At Zero

Chapter 1: Arrival

The road narrows after the last switchback, and the mountain finally gives us a clear view of the station.

It sits on a broad shelf of exposed rock, three low buildings connected by covered walkways, with a communications tower rising behind them. The tower is tall enough to disappear into a strip of cloud moving across the summit. Beyond it, the land drops away into a succession of dark ridges.

There are no towns visible from here. No houses, no distant highway, not even a rooftop tucked between the ridges.

Just mountains, trees, and the road we have spent the better part of four hours climbing.

“Well,” Talia says from the back seat. “That’s certainly remote.”

“You were expecting a coffee shop?” Ethan asks.

“I was hoping for a coffee shop. I’ll settle for a good coffee machine.”

Priya leans forward between the seats. “The nearest one is probably two hours away, assuming the road stays clear.”

“That is an unnecessarily specific way to hurt my feelings.”

I smile and turn my attention back to the station.

The buildings are larger than I expected. Photographs make the place look like a collection of utility sheds, but the main structure has two stories, an enclosed loading entrance, and a long bank of narrow windows facing the valley. The exterior is painted a faded gray that nearly matches the surrounding stone.

It’s functional rather than welcoming.

Which is fine with me.

I have spent enough time inside facilities designed to impress visiting executives. A station built to survive mountain weather doesn’t need polished floors or an inspirational quotation in the lobby.

It needs to work.

Ethan slows the truck as we approach the gate.

“Everybody still have all their fingers and toes?”

“Ask again when we’ve been here a week,” Priya says.

He glances at me. “Maya?”

“All accounted for. Although I would appreciate getting out of this seat before my knees won’t bend anymore.”

Behind us, the second vehicle appears around the bend.

Callum brings the larger truck through the turn without cutting the inside shoulder. The road is packed with snow in places, and the drop beyond the outer edge is steep enough that I stopped looking down an hour ago.

He takes the corner smoothly.

Ethan watches him in the mirror.

“Good. Everybody made it.”

“Was that in doubt?” Talia asks.

“With Callum driving? Not particularly.”

The gate is secured with a combination lock beneath a metal weather shield. Ethan climbs out to open it, and a gust of cold air immediately fills the cab.

I pull my jacket tighter.

“That answers my question about the weather.”

Priya looks at the mountains through her window.

“This is actually a fairly pleasant afternoon.”

“Your definition of pleasant needs reexamination.”

She laughs.

Outside, Ethan wrestles with the stiff gate before dragging it open.

Callum gives him an encouraging wave from the second truck.

Ethan responds with a gesture that makes Talia laugh harder.

A minute later, both vehicles are inside the compound.

The gate closes behind us.

The first thing I notice when I step out is the silence.

Our engines idle nearby, and the wind moves through the metal framework of the tower, but neither sound entirely fills the space.

There is no traffic. No aircraft. None of the continuous mechanical background noise that usually accompanies a working facility.

I can hear the snow crunch beneath my boots.

I can also hear Bruce complaining.

“Who packed the tool cases like this?”

Gabriel comes around the second truck carrying a black duffel.

“Which ones?”

“The heavy ones. They’re all on top of the things I actually need.”

“Callum packed the truck.”

Callum closes the driver’s door.

“Callum packed the truck so everything arrived in the same truck. You’re welcome.”

Bruce lifts a case out of the cargo area and examines the label.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You’re right. But you also didn’t ask anything useful.”

Renata emerges from the passenger side, pulls on her gloves, and looks between them.

“We’ve been here approximately ninety seconds. Could we postpone the first workplace injury until everyone’s had lunch?”

“That depends,” Bruce says. “Does suffocating our driver count as a workplace injury?”

“It counts as paperwork. Please don’t.”

Phillene climbs down from the rear seat with a backpack over one shoulder and a rolled poster tube in her hand.

“What if we wait until after dinner?”

Renata gives her a disappointed look.

Phillene grins.

I know most of them well enough that the insults barely register as arguments. Gabriel usually waits until he has something worth saying.

And Renata has an expression specifically reserved for adults behaving like unruly children.

Ethan comes around the front of our truck.

“Before anyone starts unloading, give me five minutes inside. I want to make sure the building is behaving itself.”

Bruce raises his case.

“I could use those five minutes to get something done.”

“You could also put your case down and enjoy the scenery.”

Bruce studies the mountains.

“Seen mountains before.”

“Wonderful. Then you’ll have no trouble finding them again.”

Ethan starts toward the main entrance.

We follow him.

The front doors open into a small vestibule lined with rubber flooring and heavy coat hooks. Beyond another set of doors, the building smells faintly of disinfectant, dry air, and the unmistakable stale warmth of somewhere that has been closed up for a while.

The overhead lights are already on.

A ventilation system hums through the ceiling.

Somewhere deeper inside, a door shuts with a hollow metallic sound.

Gabriel stops just past the entrance and lifts his head.

“Well, that’s encouraging.”

“What is?” I ask.

“Airflow. Heat’s already circulating.”

He holds his palm beneath a ceiling vent, more from habit than necessity.

“Building’s been maintaining itself just fine.”

Ethan checks the wall panel beside the interior doors.

“Remote start sequence completed this morning. Nothing alarming came through before we left.”

“Then we might actually get to eat at a reasonable hour,” Renata says.

“I’ve made no promises,” Ethan tells her.

“You put reasonable hours in the briefing.”

“I put reasonable hours in the goals section.”

“Interesting distinction.”

He smiles.

The station opens into a wide central corridor. Offices and workrooms occupy one side, while the kitchen, common room, and sleeping quarters sit along the other. A stairwell leads down to storage and the utility spaces.

The interior looks better than I expect.

Nothing glamorous, but the walls are clean, the floors are clear, and somebody has left a stack of folded towels outside the bunk rooms.

There’s a coffee machine in the kitchen.

Talia sees it before I do.

“Now we’re talking.”

“Check the water before you get excited,” Gabriel says.

“If the machine doesn’t work, I’m putting in for immediate evacuation.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Priya says.

“Some of us need civilization to function.”

I step into the operations room and stop.

Three rows of workstations face a wall of displays. Most are dark, waiting for someone to sign in, but the central status board is already showing the station’s basic information.

The relay equipment is active.

Environmental feeds are populating.

A few system alerts sit in the maintenance queue, none marked urgent.

I set my bag beside an empty workstation.

There is something comforting about arriving at a facility where the equipment has already been talking to itself for hours.

Nothing needs me to save it.

I can simply join the conversation.

“Looks like we inherited a decent handover,” I say.

Ethan comes in behind me.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m professionally obligated to expect at least one disaster.”

“Save that attitude for Thursday.”

He surveys the room, then raises his voice.

“Everybody, let’s get the basics out of the way before we scatter.”

People drift in from the corridor.

Talia carries a coffee mug she has apparently found somewhere. Bruce still has his tool case. Phillene rests her poster tube against a desk, and Callum leans against the doorframe.

Ethan waits until everyone is paying attention.

“We’ve got the afternoon to settle in, confirm the important systems, and deal with anything the remote checks didn’t catch. Nobody’s climbing the tower today unless Bruce finds something that actually requires it. Nobody’s going out alone after dark. Renata will show everyone where the medical supplies are, and Callum has the vehicle schedule.”

“Already posted,” Callum says.

“Of course it is.”

Ethan looks around the room.

“We’ll regroup before dinner. If something genuinely needs attention, tell me. If it’s something that can wait until tomorrow, let it wait. We’re not here to wear ourselves out on the first afternoon.”

Renata folds her arms.

“I’m putting that in writing.”

“You do that.”

“And when somebody ignores it, I’m quoting you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of interfering.”

He looks around the room.

“All right. Get settled.”

The group breaks apart.

For the next hour, the station begins to sound occupied.

I spend most of the afternoon with Phillene.

She works at the station beside mine, checking incoming telemetry and comparing the live data against what was recorded before our arrival.

Phillene has a talent for making ordinary information sound interesting.

She can look at a screen full of numbers and find something worth talking about that has absolutely nothing to do with the numbers themselves.

At the moment, she’s telling me about a planet.

“Technically, it’s several planets,” she says.

“That makes considerably more sense.”

“You haven’t even heard the interesting part.”

“You’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Obviously.”

She pulls her chair closer and turns her monitor slightly.

A browser window is open beside her telemetry software. It shows a diagram of the solar system with several planets highlighted.

“There’s a particularly nice planetary grouping this week. Not a perfect alignment, despite what half the articles are calling it, but unusual enough to make the astronomy people excited.”

“And you’re one of the astronomy people.”

“I most certainly am.”

She laughs.

“I like things that don’t require me to attend meetings.”

“An admirable quality in a planet.”

“Exactly.”

She points at the screen.

“The actual grouping is interesting enough, but we might get an aurora tonight. The space-weather forecasts have been getting more promising all day.”

I glance toward the windows.

“From here?”

“Especially from here, if the sky stays clear.”

“Will we be able to see it without standing outside freezing?”

“Probably. Although I’d recommend stepping outside at least once. There isn’t much light pollution up here.”

She looks genuinely excited.

I have known Phillene long enough to understand that her astronomy hobby is not casual in the way mine might be. She remembers meteor showers. She knows when planets become visible and which direction to look. Her phone contains more photographs of the night sky than photographs of herself.

I suspect the poster tube contains something she intends to put above her bunk.

“Is the planetary thing related to the aurora?” I ask.

“Not physically. Different phenomena. It just happens to be an excellent week to look up.”

She returns to her data.

“I’ve been hoping we’d get a decent display while we’re here.”

“Then I hope it cooperates.”

“Thank you. Someone appreciates beauty.”

“I appreciate you not making me walk uphill to see it.”

“Beauty requires sacrifice, Maya.”

“That’s what people say when they want somebody else to carry the equipment.”

She gives me a look of exaggerated offense.

I smile and return to my workstation.

One of the instrument feeds is intermittently dropping a data field. The sensor is responding, but the corresponding values aren’t arriving consistently at the display.

I spend a few minutes checking the connection history before noticing a warning buried in the startup log.

“Phillene, did the handover mention work on the west-side interface?”

“Something about a replacement board. Hang on.”

She searches the maintenance notes.

“Here. They swapped a connector assembly last week.”

“That would explain the intermittent signal.”

“Want me to call Bruce?”

“Not yet. I think somebody left a cable seated badly.”

I take a flashlight and head to the equipment cabinet.

The connector isn’t loose enough to fall out. It’s simply not seated all the way, with the locking tab resting slightly above its proper position.

I push it home until it clicks.

Back at the workstation, the missing field returns.

Phillene looks up.

“That was suspiciously painless.”

“Sometimes the problem really is the cable.”

“Don’t let Talia hear you say that. She’ll start feeling unnecessary.”

“Talia could find three reasons to replace this entire rack.”

“Four, if you give her coffee.”

We exchange a grin.

On the status board, the station continues its ordinary work.

Data arrives.

Systems respond.

Nothing demands an emergency meeting.

I lean back in my chair.

This is the part of my job I enjoy most.

Not the dramatic failures or the frantic troubleshooting, but the quiet certainty of finding something wrong, understanding why, and making it right.

The world gives you a problem.

You solve it.

Then the world behaves.

By late afternoon, the building smells like coffee and something Gabriel is cooking.

I find him in the kitchen, standing over a large pot with a wooden spoon in one hand.

“Should I be worried?”

He doesn’t look up.

“About the food or the station?”

“Let’s start with the food.”

“Then you can relax.”

“That confident?”

He tastes the contents of the pot.

“I’ve fed eight people before.”

“That doesn’t tell me whether they survived.”

“They asked me to cook again.”

“That’s a little encouraging.”

A cutting board covered with chopped vegetables sits beside him. The kitchen counter is crowded with bread, canned tomatoes, and enough pasta to feed a considerably larger group.

Gabriel is built like someone who has spent his life moving things heavier than they ought to be. He also moves around the kitchen with the calm efficiency of a person who knows exactly where everything belongs.

I lean against the counter.

“Everything good downstairs?”

“Generator’s happy. Distribution looks clean. One of the air handlers has a vibration I don’t love, but it’s not serious.”

“Bruce will be delighted to hear there’s something he can complain about.”

“Bruce doesn’t need help finding reasons.”

He stirs the pot.

“How’s your side?”

“One bad connection. Fixed it.”

“Look at us. Competent adults.”

“Don’t say that too loudly. Something might hear you.”

He chuckles.

“Go get some plates.”

I open the cabinet above the sink.

“You’re not even going to ask nicely?”

“I’ve already made you dinner.”

“Fair point.”

Renata arrives while I’m setting out the plates.

She’s carrying a small plastic case and a clipboard.

“Excellent. Witnesses.”

Gabriel glances over.

“That sounds threatening.”

“It’s only threatening if someone ignores me.”

She puts the case on the counter.

“I’ve stocked the medical station, checked the emergency supplies, and posted the location of the trauma bags. I also found somebody’s prescription medication sitting in an unmarked grocery bag.”

“Mine,” Gabriel says.

“I figured. Your name was on the bottle.”

“Then the bag wasn’t really unmarked.”

“Don’t start.”

He smiles into the pot.

She turns toward me.

“Any problems with the stairs?”

“Other than the fact that they exist?”

“The lower landing was slippery when I came through. Somebody tracked snow inside.”

“I’ll tell Ethan.”

“I already did. He’s having the matting changed.”

She looks satisfied as she opens one of the cupboards.

“Is that enough for everyone?”

“There’s more pasta than we need,” Gabriel says.

“Good. Phillene skipped lunch.”

“She told me she ate in the truck,” I say.

“Two crackers and something she described as an astronomy emergency.”

Gabriel sets the spoon down.

“I’ll make sure she gets a bowl.”

Renata nods.

“That’s all I ask.”

She picks up her case again.

As she leaves, she pauses in the doorway.

“And somebody tell Bruce that the adhesive bandages are for actual injuries, not practical jokes.”

Gabriel waits until she’s gone.

“What did he do?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to.”

We look at each other.

Then we both laugh.

The main common room has two battered couches, a long table, a bookshelf full of paperbacks, and a television mounted above a low cabinet.

Somebody has left a deck of cards beside the remote.

The room is plain, but it feels less institutional than the operations area.

Personal belongings help.

Callum’s travel mug is already sitting on the table. Talia has claimed the end of one couch with her laptop. Bruce has taken over the other end with a folded site diagram that extends halfway across the cushion.

Ethan stands beside the window, talking to Priya.

“...so we should have a clear window until morning?”

“Probably longer,” she says. “The latest regional forecast has the front passing south of us. We might get some wind overnight, but the heavy snow looks less likely.”

“Good.”

“That doesn’t mean the road will be pleasant.”

“I’ll settle for passable.”

Callum looks up.

“The road’s fine if people stop treating every patch of snow like an ambush.”

“You say that,” I tell him, “because you’re the one who drives it.”

“And because I’ve driven worse.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“It’s not supposed to be. It’s supposed to encourage respect for the person behind the wheel.”

Bruce folds his diagram.

“Does your respect include letting me organize the recovery chains?”

Callum closes his eyes.

The conversation moves on to the sleeping arrangements.

There are enough bunks for everyone, though not enough private rooms to satisfy everybody’s preferences.

I end up sharing with Phillene.

Talia takes a room with Priya, while Renata claims a lower bunk in the room nearest the common area. The remaining rooms fill out with Ethan, Gabriel, Callum, and Bruce.

Bruce objects to being paired with Callum.

Callum objects to Bruce objecting.

Ethan offers to rearrange the rooms.

They immediately stop arguing, apparently unwilling to surrender the opportunity to complain about each other.

“You’re all exhausting,” Renata says.

“That’s why you’re here,” Bruce tells her.

“I’m here because someone has to keep you alive.”

“And because you enjoy our company.”

She studies his face.

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

Dinner arrives before the discussion can deteriorate any further.

Gabriel carries the pot into the common room with an oven mitt in each hand.

Phillene appears from the corridor just in time to help distribute bowls.

“Perfect timing,” Talia says.

“I smelled food.”

“You’ve been missing for an hour.”

“I was unpacking.”

Renata raises an eyebrow.

Phillene sighs.

“And checking the aurora forecast.”

“There’s the truth.”

Everyone settles around the table.

For a while, the conversation has nothing to do with work.

Bruce tells a story about getting trapped in a hotel elevator with a man who insists on explaining the mechanical principles of elevators while they wait for maintenance.

Callum claims he would have climbed out through the ceiling.

Bruce informs him that this would have been a terrible idea.

Callum says that would not have stopped him.

Renata, without looking up from her food, says she’s starting a list of people whose future injuries she intends to document as preventable.

At some point, Phillene starts explaining why an aurora can appear to move when the underlying structures are vastly larger than they look.

I don’t follow all of it.

Neither does Bruce.

He asks whether the lights can at least be seen without listening to a lecture.

Phillene throws a crumpled napkin at him.

The room fills with laughter.

Looking around the table I realize I haven’t thought about the road since we sat down. During the climb, I’d stopped looking down long before I’d stopped thinking about the drop.

Nine people.

A functioning station.

Hot food.

A place to sleep.

There are worse ways to spend a winter assignment.

After dinner, Ethan asks me to join him in operations.

The room is quieter than before.

Most of the monitors have entered their normal evening display modes. The main status board shows steady feeds, and the communications panel lists the most recent external check-in.

Talia is finishing a conversation over the station radio.

“Copy that. We’ll send the first full overnight report on schedule.”

A man’s voice answers through the speaker.

“Sounds good. Stay warm up there.”

“That’s the plan.”

She releases the transmit button.

“Outside world officially informed that we’re alive, fed, and behaving responsibly.”

Ethan looks at her.

“Did you tell them that last part?”

“I may have exaggerated.”

“Considerably,” I say.

Talia spins her chair toward me.

“Your lack of support is noted.”

She closes the communications log and stretches.

“The link’s clean. No repeaters complaining, no missing traffic, no unexpected noise. I’m almost disappointed.”

“Enjoy the disappointment,” Ethan says. “It means I can send everyone to bed without a problem list.”

She gets up.

“Then I’m going to get settled before someone invents or finds work.”

When she leaves, Ethan walks over to the windows.

Dusk has settled across the valley.

The lower mountains are dark now, their ridgelines barely distinguishable against the fading sky.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“The station?”

“The assignment. The people. All of it.”

I consider the question.

“Better than I expected.”

“That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He smiles.

Ethan has spent the afternoon letting us work without hovering. Now he’s asking how the assignment feels, and I know he’ll listen if I tell him something’s wrong.

I’ve worked for people who asked the same question and made you regret answering it.

In a place like this, the difference matters.

“Anything you want changed?” he asks.

“Not yet. My equipment’s behaving. Phillene has already reorganized half the telemetry folders, but I can live with that.”

“She’s thorough.”

“She’s enthusiastic.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“It will be if she starts alphabetizing my desktop.”

He laughs softly.

“All right. We’ll keep an eye on it.”

I glance at the communications panel.

“Everything looked normal on Talia’s side?”

“Yup. She just confirmed it.”

“I know. I like hearing good news more than once.”

“Then here’s some more. Priya thinks the heavy weather is going south, Gabriel’s happy with the building, and Callum says the vehicles are ready whenever we need them.”

“Bruce?”

“Bruce found a door closer he doesn’t like.”

“Of course he did.”

“Evidently it’s a serious personal insult.”

“Is he fixing it?”

“He already did.”

That sounds like Bruce.

I pull my jacket from the back of a chair.

“Not a bad first day.”

“Exactly what I was hoping for.”

Ethan turns back toward the displays.

“Go get some rest. We’ve got an early start.”

I leave him finishing the evening notes.

Phillene is sitting cross-legged on her bunk when I enter our room.

She has changed into sweatpants and a thick sweater, and her hair is tied back loosely. The poster tube lies open beside her.

A star chart is spread across her blanket.

I stop in the doorway.

“I knew it.”

She looks up.

“What?”

“Nobody carries a poster tube onto a mountain for ordinary reasons.”

“This is an ordinary reason.”

“To you.”

She smooths the chart.

“I’m just trying to figure out which side of the building will give us the best view.”

“There’s an entire sky outside.”

“Some of it has a tower in front of it.”

“Tragic. How will you manage?”

She grins.

Our room is narrow but comfortable. Two bunks occupy opposite walls, with lockers at their feet and a small bathroom between this room and the next.

There is a heater beneath the window.

The bedding is clean.

A little desk lamp casts warm light across the floor.

I put my bag on the empty bunk and start unpacking.

The ordinary process of making a temporary room feel inhabited is strangely satisfying.

A toothbrush beside the sink.

Clean socks in a drawer.

A paperback on the nightstand.

My charger plugged into the wall.

Outside the window, the last daylight drains out of the mountains.

Phillene folds her chart.

“You’re going to come look if it happens, right?”

“I’ll come look.”

“Even if it’s cold?”

“Phillene, we are on a mountain in winter. Cold is part of the arrangement.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I sit on my bunk to pull off my boots.

The muscles in my legs complain after the long drive and the afternoon on my feet.

“I’m going to shower before I get too comfortable.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be here.”

“Studying your planets?”

“Trying to decide whether I can convince Bruce to let me use the tower platform.”

I stop with one boot in my hand.

“Please don’t.”

“I’m joking.”

“Are you?”

“Mostly.”

I point at her.

“Renata has a list.”

Phillene laughs.

“I know. I’m probably already on it.”

I gather my things and head for the bathroom.

The shower takes a little while to warm up.

When it does, the water is hot enough to make me reluctant to leave.

By the time I come out, Phillene has put away the chart and is typing something on her phone.

The room smells faintly of shampoo and clean laundry.

With the heater humming beneath the window, I could be in any ordinary dormitory or shared apartment.

Then I glance outside.

The dark mountains remind me exactly how far we are from everything.

It isn’t frightening.

Not really.

It’s just strange to be somewhere this quiet.

“Good news,” Phillene says.

I turn toward her.

“About what?”

“The aurora.”

“You’re going to have to explain why I should be excited again.”

She holds up her phone.

“The forecast just improved. We might actually get a stronger display than they were predicting this morning.”

“Tonight?”

“Possibly within a few hours.”

The sky is clearing.

Above the ridge, a scattering of stars is already visible.

“That’s impressive,” I admit.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She looks delighted with herself.

I pull on a clean sweater.

“How long until we know?”

“I’ll check with Priya. She’s got the current sky conditions.”

“Of course you will.”

She swings her legs off the bunk.

“Come on. I want to tell the others the forecast improved.”

“Give me a minute.”

She disappears into the corridor.

I finish folding my clothes and switch off the bathroom light.

At the window, the glass feels cold beneath my fingertips.

Far below, the road is invisible now.

The trees are dark shapes pressed against the slopes, and the tower rises above the station with its warning lights blinking steadily in the gathering night.

Everything outside looks still.

Then a gust moves across the exposed ridge, carrying loose snow in a pale cloud past the windows.

I draw the curtain halfway and follow Phillene.

Priya is in operations when we find her.

She’s seated at the weather workstation, studying a fresh set of local observations.

Phillene practically bounces into the room.

“Tell me the sky is cooperating.”

Priya turns.

“For your aurora?”

“Naturally.”

“It looks promising. The cloud cover is breaking faster than expected.”

Phillene clasps her hands together.

“I knew it.”

“You’ve been saying that since breakfast.”

“And I’ve been right since breakfast.”

Priya smiles and gestures toward the display.

“The outside temperature’s falling steadily. We’re getting clear, dry air moving in behind the front. That should help visibility.”

“How cold?” I ask.

“Cold enough that you’ll want your proper jacket. The temperature’s still dropping.”

Phillene is already looking toward the windows.

“That’s fine. The colder, clearer air should make the stars look beautiful.”

Priya tilts her head.

“The clear air helps. The cold is just coming along for the ride.”

“Let me enjoy the poetry.”

“Enjoy it in insulated boots.”

Talia appears in the doorway with her coffee mug.

“Why is everybody gathering?”

“Possible aurora,” I tell her.

Her expression brightens.

“Seriously?”

“Apparently it’s going to be spectacular.”

Phillene gives me an approving nod.

“I appreciate your growing enthusiasm.”

“I’m easily influenced.”

Within minutes, the word spreads through the station.

Bruce wants to know how long the display will last. Callum asks whether they can see it from the parking area. Renata reminds everyone that they don’t need to stand outside until their fingers go numb.

Gabriel promises to bring hot drinks if the show starts before he’s ready for bed.

Ethan comes in last.

He listens to the competing suggestions, looks at the weather display, and shakes his head with a smile.

“All right. Nobody’s climbing anything. Nobody’s wandering away from the buildings. If the sky puts on a show, we’ll watch it from somewhere sensible.”

“You’re taking all the adventure out of it,” Phillene says.

“That’s my job.”

She considers him for a moment.

“Fine. But I’m holding you responsible if we miss it.”

“I’ll accept that burden.”

People begin drifting toward the common room, talking about jackets and cameras and whether anybody knows how to photograph an aurora properly.

I linger beside Priya’s desk.

“Looks like Phillene might get her wish,” I say.

Priya studies the latest report.

“She picked a good night to be up here.”

Beyond the windows, the final strip of twilight disappears.

The stars emerge one by one.

And for the moment, the only thing waiting for us outside is a beautiful sky.