The atomic storm, Park thought, too tired to feel anything other than numbness. All of that radiation must have interfered with her signal; communications would probably be down until the solar wind cleared. What goddamn inconvenient timing! Of course the storm would hit just as she needed to call for help. It was almost beginning to feel as if the ship was cursed.

She sat there for a while in the dark, watching the simulated fish tank in the wall. Her favorite fish, the hologram of the bumblebee goby, was nowhere to be seen, no matter how much she hunted for it. A glitch in the program, Park thought, thinking of Holt. Just like everything else in this place.

After a while she felt a slight pressure change in the air—an airlock closing somewhere far off. Her ears plugged; a great hush seemed to settle over the Deucalion. She felt a tremor under her feet, then the familiar stagger as the ship lifted up its great legs. Energy simmered softly through the walls. Park felt both relief and a tinge of panic: for a moment she could convince herself that they were leaving Eos altogether, that they were headed back to Corvus to get Holt and Ma help, and to wake up Reimi Kisaragi.

But no, she thought. Impossible. Colony missions were never abandoned. Not even if people died.

She closed her eyes. Lay down when she felt the gut-bouncing lift of reconfiguring gravity. They were better equipped for solar storms and subatomic winds than most expedition ships. Not because they had more advanced technology, or a better-trained crew—but because they had less to save. Normally there were plants that needed to be covered or moved to protected areas. Genetically augmented animals to be herded into the little shelters. Seeds and embryos to be locked into the vaults. But here, on the Deucalion, there was none of that. Only the directive to hide—and wait.

I can do that, Park thought. She flattened her body against the cold, viscoelastic foam of the couch and imagined the Deucalion drifting silently through the dark waters of space. Her head felt full of static.

They were off; there was the jolt as they broke out of the atmosphere. The sounds of the ship slowly receded. If Park tuned out the low roar of the engines, she could pretend that she was totally alone, a single soul in a black and soothing vacuum. Thank God Fulbreech was gone. He would have tried to coach her through liftoff, talked to cover up the blast, tried to make her feel comfortable. Maybe he would have looked earnestly into her eyes and asked if she needed him to hold her hand.