But he only cast her a wary glance over his shoulder. “Chanur and Sagara said it was for the best,” he said. “So that we didn’t catch whatever Hunter got. And so we wouldn’t have to worry about her with everything else going on.” Then he shook his head, looking briefly regretful. “Well. It didn’t stop her from going kicking and screaming.”

He was troubled by the memory, Park could tell. She wondered if he was in love with Hunter. Then wondered where she’d gotten that idea. Since when had she started factoring love into the equation, any equation—or applying it so liberally to someone like Boone?

They reached Deck B without encountering any obstacles, though Park could feel the force of an imaginary bullet in her back every sweaty moment they didn’t see Sagara. He could be anywhere, she thought, imagining his unholy wrath if he were to stumble upon them defying his orders. And the chances of running into him again were high. Were they willing to disarm him—injure him, even—in their hunt for this killer? Boone was, she was sure, but Park didn’t know if she could go that far. She had never been put in this kind of life-or-death situation before. If that was what this was.

They moved down one of the half-lit passageways that wound lazily towards more cargo holds, and beyond those, the waste-compacting and prefab-processing stations, which Park had not had the clearance to access before. Such rarely used areas had little lighting; employees were expected to use the infrared vision in their neural inlays to find their way in the dark. They were checking the various little closets and storage pods, with Park opening the doors and Boone pointing his gun, when he suddenly interrupted her thoughts again. “I’m sorry about before,” he said, letting the hand holding the gun fall back to his side. “For what it’s worth. With Holt—I’m not afraid to admit it. I malfed. I don’t regret it, but I’m sorry you had to see that.”

She eyed him. Boone seemed sincere, but there had to be a reason behind his sudden offering, when he’d spent the last year holding her in utter contempt. Out loud she said, “I know now that you were just doing your job. It was the task you were given by ISF. But at the time I didn’t understand the—necessity.”

“I always knew that about you,” Boone said, with a trace of his familiar sneer. But he also seemed to be making an effort to talk with her frankly. “You don’t know what it’s like, being under their heel. You feel that pressure to do what they want all the time. You’d kill someone else for them, just to keep on their good side.”

I wouldn’t, Park thought, but instead she said: “Of course. Because they’re responsible for your family. Your home.” Did Boone even have a family? she wondered then. Did he wear any marriage tags, or sport the more popular pair-bonded tattoos? No, none of the expedition members were married, if she remembered correctly, that was a requirement by ISF—but that didn’t mean they didn’t have people they loved.