For twenty minutes, neither of them spoke. The snarling grind and grumble of the drill filled the air. Park couldn’t read Natalya’s expression behind her reflective amber faceplate; she could barely tell it was Natalya at all, except by the icy contempt that seemed to be radiating from the surveyor. Evidently Natalya wasn’t too happy about Park’s interruption of her time with Holt the night before; she was probably worrying about how it would look if Park reported it back to ISF. Park was too tired to placate her, to tell her that no one gave a damn about her fling with Holt—except Bebe, of course. As long as it didn’t interfere with work, Park thought. That was the only thing that mattered. It shouldn’t be so hard to understand.

They were heading toward the jagged, bone-white line of cliffs to the south of the biodome—toward the coast, Park estimated. The movement of the Earthmover lulled her; once or twice she caught herself nodding off. Damn Bebe, she thought, and damn Holt and Natalya. Damn anyone who thought she was here for anything other than observing.

“Something’s following us,” Natalya said, finally. Park craned her head to look. In the side mirror of the Earthmover, she could see the HERCULES loping along after them, its metallic body arcing over the ice like a dolphin’s.

“It’s the HERCULES,” she told Natalya. She sensed rather than saw the woman frowning under her faceplate.

“I didn’t request it,” Natalya said.

“Neither did I,” Park answered. “But it’s been—following me.”

If Natalya had thoughts about this, she didn’t voice them. She merely grunted and put her hand on the throttle of the drill like it was the holster of a gun; as if she was preparing to confront some enemy, some approaching wild animal. The Earthmover continued to growl along. Through the searing brilliance of wintry light, Park watched the HERCULES jog after them. She couldn’t see its expression from this distance.

She hadn’t expected it to leave the biodome to follow her. It hadn’t mentioned anything when she left. Would its joints be able to handle the exertion? She thought about its limbs shattering, brittle from the cold—a piston locking up and sending it plunging through the ice. It should be all right, she told herself. Androids were built for conditions that humans couldn’t handle. It could withstand extreme temperatures, immense pressure, endless treks. It didn’t feel weariness or pain. She shouldn’t have to worry about it; after all, what good would a rescue bot like the HERCULES be if a human had to worry about rescuing it from destruction? It’s stronger than it looks, she thought. It doesn’t need me to look after it. I have enough on my plate as it is. She turned her face away from the HERCULES’s needlepoint of light.