In all the years he’d been coming to the Pole for work there’d been only two other deaths, both heart attacks. Even those casualties—unavoidable—had hit that year’s crew hard and cast a pall over the rest of the season. To lose someone to the cold, to allow the continent itself to claim one of their own, especially in this day and age, was a bitter pill to swallow.
He shook his head and continued down the hall. He’d nearly reached the end when he heard a vacuum cleaner kick on in the reading lounge. When he peeked in, though, it was only Biddi running the machine in broad-armed sweeps across the floor. The opening door caught her eye and she turned the machine off, a smile on her face.
“Mr. Boychuck! Whatever can I do for you?”
Dave’s beard bristled outward as he shyly returned her smile. “It’s just Dave, Biddi. Did you happen to see Cass?”
Biddi made a sad face. “And here I thought you’d come to see me.”
“I . . . I’m not really here to see Cass,” Dave said. “I just need her NGH.”
“Goodness. I never heard it called that before.”
“What? No, the NGH is a heater. On wheels. We’ve got a fuel truck stuck out on the field and need to get it warmed up to start it.”
“You need something to get your motor running, you say?” Biddi batted her eyelashes, then laughed at his discomfort. “Oh, relax. I’m just giving you a hard time, love. Cass was yanked away to play tour guide for some high-and-mighties in for the day.”
“She’s a tour guide?”
“You wouldn’t think so with that demure little countenance, would you? She’s trying to break out of her shell, I think. You’d be surprised at what she’s capable of.”
“Well, shoot,” Dave said, nonplussed. “I guess I have to page Sammy, after all.”
Biddi glanced out the window. “What’s the NGH look like, by the way?”
He spread his hands wide. “Little yellow box on two wheels with a smokestack and a big hose on the side. You have to tow it with a Skandie or a tractor.”
She pointed. “Is that what you’re looking for, hon?”
He walked over and squinted. Sure enough, Sammy was chugging across the ice field on a snowcat, the NGH trailing faithfully behind. He sighed. “It’s a wonder I get any work done around here.”
Biddi swatted him on the arm. “You let me know if I can help out any more. And if I can start any more engines.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Anne Klimt put her hands on her hips and assessed the contents of the lab. By Caltech or MIT standards, it was barely adequate. Grad students had assembled better systems in their dorm rooms. And, of course, this facility was dwarfed by Shackleton’s COBRA lab, which was in its own freestanding building. But the difference was that this tiny, second-rate lab, stuffed inside the base with ten others just like it, was her domain and she was its queen.
Well, not entirely. She’d have to share it with Jun Takahashi and two other beakers who’d come in with the latest winter-over drop-off—newbies, so new she hadn’t even learned their names yet. But still, it beat bumping up against fifteen other astrophysicists. Winter, with its perpetual darkness, was the better season for astronomy by far, but it was not always the most sought-after assignment. A bevy of her fellow astro-nerds, hoping to pad their résumés, had flocked to join the summer crew, but virtually none of them had opted to stay for the next nine months. They were already heading stateside to apply for post-docs and lab positions with their shiny new South Pole credentials.
Anne didn’t begrudge them their priorities; she knew how the game was played. But she’d wanted to prove something beyond her capacity for science, and there was no better stage for that than a winter season at Shackleton. Well, being assigned to the next spacewalk, perhaps. But who said that wasn’t in the cards, too? At thirty-eight, she was young, in shape, and attractive enough to become the next face of space exploration. Her academic credentials were pristine, and if they wanted to know how she performed in a stressful environment, a winter-over at Shackleton should lay just about anyone’s fears to rest. Even the most skeptical, chauvinistic review board in existence would be impressed that she’d survived months at the world’s coldest research facility and not ended up as a popsicle—
She put a hand to her mouth. What is wrong with you? Barely a day had passed since the news that Sheryl had died out on the ice and here she was making jokes, even if it was unintentional. Colin had told her that Sheryl had frozen to death, unable to make it back to the station after going for a long run past the skiway. Anne imagined what it must’ve been like as the cold crept into your bones, to feel your life ebb away . . .
She gave a little shriek. Standing in the doorway was a tall man wearing black denim overalls over a waffled long-sleeved undershirt. He had corn silk–blond hair and blue eyes that reminded her of fishbowls. A patchy goatee and mustache decorated his face. Judging by the expression on his face, he was as startled as she was.