The surveyor didn’t answer. When Park peered into the dark room, she could see her sitting on her bunk with her knees drawn up to her chin. She was looking at something in the corner. Park stepped inside and said, “Where’s Elly?”

The keening sound was rising. It sounded like a scream of hysteria, with dry, creaking sounds puncturing it that could have been sobs or laughter. Park squinted and saw that the sound was coming from the corner, that Elly was in the corner, huddled up. She motioned for Natalya to stay on the bunk and knelt, keeping the towel tucked around herself. She said, as if she were coaxing a cat out from under a porch: “What is it, Elly? What’s going on?”

All at once the keening stopped. The figure in the corner stirred and said, “What?”

“Why are you screaming?”

“I’m not,” Elly said thickly. Natalya made a noise of disbelief. Outside, Park could hear Hunter saying, “We don’t know what happened. One minute we were sleeping, the next, she was having some kind of episode. She got out of her bed and lay flat on the ground.”

“How do you feel?” Park asked Elly. She reached out, felt around until she touched Elly’s ankle. The climatologist pulled her foot away. Assess for risks of violence, Park told herself. “You’ve been under a lot of stress,” she said gently. “It wouldn’t be unusual if you were to react to that.”

“What are you talking about?” Elly asked. She was sounding more lucid, impatient, as if she’d been shaken awake from a deep sleep. Hunter finally flicked on the light. Park had to stop herself from closing her eyes; she saw Elly recoil from the glare for a moment, then relax.

There was something red on her arm. In the sudden brightness Park couldn’t see what it was. She heard Natalya give a muffled scream behind her.

“Elly,” Park said, her own voice sounding strangely steady, even to herself. “What happened to you?”

The climatologist looked at her sleepily. She seemed to take no notice of the stripes she’d clawed into her arm. The nails of her right hand were speckled with blood. She shook her head and looked at Park with the innocence of a sparrow. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Wake me up. I think I’m having a nightmare.”

3.

[Hello:

I’ll start with the bad news, since I know you prefer that. I was unable to access the video files you asked for. Ever since those terrorists blew up those archives on Halla, ISF’s put most of its databanks on lockdown. And I mean on super-lockdown. I was unable to bypass their security measures.