You are not my son. The words echoed again in his mind, and he fell silent before they could come from his mouth.

‘I failed,’ he said, ‘and I swore I would never fail him again.’

‘You… were… right…’

‘That is not for us to judge.’

‘Death… is… not… atonement,’ said Boreas. ‘Not even… now… at the end…’

Sigismund felt something cold tighten within him. Boreas’ gaze had gone distant; the rhythmic beat of the pumps rose, labouring. The tubes and flasks gurgled and sputtered. The fluid in the jars was dark.

‘You… atone… by… living… until… until the last… blow… of the sword.’ Something in the ruin of meat and twisted armour shifted. It might have been a hand reaching to grasp, or just the shudder of life fleeing the will holding it. ‘Until… the last blow… of the sword… Swear it to me.’

‘You have my oath,’ said Sigismund.

The machines stopped. A high wail replaced the bubbling hiss and thump.

‘And you… mine… my brother…’ said Boreas. His eye flashed clear for a moment, his gaze steady as it held Sigismund’s. ‘Always.’

Beyond the stone walls of the room, beyond the hull of the ship lancing through the void, beyond the ships of the fleet that followed it, the Solar System turned on, silent and unceasing.

Freighter ship Antius, Trans-Saturnian Gulf

Vek paused outside the stateroom door, his hand on the release. Around him, the hum of the ship passing through the void vibrated gently through the air. The lights in all the compartments and companionways had dimmed to the night-cycle. Quiet shadows filled the edges of everything. Even on the bridge, the crew still on watch had talked little. Most had been stood down and gone to get some sleep. Vek hadn’t, though. The thoughts that had followed him from the clamour and chaos of the flight from Uranus did not quiet in this time of silence.

He had gone to check on his children, and found them sleeping. Noon had been in his bunk, mouth wide, snoring, hands tucked under his head, and he had frowned and turned over as Vek had kissed him on the forehead. Mori was not in her bunk. She had taken her blankets and curled in the corner of the room. An auto-scribe book had slipped out of her hands onto the deck. Vek had picked it up. She had sucked a breath as if to call out, raised her head and looked as though she were about to open her eyes. Vek had frozen, and Mori’s head had dropped back. After a moment her breathing had fallen back to the slow rhythm of sleep. She was frowning, he noticed, and for a blink of his mind’s eye he saw the same expression cross his memory of her mother’s face.

He had glanced at the words Mori had auto-scribed across the page of the book.