“I see gray, like rocks,” I told Michael. “I thought everything was covered in snow.”

“Virtually everything is,” he said. “But along the coasts and some of the outer islands, there are thin strips of bare rock where glaciers have broken off. Also, it’s summer here now, since the seasons are reversed, so things aren’t as icy as they can be.”

“I see red buildings.”

“I don’t see a thing yet,” Michael said regretfully. “But, yes, the buildings are usually bright red or bright lime green, to stand out as much as possible.”

“Like if there’s a blizzard?”

“Uh-huh. Though here blizzards just mean ferocious winds blowing snow and ice around. Hardly any new snow ever falls. Almost never.”

“That’s so weird,” I said.

“What’s weird?” Fang asked, making me jump. I hadn’t heard him come up behind me, as usual. For the past two days I’d been kind of avoiding him. I’d stood back and watched as he and Brigid Dwyer struck up a mutual-admiration society. She didn’t flirt with him, but they hung out together a lot, and every time I saw their heads bent over a computer screen or map, it made my stomach clench. Also my teeth. And my fists.

“That it doesn’t snow here,” I said. “Not a lot of precipitation.”

Fang nodded. “Brigid says the air here is some of the driest on earth.”

“I guess you’ll be glad to get off the boat,” Michael said. “We’ll be staying in the guest quarters at the Lucir station. They get tourists there every year.”

“I didn’t realize we’d be around a bunch of other people,” I said slowly. I’d gotten almost — well, comfortable is a strong word, but somewhat less tense, which is about as good as I ever get — around the scientists on board the Wendy K. I didn’t want to start over with a bunch of strangers. Especially given the explode-o-pizza in Washington.

“There are twelve permanent families who live and work here,” Michael explained. “About forty people in all.”

Fang’s eyes met mine. Time to be back on guard.

Chapter 39

39

A Poem

By Max

White is the color of little bunnies with pink noses.

White is the color of fluffy clouds fluffing their way across the sky.

White is the color of soft-serve ice cream in a cone.

White is the color of angels’ wings and Angel’s wings.

White is the color of brand-new ankle socks fresh out of the bag.

White is the color of crisp sheets in schmancy hotels.