They flew for as long as they could, before the winds caught up with them, and the snow fell, thicker than they'd ever seen. They found a scarp, a great ridge of grey stone jutting a kilometre from the snow and the pink soil; they parked the runners as close to it as they dared, wanting shelter from the wind but worried about snow falling from the rock above.

Outside the vehicles it was incredibly cold, even in their thick gear. They shivered as they assembled their tents, hands shaking in their gloves. They had four tents, one for each person, but they all agreed that was a recipe for dying of cold, alone; so they decided to double up, Harrak with Donici, and Bochart with Myo.

Before they settled down for some sleep, the sun nearly directly above them, Donici leaned to Myo.

'We've used more battery than I'd like, Kkot,' said Donici.

'I noticed, Ana. Whys that?', replied Myo.

'The heating units in the runners are drawing more power than I thought they would. We might need to run cold tomorrow.'

'OK, thanks for letting me know. Good night, Ana.'

'Good night, Kkot.'

Myo ducked into her tent. It was warmer in there, a tiny heating unit slowly defrosting the air, the insulated fabric keeping in the heat as best as it could. Like everything else, it was red. The designers really hadn't considered the possibility of a pink planet, she thought, wryly.

Bochart was there already, sitting in his sleeping bag.

'It's funny that we say that,' he said.

'We say what?'

'Good night. It's not. It's day,' he said, gesturing to the red sunlight that filtered through their tent walls.

'No. It's not. I guess we hang onto these things. So you heard us talking, huh?'

'Yes. If we don't have a bit of heat when we're flying we'll freeze to death. It's cold out there and the wind chill from the speed makes it colder.'

'I know.'

Myo started getting her sleeping bag ready. She pulled it from its little bag, started arranging her stuff on the tent floor.

'We missed the vote,' said Bochart.

'Mmm?', said Myo, not really listening.

'We missed the vote on the planet name. It would have been this morning. I doubt my proposal for "Shithole" would have got much support, but it was worth a go.'

Myo laughed. 'I didn't know that was you, Henri.'

He shrugged and smiled. 'I'm a man of many talents.'

Myo climbed into her sleeping bag. 'Why are you here, Henri? You hate this planet.'

'It was my husband's dream. We were going to come here, set up, live a life with space and nature and freedom. Then he died on the journey over. He had some sort of stroke when he was in cryo; the systems on the ship couldn't save him. I kissed him bonne nuit before we left, and when I woke up he was gone forever. So, yes, I hate this planet. Coming here killed my love, and now I worry it will kill me.'

'I didn't know that. I'm very sorry.'

'I don't tell many people. It's OK. Every day it hurts a little less than it did the day before.' He shifted in his bag, started trying to get comfortable on the hard cold ground. 'What brings you here, Kkot?'

She smiled.

'I woke up one morning on Earth, and everything had broken down. My job, my relationships, my health, my life. I realised I'd been grinding everything down to dust, never stopping to look up at the stars. I spent a day in bed crying and eating junk food; and then I got up, applied for a place on the next ship, and left. I never even checked where I was going. And this is where I am. I like it here. I like the silence and the bright sunlight.'

She paused to crawl into her sleeping bag, and then continued.

'We're not going to die here, Henri. We'll get off the plateau soon enough. Just keep thinking of potato gratin.'

He lifted up a ration bar.

'Oh, Myo Kkott, that is all I can think of. Sleep well.'

'You too.'