This was Michaela’s kingdom: six thousand three hundred square meters of living space, labs, equipment, and life-support systems. A solitary terrestrial outpost in the middle of Donovan’s trackless and unmapped oceans thirty light years from Solar System.

A burst of childish laughter intruded on her thoughts. Sheena, who was Kel Carruthers’s and Vik Lawrence’s seven-year-old daughter, had tomato sauce smeared on her cheeks as she wolfed down a whole lasagna noodle. The thirty-eight-year-old Lawrence held a PhD in marine microbiology, taxonomy, and genetics. For a couple of years after Sheena was born, Vik had taken up with one of the Ashanti crew, but ultimately had come back to Kel, who in the interim had moved into Kevina’s bed. As if by unspoken rule, the children had remained, more or less, community property; steps had always been taken to keep the adult drama from their already-fragile lives.

Funny thing how relationships had worked out on Ashanti. She’d once explained it to Miguel Galluzzi with one word: complicated.

The miracle was that during the turbulent years—and despite numerous promises to do so—no one had been murdered. Ultimately a live-and-let-live we’re-only-human-so-lets-make-the-best-of-it philosophy had developed. Michaela had been uncommonly lucky. By chance she’d been given the right mix of personalities that they’d finally coalesced into a close-knit and pragmatic bunch instead of exploding into violence and retribution.

Well, all except Dr. Anna Carrasco Gabarron. She was second only to Michaela in age. Along with having a smattering of medical training, Gabarron was the marine chemist and aquatic system’s specialist. Decidedly single, surly, and bitter, she’d avoided the squabbles, gossip, and tumultuous relationships during the years they’d been crammed into Ashanti. The woman was just plain antisocial, but brilliant in her field. Now she sat in the last seat by the door, eating thoughtfully and watching the rest feasting on their lasagna. Hard to tell what lay behind Gabarron’s dark-brown gaze. As always, the woman’s expression was fixed, slightly disdainful. For tonight she’d pulled her hair back into a severe ponytail that revealed the silver at her temples.

Iso Suzuki stepped out from the kitchen, the large lasagna pan in her hands. “Can you eat more, Michaela?” she asked. “Bill doesn’t want leftovers.”

“Sure.” Michaela offered her plate and Iso served up another of the kitchen-sized spoonfuls before marching on to dish more onto Shinwua’s plate. Of course Shin would have seconds. Anything to support Martin. Captain Galluzzi had married the two of them a couple of years back.

Nor would there be leftovers. After Ashanti no one took food for granted. They were all still thin, weak, lacking in stamina from the endless malnutrition and barely sufficient ration. And then there was taste. Like this marvelous lasagna. Rich with tomatoes, spinach, and spices.