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for a new research lab to be built on the base. Part of his gift was for a mural to be painted on the vestibule wall—a reminder of home for the scientists. The commissioned artist was to then paint a matching mural back at his building in Christchurch after completing the one down here—to reflect life on the ice. There’d been a call for submissions and somehow, Emma’s work had been chosen. She’d entered only on the off chance—it was a place she’d longed to visit and the contest had given her a theme and deadline for producing some work. They’d actually liked her fine, detailed pencil work. She was a hyperrealist, not an abstract artist. She liked to magnify the miniscule, drawing attention to the beauty in the tiny things the eye could so easily miss—the contradiction of that with the mural format would be her biggest challenge ever.
    She breathed deeply. Yes, now here she was amongst all these amazing people who achieved amazing things. No pressure at all.
    Once unpacked, she walked down to the communications area and tried to call Grandma Bea to let her know she’d landed safely, but her old foster mother never answered.
    Frowning, Emma wandered through the mess down the stairs to the small lounge and library area, lingering for a moment until she realized that the people on the sofa nearest her were engaged in a very serious—and deeply personal—conversation about a relationship gone wrong. One had been on the plane with her, the other she didn’t recognize. But they didn’t seem to mind that she, a complete stranger, was in a total eavesdropping position.
    She walked to the other end of the library to escape overhearing. She barely noticed the wall of books, as the window claimed all her attention—the view was mind-blowing.
    The wind had dropped, the snow had settled on the ground again, and now the sky was blue. She looked across the endless expanse of white ice. Mount Erebus dominated the scene, apparently still active because plumes of steam rose occasionally, reminding them this was a land not just of ice, but fire, too. In fact, fire was a very real threat to the inhabitants. She’d be learning more about how to deal with that tomorrow.
    “My name’s Hunter Wilson,” a voice murmured in her ear. “I’m a project manager here for the rest of the summer, and it’s my second season on the ice.”
    Casual again in jeans and tee with a hint of stubble and those smiling eyes, he left her as speechless as she’d been on that crazy descent onto the ice.
    “Come on, aren’t you going to do the ritual intro?” he prompted. “You’ll get asked a lot, so you might as well get it perfect now.”
    “Emma Reed, painter, first time. Only until Christmas Eve.”
    “Really nice to see you again, Emma. Hell of a landing, wasn’t it?”
    “It was,” she admitted with a rueful smile.
    “Met your bunkroom buddy?” he asked.
    She nodded.
    “Is she a beaker?”
    “A what ?”
    “A scientist. A beaker.”
    “Yes, she is.” Emma laughed. “Is that what they’re called?”
    He nodded, that smile dancing in his eyes again. “There’s a whole other language down here. You’ll pick it up quickly.”
    “Give me some more examples.” Intrigued, she turned to face him.
    “Okay, let’s see.” He thought about it. “Well, there are city mice and country mice. City are those stuck at base, country are those out in field camps.”
    “Got it. I’m a city mouse mostly.”
    “Me, too, but we get to go out at night if we want. That’s the good thing about the sun.” He turned to stare at the view beyond. “Intense, isn’t it?”
    “The whole place is,” Emma agreed. “Strangers telling their most intimate secrets within earshot of anybody,” she whispered, inclining her head to the couple lounging on the sofa.
    “It’s like some science experiment all of its own,” he joked. “Never mind the actual science projects that most of them are here for.”
    “Like a reality TV show?”