I said to Jimmy, “You were sitting next to George. How did he vote?”

“He voted for.”

“They’re going to send him to do it, you know.”

Jimmy nodded.

The thing that I didn’t understand was how people who are as fine and as kind as Daddy and George could vote to destroy a whole world of people. The reason that I didn’t understand was that it was only in the past few weeks that my world had grown large enough to include Mudeaters and other patent inferiors and that I had learned to feel pain at their passing. I simply did not want to see Tintera destroyed. Daddy was wrong. I had had my moral blindness and now it was gone. I could not understand my former self and I could not understand Daddy and George.

Five years have passed since then and I still don’t fully understand. There is a lesson that I learned at twelve — the world does not end at the edge of a quad. There are people outside. The world does not end on the Fourth Level. There are people elsewhere. It took me two years to learn to apply the lesson — that neither does the world end with the Ship. If you want to accept life, you have to accept the whole bloody universe. The universe is filled with people, and there is not a single solitary spear carrier among them.

I envy people like Jimmy who knew that all along and didn’t have to learn. Jimmy says he had to learn, too, and that I just never noticed, but I don’t believe him.

Daddy and George and the other 16,000 had no right to destroy Tintera. If you like, it is never right to kill millions of people that you don’t know personally. Intellectually I knew long ago that the ability to do something doesn’t necessarily give you the right to do it — that’s the old power philosophy, and I never liked it. We might be able to discipline Tintera, but who appointed us to the job? We were doing it anyway and there was no one to stop us, but we were wrong.

New Year’s Eve is the final night of Year End, and the biggest night of celebration of them all. There are parties in every corner of the Residential Levels, all designed to wind up the clocks for another year. I was supposed to meet Jimmy at a party being given by Helen Pak, but I didn’t show up.

George was out there somewhere in his scoutship, eliminating Tintera, and I didn’t feel particularly like going to a party. Happy 2200, everyone.

I was down on the Third Level. I’d gone past Lev Quad and down to Entry Gate 5. I walked for awhile in the park and then they turned on the precipitation and I ran for shelter, the familiar building in which I’d stowed my gear for a year and a half before I had graduated to a more exalted state in which I could participate in decisions to morally discipline all the bad people in the universe.

It was dark except for the light shining at the entry gate. The temperature was cool and pleasant and the rain dripped from the roof in a steady trickle. It was, as much as any I’ve ever known, a fine night to be alive. That was where Jimmy found me eventually, tunelessly humming to myself. I saw him come out of the entry gate, look around, and then run through the rain, and it struck me how much he had grown.

He sat down next to me. “I finally figured you might be here. Depressed?”

“A little.”

“Tomorrow, let’s stop in and see Mr. Mbele. He wants to see us, you know, and we have to start planning our advanced training.”

“All right,” I said. Then I said, “I wonder if Aft was still alive.”

Jimmy said, “Don’t… dwell on it.”

“I’ll tell you something…” I began with vehemence.

“I know. We’ll change things.”

I nodded. “I hope it doesn’t take too long,” I said. What will we be like if it does?” I found the thought horrifying.

Jimmy got up and said, “Come on. Let’s go home to bed.”

We splashed through the rain, running toward the light over the entry gate.