“In general—unfortunately—our casualties don’t arrive on a scheduled, orderly, one-by-one basis,” Miles half-apologized in turn. “In this case we had twenty-eight people hit sickbay, with every degree and sort of injury—extreme trauma, burns, chemical contamination—all at once. Triage got brutal, for a little while, till things sorted out. My people did their best.” He hesitated. “Do you think it would be worth our while to re-certify a few of our medtechs in your latest techniques, and if so, would you be willing to lead the seminar?”

Aragones spread his hands, and looked thoughtful. “Something might be worked out … talk with Administrator Margara, before you go.”

Quinn caught Miles’s nod, and made a note on her report panel.

Aragones called up charts on his comconsole. “The worst first. We could do nothing for your Mr. Kee or Ms. Zelaski.”

“I … saw Kee’s head injury. I’m not surprised.” Smashed like a melon. “But we had the cryo-chamber available, so we tried.”

Aragones nodded understanding. “Ms. Zelaski had a similar problem, though less externally obvious. So much of her internal cranial circulation was broken during the trauma, her blood could not be properly drained from her brain, nor the cryo-fluids properly perfused. Between the crystalline freezing and the hematomas, the neural destruction was complete. I’m sorry. Their bodies are presently stored in our morgue, waiting your instructions.”

“Kee wished his body to be returned for burial to his family on his homeworld. Have your mortuary department prepare and ship him through the usual channels. We’ll give you the address.” He jerked his chin at Quinn, who made another note. “Zelaski listed no family or next of kin—some Dendarii just don’t, or won’t, and we don’t insist. But she did once tell some of her squad mates how she wanted her ashes disposed of. Please have her remains cremated and returned to the Triumph in care of our medical department.”