Sagara didn’t answer. For a moment she thought that he meant to ignore her entirely until they made it back to the upper deck. But finally he said: “I thought you might know.”

Indignation sparked in her gut. “How would I know anything? I’ve been down here for the past hour.”

“Exactly. For what purpose?”

“I was—looking for something.”

Sagara didn’t prompt her: Park recognized the tactic. He thought that silence would pressure her into volunteering information, if she felt guilty. So she said, out of spite, “I’m wondering if ARGUS overtaxed the system. Maybe that’s what caused the blackout.”

She felt Sagara stiffen slightly. “Maybe,” he answered, his voice carefully disinterested. “Or maybe someone sabotaged it themselves.”

“You mean me, of course.”

“I mean anyone. Nothing would surprise me after what happened in the bridge.”

“You can prove someone tampered with it?”

His head rotated hawkishly to glare at her. “You were in the room with the proof.”

Park clenched her jaw against his glare. He meant, of course, Hunter—and Natalya’s accusations against her. Did Sagara believe the surveyor, then? Did he really buy that Hunter had tampered with the ship’s controls? And was it even worth bringing up again that the androids had said that she didn’t? He’d made it clear that he didn’t value their input on things. But would Park’s failure to speak doom Hunter to the freezer—or even criminal prosecution, if Sagara went far enough?

She thought of something suddenly. “Are you conscripted, Sagara?” It seemed obvious, given his behavior, but she was beginning to realize that nothing was quite so simple on this ship. She could trust none of her previous assumptions.

He made the low hissing sound that she’d noticed citizens of the outer planets making to express contempt. “That’s none of your business.”

“Isn’t it, though?” It was becoming the defining thing. Was someone working for ISF because they wanted to, or because they were under the Frontier’s tyrannical thumb—immune to the usual pangs of remorse and personal loyalty, because they had loved ones being held hostage? In other words—could she trust him?

Sagara’s answer surprised her. “If you must know,” he said waspishly, “I used to be. But I’m not anymore.”

She gawked at him, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Just because you haven’t heard it, you don’t believe it’s true?”

“But—how?” She wanted to let go of him, force him to turn around, but the hall was still cold and oppressive; she was afraid to release him. Afraid that he might vanish like smoke. “You—worked off your debt to them? They let you go?”