She continued to scan the mess hall as she picked listlessly at the disintegrating meatloaf. Their main concerns were usually the loners, like Sagara. There was always the danger of isolation in space, anxiety and depression breeding in the dark corners of a lonely mind. Sagara himself seemed self-sufficient enough, but it was others, like the exobiologist Wan Xu, who always sat in Park’s crosshairs. Those were the ones who sat by themselves or in silent pairs, bending over their wrist consoles while they ate. Recording expensive video messages to send back home. There was technically no one on the receiving end of their calls, either: messages back to Earth or even Mars took months. The loners were choosing one-sided conversations with blank screens over socializing with their fellow crewmates. That was something to monitor.

“And here comes Boone,” Keller muttered. This time, Park didn’t bother looking; she’d already heard Boone’s entrance to the mess hall without having to turn her head. He always made sure to stomp his heavy combat boots against the tile to announce his presence. Even now, he was scanning the room and letting out an overly loud sigh, as if to inform everyone that he was hungry—as if every person in the room ought to know how he was feeling. He even patted his stomach dramatically, like a gorilla beating its chest. Me want food. Get out me way. Keller had muttered it more than once.

Park had concerns there, too. Boone was a wild card in the power balance on the ship, and he had an ego problem to boot. Why there were so many soldiers on the ship at all—three “security” personnel out of thirteen, nearly a fourth of the crew—Park didn’t know. ISF military was usually colony-based, putting down the odd uprising or terrorist attack, but she hadn’t ever heard of them accompanying an expedition to a new planet. And she privately disliked Boone, with his swaggering, his sneery remarks, the hard dismissive flick of his eyes whenever a woman he considered unattractive spoke up. As with Sagara, none of her strategies so far had worked on him.

Boone automatically moved toward the table with most of the expedition’s leaders, both official and de facto. Daryl Wick was there, the kind, sensible astronaut who was commander of the entire mission. Natalya Severov, the beautiful Russian surveyor, was there too. The only one who seemed missing from that group was . . . Kel Fulbreech.

Park jolted. “He’s waiting for me,” she said, without meaning to speak out loud.

Keller was grinning at her. “Go,” she said. “I’m sure it will be pleasant. Don’t let fear hold you back.”