“Well, you and me and a man I love very much,” Sagan said.
“Will I like him?” Zo? asked.
“I think so,” Sagan said. “I like him, and I like you, so it stands to reason you would like each other. You, me, and him.”
“Like a family,” Zo? said.
“Yes, like a family,” Sagan said. “Very much like one.”
“But I already have a daddy and a mommy,” Zo? said.
“I know, Zo?,” said Sagan. “I would never want you to forget them, ever. John and I would just be the two grown-ups who will be very lucky to get to live with you.”
“John,” Zo? said. “John and Jane. John and Jane and Zo?.”
“John and Jane and Zo?,” Sagan repeated.
“John and Jane and Zo?,” Zo? said, standing up and moving to the rhythms of the names. “John and Jane and Zo?. John and Jane and Zo?! I like that,” Zo? said.
“I like it too,” Sagan said.
“Well, okay then,” Zo? said. “And now I’m hungry.”
Sagan laughed. “Well then, let’s get you something to eat.”
“Okay,” Zo? said. “Let me say bye-bye to Mommy and Daddy.” She ran to the headstone and planted a kiss on it. “I love you,” she said, and then raced back to Sagan, and took her hand. “I’m ready. Let’s eat.”
“Okay,” Sagan said. “What would you like?”
“What do we have?” Zo? said.
“There are lots of choices,” Sagan said. “Pick one.”
“All right,” Zo? said. “I’m very good at making choices, you know.”
“Well,” Sagan said, hugging the girl close. “I’m so very glad to hear it.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First off, to everyone who thinks writing a sequel should be easy because you’ve already created the universe: Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha! Heh. No.
With that in mind, allow me to first acknowledge my editor, Patrick Nielsen Hayden, for occasionally dropping me a casual e-mail to let me know much he was looking forward to reading the next chapter, rather than strangling me dead, which he probably should have done and may yet do, because now he’s gotten the entire manuscript and there’s no penalty in doing so (unless he wants another book).
Other absolutely magnificent Tor people who deserve love and/or chocolates: Teresa Nielsen Hayden, Liz Gorinsky, Irene Gallo, the dearly departed Fiona Lee (she’s alive, just in China), Dot Lin and Tom Doherty. However, as a general rule, everyone who works at Tor deserves love and/or chocolates, and I’m not just saying that because I’ve made them suffer by blowing deadlines. Well, maybe a bit. But it doesn’t make it any less true. Thanks also to Rich Klin, for truly heroic copyediting.
Admit it: You think the cover rocks. Well, it’s true, it does, and we all have John Harris to thank for that.
Thanks as ever to Ethan Ellenberg, my agent, whose judicious wrangling of contracts is a sight to behold.
One of the reasons that The Ghost Brigades exists is that the first book in the series, Old Man’s War, was fortunate enough to have been praised online by folks whose taste in books is trusted by their readers. I thank all of them and add special thanks to Glenn Reynolds, Cory Doctorow, Stephen Green, Stephen Bainbridge and Eugene Volokh. If you ever wondered if online word of mouth worked, by the way: Oh, my, yes.
If you’re wondering why particular things in the book seem so good, the short answer is because I’ve seen them work in other books and said, “What an excellent thing. I think I’ll steal that.” Writers from whom I’ve consciously stolen include Nick Sagan (his consciousness transference idea, used to excellent effect in Edenborn), Scott Westerfeld (whose awesome space battles in The Risen Empire and The Killing of Worlds will make you weep with joy) and David Brin, whose concept of “Uplift” (see: The Uplift War) gets a quick ping. Thanks also to the various SF/F authors I namecheck throughout the book.
As ever, Regan Avery served indispensably as my reader of first resort. Every writer should have a Regan. But you can’t have Regan Avery. She’s mine. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
Chad Brink mailed me a copy of one of my books to sign, and it took me several months to return it to him. In fact, I may still have it here. I figure putting him in the acknowledgments of this book makes up for being a bad book-mailer-backer. Also, clearly, you should not mail your books to me to sign. It’s not you, it’s me.