And she had read all about the first colonies, had watched the docustreams on the settling of Phobos and Io and Mars. Those colonies had come equipped with seedlings, and prefab biodomes, and embryos of pygmy cows. The Deucalion had none of that. Just a handful of unhappy scientists, half of whom couldn’t see the very planet they were supposed to be settling.

No, rushing couldn’t account for that.

And that was the other thing, Park thought as she watched Fulbreech slowly make his way back to their table. ISF had taken the time to pick out the best and brightest minds they could find—thirteen leaders in their respective fields. But none of those fields were the kind that tamed planets. There were no agriculturists, no builders, no space architects. Where the Corvus outpost had been settled with one hundred, this ship only had thirteen. Perhaps a lack of time could explain the amount of expedition members—but not their particular qualities. Why were there soldiers instead of farmers, why was there only one cartographer when there should have been twenty, two psychologists instead of two engineers?

Park frowned. So there was the strange acceleration, the hurry to cram a crew into the Deucalion and send it speeding off. And there was the secrecy, the concealment that kept even Park from knowing what was going on—and she was the ship’s so-called spy!

And now all this talk about bodies.

Fulbreech returned, looking unhappy. “You’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be,” he said, setting down his food. “I can tell.”

And whose fault is that? Park thought. She knew it was unfair. Fulbreech read her expression and said in a very low voice: “I never should have offered you the suit. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me.”

For a moment Park didn’t reply. Finally she said, “So I take it your offer is rescinded?”

He ducked his head. “Unfortunately, yes,” Fulbreech answered. “That’s a very strong yes.”

There was a little silence between them as he, too, began to pick at his food. After a moment Park took a steadying breath and said, “I understand, Fulbreech. And I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault.” How could she blame him for retracting an offer she never would have made in the first place, in his position? Even she had to acknowledge that she wasn’t worth the risk, not for a conscripted man. And in the end he was simply following orders from ISF—as were they all. No, she couldn’t blame him for that. But . . .

The cartographer suddenly looked away from her. The haggard look came over him again: his eyes were tired and strained, and shockingly blue. He looked sad, and a little bewildered, as if someone close to him had died suddenly. Even Park was surprised by the change. She had never seen Fulbreech look anything other than simple and friendly.

“I’m sorry, Park,” he said again, heavily. “If I could talk to you, I would.”