“We don’t know if it’s spreading at all,” Park shot back—even though she was the one who had first told Wick that the incidents were almost certainly related. “Or if it’s even an affliction. It’s all theoretical: we’re making so many assumptions in treating it like it’s some contagious disease. What if it’s not? We know almost nothing about what’s really going on. Which is why we need to observe all of the crewmembers closely—”

“And we will,” Sagara said. “Safely and remotely. But the patient sessions open up all kinds of possibilities for cross-contamination, mental pollution. We need to stop shuttling everyone into that space until we can understand what causes the phenomenon. And stopping the sessions reduces the chances of you catching it as well.”

She did not believe for an instant that Sagara was concerned for her wellbeing—that he was stopping her from doing her job because he was afraid she might catch this theoretical contagion. Even if she couldn’t read his face clearly, she sensed his hard assessment of her, his probing glances. More than likely he thought Park’s sessions were causing the nightmares somehow. He wanted to put a stop to it. But what did he mean when he said he could observe the crewmembers remotely?

Before she could ask, Sagara added, “I thought I was doing you a favor. Do you think you’re even capable of conducting all of the patient sessions alone?”

That silenced her. Park felt both affront and guilt reverberating through her chest like her heart was a clanged bell. Truth be told, she didn’t think she could shoulder the burden of the ship’s nine remaining minds all on her own. Didn’t believe that she could interact with all of those people, process all of those worries and neuroses and fears, without herself going mad. She had never trained for this—had never expected to take on a role beyond that of an observer, a monitor. And she just plain wasn’t like Keller. Not only in that she lacked all of the older woman’s experience, her capabilities—but also because she was not a person who felt equipped to help other people. The thought of now being the Deucalion’s only psychologist—or its last sane person—filled her with a throat-aching terror.

But she wasn’t about to let Sagara know that.

“I’m perfectly capable of handling anything the mission requires me to,” she told him, coldly professional. “It’s why ISF hired me.”

Sagara did not look convinced.

Wick, on the other hand, looked pensive. “I’ll take the matter under advisement,” he said, which meant he would try to ask ISF what to do. It was too bad the solar storm was still raging, Park thought bitterly; she had already tried to do the same thing herself. Multiple times.