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shifted uncomfortably in the stiff seat, and our nylon coats rubbed together. My backpack weighed heavily on my lap. It was stuffed full of reference books on the Arctic. I had probably brought too many, but I wanted to be prepared. Books were my anchors.
    “Maya is a pretty name,” Katsu said in a casual tone.“Did you know that in my language my name means victory? I must live up to it. Victory always.”
    “Sounds like a motto—victory,” Dad said.
    “A motto. Yes, I am always victorious. You will see.” He gripped the case. “We will have a great expedition.”
    What a strange thing to say. Dr.
Victory
was going to be an interesting person to watch on the trip.
    The helicopter lifted off the ground and my stomach dropped. Just an arm’s length away, the scenery pressed in, dizzying. There was nothing else around for miles except for the jagged icy teeth of the rugged landscape. It felt like the sky went on forever. Emptiness washed over me. We were so far away from … everything. The helicopter dipped. I gripped my knees and felt my teeth grinding. I hoped Justice would hurry up and get us to the base camp.
    “You look a little green,” Dad said, glancing back at me.
    I gave him a weary smile. Green was now the color of airsickness, I guessed.
    “Press your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It helps with equilibrium,” Justice said. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”
    My peppermint had dissolved, leaving my tongue coated in sticky sweetness. I didn’t want to think about my tongue or my mouth or what might come out of my mouth if he didn’t land the helicopter soon. Ivan gnawed on his gum and when he caught me looking at him, hepointed at his ears, buried under thick furry earmuffs on top of his headphones and said, “Popping,” and kept on smacking his gum.
    After about twenty minutes Justice motioned to the ground. Our destination appeared below us: an outcropping of rectangular wooden buildings that were linked together. From the air, they looked like a lost herd of caribou. There was a landing pad built for the helicopter—a big red X—that would be our main way in and out of the station.
    Finally, we descended. It felt like the ground rushed up to meet us, even though we were floating downward. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the seat.
    “Takes a few days to get used to the environment up here. But you’ll acclimate,” Justice said as he set the chopper down, soft as a metal feather.
    A man wearing a black snowsuit with a silver Clark Expeditions patch on the front waved us into the nearest building. Once we were all inside, he shook everyone’s hand and introduced himself as West Higgins, Randal Clark’s assistant. West had a full brown beard and a sharp crew cut. His face was rugged, reddened from the cold and wind, and he chewed on his chapped lips.
    West led us through the main building, which held some offices and the communication center, a room with a radio, satellite hookup, and computers. West kept callingthis room “the comm.” On the way from the comm center, we passed by a closed door. West stopped abruptly and crossed his arms over his massive chest. He waited for us all to gather around him before he spoke.
    “Randal wants you all to feel at home. His station is your station, and you should come and go as you please. But there is one area that is off-limits.” West rapped on the door with his battered knuckles. “And this, my friends, is it. This room is Randal’s private room. No one is allowed in, ever. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Of course,” Dad said, and nudged me.
    “Yes, sir,” I said, my curiosity piqued.
    West continued down the hallway, but I lingered, letting the rest of the group go on ahead. Dad held back and put his arm around me.
    “Why do you think Randal has a secret room?” I whispered to him, glancing back at the door.
    He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a secret. Just a private place for him. I’m sure