“How’s your work?” Park asked, to preempt whatever nasty thing the other woman was going to say. She didn’t expect her to answer. As surveyor, Natalya had the most intimate knowledge of Eos and its terrain so far—so of course her work would be very hush-hush. And if Fulbreech wouldn’t confide fully in Park, for fear of breaking protocol, Natalya certainly wasn’t going to.

But to her surprise, Natalya said bluntly: “It’s stressful. ISF is relying on me for a lot of things.”

“I’m sure exploring an alien planet has its difficulties.”

“Yes,” Natalya said with a clenched look, like a purse snapping shut. Park faltered; she’d misstepped, come off unintentionally as sarcastic. Natalya continued, “I’m sure you have your work cut out for you, too. What with Ma going—what’s the old phrase? Bananas. And poor Eric. I wonder how you’ll fix that. Along with everything else that’s going on.”

“What else is going on?” Park asked, with bland innocence.

“What were you doing with Fulbreech?” Natalya asked in turn. And at this Park felt a little jolt of shock: so they’d been noticed, after all.

“Excuse me,” she said, out of habit. On Earth it was considered rude for adult acquaintances to ask such direct, personal questions of each other; one was expected to ask obliquely, using statements that could be ignored or deflected, or to infer from other interfaces like a person’s social feeds and status reports.

But Natalya’s features only hardened. It was clear she had left that etiquette behind on Earth, that she couldn’t be embarrassed into silence. So much aggression there, Park thought. And directness. Keller had always admired it as efficient, but Park thought it prevented Natalya from integrating well into teams.

“Fulbreech,” the surveyor repeated, in a clipped way that said she thought she was speaking to an idiot. “Kel Fulbreech. The cartographer? What were you doing with him, going down to Deck C?”

So Natalya knew they had been down to the utility rooms together—but hadn’t followed to see exactly what had happened. “We were just talking,” Park said.

“You never talk,” Natalya said with contempt. “And he talks too much.” She stopped stretching, let her leg fall back down to the floor. Then continued, her eyes flinty: “What exactly would he talk to you about?”

Why do you care so much? Park wanted to ask. She couldn’t suss out if Natalya was feeling territorial over Fulbreech, or if this was about something else entirely. She noticed for the first time that the surveyor had gray thumbprints under her eyes; her fingers trembled with a kind of suppressed energy. She said, taking a chance: “You said you were stressed, Severov. Has it been interfering with your sleep?”