Colder than Ice
Helen Macpherson
Prologue
Antarctica July 1896
My Darling Charlotte,
This will be my last entry for I am becoming too weak to write. After so many months of hardship and heartache, I grieve at the thought that I have led my men to their deaths, and I will soon join them. Lying here alone, I understand now where I failed and have endeavored to record these lessons for those who may find me, so that any future Antarctic expeditions will not suffer the same fate. It pains me to think that after so long I have achieved so little.
However, of all the pain I suffer now in silence, of all the loss we have experienced and the regret at not achieving what we set out to achieve, I have one regret above all else. That regret is that, Charlotte, I will never see your face again, your warm smile and your sparkling eyes. It pains me to think we shall never again share a cup of tea by the fire, discussing the everyday events that course through our lives. I will never again lie in the warmth of your arms, feel your soft caress, like butterfly touches to my face and limbs. I know you cannot read this and I can only hope you can hear my thoughts. Please do not mourn for me my love—you are too young to sentence yourself to premature widowhood. Find someone new to share your life with. However, know this: I will always love you, until death and beyond.
E.R.F
Antarctica, 2009—nine days out of Wills Station
THE VEHICLE, A barely discernible orange speck on the Antarctic landscape, made its slow, deliberate way across the white expanse. Inside, the rumble of the tractor made it difficult for Sarah Knight to catch the driver’s words.
“I missed that, Rob. What did you say?” she shouted in his ear.
Without taking his eyes from the unchanging vista, Rob turned his head slightly and yelled, “I said, after days of traveling at this bloody slow pace, are we there yet?”
Sarah smiled. She’d previously worked with Rob and was used to his teasing questions. “Okay, enough. We’re nearly there. Of course, lugging around an ice core drill that weighs as much as this one has slowed us down.”
“Really? You don’t say,” he replied with light-hearted sarcasm. “I’ve dragged this baby around before and I’m intimately aware of how heavy the bloody thing is. I suppose what I should be asking is why not just take core samples from the Law dome, instead of coming all the way out here?”
“We’re trying to do a comparative study of the information we’ve found in core samples from the Law dome with samples that are further along the inner coastal fringe. We’re investigating the extent of damage done to the environment through the spate of worldwide nuclear tests conducted in the 1950s. Think of it as an integrity check of information collected from a site which has been relatively untouched by humans over the past hundred years.” She slapped him on the shoulder, hardly registering against the multiple layers of clothing. “And besides, who else would I have out here except the best driller in all of Antarctica?”
Rob laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere. It’s just a shame you’ve never taken me up on the offer. We’d make a great team you and I. Me, the brawn, and you, the brains of the outfit.”
Sarah shook her head in mock exasperation. “Mate, as I’ve told you before, there’s one slight problem with that. You’re not kitted with the gear for my kind of interests. And besides, how could you put up with my constant nagging? I’d drive you to drink in no time.”
Rob spared Sarah a glance. “You can’t say I didn’t try. But you’re right; you nag a bit too much for my liking. How do the ladies put up with you?” He dodged another blow from Sarah.
“You should know that women are always right. It’s only men who can’t do things correctly the first time.”
“You keep on like that and you’re likely to find yourself walking home. And trust me, it’s a bloody long walk.” He checked the instrument panel and scanned the area through the vehicle’s icy windscreen. “By my calculations, I think we’re where we need to be. Now, would Little Miss Perfect like to check that this mere male hasn’t got it wrong?”
“Very funny.” Sarah checked the readout against the data in her logbook. “If you just head over that way about another five hundred yards, we should be where we want to drill.”
“Five hundred yards? Five hundred yards? We’re in the middle of bloody nowhere and you want to move another five hundred yards? Thank God I’ve never moved house with you. I can just see it: ‘No, just a little more to the left. No, too much. Just a little more to the right.’ No man in his right mind would put up with you.” Rob gave her a cheeky grin.
She grabbed a thatch of hair below his cap and pulled it hard. “Yeah. Just do as you’re told mister brawn or I’ll start doing this by inches.”
“Ow! Just for that, I’m only going to go another four hundred and ninety yards. If you want this bad boy any closer you’ll just have to get out and push.” Despite his threat, Rob parked as close to the target position as possible.
As they climbed down from the vehicle, they took a moment to brace themselves against the biting cold of the wind that was a constant factor on the continent. They worked silently together, ensuring the stabilizing legs of the drill piece were in position before they took samples. Satisfied the drill was ready for operation, Rob checked the mechanics of the machine while Sarah looked over the drilling requirements for the sample to be taken.
“If it’s okay by you, I’d like to do a couple of samples about twenty yards apart.” Sarah held up her hand at Rob’s incredulous look. “I know. Call me anal retentive, but I want to make sure the data we collect will be worth the trip.”
“It better be worth it. Stuck for days having to listen to your voice is enough to drive anyone to drink.” Rob ducked behind the safety of the drill as Sarah propelled a small chunk of ice at him. “Okay, okay. I give up. But before we start, we’ve been traveling over some pretty untidy terrain. Do you mind if I do a quick test drill to make sure everything’s working? I’d hate to get down to any sort of depth and have the damn thing seize on me.”
“No. That’s fine. It’ll give me a chance to assess what the composition of the ice is like at this early depth. Let me get some photos and data on what we’ve found at the other sites and I’ll be right with you.” Sarah covered the ten yards from the drill to the door of the vehicle’s front cabin. Struggling against the force of the wind, she opened the door and retrieved her backpack.
Not waiting for Sarah to return, Rob flicked the switch and brought the drill to life. He checked the blades encased in their titanium cylinder to ensure they were rotating before he positioned the drill to take its first bite of the ice.
Rob bore a small hole and was satisfied that the drill had not been affected by the long journey to the drill site. He raised the drill out of the hole in the ice, turned the machine off, and removed the test sample from its confines. He exchanged a surprised look with Sarah.
Sarah removed bits of a darkened material from the relatively blue-white hue of the rest of the specimen. “What the hell is that?” She sniffed it and shook her head before taking a closer look. Bewildered, she turned to Rob. “What’s wood doing in an ice sample?”
Rob took the specimen and sorted through it with a gloved finger. “I was just thinking the same thing. We’re not on a historical site are we?”
Sarah walked the small distance from the hole, to where her pack lay on the ice. She removed from her pack the data relating to their drill site. “Have you got the GPS?” Rob nodded. “Can you do another check of where we are? I’ll just recheck the maps to make sure I haven’t misread them. There really shouldn’t be anything in this location.” She scratched her head in confusion.
They carefully checke
d and crosschecked their position, and validated it was correct. Both of them returned to the small hole and looked down into it. Rob scanned the immediate landscape for any clues and found none. “If we’re in the right position, what’s wood doing here? There’re no records of early expeditioner’s huts in this location. Plus, the depth where the wood appears in the core sample dates it from at least a century ago. So, come on, woman of multiple doctorates and child prodigy, what’s your hypothesis?”
Sarah paced the ice. Possible answers entered her mind but were rationalized and just as quickly dismissed. She stopped pacing and her eyes widened before she shook her head. “No, it couldn’t be. That was never substantiated.”
Rob grasped Sarah’s arm. “What was never substantiated? What are you talking about?”
Sarah broke out of the mental check and crosscheck she’d been running through and turned to Rob. “For as long as I’ve been involved in Antarctica and well before that, there’s been talk of an expedition that was never proven to have taken place. It was thought to be the first expedition that ever settled on Antarctica. Many had circumnavigated the continent before it, but no one had ever established a base on the ice. It was supposedly headed by an explorer called Finlayson but nobody’s ever found proof of his expedition.”
Rob wrapped a well-padded arm around a perplexed Sarah. “I’d say they have now. I suppose that means no more drilling, hey?”
Chapter One
My Dearest Charlotte,
The meeting of the Sixth International Geographic Congress seems like a lifetime away and yet it has only been ten months. Do you remember how excited we were, gaining their blessing in support of my expedition—to be the first person to establish an expedition base on Antarctica? And here I am, a day’s sailing from our last port of civilization, heading for the adventure that lies ahead for my faithful crew and myself. The people of Christchurch in New Zealand were very helpful, sometimes a little overly so. I have more lamb than I know what to do with; thankfully it has made cook happy. The New Zealand people’s gracious provisioning of our coal and oil supplies were of extreme benefit and I shall not forget them when naming areas of the great white continent, or indeed in my memoirs when I arrive home.
Oh, my love, you should have seen the crowds; they lined the wharves ten deep in places! And the pleasure boats on the harbor, faring us well on our journey, were a sight to behold.
The swell rises, my dear, and so I must cut this entry short. I did send you and Robert junior a short letter before we sailed yesterday and by the time you receive it we should be well and truly established on Antarctica. My loving thoughts go out to you.
ERF
Sydney, Australia—2009
AS ALLISON SHAUNESSY ran up the well-worn steps of the Museum Station, she mentally berated herself for her late departure from home. She was well aware of the Museum’s faculty meeting that morning, not to mention the items on the agenda. Today the faculty, under the iron guidance of the Museum’s patron, would decide the key projects to be funded for the upcoming year.
Securing a position on the staff of the Flinders Museum of Australasian Exploration had been no mean feat. The doctorate in Archaeology Allison had gained from Sydney University certainly held her in good stead. This, coupled with the entree provided by Rick Winston, her partner of three years, had made the transition from academia to practical application of her knowledge that little bit easier. She’d worked hard to establish her own credible niche and, as time progressed, people ceased to refer to her as Rick’s girlfriend and instead called her Dr. Shaunessy.
Allison took the hundred year old sandstone steps of the station two at a time, stubbornly ignoring the signs that her stamina was flagging. Without warning, she tripped and instinctively threw out her hands to break her fall. Almost simultaneously she watched her bag erupt as it hit the stairs, sending a stream of pens, papers, books, and fruit flowing back down the steps.
Allison gingerly rubbed the pain throbbing through her shin and hands and muffled an embarrassed curse. She carefully made her way back down the stairs, picking up everything and graciously thanking those people who returned to her the contents of her bag. At the bottom of the steps she found her grapefruit and orange, their progress halted by a newspaper stand. She shoved her bruised breakfast into her bag, shaking her head at how late for work she was now going to be. Deciding she may as well take the time to pick up the morning paper, Allison glanced at the tabloid flyer on of the newspaper stand and nearly dropped her bag again. Bold letters declared what she’d sought to prove for so long:
FINLAYSON EXPEDITION NO LONGER A MYTH!
She paid the owner for the paper and walked up the steps, this time one after another, her eyes eagerly scanning the article’s contents. Nearly slipping again on the worn sandstone, she decided to stop reading until she’d emerged from the underground railway exit.
As Allison walked through Hyde Park, she barely noticed the beautiful autumn day that greeted her. The changing colors and the encompassing morning’s warmth scarcely touched her awareness as she brusquely walked to work, nose firmly ensconced in the paper.
27 March 2009-Dateline Antarctica.
A random discovery made last week may well have laid to rest over a century of speculation surrounding the true existence of the first explorer to establish a base in Antarctica. The remains of an expedition’s hut were found during ice core research, in an area previously recorded as not containing archaeological relics.
Dr. Sarah Knight, the glaciologist who made the discovery, said she’d never expected to find anything in such a remote location, some nine days from Wills Station. When she discovered wooden elements within a test ice core sample, she conducted a GPS check of the drilling location and confirmed that the position was not a historical site.
When asked to speculate on what the actual remains might be, Dr. Knight was confident in her reply. “We’ve mapped and recorded every explorer to have traversed the continent of Antarctica, with the exception of one who, until now, was thought to have perished in the Southern Ocean long before reaching Antarctica. I believe these remains can be no other than from the hut of Eric Robert Finlayson.”
“Good morning, Dr. Shaunessy,” Arthur Packham greeted.
Allison looked up from the newspaper and realized that she was in the Museum.
She grinned. “Hi, Arthur, how are you?” She always enjoyed chatting with Arthur, who was one of the museum’s oldest and most well-informed guards, and, as always, smartly dressed in the charcoal grey uniform of the Museum’s employees. Allison waved the newspaper at him. “Did you see the news this morning?”
Arthur smiled. “I’m fine, Dr. Shaunessy, and yes, I did. I’m sure you’re very excited by this possible find.”
“After so many years of speculation, it looks as if my research has been vindicated. My theory regarding his supply ship must have been correct. They did manage to unload both men and cargo onto land and then the ship must have perished on the return journey,” Allison said wryly, and shook her head. “The odds of finding the hut’s location are astronomical. I’d love to speak with this Sarah Knight and see if there’re any other telltale signs around the site.”
Arthur tapped his watch in gentle remonstration of Allison’s enthusiasm. “Now that you mention talking to people, Dr. Shaunessy, isn’t there a faculty meeting today?”
Allison scowled and lightly cursed as she trotted to the elevator, leaving a chuckling Arthur behind her. She turned to give him a quick wave goodbye and smiled. His attention was already focused on a small girl, who tugged on the hem of his jacket. From inside the elevator, Allison watched the scene and softly laughed at Arthur’s patience with children as the doors quietly closed.
ALLISON DUMPED HER gear on the desk in her office in the rear area of the Museum and wheeled for the door. She’d barely taken two steps when she ran into a six-foot-two immovable object, the scent of its aftershave unmistakable.
Rick Winston took a ste
p back and absorbed the impact by encasing Allison in his arms. “Ooof! Alli, where are you going in such a hurry? And where’s my good morning kiss?”
Allison disentangled herself enough to brush Rick’s lips. “I’m as late as all hell. The alarm wasn’t set this morning, I woke up late, missed my train, and then dropped everything on the way to work and now I find out that part of my thesis may have been proven. And, of course, to make matters worse, I’m late for the only appointment I need to keep on a regular basis.”
Rick gently shook Allison’s shoulders. “Slow down or you’ll burst something. Old Pedant Peterson was held up leaving Melbourne. His plane was fogged in and he’s not due for another twenty minutes or so. Come into my office and we’ll have a cup of coffee and compare notes.” He stepped out of the embrace and headed down the hallway.
Allison resignedly sighed at the way he naturally expected her to follow him.
“You do remember the purpose of the meeting today don’t you,” Rick called over his shoulder before entering the wood-paneled room of what could only be the office of a man.
Allison rolled her eyes—as if such an important meeting could be forgotten. The faculty members of Flinders had only been preparing papers for it for the past two months. And now, the one paper she should have had ready to present wasn’t ready at all. “Of course I do. Today is the day old Peterson spreads his largess over the unwashed masses, namely us. What have you heard about the projects the old geezer’s likely to sponsor this year?”
Rick’s eyes quickly flitted toward his open door and then back at Allison. “For Christ’s sake, Alli, keep your voice down. I suspect the old man already knows that you think he’s an ignorant prat, without you calling him names. The last thing you want is for someone to hear you.”
Allison flung her head back and then forward, her short brown locks falling into her eyes. She impatiently brushed them away. “What, like blimbo you mean?”
Rick stifled a laugh. “You’re going to get yourself in so much trouble one of these days. Di will hear you and then that’ll be the end of it.”
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