The Glowing City

Leen didn't go on her own. She had learnt one thing from her father: in Antarctica, whoever goes out alone doesn't come back.

She knocked on his door in the middle of the night and showed him the green light from the window. Ten minutes later there were three of them — Leen, Dr Kamal and Dr Freya — wearing their heaviest clothes, climbing onto the little snowmobile and heading towards the ice cliff, while the aurora danced above them in a strong green, as if it were guiding them.

The crack was bigger than it had looked from the window: an opening in the ice as wide as a big door, sloping downwards, with a soft turquoise-green light glowing out of it and a breath of air that was slightly warmer than outside.

"It's a meltwater tunnel," said Dr Kamal, checking the walls with his torch. "Carved by water escaping from the lake under the ice. It happens sometimes when the ice shifts."

"Before we go down," said Dr Freya, looking at the light glowing out of the crack, "let's agree on something. We touch nothing. We take nothing. We leave nothing behind. We're guests. And if we see any danger — to them or to us — we turn back at once."