“Well, if this were a horror stream, the woman who goes off into the dark alone is usually found murdered,” Fulbreech joked. Then he sobered at her flat expression. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—it’s just that no one can find him. It’s a little uncanny.”

“How did he get out of the medical bay?”

“Wick didn’t say.”

Bullshit, Park wanted to say. She couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t say I don’t know—only that Wick didn’t say. Couldn’t help but remember what he had told her, just a few hours ago: that he wouldn’t tell her everything. She tried to beam it at him through her eyes—Are you feeding me bullshit?

But she recognized in this a danger, a breach in objectivity. Fulbreech wasn’t obligated to tell her a thing. But then why go out of his way to win her trust in the first place? The contradiction put her on guard with him. She said in a chilly way, “I see.”

“I heard about Ma,” Fulbreech continued, probably to divert her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Park said, surprised—wondering why he wouldn’t ask if Elly was all right. Fulbreech, sensing her confusion, explained: “She was your bunkmate, wasn’t she? And you had to sedate her? And . . .”

Chagrined, he glanced at the MAD. Park felt a flaring of anger.

“I’m fine, Fulbreech,” she said. “Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m sure,” Fulbreech answered, smiling a little to himself. “You’re always fine. I just thought I should ask, since you have to ask everyone else.”

Meaning, Park assumed, that he thought no one was around to evaluate the evaluator. And Fulbreech meant to assume that role. She thought to ask him for his credentials. “Where do you think Holt could be?” she asked instead.

He shook his head. “We don’t know. He’s on the ship, certainly. And the computer tells us he’s alive and kicking. He’s just squirreled away somewhere.”

Park shook her head. “This would be much easier if we had more cameras.”

“That’s the Privacy Wars for you,” Fulbreech answered wryly. “The one time we need constant surveillance, we don’t have it.” He looked at her face, then away, as if not to stare. Then he looked back again, as if he thought, Why not stare? “You’re very guarded, you know.”

“I’m not,” Park answered automatically. It came out sterner than she was hoping, grave—as if she’d taken offense. Fulbreech mused, almost to himself, “Maybe it’s part of the job. I don’t know. Or maybe you just don’t trust anyone.”