“Ah, well. Lots of ways. Tell me—are you aware of any other, ah, incidents at the Pole like the ones we discussed when I arrived?”
She stared at him. “None except the ones I told you about.”
“Ah.” Another pause. “And the NSF rep at the Pole, and the ASL station manager; they’re in your full confidence?”
“Why yes. Did they seem not to be?”
“I don’t know.”
Now his gaze was focused, and he was staring at her. Their gazes met for a matter of seconds.
“They weren’t particularly helpful,” he said. “The NSF rep in particular appeared to think I might represent a threat to the Pole station, somehow.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He waved a hand. “It’s not really important. But …” He thought for a moment, appeared to change tack. “I’m thinking of trying to visit the oil exploration camp on Roberts Massif, at the head of Shackleton Glacier.”
“I see,” Sylvia said, taken aback. “And why that one, in particular?”
“Well …” He drifted over to her wall map, found the Shackleton and put his fingertip on Roberts. “See, it’s not so far from the Pole. And it’s not so far from the place where the SPOT train was hijacked or whatever.”
“Here’s the actual site of their current cost well,” Sylvia said, pointing to another red dot, out on the polar cap and even closer to the Pole. “That’s even closer to the Pole and the SPOT incident site.”
“Ah ha. And they use a hovercraft to get around on the cap?”
“Why yes, I’ve heard they do.”
“Do you know anything about this hovercraft?”
“Yes,” she said, looking at him closely. “It’s an old Antarctic veteran, actually. Or part of one. It was based here at McMurdo long ago, then shipped out to Christchurch when it was found not to be very useful.” Actually the rumor Sylvia had heard was that the pilots had been a pair of wild women who had hotdogged around in the thing until the ASA brass in charge at that time had gotten annoyed and taken it away from them. But that was the kind of rumor one heard when out in the field. Transmission error in gossip was a phenomenal thing, and there was no way to know now what had really happened. “Anyway, when these people put together their program they tracked the Hake down in a warehouse in New Zealand and bought it, and had it modified and flew it back down. But why are you interested?”
He shrugged. “There were indications at the Pole that a hovercraft might be involved in some of the thefts from old station.”
“Really? What were the indications?”
“It was something some people said. Just a matter of seeing tracks, you know. Or not seeing tracks. They didn’t want me to break confidentiality, so I shouldn’t say more. I guess because they didn’t tell the NTSB investigators about it. Something about seeing the tracks only because they were out where they weren’t supposed to be, in one of the proscribed zones.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, I thought I’d visit Roberts and see what I could find out there. Keri at the Pole said I had to come back here and fly out to Shackleton field camp, and then get heloed up to Roberts.”
“Yes, that’s right. And we can certainly do that for you. There’s a flight to Shackleton leaving in, let’s see …” She consulted the schedule: “Oh my. In three hours. Think you can make it?”
He blew out a breath. “Ah why not. I can sleep in the Herc.”
“That’s right. First law of Antarctic travel; go when you can.”
“Yes.”
“But what about the people at Roberts, and out at this drill site? What makes you think they will talk to you, or even take you in? They haven’t acknowledged a single one of our messages.”
“I’ve got Senator Chase talking to them directly, and to the home offices in the consortium. It sounds like they’re willing to have me visit.”
“Really! Well, that’s good. That’s progress. I’ll be very interested to hear what you learn there.”
He nodded, looking at her oddly. Another pause. He was not laying all his cards on the table, she saw; and he suspected that she wasn’t either. Well, that was life: NSF and Congress did not have identical interests. Of course NSF reported to Congress, and so in theory she should be telling him everything she knew, or else she would be getting in trouble. “Let’s meet again when you get back,” she said, “and go over everything we don’t have time for now. You’d better get out to the skiway, or else you’ll miss your flight. I’ll have Paxman call out and tell them you’re coming.”
“Thanks.” Wearily he rose and went to the door. Two Herc flights in a single day; and already he looked wasted. He stopped in the doorway and allowed a flash of irritation to show, then shifted it into a wry smile. “If we were to put together the pieces of the puzzle we each have, we might be able to make enough of the picture to recognize it.”
“Yes,” she said.
He stared at her, then continued out the door.
When he was out of the Chalet, Sylvia checked her watch; nine P.M. She sighed; she’d have to wait until mid rats to eat, and she was starving already. She pulled a box of camp crackers out of her desk and got on the phone and had Randi patch her on a radio link out to S-375.
“Geoffrey, it’s Sylvia here, do you read me, over?”
Radio static, harsher than usual; then Geoff’s voice: “Yes, Sylvia, we read you, how are you? What’s up, over?”
“I’ve just had the assistant to Senator Chase here, Geoff. He’s just back from Pole, and he’s off to visit the oil exploration camp in the Mohn Basin.”
“Ah yes. He visited us here, as you know.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Well, he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Interested in us, or so it seemed. He asked good questions. We enjoyed his visit, anyway.” Voices and laughter in the background. “Although that may have been because of his mountaineer, or so my young libidinally starved colleagues seem to be implying, yes.” More laughter. “I myself am far above such things, as you know.”
“Oh of course, of course.”
“But do you think he means trouble for NSF?”
“No no, not necessarily. But I think he might have stumbled into the local culture at Pole, and been told some things that he thinks we don’t know.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Tell me, Geoff, did the discussions at SCAR last winter shed any light on what we were calling the unfunded experiments?”
“Not really, no. There were stories, of course. Everyone agrees that there is some of that going on, but no one really knows how much. That’s the nature of the beast, isn’t it.”
“Yes. Do you think Mai-lis is still part of it?”
“I would guess so, yes. I think it very likely.”
Sylvia stared at the wall map. The colored dots on it were like the connect-dots of some foreign alphabet. “Well, thanks, Geoff. How is your work going out there?”
“Oh fine, fine. Field work. You know how that is, Sylvia.”
“Yes,” she said with a pang. Compared to NSF administration in McMurdo, he meant to say, it was paradise. Beaker heaven, as the ASL staff put it. But it was after the fall for her. “Let me know if you hear anything more.”
“I certainly will, although out here we are not in much of a position to hear anything. But some nights we surf the radio waves for entertainment, and if we hear anything interesting I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Geoff. Good luck out there.”
“And the same to you, Sylvia. You need it more than we do.”
“I suppose so. It would certainly be nice to have some kind of serious regulatory ability for a change, that’s for sure.”
“Well, you’re a U.S. Marshall yourself, right?” Sounds of laughter behind him.