“Asteroid shower,” Fulbreech said to Park’s unspoken question, looking up. “It must be minor, or METIS would have activated the shields.”

Park struggled to pull herself out of her own thoughts. “Are we safe?”

“Oh, sure,” he answered. “We’re always safe on the Deucalion.”

Park thought of Holt’s charred suit flaking off his body in drifts like gray snow. Fulbreech met her eye and grimaced, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Hopefully these are only temporary problems, Park,” he said. “Every expedition has its share, especially during the first wave.”

The thought of other people settling here had not even entered her mind—she had almost forgotten they were here to determine if Eos was a suitable place to live. A place to build up and populate. “So you’re saying this is normal? All of this is to be expected?”

Fulbreech looked away. They were nearing the airlock—the great set of double doors that led to the outside. “I’m saying we have to make the best of what we’ve got.”

They slowed. Park stopped in front of the enormous vault. It was a complex archway with its own console terminal dedicated to opening each door, governing the quarantine procedures for the space in between. She imagined that she could feel a chill coming off the metal—that some trace of Eos was leaking through. She couldn’t remember clearly what the planet looked like, anymore. Would she ever be able to see the twin suns again—the strange Eotian ice? Or would they leave with her still ignorant, like the Hallanese crewmembers who’d attacked their own home without ever seeing it?

She took a deep breath and said, “Have you found anything out there yet?”

Fulbreech glanced at her, frowning. “You know I’m not supposed to talk to you about it.”

Park felt so tired that she wanted to cry. “I know,” she said wearily. “But it’s not abnormal for me to wonder.”

Fulbreech exhaled. “No,” he said, a concession. “It’s not abnormal at all. But . . .”

Then he grimaced, as if she’d done something to hurt him; as if she’d slipped a knife between his ribs, and he could not believe her betrayal. She saw it in his face: he wanted to help her. Wanted to please her. Wanted her regard. But he was afraid of something. The consequences of disobeying his orders, his conscription, perhaps—though if he wasn’t being dramatic for her sake, she had to admit: it looked even more dire than that.