about. Leadership! The ability of the individual to define the group! You're the keystone. The pivot. The rock.'
Cameron closed his eyes. 'Some rock.' He thought a minute, his chest rising and falling, and then opened his eyes. 'I know I've got to get my shit together,' he said tiredly. 'It's just a little much to take.'
'It's a little much for everyone to take. That's why we need you.'
He grimaced at his own explosion. 'It's lonely at the top,' he recited wryly.
'Everyone's alone. That's life.'
'Okay.' He took a breath. 'Okay, okay. Listen. I'm going to ask NSF to send an investigator down here. They sent the FBI to McMurdo once. Maybe they can send somebody here.'
Norse was surprised. 'A cop?'
'I thought planes couldn't get in here,' Lewis said. 'If they can, I'm ready to go home.'
'There's an outside chance for at least an airdrop,' Cameron said. 'They've done them in winter before. We've definitely got an emergency here. Maybe they can parachute somebody in. Somebody with a weapon and authority. Someone who knows what to do.'
'That might be overreacting, Rod,' Norse said.
'Overreacting? With two dead bodies?'
'Two accidents, until we learn otherwise. You put a cop in here and it becomes two victims. You define the problem in the worst possible light. You put your own stewardship in the worst possible light. And nobody will get any work done.'
'Bullshit.' He pointed at Norse. 'Maybe they'll begin by investigating you.'
The psychologist sighed. 'I'd recommend it, actually, if you don't want to spook everyone else and screw up the whole winter. Concentrate on me.'
'Is that a confession?' He was sour.
'Think about it. Suppose you get your G-man. He parachutes in and interrogates me. Or Lewis. Or Tyson. People are freaked out. A small group like this can turn on a person and make his life miserable. I've read about it. I've seen it. And then you've got somebody under a cloud, preoccupying everyone, until spring. What are you going to do with them for the rest of the winter? How does anyone get any work done? I think we need to calm things down, not hype them up. And NSF is going to go ballistic if you turn an accident into a murder investigation. If you really need a fall guy, make it me. I'm not doing physical science. I'm not worried about what they might ask.'
'I'm not looking for a fall guy! I'm looking to keep things under some kind of control! What do you suggest, Doctor Freud?'
'Just that we all cool off for a day or two. That we don't panic the bureaucrats in D.C. for a day or two. If one of us is a murderer… well, we're not going anywhere. We chill, and separate, and wait.'
'What does that mean?' Lewis asked.
'Quarantine, Jed. There's going to be a lot of gossip and speculation about this, it's inevitable. Especially with you finding the body, after the e-mail to Mickey. I think you should stay out in Clean Air for a while longer, this time with a sleeping bag. We'll bring you your meals. You can collect your data for Sparco and be… safe.'
'Under house arrest,' Lewis clarified. 'So everyone else feels safe.'
'Temporarily. It's for your own good.'
'Doc, there's not even a john out there.'
'We'll bring you a bucket. Just for a few days, until we sort things out.'
'I can't believe this! Is Tyson going to be quarantined?'
'Buck quarantines himself. Everyone's avoiding him like the plague anyway.'
'Are you going to be quarantined?'
'Oh no!' He smiled. 'Because this is what I came down for.'
'To watch us,' Cameron said bitterly. 'Watch us go nuts.'
'To watch the variable in the experiment once Jed is out of the way.' Norse smiled thinly. 'Who had mobility? Who had motive? I'm going to watch the habits and patterns and movements of Buck Tyson. And save your career by letting you solve this one yourself.'
I Make My Decision
When the shit hits the fan there's no time to be polite to the weaklings. Fleming and Kressler had just killed themselves with their own reckless idiocy, Fat Boy had doomed himself by waddling off the rope against all orders, and the rest of the kids were sniffing and sniveling like a pack of whipped dogs. Somehow I had to find some spine in them if we were going to get out of this mess. I mostly felt contempt that they'd allowed themselves to be herded onto this ledge. That I'd allowed myself to be herded. And outrage that my life was at risk because of the incompetence and bad judgment of others.
I didn't deserve to die.
Still, I bit back most of what I wanted to say. I needed two of them, the two best, to ascend the cliff with me so we could belay the rest of the sheep back off the dead-end ledge my colleagues had led them to. I needed the remainder to break out of their freeze-up panic. The wind was rising, the snow getting thicker, but if we moved quickly, moved NOW, we still might get up to the saddle and descend the glacier on the other side before we became totally lost in a whiteout.
'They're dead but you're not!' I snapped at them about Fleming and Kressler. 'Don't think about them, think about yourself! If you're going to survive this it's going to have to come from inside YOU! I need fire in your bellies or you're all going to DIE!'
More weeping and moaning. Jesus H. Christ. They were falling apart. Some of the kids were starting to shiver, a first warning of hypothermia, and we'd all lock up if we didn't get moving. So I had to be realistic. When the shit hits the fan, it's no time to tell fairy tales. It's triage time. Some were going to make it and some probably weren't. Fat Boy was dead meat, as far as I was concerned. He'd blundered, and was about to pay for it big time. The strongest of the rest of us had a chance. Maybe.
Women and children first is lunacy at a time like that, a sure invitation to disaster. I like girls as well as any man, but not at the end of a rope that's holding me to a crumbling rock wall. So the first decision I made was that the females stayed behind. They were supposed to be better in cold anyway, right? Epidermal layer and all that. If they huddled maybe they'd last through the storm if I could get back with help. If, if. The storm was building and help was a long time off. Nobody was helicoptering in, nobody was climbing back up, not until this little snow spat was over. Bad luck, but there it was. So the ladies would have to wait and hope for the best. I was taking the strongest boys. If the bucks remembered what they'd learned, maybe a few of us could make it.
Couldn't tell them the grim facts, of course. Sometimes when you're honest with yourself you still have to lie to the others. Especially if they might survive and tell stories about you afterward. So I told them I was leading the strongest of us to the top of the cliff and that we'd try to belay anyone else who wanted to come up if we could, and if we couldn't do that we were going to get help and they should all sit tight until we got back. Trust me! Hold on to each other and pray! We're all going to get through this!
Bullshit.
I took the two I thought just might make it. I truly did. Chisel Chin was a big-balled sonofabitch wise guy who had the endurance of any two of his classmates and was eyeing routes even as I tried to settle the rest of the herd. Carrot Top was jumpier and not as strong, but he was big and reasonably competent and hadn't spaced out like Ponytail Boy, the third candidate I had in mind. That one had developed a thousand-yard stare like he'd already seen the angelic choir, so I didn't think I could rely on his presence of mind. Maybe if we could really rig a rope to help the others, Ponytail could be the first to try to follow. I shook him, telling him that. Meanwhile, however, I'd have to rely on the other two.
We roped up, slipped on our packs, and readied ourselves to go back up the way we'd come down. What a moronic mess. Somebody asked about Fat Boy and I admit I was a little curt at that point, saying Fat Boy was just going to have to look after himself for a while and if he gave them any grief, they could just roll lard ass over the edge. They stared wide-eyed at my moment of honesty and actually shut up for half a minute. Gee, did I let a fart? What did they think was going to happen to Fat Boy? I loathed their innocence. I truly did.
So. I'd start the first pitch, hammer in a piton, fix a rope, and let Chisel Chin come up to me. Then I'd go on, my partner braced so that if I fell, the piton and Chisel Chin combined just might hold me in space. I might drop thirty feet before the rope brought me up taut, but that's a hell of a lot better than three thousand. Then another piton, another point, Carrot Top coming on, too, and we'd work our way up the cliff. Bing, bang, boom. Fleming and Kressler had taken too much rope, so we had to take all the remaining line from the others if we hoped to fashion a
