It wasn’t fear, Park thought as she dumped her tray into the mouth of the waste compressor and hurried up the ladder to Deck B, the navigation level. But if Keller had pressed her on what exactly the feeling was, she wouldn’t have been able to say.

Fulbreech was waiting for her with his hands in his pockets, leaning his rangy body against the wall of another side-tunnel. His face brightened when he saw Park approaching; he said, grinning, “Good. I didn’t think you would come.”

I didn’t think I would, either, Park thought, but instead she looked at his pockets and said, “Where is it?”

Fulbreech looked surprised. “Where is what?”

“The—you know. Whatever it is you have in store.”

“Ah,” he said. He winked. “So you’re excited. Look at you. You’re like a kid on Solstice Morning.”

“I’ll leave,” she warned.

Fulbreech laughed. “Relax. It’s through here.”

He indicated the large hatch behind him, and Park, finally realizing where they were, blanched. They were standing in front of the Deucalion’s escape pod, a little shuttle attached to the underside of the ship. It was the crewmembers’ favorite spot to conduct clandestine sexual liaisons.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Keller had said when Park first told her about it—having heard all about it from Jimex, when she asked him where that particular door led. “It’s the only place where you’re guaranteed not to get walked in on—because what business would someone have in the escape pod, other than that? And it’s the only other place that has a bed, besides the bunks.” She’d grinned at Park. “Too bad you’ll never see the inside of it. Conflicts of interest and all that.”

“Park?” Fulbreech waved a hand in front of her face.

She balked a little from him. “I don’t understand.”

Fulbreech seemed oblivious to her discomfort. “This place doesn’t have a camera on it,” he said, as if that explained anything.

Park shook her head; she could not believe his audacity. “And that’s your . . . surprise? The thing that you said would make me feel better?”

“Well, not all of it,” Fulbreech said. He looked a little sly, a little pleased with himself. She looked up into his open, friendly face and remembered with sudden, painful clarity that he was handsome—suspiciously handsome, she sometimes thought—but also too upright to pull a stunt like this. He was one of those all-American astronauts, blunt-jawed, square-nosed, with a sweet, sheepish, boyish look. Golden hair falling into his eyes. Right now he looked not like a man overcome by lust, but more like a kid on Solstice Morning himself. Full of radiant glee, excitement—maybe even pride.

“All right,” Park said reluctantly, deciding to trust him. But behind her back she was balling her fist: ISF had given her piecemeal self-defense training before departure. “Let me see it.”