“He’s disturbed about something,” Park continued. “Exactly what, we’ll have to find out in further sessions. But he’s far too distressed to be trusted under the strenuous conditions out there—at least right now.”

“What’s your best guess about him?”

“I’d prefer not to say anything with so little information. He may simply be—” She cut herself off.

“Cracking under the pressure,” Wick finished. He worked his jaw. “Which is unusual. If I recall, Holt has been off-world before. We haven’t even been on the Deucalion that long.”

“He’s been fine until today,” Park said, aware that the only person she should be discussing this with was Dr. Keller, who was still in absentia. “Until after we landed.”

“But he hasn’t been outside.”

“No. But going outside could only make it worse, if we don’t determine the cause of his . . . anxiety.”

She’d been reading up on the effects that new planets could have on the human psyche: how there were sometimes feelings of inexplicable terror. There was one unproven theory that the sound of an alien planet’s rotation, something unnoticed on Earth, could cause serious mental disturbance in a person, without them even knowing it. She considered floating the idea past Wick, who was a veteran of new planets, but held back. No point for her to come off as clueless, blind. At least not yet.

“All right,” Wick said, still working his jaw. He had a slightly nasal Lunar accent; watching him, she recalled that he had once broken all the bones in his face climbing Mons Huygens, the tallest peak on the Moon. “I suppose we can make do without a physicist, at least for now. And Holt is young. Maybe the responsibility was just too much for him.” She thought there was something accusatory in his tone, as if he were pointing out that she should have caught this long before the launch. Which was true: both she and Keller had vetted Holt in the preliminary testing. And cleared him. “You sent Holt to see Dr. Chanur?”

“Yes.”

He sat back. “All right, Park. I’ll back you up: Holt is off the team for now. Thanks for telling me.”

She sensed her dismissal; she rose and gathered her things. Before she exited his narrow room, where he bunked with Boone, Wick stopped her and said, “Park—how are you doing?”

She looked back. There was a rare sliver of sympathy in Wick’s face, which normally looked like a hatchet blade. She sensed he understood the difficult position she was in, without Keller, and the frustration of steering herself away from her own questions. The wall that lay between her and the rest of the crew. She felt a strange swell of warmth toward him—and then, alarmingly, a tight, achy feeling around the temples, as if she might cry. She said evenly, “I’m well, thank you.”