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no, no . It triggered a reaction in her over which she had no control. She heard her other self ask a sensible question while her core being shrieked how unfair it all was. “What’s important about Cavanagh’s Star?”
    â€œConstantine colony,” said Perault
    â€œConstantine was lost.” Everyone knew that. It was history now. “At least it wasn’t taxpayers’ money.”
    â€œIt might have been lost, or it might not. A joint government and commercial reconnaissance mission is about to launch and I need a government representative there who isn’t afraid of hard decisions.”
    â€œSo they’ve found it?”
    â€œWe have better data now that suggest the planet is economically and environmentally viable for humans.”
    â€œBut have they found the colony?”
    Perault gave a little twitch of the mouth, a reluctant sad smile, and Blond Suit came into the cabin, this time with the sub-Q openly in his hand. “You’ve experienced a Suppressed Briefing before, Frankland? I know you Pagans tend not to like pharmaceuticals.”
    Shan stared at the sub-Q, and then at Blond Suit’s rapid blinking: well, at least she’d rattled him. “I have.” Suppressed Briefings were expensive. The drug cost more to keep under lock and key as an exclusive government resource than it did to produce. Under its influence, she would understand what she was being told, and her compliance with the instructions would be voluntary, but she would not consciously recall what information she’d been given until circumstances triggered its release. The one time she had worked under it before had been unpleasant, frustrating, like having a name on the tip of your tongue the whole time.
    Shan didn’t like her subconscious holding the reins. But the stuff did the job. She would have to trust it again, and reluctantly.
    â€œIt’s that serious, then?”
    â€œIt’s important enough for you to be given extended pension rights.”
    â€œHow extended?” When retirement meant sixty or more years, that mattered. “Until I return?”
    â€œUntil you return. But you can make up your mind after you’ve heard what I have to say. Suppression doesn’t remove your ability to refuse the mission, remember.”
    Shan did not believe in gift horses. She rolled up her sleeve and offered her arm to Blond Suit anyway. The sub-Q popped slightly against her skin and her ears began buzzing. She sat down.
    Her swiss chirped: it was 2030.
    The buzzing in her ears stopped. She looked up. The display on the wall said 2103, and Blond Suit was carefully wrapping two sub-Qs in foampak. She’d had the stopper, then—the second phase of the drug that brought her into the conscious now, and sealed whatever had been said to her into the retrievable past.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Shan said. “Of course I’ll go.” It felt good and right. Whatever had been said, it had persuaded her, and thoroughly. When she tried to recall it—and not trying to recall was like ignoring an itch—it left her tasting worry, determination and a disturbing guilt.
    â€œYou have a detachment of Royal Marines, Extreme Environment Warfare Cadre, as support.” Perault held out a ten-centimeter wafer of data pack. Shan, numb but still functioning, automatically took it. “The briefings in here are unclassified. The ship is the Thetis, and the civilians and EEWC have been embarked in chill-sleep, so I’m afraid you won’t have the chance to talk to them for another seventy-five years.”
    â€œI haven’t got a clue how to command marines. I nick people. That’s about it.”
    â€œI think your skills are a little more sophisticated than that. Anyway, you’ll have an FEU Navy officer as second in command.”
    â€œAnd how are they going to feel about finding me in the luggage?”
    â€œThis is the best team of