box that claimed its grandiose title by virtue of having a small computer lab downstairs. His room looked every day of its quarter-century age: scuffed, faded, and leaking. The insulation had become soaked and frozen on the outer wall and there was another mold of frost inside, a white reminder of how thin their protective shell was. A few inches inside the wall the temperature was kept near seventy degrees by a blowing heater. The air was very dry and smelled faintly of fuel from the base generator. The mechanical drone was like being on a ship.
'The dreaded Ice Room,' said Cameron, who'd brought Lewis here after the plane left. The station manager looked tired but was trying hard to be welcoming. 'Being on the end of the building sucks, but last come gets last pick.'
Lewis put his hand against the wall, the clamminess cold as aquarium glass. 'What if my butt freezes to this during the night?'
'We bring a blowtorch every time you're late for breakfast.' There was a pause, for timing. 'Just don't roll over the other way.'
Lewis dutifully smiled. Sometimes you go to prison as a means of escape, he thought. Sometimes the very worst places offer the most possibility.
'Now, we call this floor Upper Berthing, jargon left over from the Navy days. It's perfect for you since you're a beaker. You can crunch your data downstairs.'
Beaker was polar slang for scientist. Lewis had already encountered this caste designation in New Zealand, where he was issued a punching-bag-sized duffel of cold weather gear at the American warehouse in Christchurch. 'You get the shitty nylon because you're a beaker,' the clerk had informed him, handing him insulated bib overalls. 'The workers get Carhartt.' This alternative looked like tough canvas.
'Scientists are workers,' Lewis had protested.
'Scientists don't spend twelve hours fitting pipe. You get the nylon.'
Now his place in the hierarchy had dictated assignment of a room. Like a runt piglet jostling for a teat, he was on the outer end. Also growing out of his orange box were appendages that included an electric substation, hydroponic greenhouse, and closet full of fire-fighting gear. Fire was the most feared enemy at the Pole.
'Homey,' he offered.
'A leaking derelict,' Cameron corrected. 'The whole base had a life expectancy that expired five years ago and it's slowly falling apart. A recent inspection turned up two hundred safety deficiencies, which means we really have to stay alert just to stay alive. The National Science Foundation wants to replace everything- in summer they fly in congressmen like a D.C. shuttle- so we're under pressure here to show some results. Practical benefits from basic research. You'll find people are under a little strain. Still, the good news is that the Ice Room is warmer than outside, half private- your one neighbor will still hear more of you than they want to- and the government is past complaining about tape or tacks on the walls. Just don't put up a centerfold: We're politically correct now.'
'You admit you weren't?' His question was wry.
'It was so macho that the Navy guys had nudes laminated into the tables. Only way to remember what females looked like. Gone with the wind, man, and better for it. Things are more civilized now that we have women.'
'What happened to the tables?'
'They're still in the old base, abandoned in '75 when they built this dome. It's snowed over and slowly being crushed by the ice. Unsafe and strictly verboten, but a fascinating depository of cultural archaeology. Beer cans. Frozen hot dogs. America at her zenith.'
'But you've seen it.'
'Winter-overs have been known to explore. Big Brother left on the last plane, you know. Except for moi. Which reminds me.' Cameron beckoned him down the hall and pointed toward the shared bathroom. 'Our biggest shortage is melted water. That means the most onerous rule concerns the showers. No more than two a week, two minutes of running water each. You wet, turn it off, soap, turn it on, rinse off. We're sitting on seventy percent of the world's fresh water but it's so hard to melt we might as well be in the Sahara. It's rationed.' He stopped, listening. They could hear the clumping sounds of someone inside.
'No shower for three or four days?' Lewis leaned back in exaggeration.
'It's so cold and dry you don't sweat much here.' He was talking to Lewis but his attention was on the door. He sounded distracted. 'Or if you do, people get used to it.'
'Splendid.'
The door opened and a lumbering bear of a man shambled out, naked except for a towel around his waist, his hair wet. He was bearded, hairy, and huge, a veritable Sasquatch. He stopped in surprise at their presence. 'What's this, a line to pee?' The voice was deep, the eyes hard and squinty.
'Just rising to join us, Buck?' Cameron's look was of dislike.
The man scowled. 'Just cleaning up after trying to make some room for all the crap that came in.'
'We had trouble getting the plane off on time.'
'It got off.'
'We're both stuck here now. I need you on time.'
'It got off. And I need you to stop nagging and let me do my job.' The two men held their gaze for a moment, a mutual glare, and then the big man's slid away and he looked past the station manager. 'Who's this?'
'The new guy, Jed Lewis. Getting the tour.'
'Another beaker fingie? Great.' He didn't offer a hand. 'You getting the Ten Commandments from Ice Prick? Learning how to fill out work requests?'
There was an undercurrent of resentment that Lewis felt unsure how to respond to. What was the beef of this guy? 'Just looking.'
'Well, don't look the fuck at me.' The man pushed past them, lurching down the hall, his fist clutching his towel to maintain some dignity.
'Buck, we're on a team,' Cameron said after him. 'Lewis here is part of the team.'
The bear turned. 'It ain't a team, it's a caste, and it's beaker glory on G.A. frostbite. If I could have waved goodbye to this zoo I would've been on time for that.' He sized up the newcomer, who was wondering what G.A. meant, and pointed a stubby finger. 'You watch your ass around here, Lewis, because it's cutthroat island among the beakers whenever someone throws grant crumbs our way. You got any sense, you'll look out for Number One. And don't pay any attention to all the brown-nosing, middle-management, ass-kissing bullshit, either.' His finger swung to Cameron. 'I'll take a fucking shower when I fucking want to.' He went in one of the rooms and the door slammed.
The station manager was looking after the man unhappily, his mouth working as if he were still deciding what to say.
'Who the hell was that?'
'That was Tyson. Our mechanic.' It was a mutter.
'The guy they said was sulking?'
'Don't pay any attention to him.' Cameron shook his head unhappily. 'He fought to get hired down here and has bitched about it ever since. He's a malcontent and a loser.' The station manager frowned at his own candor. 'He'll come around.' Cameron glanced at his watch, suddenly losing interest in the tour. 'Listen, I'll finish showing you around tomorrow, including where you work. You'll be up for it then. For now, just take it easy, try to get used to the altitude, get over the jet lag, and unpack. Okay?'
'Is that guy having a bad day, or what?'
'Every day's a bad day for him.'
Lewis went back to his room, sat on his bunk, and scratched the frost, watching a strip peel off under his fingernail. Pulled into the path of heat, the crystals began to melt. Welcome, fingie.
He decided to remain philosophical. First of all, he'd volunteered for this. Walked out of his oil patch job and straight into unemployment in a fit of righteous environmentalism and self-doubt. It was a miracle he'd met Jim Sparco and fit his emergency need for a polar research assistant. A miracle he'd been given a purpose again. There was no question he was meant to be here. Expertise, desire, and opportunity had all neatly fit.
And second, he knew, sailors, inmates, and astronauts had certainly endured worse. Despite the spongy outer wall, his room was toasty enough- except that he couldn't use the word toast. That was Antarctic slang for burn-out, that late-season time when the monotonous lack of color and smell and sound and variety left a winter-
