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they’re as short of recruits as ever. We haven’t even made contact yet.”
    One of the Eqbas crewmen walked up behind them and trilled. “You look at Anarchic,” he said, struggling with English. His overtone voice made him sound like an audio circuit glitch, two streams of sound trying to form the words. “Look at the warships.”
    â€œOoh, Navy Days?” said Becken. “I used to love Navy Days as a kid. Made me want to sign up. So they still have navies, then.”
    â€œYou still have war, ” said the Eqbas, and jabbed at the image with a multijointed spidery finger. Not all of them spoke immaculate English like their boss. “But no to worry. As much trouble as isenj, they. Better view when we get remotes out.”
    â€œ Antarctic, ” Chahal said. “He means the Antarctic. But I think I like Anarchic better.”
    Barencoin and Qureshi vied for control of the bulkhead image, moving the focus along the Australian sector of the continent. There was a fringe of land exposed, dotted with small towns that had only been survey stations when they’d first left Earth. And the Eqbas was right: there were warships off the coast.
    Barencoin lost the battle for the zoom to Qureshi. “Is it one of ours, Marine?” he said in a posh mock-officer accent, but then the impression stopped dead. “Oh shit, it is…”
    Ade watched as an aerial image of a carrier with FEU deck markings and pennant code filled the bulkhead. The shape of carriers had changed a little in the missing century, but it was still a carrier, and still way out of FEU waters. Nobody really needed carriers now. But nothing sat there and loomed menacingly quite as well as a warship. It gave you something to worry about for a long time.
    â€œIf I was an optimist,” Ade said, “I’d believe that was the South Atlantic guard ship.”
    â€œAnd what about those frigates?” Barencoin tapped the bulkhead, but it made no sound. “Maybe they’re hiring out hulls as cruise liners to earn revenue. Peace dividend and all that.”
    Ade caught a reassuring cedar-and-fruit scent of Shan and turned to see her walking briskly down the passageway, not exactly an elegant stride but always enough to make him feel that things were under control and sorted even if they weren’t.
    â€œMaybe,” she said, passing them without pausing, “you need to find a news channel and watch the FEU getting stroppy with the Aussies about our arrival. ’Cos they’re waving their todgers at each other in some macho display of bravado.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” Becken called to her retreating back. “We’ll hide behind you, Boss. You show ’em.”
    Boss. They all called her that now, partly because Ade did, but it still made him flinch. That’s my missus. Don’t get too familiar.
    â€œWhat’s Australia got that the FEU wants?” Webster asked. “Apart from a lot of dust, and some Antarctic land when the ice melts completely?”
    â€œOur undead oppo here,” said Barencoin, giving Ade a slap on the back. “Eh, Sarge?”
    â€œThey don’t know about me,” said Ade. “Rayat never got chance for a call home after he found out.”
    â€œBut I bet they know about Shan.” Barencoin put a playful armlock on him, but Ade noted he was careful to avoid skin contact. “That’s why they wanted her in the first place, isn’t it? And I bet Esganikan told that Marchant bint that Shan was coming with us, and then Marchant told her buddies, and then it wasn’t a secret any more.”
    It was bound to come out sooner or later. But there was nothing they could do about it. They’d have to get to her first.
    Like me and Mart did. We took her down with just a couple of rifles, didn’t we?
    â€œBollocks,” said Ade, shaking Barencoin off.
    â€œIt’ll be fun explaining your