'You should have told him his rock was useless.'
'Lied, you mean.'
'Yes.'
He sighed. Secretly, he agreed with her and it was costing him sleep. 'I didn't know Mickey Moss was going to die. All I wanted was a job and a chance.'
'A chance for what?'
'A chance to be at the Pole. To mean something. Fit in.'
'You didn't fit in before?' She said it lightly but she doubted him now, his machine the source of that e-mail to Mickey, and she wanted to erase that doubt. She wanted to know that the newcomer she had trusted indeed deserved her trust.
How much of this would get back to Norse? He wanted to tell her anyway. Maybe even tell the psychologist. 'Not very well. I didn't tell you everything that happened in Alaska, you know. It was more complicated.'
'You're not just an environmental zealot?'
'I was a field geologist, but not exactly one of the boys. You get hard if you stay in the oil business and I was never comfortable with that hardness. I thought, I joked, I objected. I looked to them for family but they're not a family, they're a machine.'
'You quit because Big Oil wasn't cozy?'
'I quit because I didn't have enough in common with the people I worked with. It bothered me, what we were doing. I left some documents at Prudhoe where a tour group from the Wilderness Society might find them. Sooner or later it was going to come out. I was just waiting for the ax to fall. I didn't like my boss. I wasn't really doing my work.'
'So you came down here. To escape.'
'I came down here to find some meaning. Is that so crazy?'
She bent her head. 'No. Understandable. Admirable, even.'
'It seems noble, all this research. But that damn rock…'
'Is it really so valuable?'
'Not that it's worth a life.'
She dealt herself a new hand. 'You're not unique, you know.'
'Meaning?'
'We all came down for things.'
'Money, I think Geller and Tyson have said.'
'Yes. As well as fame, love, promotion, tenure, wisdom, self-understanding, and companionship.' It was a recital.
'Belonging. Contributing.'
'Yes.'
'And you, Abby?'
She thought before answering. 'I didn't fit in, either. The thing that's spooky about us is that we're too alike. I got my first master's in marine biology and discovered I didn't like ships. They're male, cold, and force an intimacy with people you might otherwise not pick as friends. I don't make good friends easily. So I went over to computers. They're like pets. Much more controllable. Predictable.'
'Not the ones I buy,' he joked. 'So here you are, a marine biologist, eight hundred miles from the sea. From ship to spaceship.'
'Doesn't make sense, does it? Except… I wanted time by myself to know myself.' She hesitated. 'I… know another guy, a beaker, who I met at McMurdo and who's now on the coast at Palmer station. I didn't know if it was real or an Ice infatuation. The winter gives me some time to sort it out.'
No wonder she was Ice Cream. Already booked. 'What's he think about the separation?'
'That it will give him time to finish his dissertation.'
'And have you sorted it out?' It was like asking her to hold up her left ring finger.
She swung away from the game to face him. 'Not with a dead man having my picture in his pocket!' She meant Moss.
'You know about that, then.'
'The whole base knew about it within twenty minutes after you guys got back. Same with tracing the e-mail to Clean Air. Everyone always knows everything about everything.'
'Except why Mickey died.'
'What if that's somehow my fault?'
He laughed bitterly. 'I thought everyone was blaming me.'
'Doctor Bob isn't.'
'You sure like talking to Doctor Bob.'
'He's a professional.'
'Barely. He's a sociological researcher.'
'He knows people and he thinks it's possible Mickey killed himself.'
'Over you?'
'Over fear, somehow. Because the only thing a man like Moss accumulates is reputation and self-respect. Maybe the meteorite and… the picture… threatened that. That's Doctor Bob's theory, anyway.'
'Where did the picture come from?'
'I don't know.'
'Why would Mickey have it?'
'I don't know.'
'Did you know Mickey somehow?'
'No.' She sighed. 'I don't like these questions.'
'Did he know you?'
'I don't want to talk about it anymore right now.'
'Okay.' Lewis leaned back, cautious lest he drive her away. 'I'm just trying to be a friend.'
'So is Bob, so is everyone.' She said it impatiently, rubbing her eyes as if the whole idea of solicitous concern was immensely wearying. They sat for a while, listening to the fan of the computer.
She laid a hand on his forearm finally, giving it a slight squeeze. 'Why does everything have to be so hard?'
He tried not to betray the jolt that ran through his body at her touch. You want more than a friend, he admitted to himself. 'It doesn't, Abby.'
'I thought things down here wouldn't be complicated.'
'It's full of humans.'
'One less, now.'
They were quiet.
'You know, an enzyme isn't really a bad thing,' Abby finally said.
'Can't we find a name that implies handsome and strong?' It was another attempt at a joke.
She didn't even smile. 'Maybe you were sent to change us all.'
'I don't want to change anyone. I just want to join in and do my job. I just want to get to know someone.'
She looked at him wistfully and stood. 'I have to go now. It's late.'
'Please. I want you to stay.'
She leaned over him. 'That's why I have to go.' Her lips brushed his cheek, unexpectedly. 'Goodnight, Enzyme. Maybe you'll change me.'
Lewis sought out Norse the next day. Somehow he had to repair his social position at the station or go nuts. He'd become a snoop, a pariah, a suspect in a bizarre death. Getting involved hadn't helped him, it had made things worse.
Lewis was told the psychologist was out on the Dark Side, boxing Moss's things, so he hiked out to the astronomy building. He found Norse at the astrophysicist's workstation, Mickey's desk drawers half yanked open like an act of exposure. It seemed unnecessarily intrusive so soon after the funeral.
