One of the things Eva always had a lot of time for, during her infestation, was thinking. Thinking while Edriss stole her face, thinking while chained to the portable pool, thinking while trying to pretend she was anywhere but in her cage of a body. Thinking never accomplished much; it compounded on hurts, allowed her to take a painfully accurate assessment of her situation, brushed away any delusions she could concoct for herself about freedom or worth.

She doesn't see the point of dwelling. She sees no point in allowing Daniel to indulge in it. What can he do, but acknowledge his own powerlessness to save his wife? Acknowledge it over and over again, as if each time over again is a revelation, a penance to what he can't change. She knows men like him. She knows that defeat and sorrow are as warm and comfortable as success and peace, or at least, more comfortable than the middle ground. So she doesn't want to let him dwell.

She shrugs. "I never have any idea what Stacy's up to. I don't think even the Command staff knows. It's a shame though. I've always loved the sunlight. It must be the Californian in me."

And she never got any sun when her body was up in space. Not any sun that felt like sun. "I just hope the hangover I get from the next shore leave isn't nearly as bad as I got from the one on XaXing. I think I spent the whole day in bed."