The Dark Freeze

by Peter Gregory

  ‘We’ll have to radio the helicopter to bring in some specialist drilling equipment,’ replied Kurt. ‘Specialist drilling equipment for drilling through ice.’

  ‘I’ll do it now,’ said Henrik, getting out his radio. ‘But we’ll have to wait for a suitable window in the weather. And they’ll have to winch it down. It’s too dangerous to land.’

  ‘How wide shall we drill the hole?’ asked Helga, a novice when it came to drilling through ice.

  ‘About two feet,’ replied Henrik. ‘Big enough to fit a person and extricate a large meteorite.’

  ‘How deep do you think we’ll have to go?’ asked Kurt, looking at Liz and Helga.

  ‘Difficult to say,’ replied Helga. ‘Our instruments aren’t sensitive enough to calculate that. However, if we lower one into the hole, the signal should get stronger the closer it gets to the meteorite.’

  ‘Won’t the drill destroy the meteorite?’ asked Liz. ‘Churn it to bits.’

  ‘It shouldn’t,’ replied Kurt. ‘Ice is relatively soft to drill and the drill is designed to cut out automatically if it encounters anything hard, like rock. Or a meteorite.’

  But the drill didn’t encounter anything hard. It encountered exactly the opposite. Thin air. An empty space. An ice cave about 75 feet down. It wasn’t what they were expecting.

  Although common in the Antarctic, ice caves were rare in the Arctic. Rare but not unknown.

  ‘Looks like we’ll have to go down,’ said Kurt, already fixing the rope to his body. ‘I’ll go first then one of you two ladies can follow. And don’t forget to bring a detector.’

  The view that met her eyes as she descended into the ice cave took Liz’s breath away. It was other-worldly, as though she’d entered another planet. The whole cave was suffused with a stunning silvery-grey glow, the effect of the moonlight filtering down the drill hole. Stalactite spikes of ice hung from the ceiling, some over three feet long. It was a crystal palace draped in a pale silvery-grey ethereal light. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

  Surprisingly, the floor was flat and smooth. Sea ice, probably. She removed her glove and rubbed her finger along the smooth, cold floor and then placed it in her mouth. It tasted salty, salty from the frozen ocean water. She gazed in wonder at the arched ceiling with a neat row of icy stalactites. They reminded her of a shark’s mouth. A shark’s mouth with a row of razor sharp teeth. She shuddered, thinking about her ordeal at the lead.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Kurt.

  ‘I’m fine,’ replied Liz. ‘It’s… just so beautiful. So… magical. I’ve never seen an ice cave before.’

  ‘They’re certainly different, aren’t they?’ said Kurt.

  ‘They certainly are,’ replied Liz with a sense of wonderment.

  Although beautiful to behold, the silvery-grey glow provided little in the way of illumination. Kurt and Liz scanned the dimly lit cave floor looking for the lump of extraterrestrial rock. There was no sign of any meteorite. Liz switched on the iridium detector. Although the signal was very strong, there was still no sign of a meteorite. Frustrated, she moved slowly around the cave in different directions trying to pinpoint the source of the signal. ‘I think it’s over there,’ she said, pointing to the far side of the cave.

  Kurt switched on his powerful flashlight and swept the icy floor with the beam. There, caught in the torch beam at the far side of the cave, lay a lump of grey-black rock.

  ‘There it is!’ exclaimed Liz. ‘There, by the wall,’ she shouted, dashing across to examine it. The meteorite was the size of a large melon but not melon-shaped. It was more pear-shaped, more pointed at one end. It’s surface was smooth but uneven. Apart from its odd shape, it seemed just like the other large meteorites.

  As she was getting up from the floor with the meteorite in her hands, a dark patch on the cave wall caught Liz’s attention. ‘Kurt, would you shine your torch on this?’ she said, pointing to the green-black patch in the ice. The patch next to where the meteorite lay.

  Liz studied the green-black patch intently. As an astrobiologist, she knew immediately what it was. Bacterial life! Even in the dark, icy depths of an Arctic ice cave, life had a foothold. Carefully, she scraped a small sample into a Pyrex glass vial and sealed it securely. ‘I’ll get it analysed when we return,’ she said to Kurt. ‘It’s probably of terrestrial origin but you never know.’

  ‘Is everything okay down there!’ It was Henrik, worried they were taking so long.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ shouted back Kurt. ‘We’re just about finished. Haul us up, Henrik.’

  ‘You’ve just got to see it,’ enthused Liz to Helga. ‘You’ve just got to! It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Kurt. ‘You can’t leave without seeing it. Both of you.’ And they didn’t.

  The ice cave had the same effect on Helga and Henrik as it had on Liz. Both were overcome by its sheer beauty.

  As they prepared to leave, both Liz and Helga were puzzled. Puzzled that a meteorite the size of a melon could penetrate to a depth of 75 feet into the Arctic ice. And puzzled why there was no fragmentation on impact. No debris as it smashed into the ice at great speed. It just didn’t make sense.

  Kurt called in the helicopter. By a stroke of luck they’d found a relatively flat expanse of ice and the weather had relented. They’d exhausted the highest density impact zone. It was time to relocate to the second site. Here, they found a similar scattering of meteorites, but fewer of them. They also found another pear-shaped meteorite, similar to the one in the ice cave, embedded just a foot below the surface of the ice.

  Plans to examine the third and final site had to be abandoned. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. It was time to head for home.

  All the meteorites were labelled and packed in special containers. Labelled to show their precise location, whether they were found on the surface or embedded in the ice. Or, in one case, in an ice cave 75 feet below the surface.

  On their final night in the Arctic, Kurt, Henrik, Helga and Liz ate a slap-up meal of steak and mashed potatoes washed down with a single bottle of wine to celebrate the end of a successful mission. Then, they went to bed.

  During the night, high-pitched, barely audible, bursts of energy emanated from two of the meteorites, but no one heard. They were all fast asleep.

  8

  Analysis

  ‘How many?’ asked Viv.

  ‘Six in total,’ replied Frank. ‘The American and Canadian team found one; the Russians – they sent four teams to Siberia because of its vast size – found one; the Antarctic team found two, just like the Arctic team; and the Himalayan teams – the Chinese also sent four – found none.’

  ‘Just six pear-shaped meteorites,’ said Viv thoughtfully, ‘but hundreds of other meteorites, including the one from Liz’s house.’

  ‘Have we any results from their analysis?’ he asked, glancing at Rupert.

  Because they had two presumably similar pear-shaped meteorites, the decision was taken to keep one intact and use the other for analysis. Detailed analysis. But there was a problem. A major problem. Unlike the other meteorites, this one was almost impossible to fragment or crush, it was so hard and dense. Eventually, using specialist equipment, they’d managed to obtain thin slices from different parts of the meteorite, some of which they pulverised into a powder. Both the slices and the pulverised powder were subjected to a whole battery of tests, both physical and chemical. Mass spectrometry, infrared and ultraviolet spectroscopy, nuclear magnetic resonance, X-ray diffraction, electron microscopy, chromatography, gravimetric and volumetric chemical analysis, everything, to unlock any secrets they might hold. But such a rigorous analysis took time.

  ‘Only the preliminary findings,’ replied Rupert, who was heading up the analysis team. ‘So far, they appear to be no different to the other meteorites, except in one respect. They’re harder.
More compact, more dense, than the other meteorites. More difficult to chip samples off the surface.’

  ‘Have the Americans or Russians found anything?’ asked Liz.

  ‘If they have, they haven’t told us,’ replied Frank.

  As Liz listened to the discussion, her mind began to wander. She was convinced the pear-shaped meteorites were different from the rest. Held some secret they hadn’t yet discovered. There were just too many anomalies for them not to be. For instance, why were they only found in the coldest regions of the planet? In the Arctic, why was one found just 12 inches below the ice and one in an ice cave 75 feet underground? Both were the same size and shape. How could ‘natural’ meteorites behave so differently? It just didn’t add up. And why had two been found in both polar regions, the Arctic and Antarctic, but only one in Alaska and Siberia and none at all in the Himalayas? She knew what the counter arguments would be, that the meteorites were easier to find in the Arctic and Antarctic because of the smaller size and relatively flat terrain of the polar regions. And it was a plausible argument: Alaska and Siberia were huge and the Himalayas… Well, the world’s highest mountain range was almost impossible to search thoroughly. She wasn’t surprised they hadn’t found any meteorites at all in the Himalayas.

  ‘What’s you view, Liz?’ asked Viv, jolting her from her thoughts.

  ‘My view on what?’ she said, looking blank.

  ‘On the pear-shaped meteorites,’ said Viv.

  Liz considered the question carefully before answering. ‘The fact that two were found in both the Arctic and Antarctic, the two coldest regions of the planet, could be a coincidence,’ she said, ‘but I doubt it. I think whoever sent them,’ she paused, expecting another outburst from Rupert Templeton-Smythe, but none materialised, ‘deliberately sent two to the coldest regions, and just one to the other cold regions.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Rupert.

  ‘Here it comes,’ thought Liz. ‘The interrogation.’

  ‘To obtain as much information as possible about the two coldest regions of our planet,’ she replied.

  ‘What for?’ asked Rupert.

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out,’ she said, paraphrasing what he’d said at a previous meeting.

  ‘Who do you think sent them?’ asked Frank.

  Liz thought about answering but just shrugged her shoulders instead.

  ‘Okay,’ said Viv, ‘let’s leave it at that for now. Oh, before we go,’ continued Viv, ‘have we had the result on the bacterial swab from the cave?’ He looked at Liz for an answer.

  ‘Yes, we have,’ she answered. ‘I’m afraid it’s just a terrestrial bacterium, an extremophile that thrives in cold conditions. It’s not alien.’

  ‘Ah well,’ said Viv, ‘I just hoped it might have been an alien life form. Never mind, we’ll meet again when Rupert has more results.’

  She was just finishing her lunch when the phone rang. ‘Great, another bloody example of Sod’s Law,’ she thought, swallowing her mouthful of food as she picked up the receiver.

  ‘Liz Conway,’ she said, making no effort to disguise her annoyance at having her lunch interrupted.

  ‘Liz, get over here! Quick! I’ve got something really interesting to show you. Hurry!’

  Rupert Templeton-Smythe sounded excited. Very excited. There was an urgency to his voice. At that instant, she felt ashamed by the offhand way she’d answered the phone. Although she didn’t like him – and the feeling was mutual – she’d been rude. What had prompted the call? He hardly ever rang her, so it must be something important. And there was something else too. He’d called her Liz.

  ‘Here, look at this!’ he blurted out, pointing excitedly to the screen of the electron microscope. Liz followed his finger but saw nothing exciting, just a jumbled-up mass of dots.

  ‘What am I looking for?’ she asked.

  ‘There!’ he said, jabbing the screen with his forefinger. ‘There! Can’t you see it?’

  Liz stared intently at the point where his forefinger had touched the flickering screen. For a few seconds all she saw was an amorphous mixture of jumbled-up dots, molecules she presumed. Then she saw it. Mixed in amongst the mass of molecules – concealed might be a better term – was a regular, crystalline array of atoms, or molecules – she couldn’t tell which – in a spheroid shape. No, not spheroid, in a geodesic shape. A miniature, nano-sized geodesic dome.

  ‘Is… is this what I think it is?’ gasped Liz.

  ‘Why? What do you think it is, Liz?’ asked Rupert expectantly.

  ‘There, he’s said it again,’ she thought. ‘Liz. Why Liz and not Beth?’

  ‘I… I don’t think it’s natural,’ she said, looking at Rupert for any clues. ‘It’s too precise. Too… designed. Is it something… unnatural? Alien?’ she ventured tentatively, remembering Rupert’s scathing comments about the meteorites.

  His reply shocked her. ‘Absolutely!’ he shouted, finding it hard to contain his excitement. ‘That’s exactly what I think!’

  Liz was shocked. She’d never seen him so emotional, so pumped-up, so… boyish. He was like a different person.

  ‘Have you told anyone else?’

  ‘No, not yet. I wanted to tell you first.’

  ‘Why?’ queried Liz, shooting him a quizzical look. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d be the person most likely to believe it could be an… alien artefact. And,’ he continued, averting his eyes, ‘because I’m the one who’s always ridiculed your views on intelligent, alien life. I thought it only fair that you should be the first to know.’

  Liz stood there, dumbfounded. She was completely taken aback. Shocked even. This wasn’t the Rupert Templeton-Smythe she knew. The arrogant, condescending, know-it-all who had an answer for everything. The privileged ‘posh’ boy from a rich family in Berkshire. The privileged ‘posh’ boy who’d trodden the familiar path from Eton to Cambridge. The privileged ‘posh’ boy she hated. But this wasn’t him. This was a normal, decent human being.

  ‘Have you found anything else unusual?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Not yet. I only discovered this… artefact last night. I slept on it just to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks. This morning I checked and rechecked to be absolutely certain, then called you.’

  ‘What do you think it is?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ replied Rupert. ‘I suspect there’ll be more of them concealed in the meteorite. Now I know what to look for, I should be able to find them. Having more will give us a better chance of finding out what they are.’

  For a few moments they just stood in silence collecting their thoughts. If what he’d found really was an alien artefact, a sign of intelligent alien life, it would be the greatest discovery ever made.

  ‘In the deepest sense,’ said Liz, breaking the silence, ‘the search for extraterrestrial intelligence is a search for ourselves.’ Liz spoke the words softly, abstractedly, as though she was speaking to an invisible presence.

  ‘What was that?’ said Rupert.

  ‘It’s something Carl Sagan said, that our search for intelligent life in the Universe is a search to find ourselves. It’s a quote I’ve never forgotten.’

  ‘It sounds familiar. I must have heard it somewhere too,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Do you think we should tell the others?’ asked Liz, changing the subject.

  ‘I’ve wrestled with that already,’ replied Rupert, ‘and I think it’s best if we keep it secret. At least for the time being. Is that okay?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Liz. ‘Let’s wait until you’re more certain. We, er, don’t want to look foolish. But,’ she added quickly, ‘don’t wait too long. I don’t want the Americans or Russians to steal your thunder.’

  ‘Our thunder, Liz. Our thunder.’

  9

  Confirmation

  Th
e adrenaline rush kept him going. Stimulated him. Spurred him on. He’d never worked so hard in his entire, privileged life. Thirty-six hours without a break. Day and night. But he wasn’t complaining. He was on the brink of the greatest, most momentous, discovery in the history of the human race. The first real sign of extraterrestrial life. The first piece of evidence that we are not alone. That at least one other intelligent life form exists in the vastness of the Universe. If he could prove, beyond any shadow of doubt, that these artefacts were indeed from an advanced, alien civilisation, then his, and Liz’s, names would be immortalised. Forever. Dr Rupert Templeton-Smythe and Dr Elizabeth Conway, the people who discovered the first ever signs of intelligent, alien life. Their names would rank alongside that of Neil Armstrong, the first human to step on to another world.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. And his deliberations. He glanced at the clock on the laboratory wall. 3.15 a.m. It could only be one person. ‘Come in, Liz,’ he shouted. ‘The door’s unlocked.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘I’m just too excited.’

  ‘Me too,’ replied Rupert. ‘I just can’t leave the lab.’

  ‘You mean, you haven’t been home?’ said Liz, flabbergasted by his conscientiousness.

  ‘No. I’ve been busy locating the artefacts in the meteorite. There are thousands of them when you know where to look. I’ve managed to separate and extricate most of them,’ he said, pointing to two petri dishes full of tiny dark specks.

  ‘When’s the last time you had anything to eat, or drink?’ asked Liz, noticing his dishevelled, unkempt appearance. It was so out of character to his normal immaculate persona.

  ‘Er, yesterday lunch time,’ he replied.

  ‘Good God! I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed from hunger, or thirst. I’ll nip to the canteen and grab us a sandwich from the freezer cabinet, and a coffee from the machine.’

  ‘Have you had chance to examine the… artefacts?’ asked Liz, munching a mouthful of chicken and stuffing sandwich.