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called her that, as if she was his senior officer, and she found it touching now rather than embarrassing. “Just asking. Stuff I need to do.”
    It was a reminder that he had a life that she knew little about beyond the memories that c’naatat had transferred to her. She found it odd to be that intimate with another person—there was no relationship closer than one between c’naatat hosts—and relive his most traumatic moments as vividly as if she were him, and yet have no idea where he grew up or what he’d regretted leaving behind. She’d have to find out. It mattered.
    â€œMonths at the very least,” she said. “What did you want to do, then?” She tried to keep an eye on Aras. He’d wandered away and opened another transparent section in the bulkhead, as if he wanted to contemplate Earth without interruption. “You might as well make the most of the trip, because we won’t be coming back again.”
    Ade shrugged and looked away for a moment. “I want to go back to Ankara and pay my respects to Dave.”
    Dave was his best mate, shot dead next to him in the battle for Ankara. Shan had relived the warm spray of brain tissue on her face as c’naatat plucked the event right out of Ade’s transferred memories. She understood the compulsion at a level of empathy denied to normal humans.
    â€œDraw up a list,” she said. “I’ll make sure you get to do it all.”
    She had a list of her own, but there were no old friends on it. There was the gene bank to hand over, and a court martial finding to be set aside, and macaws to return to the wild. When she thought about it, it sounded like a list of excuses for coming back, tasks that someone else could have carried out or that were no longer relevant.
    And there were ghosts to be laid, but they weren’t important now. She could erase her past anywhere, any time. She didn’t need to make pilgrimages.
    Then why have you really come back?
    Aras still stood frozen at the temporary window in the bulkhead. Wess’har had a great capacity for standing completely immobile, unnaturally so, and it usually meant they were startled or stressed.
    â€œAras, are you okay?”
    â€œI remember it,” he said. “I remember Earth as clearly as I remembered Umeh before I saw it for the first time. How odd to remember what you’ve never experienced.”
    â€œI think we’re all going to find Earth’s not like we remembered,” Ade said. “Except the colonists. Let’s see if it lives up to their expectations.” He gave Shan a fond swipe on the backside as if he was determined to pretend none of them were upset by Eddie’s decision. “I’m going to make sure the lads are okay. Don’t land without me.”
    â€œI thought they’d sorted out a landing site before we left,” Shan said irritably. “But maybe a lot changed in twenty-five years.”
    â€œApparently, Australia’s had seven changes of government while we were in transit.”
    â€œI see you’re up to speed—”
    â€œNo offense, Boss. I just asked the Eqbas when I woke up. I don’t like not knowing stuff. Oh, and the FEU, Sinostates, and Africa have gone to their second-highest defcon state.”
    â€œOnly second? Shit, I thought we were scarier than that.”
    â€œGive it time,” he said. “They’re just warming up.”
    He strode off looking as if he belonged on the ship and she watched him go. It was natural—sensible—for a soldier to orientate himself before arriving in uncertain territory. Shan hesitated to use the word enemy, but the Eqbas mission wasn’t any more universally welcome than it had been when fighting broke out over it when it was first announced. Maybe the Australians had gone through a few changes of mind about the invitation to land on their turf and sort out Earth, too. But they probably