It certainly didn’t look like there was much life down here, though, despite what Kat’s instruments were telling her.

Spaced out alongside some of these jagged crevices, Leo spotted deeper gouges in the planet’s surface, unnatural in shape. He recognized them instantly. He’d seen holes like this before—lifting off in the Beagle that first time, looking down at the Colorado countryside, at the pits that had been dug into the rock, the giant platforms drilling deeper and deeper, as if trying to split the Earth in two. “Ventasium mines,” he mumbled.

“Planet’s riddled with ’em,” Baz remarked. “The Aykari went to town on this place. Whole thing looks like it could split apart at the seams any moment. Kat, lock on to the densest cluster of readings you can find. Let’s see if there’s a city or an outpost of some kind. I’d prefer not to park out in the middle of nowhere.”

It all looked like the middle of nowhere to Leo, who suddenly got a bad taste in his mouth, and not just from the post-jump surge of buttery nuts. Suddenly this didn’t seem like a good idea. Not a trap, exactly, but he got a sense that whatever was waiting for them down here was going to be a lot more trouble than it was worth. He thought about saying something, asking Black to turn the ship around, suggesting that they forget about his father’s message and whatever was on that chip and just go find Gareth instead.

But then he remembered his dad pulling him close, wrapping Leo’s hands in his, his breath in Leo’s ear. It could mean the world.

“There.” Kat pointed through the Icarus’s canopy to a rise on the horizon, the jagged outline of civilization. A city, perhaps. Or at least a village. Except as the Icarus grew closer, Leo could see that it was little more than giant piles of sand and stone, half of them in a state of collapse. Whatever it had been, there wasn’t much of it left.

“I’m setting her down there,” Baz said, pointing at a relatively flat circle of land just outside the perimeter. “Let’s just hope there’s no quicksand or giant worms or anything else nasty lurking underneath.”

“Giant worms.” Boo chuckled. “You humans and your imaginations.”

Leo looked at the alien, with his four arms, ox-shaped head, jutting horns, and monkey paws. “You’re right, giant worms would be ridiculous,” he said.

The Icarus settled down on a stretch of what turned out not to be quicksand and Kat started shutting the ship down while Baz gave instructions.

“We’re all going this time. You too, Skits.”

“Terrific,” the robot muttered. Her programming was adaptable—a complex code meant to better emulate a human emotional response. As such, she was capable of simulating lots of human responses—affection, concern, apprehension, even empathy to some degree—but Leo was sure that sarcasm was her default.

“I don’t understand you,” Kat said. “You complain when you’re told to stay on the ship, you complain when you’re told to get off the ship. What is it that you want, exactly?”