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thought, and that meant she didn’t have control of the situation. Control mattered. “I wanted you to be happy. ”
    â€œAde, for fuck’s sake, having you two end up as squid-men isn’t going to make me happy. ” This was why she didn’t trust relationships. They weakened you. She hated herself for feeling wounded because for the first time in her life she had become used to being the center of a man’s world—two men’s worlds, in fact. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Did it occur to you that I have to tell Esganikan? This is a major biohazard, in case you’ve forgotten.”
    She took her jacket from the hook on the wall and fastened it, trying hard not to descend further into diatribe and profanity, But Aras had broken the taboo of centuries to save her life with the bloody thing in the first place. Maybe the crazy god-bothering colonists were right; maybe it really was the ultimate temptation of the devil, to be eradicated once and for all.
    â€œWhere are you going?” asked Aras.
    â€œTo catch Esganikan before she leaves for Umeh. She needs to hear this from me. I don’t want either of you telling anyone about this. Okay?”
    It wasn’t true: she could have sent a message to Esganikan. Eqbas didn’t stand on ceremony and a call would have done the job. But she needed to walk away, because the Superintendent Frankland part of her was welling up and demanding to be let out to give her underlings a thorough, foul-mouthed bollocking and maybe a thump in the ear for failing her.
    But that wasn’t really what the Shan at the core of her felt.
    That Shan was hurt. She’d believed them when they both said they were devoted to her. They’d put something else before her—and that was what she’d always done herself to anyone who might have been close enough to love.
    Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite.
    It was hard to look your own failings in the face. Shan closed the door behind her and set off to look at Esganikan’s alien disapproval instead.
    Eqbas camp, F’nar plain
    Esganikan Gai understood only too well that she would not be returning home to Eqbas Vorhi for at least fifty-five years by Earth reckoning.
    She’d diverted her ship to Wess’ej to carry out a reconnaissance mission on the way back to Eqbas Vorhi. Earth hadn’t been part of the plan.
    The bulkhead of her cabin was set to transparency so that she could look out on the plain of F’nar even if others couldn’t see in. She knelt on the deck, thinking about the time that would separate her from her own culture and took comfort in the knowledge that a society used to spacefaring made allowances for those in temporary exile. Humans, apparently, did not. Their world moved on and forgot those on deployment, and found it hard to adjust to their time-frozen ways on their return.
    But there were few of them, and nobody cared.
    Esganikan envied Shan Frankland, who appeared to have dealt with permanent exile by immersing in the culture in which she found herself. How did she cope with the Targassati philosophy here, the doctrine of non-intervention in the problems of others? Shan acted decisively. She did not withdraw.
    Aitassi, the ussissi aide who accompanied Esganikan, sat back on her haunches and waited patiently for instructions. All her pack—males, juveniles, sisters—were part of thismission. She had left nobody behind in suspension to await her return to Eqbas Vorhi in the way a few of Esganikan’s male crew had.
    I’ve had enough of this task. I must make Earth my last mission. I want to have my own clan.
    â€œConnect me to the gethes, ” Esganikan said quietly.
    â€œIt’s time they allowed us direct access to the minister,” said Aitassi. “I dislike this rationing of contact.”
    â€œAt the moment we have no choice.” Ussissi were impatient creatures. Esganikan was never sure how they found