Ninth Cycle Antarctica: A Thriller (A Rossler Foundation Mystery Book 2)

by JC Ryan

  “Charles, we must make better time. At this rate, we will run out of food before resupplying at Amundsen-Scott,” he said one evening.

  “What do you mean, we’ll run out of food? You were supposed to plan enough for forty days. We’ve only been out here for twenty.”

  “Yes, but at this rate, we’ll be another two or three getting through the pass, and perhaps a week and a half or two weeks to get to the Pole after that. And your crew, they eat like teenagers! They are consuming more than the allotment.”

  “LeClerc, I understood you to be an experienced polar expedition coordinator. You know that calorie requirements are higher under these conditions. Explain to me exactly why you didn’t calculate correctly.”

  “Merde! I am telling you, I calculate correctly and your crew is out of control! They demand more, the chef he makes more. I cannot make him understand that he must conserve.”

  “I will hold you personally responsible if we have to choose between rushing this exploration and underfeeding my team, LeClerc. I’ll deal with Bart, but this better not happen again. And if you’re going to swear at me, do it in English, so I can respond properly.”

  Summers was furious. He’d trusted the Frenchman to live up to his CV and his reputation, but something was seriously wrong. Any good leader made allowances for the unforeseen, especially in situations where an error could be life-threatening. Why hadn’t this one made better calculations? Sure, one or two of his team were bigger than the norm; especially Roosky, but he supposed JR’s tall frame required more calories than average as well. It should have been taken into account. Now he was going to have to impose rationing, and that wasn’t going to go over well. Too bad we aren’t at the North Pole, he mused. We could have bagged a polar bear or something. Where they were going, there were no potential food sources larger than microbes. There wasn’t even a penguin for thousands of miles. But, at least he didn’t have to worry about predators.

  Summers went to the mess tent and had a talk with Bart, telling him that the food had to last for at least seventeen more days, preferably twenty, in case of a storm. After a small protest that the people he was feeding would complain if the food wasn’t plentiful, and Summers’ promise to let them know it wasn’t Bart’s fault, he went to speak to the group as a whole. LeClerc was conspicuously absent when he had gathered them together.

  “Listen, guys, and that means you ladies, too. We’ve hit a small snag. Due to a miscalculation, we’re going to have to cut back on the food a bit.” Summers waited out the flurry of questions and exclamations of dismay before resuming. “It won’t be drastic, but we’ve been eating a bit more than LeClerc planned for, and we need to make sure we aren’t left a day or more from base when we run out of food. Bart’s going to be serving slightly smaller portions, and the portions are going to be divided according to caloric needs. That means Roosky and JR will get a little more than me, for example.”

  Summers was relieved when the others began joking at Roosky’s expense. “If we run out of food, we can always eat Roosky. He’d feed us all for at least a week.” The laughter and elbowing quieted down when Summers continued. “Thanks for understanding, everyone, and for your cooperation. We’ll do our best to correct that issue before we leave Amundsen-Scott base.”

  LeClerc’s voice came from behind him. “It is no joke, my friends. Many an expedition has been forced to cannibalism. Do not joke of it.”

  Summers froze, along with everyone else. What the hell? Why couldn’t the man just leave well enough alone? Everyone took it as a joke, but now a pall of uneasiness settled over the group. Charles tried to dispel it.

  “Oh, come on, Paul, let’s not give the kiddies nightmares. We’ll be fine.”

  “You say that now, but if we are pinned down by storms, you may be forced to eat your words, for there will be nothing else except…”

  Now Summers was angry. “That’s enough, LeClerc. Go to your tent. I don’t want another word from you.”

  LeClerc stepped out of the long shadows cast by the Snow-Cat and stood face-to-face with Charles. “Who are you to tell me what I must do? I am the leader of this expedition. You are merely a scientist. It is up to me to keep these people safe.” LeClerc’s hands were curled into fists, and his face was the mottled red of a man in a rage. Summers wondered what had gotten into the man. This sudden belligerence had come from nowhere, but it had to be squelched.

  “Then you haven’t been doing a very damn good job of it, have you, LeClerc? If I could, I’d fire you right now for gross negligence and putting these people’s lives in danger. One more word and I’ll have Roosky and JR forcibly remove you to your tent, and if I have to I’ll have you restrained.”

  JR, seeing the move telegraphed, jumped to Summers’ side and lashed his big arm out to forestall LeClerc from punching him. “Paul, I think you’d better go cool off,” he said. Faced with a much bigger opponent, LeClerc backed down and melted back into the shadows. A shaken Summers turned to JR.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. What brought that on?”

  “I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say he’d been drinking, but where would he have gotten any booze?”

  JR flashed Summers a humorous look and shook his head. He knew where he’d get a drink, but it was unlikely LeClerc had found his stash, now down to one bottle. LeClerc probably had his own. But Summers should have realized that his words would rile any proud man. What JR wanted to know was why it had been necessary to insult the man. That wasn’t the way to gain cooperation, any leader knew that.

  “Maybe he’ll be calmer tomorrow. Dude, I can live on fewer calories. Distribute my extra ones to the rest, I’ll be fine,” JR said.

  He loped off to the mess tent, where he came out a few minutes later with a plate of stew and a hardtack biscuit.

  Summers was left to stare after him. When had JR stopped being a problem and become part of the solution? Rebecca, hearing the exchange, began to understand that JR was much more complex and more of a man than she’d realized. The problem child had just acted with more maturity than either of the supposed leaders of the expedition. Interesting, but would it last?

  Later that night, Misty lay snug in JR’s arms, laughing about the altercation with LeClerc. “He is like a small rooster, yes? Because he is so small, he must crow louder than all the others.”

  JR thought it was an apt comparison, but his main concern was where LeClerc may be hiding booze. His was going to be gone soon, all the sooner because he was sharing a shot with Misty now and then. She moved in his arms, turning to look up at him with her head in the cradle of his arm and shoulder.

  “JR, do you have any Scotch left?” Damn woman must have been reading my mind, he thought. He bent to kiss her, parting her lips with his tongue and doing his best to distract her. Until he found LeClerc’s stash, he’d better conserve what he had. Misty was fun in the sack, but he didn’t like her well enough to do without his daily dose of feel-good medicine. Before long, she’d forgotten about the Scotch, or so it seemed. Her hand was creeping under his thermal shirt, leaving a trail of fire where her fingertips traced the outlines of his six-pack abs. If worst came to worst, this would do to keep his mind off the booze, too.

  ~~~

  Before they broke camp the next day, Summers had reason to take back his reassessment of JR. Everyone was eating breakfast except Misty and JR, who had yet to make an appearance. He was about to rouse them when a high-pitched scream came from the only tent that hadn’t been struck yet. Summers started to run for the tent, but was stopped after only one stride by a resounding, “Oh, JR! Oh!” Half the expedition members burst out laughing, while the other half turned their backs to the offending tent, faces, what could be seen of them, flaming.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Summers muttered. He wasn’t a prude, nor were most of the expedition members. Everyone knew that casual sex was helping to break up the monotony of travel in the frozen landscape, but this was too much. If the girl cou
ldn’t control her outbursts, the camp would be in an uproar, he predicted. However, speaking to her about it might be construed as sexual harassment. The only thing to do was speak to JR instead. Summers suspected that the boy was also drinking, but he wasn’t certain. That discussion had better wait until more evidence presented itself. Summers could only hope that it wouldn’t do so at a mission critical juncture.

  Summers found his chance to have a discussion with JR during a rest break for Misty, when JR was puttering around outside the Sno-Cats, apparently looking for something on one of the sleds.

  “JR, a word, please?”

  "Sure thing, boss," he said. "What can I do you for?"

  "Umm, this is a bit awkward. I'm wondering if you can persuade your lady friend to be a little less, shall we say, vocal?"

  JR threw his head back and laughed. "Why? Did we wake someone up?"

  "No, everyone was already awake," Summers said, with some asperity. "The entire camp heard Misty praising your prowess." If he expected JR to be embarrassed he was disappointed.

  "So, what's the problem?" JR asked.

  "Just that in a group like this, resentments or other emotions can run high. We don't need that, in fact, it could be quite dangerous."

  "Look, dude, I didn't want to come on this expedition in the first place. I don't like being here, and both Misty and I are adults. You can't do anything except send me home, which would please me just fine. So, if you have a problem with Misty appreciating what I do for her, I'd suggest you watch your own resentments, or whatever emotion that causes you." Summers was enraged at the implication, but JR was right. He could do nothing about it, except send JR home when they reached the Pole. He'd consider doing that if his behavior continued to be disruptive. The only other solution was to outlaw all conjugal activity, which would likely create a mutiny.

  JR stomped off toward the Sno-Cat, while Summers, belatedly realizing that JR had indeed been searching the sled, started poking around to try to see what JR had found so interesting. However, he found nothing, and soon returned to his laptop to record where the geophone arrays had been placed today.

  Later, Summers didn't know whether it was his imagination, or whether something had taken place outside his hearing, but it seemed that part of the group was out of sorts. LeClerc took his meal and went into his tent, Leaving his frequent tent mate Cecil Stone outside, talking to Robert Cartwright. Summers observed that the conversations he could see were low pitched and were taking place in groups of two or three, rather than the entire expedition gathered to discuss their days work.

  "What's going on?" he asked Rebecca, after he signaled her to step aside with him so they could talk privately.

  "I'm not sure," she said. "JR and Misty seemed to be arguing this afternoon and a couple of other people asked him what was wrong. I don't know what he told them. Did something happen while they were back here?"

  Summers was reluctant to tell her of his discussion with JR, but as the expedition doctor, she deserved to know if there was trouble in the ranks.

  "Oh, I think I know, then," he said. Rebecca glanced at him, noted the narrowed eyes above his face mask, and hesitated to ask. Finally, he said, "I thought I'd better have a talk with JR about the incident in their tent this morning. He didn't take it well."

  Rebecca looked down, embarrassed. "I don't think I would've done that, Charles," she said. "It's their business after all, and if they don't care whether everyone hears, why should you?"

  "You've never been on an archaeology expedition, have you, Rebecca?"

  "No, I haven't. What does that have to do with it?"

  "I've seen men come to blows over a woman who was too free with her favors. We're almost always in a situation where the ratio of men to women is two to one or worse. It's common to have camp romances, there's little we can do about it. But in an environment like this, I thought it was best to put as much of a damper on any future jealousies as I could."

  "Do you mean, you think some of the other men could be jealous of JR's relationship with Misty?"

  "Quite possibly. It's also very possible for one of the women to get jealous of Misty."

  "Oh, I doubt that," Rebecca said. "JR has a reputation. I can't imagine any of the professional women having an interest. And, even though Carmen is here as a research assistant, she still has the mentality of a professional scientist. I don't think Misty will have any competition."

  "I hope you're right," Summers said. "What do you think I can do about the unease this issue has caused?"

  "Honestly, I think I would just ignore it. JR has probably told them that you're going to do something drastic like segregating the men from the women. When it doesn't happen, people will forget all about it."

  Once again, Summers expressed his hope that she was right.

  Everyone seemed to be in better spirits the next day, as Summers estimated they had only one long day before breaking out of the south end of the glacier, and having a straight run to Amundsen-Scott. So far, no one was having to go hungry, except perhaps JR, who had insisted that he not receive a larger portion than any of the others. It was going to be touch and go, however, if they didn't make good time on the rest of the journey.

  At the Pole, they expected to find a new cache of supplies, and an experimental device that hadn't been ready to go when they left Colorado for Chile. The new device, built on specifications found in the 10th Cycle Library, would make the geophone arrays obsolete. It was a drone, capable of high altitude flight at low speeds with laser-like technology that would map the terrain below. With it, Summers expected to make much better progress in his search.

  ~~~

  It wasn't quite that easy, as once again the October storms delayed them for half a day during whiteout conditions, and slowed them down on several other occasions due to high-speed winds. With an estimated two days travel left before reaching the Pole, Bart reported to Summers that he would have to serve half-rations, or they would be without food on the last day of travel. Technically, Bart should have reported this to LeClerc, but the men were still not speaking. LeClerc blamed Bart for not following protocol, while Bart insisted LeClerc had thrown him under the bus when the shortfall was discovered.

  Summers felt that the entire group should be involved in the decision. If it had been even more drastic, he would probably have deferred to LeClerc's judgment. But, since they were just talking about two days, and the supplies of chocolate bars was not in shortage, he felt everyone should have an opportunity to express their opinion.

  "Listen up everyone," he called, when Bart had signaled him that dinner was ready to be served. "You all know that we were running a bit short of food a few days back. If we hadn't run into these last few storms, we would have made it into the base with no further problems. But, it looks like we have a choice now between half rations for tomorrow and the next day, or we can eat as usual, and hope to make good time to the base with nothing to eat on the last day. I'm calling for a vote. All in favor of half rations for two days, say aye." Seeing a clear majority, Summers didn't feel it necessary to raise the alternative. However, LeClerc, miffed at what he considered the usurpation of his authority, objected.

  "This goes against protocol," he insisted. "You must call for dissenting opinions."

  With a sigh, Summers said, "All in favor of full rations until we run out, say aye." When no one spoke, he looked at LeClerc curiously. LeClerc's hand shot up, and without waiting to be called upon, he suggested another alternative—that rationing start that very night. Summers called for the vote on that, and again no one answered. Summers raised an eyebrow to glance sardonically at LeClerc.

  "Satisfied?" he asked.

  "No, we should begin tonight with the rationing. If we run into another storm we must have some reserves."

  A cacophony of arguments rent the cold twilight until Summers, making a quelling gesture, got everyone's attention. "It has been proposed that we accept half rations tonight as well," he said. "I can't say that it'
s a bad idea. LeClerc is right, if we run into another storm, it could take longer than two days to get to base. That would give us a slight reserve against that eventuality. All in favor, you know the drill."

  Whether because they were hungry, smelling the savory stew that was already cooking, or whether they simply couldn't conceive of being delayed again so close to the Pole, not a hand was raised nor an aye uttered. Everyone ate their portion heartily, understanding that the next two days would bring hunger, though not starvation.

  At mid-afternoon on the second day according to the clock they were keeping, a hungry group rolled into Amundsen-Scott, only to discover that the barely-remembered change in their day had actually brought them to the base in the wee hours of the morning. Breakfast was still several hours away, as they had missed the midnight meal from the kitchen. However, after thirty-nine days in each other's company, they were happy just to see a few new faces. The night shift at the base quickly assigned them to bunks, occasioning only a couple of complaints that customary tent mates were being split up.

  After a few hours of sleep, Summers roused his crew, knowing they wouldn't want to miss breakfast. After breakfast, he spoke to the man in charge of the base, U.S. Navy Commander Neil Anderson about whether his resupply flight had made it through.

  "Yes, indeed," Anderson answered. "I must insist that you show me whatever it is that your Foundation has been keeping under wraps, with an armed guard around it."

  "Oh, that," laughed Summers. "I guess I'd better find out why it's been under wraps and armed guard, and then if I can, I'll be happy to show it to you."

  The satellite uplink was subject to frequent interference from the Aurora Australis, so it took a few hours to get through to Boulder.

  "Rossler here," Daniel's faraway voice came through the line.

  "Summers here, greetings from the South Pole."

  "It's good to hear your voice, Summers. I take it everyone made the trip okay?"