third thing I learned: That this General Gau was in his way a remarkable person. He wasn’t like one of those tin-pot dictators who got lucky, seized a country and gave themselves the title of Grand High Poobah or whatever. He had been an actual general for a people called the Vrenn, and had won some important battles for them when he decided that it was wasteful to fight over resources that more than one race could easily and productively share; when he started campaigning with this idea, he was thrown into jail. No one likes a troublemaker.

  The ruler who tossed him in jail eventually died (Gau had nothing to do with it; it was natural causes) and Gau was offered the job, but he turned it down and instead tried to get other races to sign on to the idea of the Conclave. He had the disadvantage that he didn’t get the Vrenn to go along with the idea at first; all he had to his name was an idea and a small battle cruiser called the Gentle Star, which he had gotten the Vrenn to give him after they decommissioned it. From what I could read, it seemed like the Vrenn thought they were buying him off with it, as in “here, take this, thanks for your service, go away, no need to send a postcard, bye.”

  But he didn’t go away, and despite the fact that his idea was insane and impractical and nuts and could never possibly work because every race in our universe hated every other race too much, it worked. Because this General Gau made it work, by using his own skills and personality to get people of all different races to work together. The more I read about him, the more it seemed like the guy was really admirable.

  And yet he was also the person who had ordered the killing of civilian colonists.

  Yes, he’d offered to move them and even offered to give them space in the Conclave. But when it came right down to it, if they wouldn’t move and they wouldn’t join, he wiped them out. Just like he would wipe us all out, if despite everything Dad told Hickory and Dickory we didn’t surrender the colony—or if, should the attack the Colonial Union had planned on the Conclave fleet go wrong, the general decided that the CU needed to be taught a lesson for daring to defy the Conclave and wiped us out just on general principles.

  I wasn’t so sure just how admirable General Gau would be, if at the end of the day he wouldn’t stop from killing me and every single person I cared about.

  It was a puzzle. He was a puzzle. I spent those two weeks trying to sort it out. Gretchen got grumpy with me that I’d been locked away without telling her what I was up to; Hickory and Dickory had to remind me to get out and work on my training. Even Jane wondered if I might not need to get outside more. The only person not to give me much grief was Enzo; since we got back together he was actually very accommodating about my schedule. I appreciated that. I made sure he knew. He seemed to appreciate that.

  And then just like that we all ran out of time. The Gentle Star, General Gau’s ship, appeared above our colony one afternoon, disabled our communications satellite so Gau could have some time to chat, and then sent a message to Roanoke asking to meet with the colony leaders. John replied that he would meet with him. That evening, as the sun set, they met on the ridge outside the colony, about a klick away.

  “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, al
one, 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.”

  PART III

  TWENTY

  “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.”

  “Sorry,” Enzo said.

  “Did you really?” I asked. “You haven’t written me a poem in ages.”

  “I know,” he said. “I thought I might get back into practice. I remember you kind of liked it.”

  “You jerk,” I said. “Now I really do feel guilty for forgetting about dinner.”

  “Don’t feel too guilty,” Enzo said. “It’s not a very good poem. It doesn’t even rhyme.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” I said. I still felt giddy. It’s nice to get poems
.

  “I’ll send it to you,” Enzo said. “You can read it instead. And then, maybe if you’re nice to me, I’ll read it to you. Dramatically.”

  “What if I’m mean to you?” I asked.

  “Then I’ll read it melodramatically,” he said. “I’ll wave my arms and everything.”

  “You’re making a case for me being mean to you,” I said.

  “Hey, you’re already missing dinner,” Enzo said. “That’s worth an arm wave or two.”

  “Jerk,” I said. I could almost hear him smile over the PDA.

  “Gotta go,” Enzo said. “Mom’s telling me to set the table.”

  “Do you want me to try to make it?” I asked. All of a sudden I really did want to be there. “I can try.”

  “You’re going to run across the entire colony in five minutes?” Enzo said.

  “I could do it,” I said.

  “Maybe Babar could,” Enzo said. “But he has two legs more than you.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll send Babar to have dinner with you.”

  Enzo laughed. “Do that,” he said. “I’ll tell you what, Zoë. Walk here at a reasonable pace, and you’ll probably make it in time for dessert. Mom made a pie.”

  “Yay, pie,” I said. “What kind?”

  “I think it’s called ‘Zoë gets whatever kind of pie she gets and likes it’ pie,” Enzo said.

  “Mmmm,” I said. “I always like that kind of pie.”

  “Well, yeah,” Enzo said. “It’s right there in the title.”

  “It’s a date,” I said.

  “Good,” Enzo said. “Don’t forget. I know that’s a problem for you.”

  “Jerk,” I said.

  “Check your mail queue,” Enzo said. “There might be a poem there.”

  “I’m going to wait for the hand waving,” I said.

  “That’s probably for the best,” Enzo said. “It’ll be better that way. And now my mom is glaring at me with laser eyeballs. I have to go.”

  “Go,” I said. “See you soon.”

  “Okay,” Enzo said. “Love you.” We had started saying that to each other recently. It seemed to fit.