by Gabriel Hunt
“The expenses are no problem,” Gabriel said. “I’d gladly pay more if it would help. What is a problem is the ten-day delay. Is there any way—”
“Mr. Hunt,” the woman said. “I don’t make the rules, and they don’t let me change them either. Just because you’ve got money doesn’t mean you rule the roost—not down here. The fees are what they are and so is the wait. If you don’t like it, you can take the next plane out. Do we understand each other?”
She left without waiting for a response. Gabriel looked down at the clipboard. The stack of forms to be filled out was over an inch thick.
“Ten days!” Velda said.
A young man in filthy brown coveralls chose that moment to slip in through the back door of the room. He had a big smile and long, wild hair and a six-pack of cheap beer in one hand. He stank of diesel fuel so powerfully it made Gabriel’s head swim.
“Hey, Ruda!” the man cried, pulling Rue into an embrace that lifted her off her feet. “I heard you were back on the ice, but I couldn’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe it either,” Rue said, smiling at Gabriel over the young man’s shoulder.
“Strip Monopoly just isn’t the same without you. You planning to winter-over?”
“No chance, Dusty,” Rue replied, taking a beer and cracking it open. “Six months with you and Tanner in the dark and I’d be ready to chew my own leg off. I’m just here to help a friend. In and out.”
“Well, that’s the way to help a friend all right,” Dusty said, nudging her with an elbow. He began passing the remaining beers around, shaking everyone’s hand as he went. Only Velda declined the beer. Dusty held his can up in a toast. “Skal!”
“Skal,” Gabriel said. Gabriel wasn’t normally much of a beer drinker—but the way this one went down his parched, bone-dry throat, it tasted like the best he’d ever had.
“Skal,” Rue repeated, sucking foam from the mouth of the can. “Is Speedo still doing Pole run?”
“Of course,” Dusty said. “In fact, he’s got one in about forty minutes, why?”
Rue pulled a twenty-ounce plastic bottle of Moxie soda pop from the messenger bag she wore slung over one hip and passed it to Dusty.
“Ah, you do love me after all,” Dusty said with a huge grin, clutching the bottle to his heart as if it were a teddy bear. “A winter without Moxitinis is like a fat girl with itty bitty titties.”
“I think now would be a good time to file that harassment complaint against Tanner,” Rue said. “Don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Dusty said. “High time.”
“Just make sure it keeps Lanke occupied for at least, oh, forty minutes?”
“Not a problem,” Dusty said, slipping the bottle into one of the many enormous pockets on his coverall and downing the rest of his beer in one long gulp. “Good luck out there, Ruda.” He headed out toward Lanke’s office.
Rue smiled over at Velda. “Those ten days just flew by, didn’t they?”
Bundled up in extreme weather gear and lugging their equipment like a line of ants at the world’s coldest picnic, Gabriel and the team made their way through icy winds down a narrow runway of smooth snow toward a growling ski-equipped LC-130.
The pilot—Speedo—turned out to be a handsome, weathered sort with merry blue eyes and a troublemak-er’s grin. He was clearly thrilled to be breaking the rules. He helped the team unload three pallets of frozen Tater Tots to make room for their gear and did so with all the glee of a teenager preparing to sneak out after curfew. According to Rue, Speedo had some shadowy, possibly sexual ties to a prominent female senator, and was therefore un-fireable and able to get away with murder up here.
“So,” Millie asked the pilot as they worked together to secure the gear for takeoff. “Why do they call you Speedo?”
“What do you think?” he replied, heading for the cockpit. “I’m the fastest you’ll ever see. Maybe you’d better buckle up, son.”
After he closed the cockpit door, Rue said, “Fast’s got nothing to do with it. I bet him once he wouldn’t run from the Heavy Shop to Crary Lab and back in nothing but bunny boots and his little bathing suit,” she said. “He won the bet. Everyone calls him Speedo ever since.”
“So he isn’t fast?” Millie said.
“I didn’t say that,” Rue said.
The ride to the Pole was choppy and uncomfortable but otherwise uneventful, giving Gabriel and his team time to gawk out the windows at the awe-inspiring landscape below. It was 10:30 P.M. but the sun shone bright as noon across the towering blue glaciers and curious, surreal formations of windblown ice. At first they saw fat seals huddled together in writhing brown masses the size of football fields and large troops of penguins clustered around the edges of slushy holes in the endless frozen sea, but as they moved inexorably southward, deeper into the cold dead interior of the continent, living things became more scarce and eventually vanished altogether. The plane flew low over soaring white mountain ranges like giant carnivorous teeth and grim, dead valleys with no ice at all, just scattered stone and dry, barren dirt. Eventually the landscape flattened out to an endless stretch of frozen nothing. When they finally spotted the distinctive geodesic dome of Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station, Gabriel felt Velda grip his gloved hand, her long thigh pressing against his as she leaned closer to the window.
Speedo put the big cargo plane down on the ice with a bone-jarring bump and rattle. Velda’s hold on Ga-briel’s hand tightened, then released.
When Gabriel exited the plane, he was not prepared for the raw and brutal power of the wind. It leapt on him like a hungry tiger, tearing at his exposed face and nearly knocking him flat. He had heard that the South Pole was the windiest place on earth, but knowing it and experiencing it were two totally different things.
On the long, frozen airstrip, the team was met by what appeared to be an enormous Yeti. He was taller than Millie, with a long, ice-encrusted yellow beard and featureless black goggles sticking out of the fur hood of a safety-orange parka.
“Velda,” the Yeti cried in a heavy Scandinavian accent. Gabriel had to strain to hear over the roar of the engines and the howling wind. “We did not know if you would make it.”
“Nils,” Velda shouted back. “It’s good to see you. How is Elaine?”
“She is well.” Nils turned to Millie. “This must be Gabriel Hunt.”
Millie smiled and shook his head.
“Millie Ventrose,” he said, shaking the Yeti’s gloved hand. “That’s Gabriel.”
The Yeti looked over and down. At six feet even, Gabriel rarely felt small, but standing between these two mountains could give any man outside the NBA a complex.
“Pleased to meet you, Nils,” Gabriel said, sticking out a hand.
When Nils took it to shake, Gabriel felt something odd and unbalanced in the other man’s grip. It took him a minute to realize that the last two fingers of the man’s glove were empty.
“This is Rue Aparecido,” Gabriel said, just to have something to say.
“Oh, we know Rue here,” Nils said. “We know her very well.”
Rue blew the Yeti a jaunty kiss and went to start unloading their gear.
So, tell me, Gabriel was suddenly tempted to ask, has she slept with everyone on the team? But he kept the thought to himself.
“Nils Engen worked with my father at the ComNet research station,” Velda said, leaning close but still shouting to be heard. “He’s been on the ice for fifteen years, ten of them at or near Pole. He’s agreed to be our guide.”
“Good,” Gabriel said, grabbing his pack and slinging it up on his shoulder. “Glad to have you, Nils.”
When they had all gathered their gear and bid Speedo their hollered good-byes, Nils led them past the edge of the dome to a battered Spryte snowcat that looked like a rusty orange shoe box on wide tank treads. The driver was a grim woman in a gray parka that Nils introduced as Skua. She didn’t speak a word for their entire journey.
The Spryte was turtle slow, had no
real suspension of any kind and was both horrifically noisy and foul smelling, belching plumes of toxic exhaust that wafted back into the badly insulated cab. The tiny, slot like side windows quickly iced up, making them pretty much useless. The ice over which they traveled was scored with windblown ridges that bounced and rattled their frozen bones. Millie hit his head against the roof so many times he wondered aloud if he shouldn’t have worn a helmet.
Their first view of the research station out the front windshield made it look like a beer can lying discarded and half buried on the featureless ice of the vast Polar Plateau. The only other visible landmark was the distant hump of Pole Station to the east. No mountains, no glaciers, nothing for the eye to focus on but miles and miles of flat white below and flat blue above. The altitude made breathing feel like doing push-ups. The bone-dry wind that came whistling in was even more vicious, full of knives and the promise of frostbite, hypothermia and death. The vast emptiness made Gabriel feel small and fragile, and he thought even men like Nils and Millie must find it humbling.
“Velda!” a tiny, plump figure cried, appearing in the doorway of the beer can as the snowcat slowly ground to a halt. Any human features were buried under layers of down and goggles, but the voice sounded female. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Elaine,” Velda said, stepping forward to embrace the shorter woman. “How are you managing out here?”
“We’re doing okay,” she replied. “We were supposed to get a new fish in to winter-over, but I guess he failed his pych eval, so it’ll just be the three of us this year.” She paused, then gripped Velda’s gloved hand. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
There was a long windy minute of awkward silence. The cold was rapidly becoming excruciating, a sensation more of pain than of temperature.
“You idiots are welcome to say out here sunbathing,” Skua said, piping up for the first time. “I’m going in.”
“Come on,” Elaine said. “Let’s get you kids warmed up.”
Chapter 8
The inside of the tiny research station looked and smelled like a college dorm. In the main living area there was a random scattering of cheap, questionable furniture. Cartoons and sketches and photos torn from magazines were thumbtacked to the walls. A green lava lamp stood next to a big-screen TV that was hooked up to an Xbox. A heavy funk of armpits and fried food hung in the air alongside a lingering hint of marijuana smoke. Skua had swiftly retired to unseen private quarters, but with the six of them standing there, the narrow room felt like a rush-hour subway car. Taking their parkas off was a major challenge in the cramped space, all awkward elbows and bumping into one another. Millie could barely move without sticking his elbow in someone’s face or cracking his head against one of the metal spines supporting the roof. There was one small couch and a sad, broken-down recliner, meaning even if three of them squeezed onto the couch, two people would still have nowhere to sit. The low curved ceiling just added to the claustrophobia. Gabriel couldn’t imagine living like this for months at a time, especially during the sunless winter, when spending time outside was even less of an option.
Once out of her gear, Elaine revealed herself to be a plump, light-skinned black woman in her early fifties with dreadlocked white hair and a scattering of dark freckles across her round face. Stripped of his bulky down, Nils was less of a Yeti than a gangly stork. His blond thinning hair was pulled back into a wispy ponytail and the goggles were replaced by round, wire-rimmed glasses. He was missing two-thirds of his right ring finger and all of the pinkie. Even though the big Swede had to be close to seven feet tall, he seemed entirely comfortable with the low ceiling, crouching instinctively and gracefully as he moved through the cramped space.
“I’ll mix us up some hot chocolate,” Elaine said. “Nils, why don’t you bring in a couple more chairs from the mess hall?”
The two researchers left the room and Gabriel sat down in the recliner, wondering if this whole expedition really had been a mistake after all. He looked over at Velda, who was standing at the far end of the room with her arms wrapped around herself, her hazel eyes distant. Maybe Michael had been right. He wasn’t always, but he did have a good nose for futility.
When Nils returned with a spindly folding chair under each arm, he motioned for Gabriel to stand.
“It’s Elaine’s week for the recliner,” Nils said apologetically, handing a folding chair out to Gabriel. “We rotate on a weekly basis so that everyone is allowed fair and equal usage. Short-term visitors are not included.” He pointed to a hand-drawn chart on the wall labeled RECLINER SCHEDULE. “You may laugh, but we need these kinds of rules out here. It’s the only way to winter-over without murdering each other.”
Gabriel took the folding chair and looked over at the schedule. He couldn’t help but notice that Dr. Silver’s name—LAWRENCE—was X’d off each time it appeared. His recliner dates had been redistributed among the other researchers. Gabriel wondered if Velda had noticed this and was struck with an urge to comfort her. But although she stood within arm’s reach, she seemed a thousand miles away.
“Well,” Elaine said, reappearing with six mismatched cups on a plastic tray. “Anyone up for midrats?”
“I could eat,” Nils replied, handing the other folding chair to Millie.
“Midrats?” Millie repeated, and handed the chair off to Velda. There was no way it would support his weight.
“Midnight rations,” Rue explained. “With the shifts up here, there’s four meals a day: breakfast, lunch, dinner and midrats.”
“Well, then, yes, ma’am,” Millie said. “I’d sure love a bite.”
Elaine handed around the cocoa and then took her own mug and the tray back into the unseen galley. Gabriel could hear the beep and whir of a micro wave. He shuddered, remembering all the boxes of Tater Tots they had unloaded from Speedo’s plane, but he was hungry and in no position to be finicky.
“We’ll eat and then get a few hours of sleep,” Gabriel said. “How far away is the site where Dr. Silver was last seen?”
“About three hours in the Spryte,” Nils replied, blowing over the rim of his steaming mug before taking a sip. “We should plan to spend no more than four hours at a stretch before returning to base camp, but we must also bring overnight supplies and tents in case we are caught out in bad weather. The reports are all clear for the next forty-eight but you never know for sure. Better to be prepared than dead.”
“Story of my life,” Gabriel said.
Elaine returned, the tray loaded with micro wave burritos on plastic plates. She handed the plates around. “Eat up,” she said. “Won’t stay warm for long.”
Gabriel wolfed down the food. He’d eaten worse. Of course, he’d survived for a week once in the Peruvian jungle on a diet of rainwater and grubs, so that wasn’t saying much.
“I don’t know about you all,” Elaine said, “but I’m gonna hit the sack. Nils’ll be up for another few hours working in the lab if you need anything but otherwise, you’re free to bed down wherever you can find the space.”
Nils began gathering up the dirty plates. “Velda,” he said. “You can sleep in your father’s bed, if you don’t mind bunking in my room.”
“That’ll be fine,” Velda said. Her face was closed off and unreadable.
“Rue, why don’t you take the couch,” Gabriel said, putting a hand on Millie’s massive shoulder. “You and me are on the floor.”
“I don’t think there’s enough floor for the two of us,” Millie replied, unrolling an extra-large sleeping bag. “You know I love you like a brother, but I don’t particularly want to snuggle.”
“That’s fine,” Gabriel said. “I’ll bed down in the mess hall.”
Gabriel collected his bedroll and headed down a short hallway to the mess. It was barely big enough for the square card table at its center. Gabriel had to fold up the table and lean it against the wall to make room to lie down on the floor.
Once he’d done so, Gabriel discovered that he still felt wid
e-awake, mind restless and full of unanswered questions. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, he decided a hot shower would help him relax.
The first door he opened led to a cramped laboratory. It was meat-locker cold and the floor was raw exposed ice. A variety of probes had been sunk deep into the ice and twinkling banks of high-tech machines and top-of-the-line computers compiled, sorted and analyzed the data. Nils sat on a crooked stool in front of a bank of monitors. He wore a thick sweater, muffler and wool watch cap but no parka. His gloves had the tips of the fingers snipped off for easier typing and the pinkie of the right glove had been removed altogether. Although Gabriel was shivering, Nils seemed comfortable in the chill.
Nils was holding a second cup of steaming cocoa in one hand and a silver hip flask in the other. When he looked up and saw Gabriel, he finished pouring a slug of what ever the flask contained into the cocoa and then held the flask out to Gabriel. It proved to be surprisingly excellent bourbon. Gabriel took a swig and gave the flask back to the big Swede.
“Tell me,” Gabriel said. “What do you make of Dr. Silver’s last transmission?”
Nils took a sip of his cocoa, watching the continuous parade of numbers across the screen beside him.
“I was the one who received the transmission,” he finally said. “I tried to respond but there was no reply.” He paused, tapping away at the keyboard for several seconds, his face stoic. “What he claims to have seen is not possible. I believe he is dead.” His expression softened slightly and he looked down into his mug. “Don’t get me wrong—the man was as capable a scientist as anyone I’ve known, and physically? He was in better shape than most men half his age. Stronger, too.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter how strong you are down here. The ice is stronger.”