by Pamela Clare
Patty was dead.
Last night, Samantha had written an email to George and Karen, Patty’s parents, offering her condolences. But nothing she’d written had felt adequate. Nothing could express the fullness of her grief. It had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
Tears blurred her vision, forcing her to stop. “Damn it.”
She wiped the tears away, fought for control of her emotions. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t fall apart. She had to do her work plus Patty’s now. They’d fought so hard to get this research grant. It had meant everything to both of them.
Pull it together.
She drew a few deep breaths, then got on with her adjustments and set the telescope to scan. It would make ten or eleven scans of a particular area of space before she repeated this process. The observations were transmitted to the SPT computers, which automatically saved and processed the data.
Her radio squawked.
“Sam, Sam, this is Steve.”
She reached for it. “Hey, Steve. Samantha here.”
“We’re set for the memorial service at eighteen-hundred hours in the lounge.”
“Thank you.”
Steve had asked her to say a few words because she had known Patty best. But Samantha was a card-carrying introvert, the thought putting a knot of dread in her stomach. She didn’t like public speaking, especially when she was upset. How was she supposed to talk about Patty without crying?
Samantha cleaned up and dressed for the walk back to the station. If this were a typical day, she would have kept working, but she needed time to think about what she was going to say. She put on all of her layers—snow pants, fleece, parka, bunny boots, two pairs of gloves, mask, hat, goggles, hood. She turned out the lights, left the telescope to work, and stepped out into the darkness and freezing cold.
Flags marked the path back to the station, which came in handy when high winds caused whiteout conditions. But the wind wasn’t bad tonight, the green light of the Aurora Australis dancing overhead, the Milky Way arching across the sky.
Samantha stopped, watched, willing herself to speak past the lump in her throat. “It’s beautiful today, Patty. I’m so sorry you’re not here to see it.”
Maybe Patty could see it. Maybe she saw it more clearly now than Samantha did. Maybe all of their questions about the universe were answered for her.
It would be nice to think so.
It was then Samantha noticed a man standing on the path about thirty feet ahead of her, his gaze focused upward. At first, she thought it must be Steve, but this man was taller than Steve and wore a white parka. NSF-issued parkas were bright red.
Then it hit her.
He must be one of the private security guys. She’d heard the plane arrive.
It was too cold for her to stand here, waiting for him to go indoors first, so she started walking again, irritated with him for interrupting what had felt like a private moment.
You’re irritated because of what he represents.
The crashed satellite. The mission to recover the military components.
She’d never understood other women’s fascination with military men. Sure, they were physically fit, and some were good-looking. But too often they had more testosterone than brains, reminding her of the JROTC boys on the football team who had bullied her in high school. Besides, this security team was encroaching on a space reserved for science. She didn’t like that at all.
She might have passed him without saying a word if ignoring him wouldn’t have been obvious. They were two of a little more than fifty people down here.
He turned his face toward her, mask and goggles concealing his features. “Hello.”
“Hi.” She had to ask. “Are you lost?”
He was tall, towering almost a foot above her.
He chuckled, looked up at the sky, speaking with an accent she couldn’t quite place. “I was just watching the aurora.”
Her gaze followed his. “It’s not always as bright as it is tonight.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Enjoy the view, but don’t stay out too long.” She walked by. “The cold sneaks up on people.”
He fell in beside her. “It’s not too bad right now.”
Behind her goggles, Samantha rolled her eyes. “Yeah. It’s not too bad.”
He was trying to act tough. Typical male behavior. It was minus fifty-five Celsius without the wind chill. Skin could freeze within minutes.
“What are those lights?” He pointed. “That’s not part of the station, is it?”
“That’s what we call Summer Camp. It used to be an overflow space before they built the new station. Most of the buildings have been dismantled or are used for storage. But two of them are still in use, one as a climbing gym and the other as a café or nightclub when people are stir crazy and just need to get out of the station.”
“A climbing gym? I might have to check that out.”
They walked the rest of the distance in silence, the man letting her walk up the stairs first. She opened the first door, holding it for him.
“Thanks.” He returned the favor at the second door.
“Thank you.” Inside now, she pulled off her goggles and mask, turned to ask him his name—and stared.
Whoa.
He was … very attractive. Square jaw with reddish stubble. Full lips. An elegant, straight nose. High cheekbones. Tanned skin flushed from the cold. Blue eyes with dark lashes. Short blond hair.
He said his name, pulled off a glove, held out his hand.
She took it, shook, his hand so much bigger than hers, his fingers warm. “I’m Dr. Samantha Park. I didn’t quite catch your name.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Thor Isaksen. Just call me Thor.”
Named for a Nordic god. Well, he probably had an ego to match.
“I have to go. We’re having a memorial service for my best friend.” She managed to make the words sound casual.
His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was he or she the person whose body they loaded onto the plane today?”
She stared. “You saw them load her onto the plane?”
He nodded. “Unless it was someone else.”
Patty wouldn’t have to stay on ice all winter after all. She was going home to her family. That should have come as good news.
Then why did Samantha suddenly feel so bereft?
Tears filled her eyes. “Excuse me. I need to get ready.”
She hurried down the hall toward the A1 berthing area and her room, leaving Thor behind her.
3
Thor made his way with Jones and Segal to the B1 Lounge, his thoughts on Dr. Park, the woman he’d met earlier. She had walked out of the building with the big telescopes, so she was probably an astronomer. She couldn’t be much older than thirty, her face youthful and pretty, her skin clear. Her long pale blond hair had been tied in a knot and was held in place by a pencil. She’d been crying, her blue eyes rimmed with red. She hadn’t known they’d sent her friend’s body away, and he felt bad to have been the one to tell her.
Thor knew how much it hurt to lose a friend.
“Anyone else feel like we’re on the Moon?” Jones asked.
Segal glanced around them. “Or a space station?”
“I know what you mean,” Thor said.
He had to respect the people who’d designed and built this place. It was a sophisticated facility, intended to support science despite the harshest climate on earth. It had a hydroponic greenhouse, a science lab, offices, a large gym, a weight room, a sauna, a medical facility, a post office that was open in the summer, a machine shop, and a metal-working shop. There were also massive unheated storage facilities that they called service arches. To reach the arches, one had to go down an icy, unheated, four-story stairwell they called the Beer Can because of its cylindrical shape and metal walls.
They hit a bottleneck outside the B1 Lounge, people moving through the door in silence, the mood somber. The lounge wa
s a good place to hygge—get cozy—filled as it was with overstuffed sofas and chairs. There was a pool table close to the door, a large television on one wall, a dartboard, and a small kitchen in the back.
During their tour, Hardin had told them the lounge could serve as a life raft in dire emergencies. It had its own communications and computer center and its own power plant. It also had thick doors that sealed tight.
Thor went to stand in the back with Jones and Segal, leaving the seats for the others. They’d come to the service only because Hardin wanted to introduce them. They were the new kids in town, and Hardin wanted to do whatever he could to dispel any rumors and lessen tensions about their presence here.
Thor spotted Dr. Park sitting close to the front, her eyes puffy from crying, the pencil still in her hair. Hardin knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder, the two of them speaking quietly together. Then Hardin got to his feet, an image of a smiling woman with short dark hair appearing on the TV screen.
“As you all know, we lost Patty three days ago. I thought it would be good to come together to remember her. We’ll create a shrine for her in the ice tunnels, so think about what should go there. But before we start, I wanted to introduce the three newbies standing in the back. The satellite crash is a secret, which, naturally, means we’ve all been talking about it. They’re here to retrieve some sensitive components, and then they’ll fly back to the States.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” someone muttered.
“They’re flying out to the crash site now? That’s crazy.”
Hardin pointed to the nearest person. “Why don’t we introduce ourselves—just your name and what you do here.”
“Kazem Hamidi. I’m an astrophysicist at the BICEP lab.”
“Nick Pappas, astrophysicist, IceCube.”
“Bai Zhang Wei, astrophysicist, IceCube.”
Dr. Park went next. “Samantha Park, astrophysicist, South Pole Telescope.”
“Kristi Chang, station RN.”
“Greg Martin, astrophysicist, BICEP.”
Thor did his best to catch their names and retain them, but being introduced to almost fifty people at once was a bit much.
Afterward, Hardin met Thor’s gaze. “Mr. Isaksen, did you want to say anything?”
Thor stepped forward. “I’m Thor Isaksen. This is Lev Segal and Malik Jones. We’re grateful for your hospitality. We’ll do our job as quickly as possible and stay out of everyone’s way.”
“Are you military?” blurted Jason, the kid who’d tried to film them earlier.
Thor shook his head. “No, absolutely not. We work for a security company.”
It was the truth. None of them were with the military—not now.
“They’re mercs—mercenaries,” said a man whose name Thor couldn’t recall. He wore an Oakland Raiders sweatshirt—and a disapproving frown on his face.
Thor ignored him, handing the floor back to Hardin.
“Thor and his team brought in freshies—apples, oranges, bananas, grapes, salad fixings, tomatoes, and—wait for it—avocados. They’ll be available in the galley tomorrow morning.”
That made people cheer.
Hardin gave them a moment to settle down. “I guess I’ll start. I met Patty last February, the start of her first winter here. She was one of those faces I was always happy to see—kind and cheerful, even when winter-over syndrome kicked in. That’s more than I can say for some of you.”
Quiet laughter.
Hardin chuckled, too. “Patty participated fully in life on station. She was supportive of others and a good team player, always willing to pitch in, no matter what the job. She was a member of the Three Hundred Club. She also put together an entry for last year’s Antarctic Film Festival—Werewolves in the Dark Sector.”
That brought laughter, cheers, and applause.
“I could go on, but Sam knew Patty better than anyone. I’ve asked her to say a few words.” Hardin stepped aside.
Dr. Park stood, her gaze meeting Thor’s for a moment as she moved to the front of the room. He could tell she was nervous. “Patty and I met in grad school at Berkeley—two women working on PhDs in astrophysics. We became housemates. We were an odd couple. She was the extrovert. I was the introvert. I probably wouldn’t have done anything but study and work on my dissertation if not for her. She was always telling me to lighten up. I helped her with fluid dynamics, and she taught me about living.”
Charli, the coms manager, and Kristi, the RN, choked back tears.
Thor listened as Dr. Park talked about her long friendship with Patty, sharing funny anecdotes. He laughed along with the others. Still, it was strange to be an outsider during such an intimate expression of communal grief.
“Patty got me out of the house. She made me laugh. She made life brighter for the people around her. She and I have been friends and research partners for so long that I’m not sure how to do this without her. I can’t … I can’t believe she’s gone.” Dr. Park was fighting tears now, too. “She loved her work. She loved the vastness and the mystery of space. I’d like to think she’s closer to understanding those mysteries now, wherever she is. I can’t believe I’ll never see her again. I miss you, Patty.”
Dr. Park’s expression crumpled as tears overcame her at last, her pain tugging at Thor. The man in the Oakland Raiders sweatshirt stood and hugged her, his expression twisted by grief, tears on his face.
Thor seized the moment to make a quiet exit, threading his way across the lounge and out into the hallway, the others behind him.
“Too bad,” Jones said. “Patty sounds like a nice woman.”
Thor was sorry, too.
“Let’s get some supper, check our gear, and catch up on sleep.” Thor led them down the stairs and toward the galley. “We meet in the small conference room at oh-eight-hundred with the scientist who will be flying to the crash site with us. If this weather holds, we should be wheels up before noon.”
Samantha hauled herself out of bed early the next morning, emotionally drained from the memorial service. She took her allotted two-minute shower, grabbed breakfast in the galley, then dressed warmly and made the trek to the Dark Sector to check the SPT, waving to Kazem, who stood outside the BICEP2 control room smoking a cigarette.
The telescope was operating perfectly, the observations it had sent back since last night intriguing. She didn’t have time now to study them in any depth.
Patty would never see them.
Dragging, whether from grief or dread, Samantha made her way through the frigid cold back to the station for her meeting with the security team. She found them already in the conference room, sitting around the table with cups of coffee. She poured herself a cup, stirred in creamer, then joined them.
Thor was in the middle of a conference call. Despite the situation, she couldn’t help but notice once again how attractive he was, his razor stubble and navy-blue cable-knit sweater giving him a rugged look.
He would never be interested in you.
Samantha had no illusions about her attractiveness to men. She had straight hair that wouldn’t curl, a plain face, and breasts that barely filled a B cup. Worse, she had a doctorate in astrophysics.
We intimidate men, Samantha. Most of them want to be smarter than their girlfriends. That will never happen with us—unless one of us dates the ghost of Albert Einstein or Stephen Hawking.
That had been Patty’s theory.
Who cares anyway?
They were about to leave on a mission that would probably get them all killed. Why was Samantha wasting time wondering what Thor might think of her?
“What about activity at Vostok?” he asked.
A man’s voice answered. “Strong winds have kept them pinned down for the past few days—a stroke of luck. The Pentagon has directed us to take a hard line against anyone who attempts to steal these components. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
The Russians were in on this? That wasn’t just a crazy theory?
No more vodka for you, Vasily, you bastard.
Thor was looking at a satellite image of the continent. “Thanks for the update. We’ll check in again shortly before we fly out.”
And then the butterflies hit, dancing in Samantha’s stomach.
She couldn’t believe she had agreed to do this.
“Dr. Park, it’s good to see you again. I didn’t realize you were the expert assigned to this mission. Thanks for joining us.”
“Please just call me Samantha. Titles seem pointless down here.”
He acknowledged her with a nod. “You’ve studied the schematics?”
“I haven’t had a lot of time, but, yes, I have looked at them.” She’d been surprised at how similar some of the components were to the SPT’s positioning system.
“You’ll have more time to study them on the flight.” Thor turned his laptop so the others could see the satellite image. “There is a Condition One storm moving toward McMurdo Station, as well as a storm moving inland from the east that will pass over the crash site before veering north. We’ve got a twenty-hour window to get to the site and back to the station so that our pilot can fly safely back to McMurdo.”
Samantha held up her hand to stop him. This was all moving too fast. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Have any of you done anything like this before? Have you worked in Antarctica? Because, frankly, this mission is suicidal. You have no idea what they’re asking you to do, what they’re asking me to do. Also, I can’t remember your names, except for Thor’s.”
Thor’s brow furrowed. “You’re right. We should tell you a bit about ourselves.”
A good-looking Black man with a goatee reached out, shook her hand, his brown eyes warm. “I’m Malik Jones. I served with the US Army Rangers for ten years. I’ve never been to Antarctica before—or the Arctic for that matter. But I have served on many rescue operations around the world.”
The one with thick dark hair and hazel eyes spoke next. “Lev Segal, formerly with the Israeli Defense Forces. I’ve never worked in this environment, but Isaksen has.”