She recognises that tone. The same one she used when she clinically recounted the details of the injuries that killed her, as if reading from a medical chart. The tone you use when professionalism is the only shield you have against an overwhelming barrage of pain.

She regrets asking. Oh, Lieutenant Tayrey had been under no illusion that the attacks would be anything shiny and good, but she had underestimated the scale of the damage by several orders of magnitude. The destruction of a star system in her own sector would be a breathtaking tragedy, but her people were scattered. A hundred worlds, dozens of systems, so many stations and outposts that their survival wouldn't be threatened for an instant. All in one system? If she takes a moment to react it's because it takes time to grasp it. The absolute horror of it.

Her own suffering had all been personal. Gaeta's goes so far beyond that. She doesn't speak, at first. She reaches across the table, wanting to touch his arm, hand on his sleeve in silent sympathy.

'I'm sorry,' she tells him. 'I'm sure that's what everyone says, and it's... insufficient. For what you've been through. I can barely imagine it. But I'm glad you survived, Lieutenant. It's real... it shows the determination of humanity, to come through that.'

She shakes her head. 'And here I am asking you about it when you were just planning on a drink and a card game. Look, if you want to talk about it, I want to listen, but if you don't, then shut up, Tayrey is also a fair response, yes?'