But on an oceanographic station, nobody gets to just hang out, not even kids. Everyone who lives here works hard to keep it going, as I discover when my computer lights up with DAILY ASSIGNMENT ROSTER.
This is why I find myself climbing through one of the maintenance tubes before breakfast, going out to manually check the wind sensors (whatever that means). I ascend through water that shifts from nearly black to translucent blue, and then into daylight. The sight of the ocean stretching out to the horizon in every direction takes my breath away. The quality of the light on the waves changes in brilliance and depth each second, and the effect is dazzling.
Does the other Marguerite still see how amazing this is, even though it surrounds her every day? I smile as I realize she must, if we have anything in common at all.
In my jeans and T-shirt, I walk out onto the surface platform—metal ridged to add traction when it’s wet, which must be always. Everything smells like salt and sunshine. The sea breeze catches at my curls, and immediately I see why Josie and Mom wear their hair differently here. As I hurriedly tuck mine back into a sloppy ponytail, I hear a call from the other edge of the platform: “Took you long enough!”
I glance over to see Josie, who’s scrubbing algae off something right at the surface of the water. She must have been out here a while already, but in any universe, I know how to handle Josie’s teasing. I grin as I flip her off, then start climbing the metal ladder up to the wind sensors.
Heights aren’t my favorite. I’m not phobic or anything, but when Paul talks about rock climbing, I can never believe anyone does that for fun. So as I make my way up the ladder, I remind myself that, for this Marguerite, clambering forty feet up is no big deal.
You have steel-toed boots with treads so deep you can dig into the rungs on the ladder! I remind myself, trying to be cheerful as I go higher and higher. You have a safety belt, which you’re nearly 85 percent sure you attached correctly! Nothing to worry about!
At least my view of the seascape around us only gets better with every few steps. The surface section of the Salacia looks like an overgrown hamster maze: huge metal pipes and tubes connected by various platforms. Yet for this Marguerite, this is home.
As I go through each sensor in turn, I have to concentrate hard on the instructions I read back in my room; basically I’m checking to make sure everything looks right, and . . . I guess it does?
Even all that isn’t enough to silence the fear deep inside, the words that keep repeating:
Me. Triad is after me.
Although families eat dinner in their own quarters, breakfast and lunch are apparently served cafeteria-style. This cafeteria is nothing like any other one I’ve seen, though. It’s underwater but close to surface level, with enormous arched windows that reveal lots of shimmering light through blue water. People say hello to friends as they gather at various round tables, and families are all together, including little kids and even some elderly people. While this is a working scientific station, it’s obviously meant to include regular people as well—half laboratory, half small town.
When Dad walks in, people don’t come to attention or anything so formal; they notice the boss, but they smile. He keeps stopping by each table to check on people and see how they’re doing. It’s weird to see him in charge, and yet not surprising to see that he’s great at it. I watch him from across the room, my tray in my hands. By now I’ve learned to endure the strange, poignant feeling of missing my father while he’s not quite gone.
“Good morning, Marguerite.” Mom kisses my cheek as she takes her seat. “Are you all right?”
I realize I’ve been standing in place with my tray for a few minutes now. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
As we take our seats, Josie joins us and asks Mom, “What’s the latest from the weather service?”
“We’ll start seeing some chop tonight, but the worst of the storm front shouldn’t blow in until lunchtime tomorrow.” Mom sips her tea, completely oblivious to the enormous stingray swimming by behind her head. “Probably we can expect some communication blackouts as well.”
Josie makes a face. “Good thing I already downloaded the surfing competition.”
Why wouldn’t we go back to shore, if a dangerous storm is coming in? But I remember what I read about Salacia in my room—in particular, where we are. The closest land masses (New Zealand and Papua New Guinea) are both hours away by air. So we have to ride out storms as they come. Salacia is built to take that kind of punishment, I assume—I hope. But based on what Mom said, we might have hours or even days of communications silence.
Wait. I only have a little while to contact the outside world?
“You know, I’m not hungry,” I say, even as I stuff down a couple of bites of toast. “I’m going to run back to our cabin for a while, okay?”