But of course she knew she was being unfair. If he said something like this to her, she would have a similar reaction, or at least ask him to do a perfunctory psych eval. Because it was impossible, that someone had managed to stow away on the ship. Impossible for him to have lived on the Deucalion for the last several months. What would he have done for food, for bathing? What would have happened during the radiation storms, so bad that they penetrated even the titanium shell of the ship, and the crew had to take shelter in the storm bunker at the Deucalion’s core? A stowaway would have died, surely, or at least contracted severe radiation sickness. And yet the man had looked well-fed, clean. It was impossible, Park knew it was, and yet—she’d seen it.

“I have to go,” she said, her voice strangely distant and muffled, as if she were underwater. She stood, letting go of Fulbreech’s arm. From the corner of her eye she saw Sagara stalking across the room with that trademark look on his face—an expression that made his eyes snap dark lightning. He strode up to Natalya and Hunter and pulled them apart as easily as if he were separating two children, speaking to them in low, vicious tones. Although he never raised his voice, everyone in his field of concentration instinctively mimicked him, went quiet and grim. The room crackled with silent intensity, as if preluding the outbreak of a storm.

Park turned away from the scene, which was still arresting the others in the mess hall. It felt incredibly insignificant now, almost unreal, images flickering on a media stream—even though she knew that this fell under her domain. An incident like a physical brawl was sure to impact the psychological conditions of the crew—or what was left of it. But following the stranger was more important. There was either some renegade loose on the ship without anyone knowing . . . or Park was seeing things. She didn’t know which one was worse.

Fulbreech was looking at her with concern. “Where are you going?”

Behind him, someone called out his name. Said they needed his help. Neither Park nor Fulbreech looked at the speaker.

“I need to lie down,” Park said, feeling as if her facial muscles were frozen, locked into place. “I’m—tired.”

“I’ll go with you.” He looked as if he didn’t believe her; no, as if he were afraid she would do something rash.

Park shook her arm slightly, and Fulbreech’s hand fell away from it like a dead thing. “No,” she said. She felt as if she were sleepwalking. “I’ll be fine. The others need you. I’m just going to sleep.”

Then she left. She couldn’t remember if he said anything else: only that he didn’t follow her out of the canteen.