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The planet was dead, that was certain. The probe coasted over its pockmarked face, scanning the craters and the dusty canyons, stretching on forever beneath a sky of wispy, threadbare clouds. “As you can see, there is enormous development potential here,” the probe was saying to them both. The voice was cheery, upbeat—the voice of a salesperson, a spokesmodel. Claudia figured Barton had selected the voice himself. Something that appealed to him. Barton’s voice was sharp and thin—a needle. “Is there enough water?” It was strange to hear his voice but not see him, not have any clear sense of