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“United Earth asks too many questions, don’t they, Colin?” Charis said, addressing the boy in tones steeped in a cocktail of bitterness and regret. “Starting with ‘How old are you, son?’”

Brooks felt she was beginning to understand. “Ah. The recruiters must be a lot less fussy about following the rules so close to the, ah, hostilities.”

“Delta Pavonis is a key forward base of the Military Assault Command Organization,” the boy said. “Which is good for quick deployments. Much closer to the action.”

That last word had made Charis flinch visibly, though the boy, Colin, appeared not to have noticed.

“Earth could start getting a lot less fussy soon enough, Colin,” Charis said, clearly unconvinced that Earth deserved to be considered some sort of safe haven for humanity.

“Only if we fail, Mom,” Colin said. His somber tone told Brooks that he hadn’t dismissed failure as a more than likely outcome. Perhaps he even expected to die. “Only if we fail.”

Brooks thought she was beginning to see the key difference between humans from Earth and their Centauri cousins. It was the difference between being attacked at home, in humanity’s cradle, and being challenged on a remote frontier world, a found place that could, at least in theory, be replaced easily enough by some other found place.

But Earth could never be replaced. No new Earth was likely to be found. It was an irreplaceable treasure. It had to be defended, guarded with as much blood and as many resources the task might require, whatever terrors might challenge it.

The challenge that the Xindi had presented to Earth was both faceless and terrifying, as was the challenge that the Romulans now posed out here and beyond. On Earth, against all odds, the Xindi crisis had been averted before it had encompassed the entire planet and threatened the existence of all human life on Earth. But out here, across a four-light-year-plus-deep gulf that separated the local human race from its birthplace, nobody could guarantee those same long odds would play out in Homo sapiens’s favor ever again. Just as nobody could guarantee even the possibility of making peace with the Romulans, a foe that had already made inroads into Coalition space—and would very likely have by now begun invading and occupying both Alpha Centauri III and Proxima Centauri II if not for the timely intervention of the Vulcans, who had since retreated to the sidelines.

Brooks was beginning to see that the Centauri people, rather than being significantly more fearful than their Terran cousins, were merely more mindful of the unreliability of long shots and miracles. Perhaps the inherent uncertainty of life on the frontier had made them more pragmatic than panicked, more realistic than romantic—particularly in a universe that demonstrated each day that the house nearly always wins in the end, no matter how conservatively one might bet.

After wishing the Idahos well, Brooks moved on, drifting through the crowd, a ghost among the ghosts, absorbing the comments of those who would speak to her, whether on or off the record. She could all but smell the fear and regret of the fleeing, as well as the fatalistic determination of those who claimed to be staying, having come merely to bid loved ones farewell, perhaps for the last time.

After a large, squat transport vessel had settled on the tarmac, its thrusters cooling, a small ground crew gave the vehicle’s exterior a desultory examination before entering the craft to make the final prelaunch preparations. No passengers disembarked, since Alpha Centauri had by and large become an origin point rather than a destination.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, after the last of the farewells had been said, the tarmac stood empty. Brooks sat watching the empty stretch of asphalt from a lounge that was now considerably less crowded. Across the wide waiting area, Colin Idaho sat a patient vigil, apparently unaware that she was watching him. He gazed inscrutably in the direction of the two dim stars that remained visible