“I can’t get it out of my head,” Holt said.

Goddamn it, Keller, where are you? Park let the MAD rest on Holt’s skull again, though when he peered at her from behind the plastic visor, she could see that his expression was still one of distress—almost terror. His features were washed in eerie green light.

“Why don’t you tell me what you dreamt?” Park said, hoping that enough distraction would give him time to calm down.

Holt shook his head, then shuddered. “I don’t know. I was sleeping, and then when I woke up—I couldn’t move. There were all these lights flashing in my face. I tried to open my mouth to yell for someone, but—I had no tongue.”

“In your dream,” Park couldn’t stop herself from saying.

Holt shook his head again, but Park couldn’t tell what it meant. He continued, “My lungs were frozen; I couldn’t breathe. I was cold—so fucking cold. Like I was dead. Like my skin was peeling off. None of my organs were working. And I—I wasn’t in control of myself. I wanted to go outside. Leave the ship. But I was trapped inside my body and couldn’t move. I thought to myself that I’d rather be dead than keep feeling that way. I wanted to be dead.”

He took the helmet off and covered his face with his hands. Park thought, Suicidal ideations? Isn’t it too early for this? Holt hadn’t even gone outside yet, as far as she knew. Was he already buckling under the effects of the isolation? Space psychosis?

She said, “Nightmares are a normal reaction to stress, Eric. You are under an enormous amount of mental strain here, and this is a very common response to that.”

When he didn’t respond, she continued, “Nightmares are a response to fear and anxiety. They’re a way for our psyche to release pressure and operate with less of those pent-up emotions. Sometimes we can look at them as tools to cope and feel better.”

Holt still said nothing. When he spread his fingers to look at her through his hands, Park could see that the glaze was still in his eyes: a barely suppressed panic that made Park think, Something is really wrong here. They’d have to pull him off the expedition team altogether, give him some sedatives. They couldn’t send him out like that. She said aloud: “What else is bothering you, Eric?”

“It didn’t feel like a dream,” he murmured. “Didn’t feel like I was asleep. It felt real.”

“The human consciousness,” Park said, “is an extremely powerful force. Mere conviction and belief have made people ignore the pain of amputation, experience mass delusions—”

“You’re not listening to me!” The sudden ferocity in his tone silenced Park—even had her pulling up Sagara’s contact on her inlays. In the green MAD glow Holt looked shrunken, his features deceptively ravaged and scarred. His breathing hissed. He said again, “You’re not listening! Don’t you listen?”