“Indeed it was, although at that time Antarctica was not down here, but up nearer the equator. Part of Gondwana.”
“Ah!”
Wade was being toyed with, and he knew it, Val judged. But he was keeping his cool, going along with it, playing the game. A quick learning curve must have been a necessary job skill, after all. “So oil deposits might have been established then, when it was up near the equator?”
“Possibly. Yes, almost certainly. One sees coal deposits right on the surface in parts of the Prince Charles Mountains—”
“Giant coal deposits,” Misha interjected.
“And so oil is quite likely. The Wilkes Basin, under the ice cap on the other side of the Transantarctics, is a possibility, certainly.”
“Out where this southern group is looking?”
“Well, up until now there has been no one looking out there, because it is forbidden by the Antarctic Treaty. Most of the oil assessment for the continent has been done by matching up the Antarctic craton with the continents it abutted when it was part of Gondwana, and going by analogy to those places. But there have been seismic tests done to try to determine other things, and no doubt some tests might have given people clues about where to look harder.”
“Why have they started now, do you think?”
Under his moustache a little smile tugged up the corners of Michelson’s mouth. “That’s for you to explain to us, right?”
“They want oil,” Misha said with a grin, and the others laughed.
Wade nodded, smiling easily. “So it may be there.”
“It may very well be. I don’t think they know yet.”
“But it’s not, you know—unlikely.”
“No no. Given the coal deposits, and the continent’s position in the Triassic, it’s more likely than not to be somewhere down here.”
“What about recovering it from under the ice cap?”
“It should be like ocean drilling, eh?”
“Except the ice cap is moving,” Graham said. He was washing dishes in a big bowl of steaming water, and listening to the conversation; but he was not the kind to add much to it, except when a point being overlooked forced him to say something.
“True. Their drilling holes would have to become slots over time, I suppose. Or they might be drilling in stable areas of the ice sheet.”
“In the lee of nunataks,” Graham suggested.
“What about transporting the oil out?” Wade asked.
They all looked at each other. “Pipeline, eh?” Michelson said.
“So there would be the danger of a spill.”
“Yes. As in Alaska. Which didn’t stop people there, as I recall.”
“No. But a spill on the ice plateau …”
“Messy. But perhaps they could use these bacteria that have been developed for cleaning spills on water. They eat the oil, die and are blown away. Or so the drilling cartel will claim, I’m sure.”
Michelson leaned over and picked up the Drambuie bottle, offered it to them. “More Drambers? You’ve had a long walk. How about a midnight snack? Chocolate bars?” He indicated a box which held perhaps a gross of wrapped chocolate bars. “Camp crackers?”
“Just the Drambers, thanks,” Val said. Wade nodded his agreement; then tried one of the camp crackers.
“What about shipping the oil out?” Wade asked.
“Tankers.”
“Dangerous?”
“They ship a big load of oil down to McMurdo every summer.”
“But if there was an accident, like the Exxon Valdez …”
“Very messy. The Bahia dumped a big load of oil off the peninsula some decades back, and it was years and years before the coast cleaned itself. It did, however, eventually. The environment is pretty good with oil, if you take the long view.”
“And add bacteria,” Misha said.
“Yes, those bacteria.”
Wade said, “We’ve heard rumors that the next generation of tankers might be submarines. Remotely operated submarines, with no crew on board.”
“Probably safer than staying on the surface, at least in this ocean.”
“Probably safer than sailing with sailors,” Misha noted.
Wade nodded, watching them all closely. Val felt herself getting drowsy in the warmth of the tent, but Wade showed no signs of it. “What about your work here?” he asked.
The geologists looked at each other.
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Michelson suggested. “It’s after midnight, and everyone is tired. Come out with us tomorrow to one of our field sites, and we’ll show you what we’re up to out here in this bitter wilderness.” And he sipped his Drambuie with a little smile.
Outside the Scott tent the midnight sun was blinding, and the cold like a hard pinch all over. Wade’s eyes spilled tears, and the details of getting on his sunglasses while wearing mittens occupied him through the first gasps of adjustment to the cold. He followed Val to their packs, his stiff legs aching with every move, and watched as she pulled a tent and tent poles from her backpack. “Help me get this up,” she said. So he crouched and held down a corner of the tent while she clipped a maze of poles to its exterior. “Nice tent,” he offered, beginning to shiver. It felt like the tears were freezing to his cheeks.
“Not bad. Light, anyway. One of the monster winds off the plateau will tear it to pieces, though.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve been in them when they come apart. Very loud. Here, tie the ties around rocks. Big rocks, no, like this one.”
“What did you do?”
“When? Oh. Well, once when it happened we had a helo. Those are really cold though, the metal sucks the heat right out of you. Then the other times there have been Scott tents to retreat into.”
“Those are stronger?”
“Oh yeah. Bombproof, as long as you set them right. Here, throw the sleeping bags in to me.”
Wade pulled bulky but light sleeping bags out of their stuff sacks and tossed them in to her, realizing for the first time that they would be sharing a tent.
“Now the pads.”
“The what?”
“The sleeping pads. In the long red sacks.”
“Ah.” These too were very light. “All this gear is so light.”
“Yes. The new aerogels are fantastic. Here, blow it up.”
“It’s an air mattress?”
“Not exactly, it’s like a Thermarest. An air and foam combination, but in these the foam is incredibly light.”
“Why not just an air mattress, wouldn’t that be even lighter?”
“Yeah, but air mattresses are as cold as helicopters. They’re always just as cold as if you were sleeping on the ground, or even colder—the ground you could maybe warm up a little with your body, but the air in an air mattress keeps moving around and sucking the warmth away from you. The coldest I’ve ever been was on an air mattress my dad bought for us when I was a girl. I ended up sleeping on my pillow. Okay, all ready in here, come on in.”
“Ah, I guess I’ll use my pee bottle one last time first.”
“Good idea. I’ll do the same in here.”
Wade thought about that for a bit as he walked a few feet away and tried to pee; those images and the cold impeded him a bit. To distract himself he looked at the brilliant white glacier pouring down from the head of the valley. It was the middle of the night, and yet the mass of ice was glowing in the sunlight like an intrusion from some brighter dimension.
When he was done he regarded dubiously the yellow fluid in the plastic bottle. Apparently he was dehydrated. Then he got on his knees at the tent entrance and crawled inside. Val was already in her bag, apparently fully clothed except for her parka, which rested on her boots and served her as a pillow. It was brilliantly lit inside the tent, everything tinted the yellow of the nylon: Val’s blue eyes looked green, and her blond hair was as luminous as the glacier outside. Wade hauled off his bunny boots, feeling the white rubber flex in his hands. They had been surprisingly comfortable on the hike in, and quite warm. It was too cold for his socks to be smelly; nothing smelled at all down here, except the steaming food in the Scott tent. He lay down in his bag and closed his eyes. It was like trying to sleep with your face six inches from the headlights of a car. “How do you sleep when it’s this bright?”