cat-along with its surrounding block of ice-was on its way to the climate-controlled vault, where it would be kept securely locked until it was thawed and displayed to a live audience of millions.
Conti surveyed the tunnel, a look of evident satisfaction on his face. “We’ll use the departing machinery as a keyframe,” he told Fortnum. “We’ll do a series of cutaways exiting up the tunnel, then a jump cut back to the base. Shoot a lot of coverage. And that’ll be a wrap.”
He turned to Marshall. “So. Ready for that interview?”
10
As they stepped back into the overpowering warmth of the base’s entrance plaza, Conti nodded for the soundman and Toussaint to accompany them. Then he turned to Marshall. “We might as well shoot this from your lab.”
“It’s this way.” Marshall led the small group down the central staircase, along the wide corridor, then right at an intersection, stopping at a half-open door. “Here we are.”
Conti leaned in, took a quick look around. “This is your lab?”
“Yes. Why?”
“It’s too neat. Where’s all the equipment? The samples? The test tubes?”
“My samples are kept in a refrigerated locker down the hall. We’ve set up separate rooms for the scientific equipment, though we left most of the heavy stuff back in Woburn. This expedition is primarily about observation and sample collection-the analysis will come later.”
“And the test tubes?”
Marshall smiled thinly. “Paleoecologists don’t have much use for test tubes.”
Conti thought for a moment. “I noticed that we passed a more appropriate lab a few doors back.”
“Appropriate?” Marshall echoed. But Conti was already walking back down the hall, the soundman and photographer in tow. After a moment, Marshall shrugged and followed.
“Here.” Conti had stopped outside a room whose every horizontal surface was covered with journals, printouts, plastic sample containers, and instrumentation.
“But this is Wright’s lab,” Marshall protested. “We can’t use it.”
Conti had raised the lens dangling around his neck to one eye and was examining Marshall through it. “Why not?”
Marshall hesitated. He realized that, in fact, there was no good reason why they couldn’t use Faraday’s lab. “Why don’t you interview him, then?”
“Because, Dr. Marshall-how can I put this delicately?-the camera would not be kind to Dr. Faraday. You, however, have a rugged academic appeal. Now, may we proceed?”
Marshall shrugged again. He found it difficult talking to a man who was regarding him through a fist-sized lens.
Conti stepped inside and-lens still in place-motioned Toussaint where he wanted the camera placed. The photographer walked to the back of the lab, followed by the soundman. “Dr. Marshall,” Conti went on, “we’re going to film you walking in and having a seat behind the desk. Ready?”
“I suppose so.”
Conti dropped the lens. “Action.”
As the camera rolled, Marshall walked into the lab, stopping when he saw the tottering pile of papers placed on Faraday’s lab chair.
“Cut.” Conti swept the papers onto the floor, shooed Marshall back out into the hall. “Let’s try that again.”
Once again, Marshall walked through the door and into the office.
“Cut!” Conti barked. He frowned at Marshall. “Don’t just come strolling in. Let’s see some
“What discovery would that be?”
“The saber-toothed tiger, of course. Let the audience see your enthusiasm. Let them
“I don’t understand. I thought this whole circus was about thawing the carcass, live.”
Conti rolled his eyes. “You can’t take up seventy-four and a half minutes of prime time with that. Please get with the program, Dr. Marshall. We need to show the whole backstory, the buildup. Get the audience to buy in 100 percent. We won’t actually open the vault until the final segment.”
Marshall nodded slowly. He tried hard to do what Conti asked: get with the program. He swallowed his irritation at the artificiality of it all; he tried to forget his indignation at the sacrifice of science on the altar of theatricality. He reminded himself Conti was an award-winning producer; that his
He stepped back out into the hall.
“Action!” Conti called out. Marshall stepped briskly in, seated himself behind the desk, and pretended to busy himself at Faraday’s laptop.
“Cut it and print it,” Conti said. “Much better.” He stepped around the desk. “Now, I’m going to ask you some questions, off camera. You will then answer them, on camera. Remember that in the final print, it’s going to be Ashleigh asking the questions, not me.” He glanced down at a clipboard. “Why don’t you start by explaining why you’re here in the first place?”
“Sure. We’re here for three reasons, really. First, we wanted to see the impact of global warming on subarctic environments, specifically glaciers. Second, we wanted an undisturbed site to conduct our analyses. Third, we had to do it relatively cheap. Fear Base fit all three.”
“But why this mountain, in particular?”
“Because of its glacier. Examining glacial retreat is an excellent way to measure global warming. Let me explain. The upper part of a glacier, the part that gets the snowfall, is known as the accumulation zone. The lower part, the glacier’s foot, is the ablation zone. This is where ice is lost through melting. A healthy glacier has a large accumulation zone. And this glacier-the Fear-is not healthy. Its accumulation zone is small. Dr. Sully’s been recording the speed of its retreat. It took ten thousand years to form the glacier, bring it this far. But the alarming thing is that it has retreated a hundred feet in just the last twelve months…”
He stopped. Toussaint had lowered the camera, and Conti was perusing his clipboard again.
Conti glanced up. “What’s the scientific name for the cat again, Dr. Marshall?”
“Smilodon.”
“And what was the Smilodon’s diet?”
“That’s one of the things we hope to discover with more accuracy. The contents of the stomach should-”
“Thank you, Doctor, I get your drift. Let’s try keeping it to general terms. Was this cat a meat eater?”
“All cats are meat eaters.”
“Did it eat humans?”
“I suppose so. When it could catch them.”
A look of impatience crossed Conti’s face. “Would you state that, please, for the camera?”
Marshall glanced at the camera and-feeling a little foolish-said, “Smilodons ate human beings.”
“Excellent. Now, how did you feel, Dr. Marshall, when you discovered the cat?”
Marshall frowned. “How did I feel? Shocked. Surprised.”
Conti shook his head. “You can’t say
“Why not? I was very surprised.”
“Do you expect our sponsors to pay $500,000 a minute to hear you were ‘surprised’?” Conti thought for a moment. Then he turned the clipboard over, pulled an erasable marker from his shirt pocket, and scrawled something on the back. “Let’s try something. I’d like to hear how you sound reading this. Just for a sound test.” And he held the clipboard up.
Marshall peered at the handwriting. “It was like peering into the heart of darkness.”
