“I would go with them,” I said, twisting to face her. “I can’t let them be harmed. They’re all I have left.” Them, and my stupid, innocent cat back home in Washington, where hopefully, Roxanna was still doing her job and keeping his food dish full.

The invasion wasn’t just going to hurt people. House pets and livestock were going to suffer. How many dogs and cats had burned to death in Tucson? How many horses and cows were going to starve when their people, who had gone out with shotguns to fight the supposed alien menace, didn’t come home to fill their mangers? It was a little horrifying, realizing how interconnected everything really was.

First’s claws were still combing through my hair, grooming me, soothing me. She was doing everything in her power to lessen this blow, and I could feel myself trying to love her for that. I wanted to love her, to adore her, to trust her absolutely, because she was my mother—and more, because she was my only remaining choice. The invasion was happening. Humans were already dying. If I wanted to preserve the people I cared about, I needed to throw my lot in completely with the people who had borne me. Only then would I be able to hold on to any influence.

And if I tried for it, I would lose the people I already had. I could see it in Mandy’s eyes, in the way David was angling his body to keep Toni away from me, away from First. I could even see the start of it in Graham. He was still looking at me, but there was a shadow there that had never existed in him before, something dark and quiet and thoughtful. Something unforgiving.

I turned back to First. “Are you going to talk to them at all?” I asked. “The humans, the ones on Earth? Are you going to tell them what’s happening? Or is this just a slash-and-burn, and no one gets a chance to understand?”

// we will talk // said First. // you would return to the garden? you would tell them we are coming? //

I owed the world that had raised me that much. “Yes,” I said. “We would.”

2.

Second escorted us back to the grove of heavy-fruited trees. Jeff was there, already clothed, and—

“Tahlia!” The sight of her filled me with a fierce, unexpected joy. The Canadian woman was sitting on the root of one of the great trees, still naked, massaging her uninjured shoulder with one hand. All signs of the bullet wound were gone, replaced by smooth green skin. The restorative capabilities of those fruits must have been amazing.