"Earth," she says, "one of them. It was, um, the USA when I was a kid." Then it... wasn't. She tucks some hair behind her ear, making a quick judgment as to how much she wants to talk about home with a good-looking, friendly stranger at a party.

The verdict is "not much."

"Really long story for a night that doesn't have so many drinks with tiny umbrellas in them. But I was a resistance fighter, I guess you'd say. It still feels weird, sometimes, being out of all that." Baedal isn't utopia, and the government rubs her all kinds of wrong ways, but on the other hand, there isn't open genocide going on.

She's gone a bit distant and closed off without realizing, thinking about home. That place doesn't exist anymore, anywhere. And she knows she should be glad.