On the screen, the slanting light of the distant sun threw the twisting rilles and gullies on the surface of the Brain into pin-sharp contrast. The Dog’s instruments picked out the blackened remains of our shuttle, scattered across the floor of one of the canyons. Were any of our people still alive down there?

Was Clay?

Fear gripped my chest with sharpened talons. I flashed back to the freezing moment I’d lost George from the wreck of the Hobo. Had I now lost more of my crew?

How I wished George was beside me. I had always drawn great comfort from his fatherly presence, and the peppermint and antiseptic smell of his medical fatigues. What would he think of me now? Would he be sympathetic and understand I’d only put myself and everybody else in harm’s way because I’d been trying to prove something to Ambassador Odom and the rest of the universe—or would he hate me for bringing the ship he loved to ruin?

Would he find me a disappointment?

I sucked a ragged breath.

Would my parents?

What about my great-great-grandmother, Sofia? Would she have approved? I had failed to save the crew of the Hobo and the passengers of the Geest van Amsterdam. Instead, I had lost George and allowed the ship to kill an unknown number of would-be hijackers in Northfield. Then I had allowed the Trouble Dog to retool and engage in a dogfight that had ended with the consignation of the men and women on board the Fenrir to a fiery death. In direct contravention of the ideals of the House, more people had died under my captaincy than had been saved. The fact that I was unlikely to survive this next battle was of little comfort. And yet, I found it hard to regret all my actions. Certainly, the Fenrir had deserved to die for its part in the downing of the Geest van Amsterdam, and those morons on Cichol had been stupid enough to attack a heavy cruiser with handguns and grenades. By wiping them out, I’d probably done the universe a favour, and taught the rest of the town a valuable lesson. At least, that’s what I told myself. The next ship to land there would be able to go about its business without fear of interference. I might have failed according to the strictures of the House of Reclamation, but without those pirates or the Fenrir the galaxy would be a safer place, and, in the long run, lives would be saved because of it.

Or would they? Maybe next time, the occupants of Northfield would simply use larger weapons? Maybe all I’d done was perpetuate an escalating cycle of violence?

“I’m not seeing any sign of survivors.” Laura’s voice broke into my thoughts. “But no bodies, either.”

I shook myself, suddenly ashamed of my introspection. “So, they could still be down there?”

“Should we signal them?”