Startled, I pushed myself up onto my elbows. Overhead, the dull orange glow of the raft’s emergency beacon pulsed through the tent material.

“You did?”

“I failed to remind you of protocol when you judged the situation urgent enough to dispense with standard operating procedure. I also told him that you were a good captain, that ground operations are seldom straightforward, and that, in combat, mistakes are often made.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He thanked me for my candour.”

I sat up, a blanket draped across my shoulders. The ambient temperature in the hangar was brisk, but I preferred it that way. “So, you don’t blame me?”

“Sometimes good officers make poor decisions. Sometimes, even in the most meticulously planned of operations, losses are suffered.”

I frowned in the gloom. “Is that a yes or a no?”

The ship tried a different tack. “The blame is not yours to shoulder alone, Captain. At the time in question, I agreed with your decision. The Hobo was sinking and time was scarce. Sometimes the needs of the mission outweigh the requirements of the rulebook, and no single set of regulations can be fully applicable in every conceivable situation. And besides, even if everything had been done according to procedure, casualties may still have been sustained. The creature in the water moved faster than even I had anticipated, and it kept its tentacles concealed until they were ready to strike. Even if you had been watching George Walker when the attack came, you would not have been able to save him. No human could have reacted quickly enough.”

I dipped my head. “Thank you.”

I pulled the gin bottle from my pocket and unscrewed the cap.

“I simply told the truth,” the ship said. “I also informed the ambassador that by the time I was in a position to fire upon the creature, to do so would have been to fire also on our captured crewman.”

“It was that fast?”

“Had my former weaponry still been in place, I would have been faster.”

I felt my lips twitch in an unrealised smile. “You asked him to re-arm you?”

The ship was silent for five seconds—a long time for a creature capable of thinking many times faster than a human being. I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a slug. Made a face.

“I simply recommended an urgent re-evaluation of defensive operational parameters vis-à-vis the interactive proficiencies of front line Reclamation Vessels.”

I wiped the top of the bottle on my sleeve and refastened the lid. “Meaning what, exactly?”

The Trouble Dog gave a credible impression of an indignant sniff. If she had been a child, she would have been pouting. “I told the idiot to give me back my guns.”

Sixteen: Ona Sudak

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ONA SUDAK