Madison and the others were almost immediately apprehended by the Laika's quarantine personnel and placed into decontamination, being checked over for any possible bacteria in Pomattan water that may have hitched a ride. That done, and with no threats detected, they were ordered to report to the captain for an incident evaluation.

Whitney seemed to be acutely aware of the implications therein. As mission leader, she would be accountable for her actions with regard to the safety of her team. With one member and a guard missing, and another guard dead, this would not reflect well on her, Madison knew. She would likely be considered to have been totally negligent under OSA guidelines. Whitney plainly knew it as well; she was tearful and shaky.

And yet Madison was also cognizant of the effect Whitney's state was having on others. Milan in particular seemed particularly unhappy. "Whit, we're gonna help you through this," he was telling her as they all walked to the bridge, less their armoured vests and tools.

The plump Raccoon sniffled, wiping her dribbling eyes. "They're right, Milan. I let everyone down."

"It was an accident," Milan consoled her. "You likely didn't even cause it."

Whitney went on blubbering; Madison decided to leave it to Milan and moved a little closer to Brewster. "Brewster, she's gonna be examined under OSA procedure," she said, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.

Brewster nodded, his face entirely straight. "I know. All we can do is back her up."

"It could have been a random occurrence," Madison said. "But she didn't listen to us when we all wanted to go back. And look at what happened." She cast a glance back at Tognazzi, who was bringing up the rear and doing a good job of looking entirely passive. "And he's just lost two comrades. What's he gonna say?"

Brewster didn't offer an answer.

"So," Captain Hunsiker said brightly as she leaned forward over her desk in her command cubicle and turned her inquisitive Cat eyes on the group before her, her ginger fur a dazzling gold under the lights. "I'm given to understand that there was some sort of incident on the wreck?" She turned to Whitney first, her manner completely neutral. "Team One Leader, you may give your report."

Whitney wiped her still-damp muzzle and cleared her throat, speaking in a quiet, fearful voice. "Yes. I was leading my team into the wreck when we ran into flooding on a lower deck. It seemed passable and so I ordered the team forward. When I did, they voiced opinions that it was unsafe."

"And did you act on that?" Hunsiker asked.

Whitney shook her head, her voice defeated. "No."

Hunsiker sat back. "Were there any indicators that it may have been unsafe other than the flooding?"

Whitney sniffled. "There may have been one or two noises indicating strain on the hull."

"May have been?" Hunsiker asked, her face still plain.

"It was hard to tell," Whitney squeaked, her speech barely audible.

The captain nodded. "Go on, Miss Arkwright."

"After the others told me to go back, I went on," Whitney said. "And the hull gave way, and I fell." She gestured toward Milan and Tognazzi. "So did they, and two other guards. And Sark."

Hunsiker twitched her whiskers. "Alright. And one guard and Sark are still missing, that I know. We're looking for them."

Whitney nodded. "O'Keeffe and Clutterbuck found us, or we found them – I don't know how you'd put it. We were attacked by several creatures and we managed to get away, get back up here."

"Creatures?" Hunsiker asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Whitney nodded. "We regrouped in an abandoned mine, and apparently the miners that were here before us called them 'barghests'. They're fast and dangerous."

Hunsiker tapped a few keys on her desk. "Alright. I'll inform the search team. Anything else?"

Whitney shook her head.

Hunsiker leaned back forward. "Miss Arkwright, it sounds to me that you and the others – bar Abernathy, of course – had a lucky escape. The other two – well, we have yet to ascertain their state. Hopefully the same will be said of them." She turned towards the others. "Do any of you have anything to say?"

Milan was the first to speak. "Whitney is a passionate and capable leader. She would never lead us into harm deliberately," the big Akita said. "She has been our leader over countless missions and yes, she can be forceful, but I believe today's events were merely the result of unforeseeable factors. There was no concrete reason to believe they would transpire this way."

Hunsiker nodded again. "Thank you, Mr. Irglova."

Brewster spoke next. "I said it to my colleague here" – he motioned to Madison – "Whitney's a pill. But she's a brilliant leader. And we weren't prepared for what happened. It was a case of force majeure, and her actions after that were to the highest professional standard. We'd probably not have made it out of that mine alive without her. She's the best map-reader I've ever met."

Madison felt Hunsiker's gaze on her, and she took a moment to respond. Whitney had made a judgmental error. But the margin of that error... her logic core had the precise number, and it was tiny. There was nothing for it. Whitney wasn't a synthetic. She was fallible, organic. Madison spoke. "Miss Arkwright had no way of predicting the deck collapse. I didn't. And I'm a synthetic." She glanced at Whitney. "Or a toaster, if you will."

Whitney said nothing.

Madison went on. "It is true that she made a fairly bad call, but she did so believing there was no danger. And while the results of her decision still play out around us, I would not lay them directly at her feet."

Hunsiker looked to the final occupant of the room. "Corporal Tognazzi, your thoughts? Anything to add?"

Every eye was on the big Husky as he deliberated. "No," he finally responded. "My only complaint about the whole thing was that I didn't get more to shoot." He chortled.

Hunsiker sat back once more and consulted several screens on her desk; Madison could see they were showing a live feed of the packing-up operation outside. Tension-strapped to the back of one of the transport trucks was an array of blocky cabinets that she recognized as mass storage units. The research, she thought to herself.

The captain darkened the screen and swivelled back to the group and clasped her paws together. "Miss Arkwright, while your decision was made poorly as regards your team, it seems to me that you were the victim of unfortunate circumstances." Her eyes twinkled. "It is therefore my decision that you be given a formal warning and also that you be denied your paycheck for this operation." She stood. "And now I have duties to attend to. You may go."

Whitney nodded, her expression one of relief with a slight tinge of indignation. Nevertheless, she stood and saluted. "Captain."

Hunsiker returned it. "Team Leader. Please return to your quarters and get some sleep. Hopefully you will wake up with more sense."

Whitney turned to leave, and the others with her.

"Denied my paycheck!" Whitney raged as she and the others minus Tognazzi, who had left to find Rankin, sat in the ship's mess eating. She scarfed down a mouthful of gel-paste. "Unbelievable. Bloody unbelievable!"

"You were very lucky to avoid further reprimand," Madison told her evenly, unable to stop a little OSA parlance creeping into her words.

Whitney snorted and licked her sticky muzzle. "Thanks for that."

"She's right, Whit," Brewster said, chewing hard on a chunk of SynthaMeat fillet. "You're lucky you didn't get spaced."

"You're lucky I'm not giving you a thick ear," Whitney snapped.

Madison licked her own muzzle and concentrated on her own SynthaMeat steak, her mind torn. Had she defended Whitney enough? Had she adhered to OSA protocol properly?

What if Jeff had been put at risk because of Whitney's actions? How would she feel then?

She tried to put it out of her head and eat, noting the nutrients that were being extracted from what she was eating and the percentage to which they were replenishing her fur reservoir. It gave her something to concentrate on, something to divert her thoughts.

"Whit, we did everything we could," Milan was telling Whitney from where he sat beside her. "And I think it could have gone a lot worse." He put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her lightly on the cheek fur. "We're behind you, love."

Whitney softened visibly. "I... I know." She placed a paw on his shoulder and pecked him on the muzzle. The big Akita nuzzled her neck.

"Guys, not a public display of affection now," Brewster woofed. "Trying to eat here." Despite herself, Madison chortled.

Whitney shot him a barbed look, but she traded looks with Milan and they both went back to their meals. The Raccoon let out a long yawn. "I'm so tired. Think I'll get some sleep in a bit."

That reminds me, Madison thought. She took a quick look at her energy level; it recharged while she 'slept'. It was fairly high, so she didn't need to rest now. "I don't need to," she said to no one, barely realising that she'd said it out loud.

"Okay, great," Whitney said in a bemused, mock-thrilled voice. Gulping down the last few bites of gel-paste, she belched and patted her round belly, and shoved her plate aside. Standing, she regarded the rest of her team. "Thanks, peeps. Thanks for your help in there." She grinned. "Well done too for complying with OSA law. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed and cuddle up with my volainium." She flashed her collection pack, which the quarantine officers had overlooked on account of the team being discounted from the expedition and thus assumed to have collected nothing of value. Or anything at all.

"Actually, we'll come with, Whit," Brewster said. "I could do with catching up on the latest from the InTense Games."

"Yeah, me too," Milan put in.

Madison decided to add her voice to the chorus. "Me too."

Whitney laughed. "Alright, then. But I'm probably gonna pass out and drool on you."

"We'll bring life preservers," Brewster said archly.

With the ongoing sweep-up down in the hangar and outside the ship, the crew commons were quiet when Whitney's team returned there. The main area was deserted, and only a few off-duty crewers were sleeping in the dorm. "Henriette's asleep as well," Brewster told everyone after peeking in.

"She's a heavy sleeper, so we shouldn't wake her up in here," Milan remarked.

With that, the foursome grabbed cans of pressurized fizz-shake, kicked off their boots, and lounged on the couches in front of the common room's large vid-screen, watching a just-recorded episode of the InTense Games, a dynamic and violent series of physical and mental challenges undertaken by only the hardest, most flea-bitten mutts and moggies in the Core Republic.

"To Maizy," Whitney offered with a wobble of her drink, clearly not wanting to forget their missing colleague, even as little as any of them knew her.

"To Maizy," they said in unison, tapping the cans together.

Despite the enthralling spectacle of the InTense Games, Whitney dozed off fairly promptly. She snored contentedly in Milan's arms, drooling on his shirt. He smiled and rubbed her bare toes with his.

Madison watched the Games intently. She wondered how she would perform, being a synthetic. I wouldn't be allowed to take part, for one thing, she knew.

"Look at that yipyaw," Brewster hooted as Lenny Yelvertoft from Ollema ate dirt on one of the show's gruelling assault courses. "I could make that jump with my arms and legs tied up."

"Let's see it, then," Milan said challengingly.

"I'd invite you to come watch, Milan, but you have a Whitney on you," Brewster snarked back.

Milan sniffed and snuggled into Whitney a little more. "And I like it."

Madison turned to Brewster. "You gonna snuggle up with me?" she teased him.

Brewster sniggered. "Why not? You're basically a big talking doll, after all."

She slapped him round the head. He laughed.

It was hard to tell just how much time passed after that before Madison powered down, but after a few images of Tigris desert flashed past her eyes, she blinked and sat up, realising that she had been asleep. The vid-screen was off, and beside her on the couch lay Milan and Whitney, both asleep. Brewster wasn't there, though.

Madison stood and looked around. A few paces behind the couch, Brewster and a fully-dressed Henriette were in deep conversation. Brewster was about to open his mouth to say something further when he noticed Madison looking over. "What's happening?" Madison asked them.

The mutt looked to Henriette before returning Madison's question. "They've found Maizy."

Next to Madison, Milan stirred and sat up, peering over the couch's back, his pointed ears up and attentive. "Maizy?"

Henriette nodded. "Yeah. I got up a while ago and decided to go check on you lot. Most of you were here, so I went to ask some of the other crewers about Maizy. I came back here to wake you up and Brewski saw me come in, so..." The Dog spread her paws. "...that leads neatly to now."

Madison got to her socked feet. "Can we see her?"

Henriette nodded. "They brought her in a short while ago. She's in the medbay. Unconscious. I don't know what's wrong with her."

"What about the guard who was missing?" Madison asked.

Henriette sighed. "They found him dead. Sliced up like deli meat."

"It was those barghests," Brewster growled. "I know it was."

"But Maizy's okay?" Madison asked, confusion clouding her face. Something wasn't adding up. "She's not... sliced up?"

"I think they got to her just in time," Henriette said.

From next to Milan, the still-sleeping Whitney let out a loud snore. It was probably for the best, Madison thought, that Whitney be asleep while this was being discussed. Though they'd have to broach it sooner or later. Or maybe just leave some details out.

Milan gave the Raccoon a shake. "Whit? Whit."

Whitney dribbled and snorted, sitting up and wiggling her toes. "What? What's happening?" she enquired drowsily.

"Maizy's in the medbay," Brewster told her. "We need to go see her. 'Specially you, being team leader and all."

Whitney nodded woozily and got to her feet. "Okay. What about that other guard?" she asked as she pulled on her socks.

"Sliced up like deli meat," Henriette said wearily.

Whitney shrugged. "Who cares? Let's go."

Maizy looked even smaller than before, Madison thought as she gazed at the bedridden Wolf from behind a ceiling-to-floor observation port. The little lupine showed no outward sign of injury, but there was something off about her.

"She's stable," medical officer Sherry Templeton was saying to Whitney. "At least she's still in one piece." The Fox sniffed. "No pun intended."

Whitney nodded. "Great. Just keep her stable."

Brewster edged closer to Madison. "Bit of a relief, huh?"

Madison nodded, still a little uncertain. "Yeah. Yeah, itis."