“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Laura said, frowning at her.

Alva stuck out her chin. “Dude tried to take our ship, and that’s mutiny. We’d be well within our rights to frag him and toss him out the airlock.”

I worked my bruised shoulder, trying to ease the tautness from it. Childe had made a mistake and, if he meant what he said about joining the House, was genuinely trying to compensate for his actions. I could sympathise with that. Since losing George, all I’d done was try to atone for that one moment of inattention that had cost the man his life.

“Nobody’s getting spaced.”

“But, Captain—”

“No!” There had been enough death on this ship. “We need all the help we can get right now. If Childe’s sincere, he’ll be more use to us alive than dead.”

Alva scowled, but I could see she knew I was right. Our medic was young and inexperienced, and we were flying into a potentially dangerous situation, facing unknown odds and weaponry we could barely understand, let alone defend against. If we were to complete our mission and escape with our lives, we would need as many proficient crewmembers as possible—and Childe’s insights might well prove as valuable as his medical skills.

“You can’t use him,” Laura said. “He needs rest. If you keep him on his feet, he’s going to die.”

I shrugged. “That’s his problem.” I narrowed my eyes at Alva. “But maybe you can help him,” I suggested.

She blinked in surprise. “Do what?”

“You’ve both had jungle postings. You know what it’s like. There’s common ground there.”

She laughed. “Common ground?” She held her palms up, as if waving away gibberish. “This fucker spends a couple of years drinking lichen-flavoured ethanol in a compound somewhere and you think we have common ground?” She turned to Laura Petrushka. “You were on Cichol, weren’t you? What do you think? How does hanging around an airport compare to six months crawling through a sentient jungle, with enemies skulking in every shadow and trees that murmur to you the whole goddamn time, even in your sleep? Can you tell me that, lady? Can you actually make that comparison?”

Laura shrank back a little in her wheelchair, but her expression stayed stony. “You don’t know what it was like for him.”

“I can fucking guess.”

“Then you should be more sympathetic.” The older woman sat up straight, gripping the arms of her chair. “This isn’t a competition, or a game of ‘I’m-more-traumatised-than-you’. That poor sod suffered every moment he was in that stupid jungle, just as you suffered in yours. And if your experience led you to seek refuge here, then you of all people should understand his reasons for wanting to do the same!”