The Ice Limit

the diversity: Africans, Portuguese, French, English, Americans, Chinese, Indonesians, squinting in the lateafternoon sunlight and murmuring to each other in half a dozen languages. McFarlane guessed they would not take well to bullshit. He hoped Glinn had also registered that fact.

A sharp laugh cut across the group, and McFarlane turned to see Amira. The only EES staffer in attendance, she was sitting with a group of Africans who were stripped to the waist. They were talking and laughing animatedly.

The sun was dropping into the semitropical seas, sinking into a line of peach-colored clouds that stood like mushrooms on the distant horizon. The sea was oily and smooth, with only the suggestion of a swell.

A door in the superstructure opened and Glinn emerged. He walked slowly out along the central catwalk that ran, arrow straight, over a thousand feet to the Rolvaag's bows. Behind him came Captain Britton, followed by the first mate and several other senior officers.

McFarlane watched the captain with renewed interest. A somewhat abashed Amira had told him the full story after dinner. Two years earlier, Britton had run a tanker onto Three Brothers' Reef off Spitsbergen. There had been no oil in the hold, but the damage to the ship had been considerable. Britton had been legally intoxicated at the time. Though there was no proof that her drinking caused the accident — it appeared to be an operational error by the helmsman — she had been without a command ever since. No wonder she agreed to this assignment, he thought, watching her step forward. And Glinn must have realized that no captain in good standing would have taken it. McFarlane shook his head curiously. Glinn would have left nothing to chance, especially the command of the Rolvaag. He must know something about this woman.

Amira had joked about it in a way that made McFarlane a little uncomfortable. 'It doesn't seem fair, punishing the whole ship for the weakness of one person,' she'd said to McFarlane. 'You can bet the crew is none too pleased. Can't you just see them in the crew's mess, sipping a glass of wine with dinner? Lovely, with just a touch of oak, wouldn't you say?' She had finished by making a wry face.

Overhead, Glinn had now reached the assembly. He stopped, hands behind his back, gazing down at the maindeck and the upturned faces.

'I am Eli Glinn,' he began in his quiet, uninflected voice. 'President of Effective Engineering Solutions. Many of you know the broad outlines of our expedition. Your captain has asked me to fill in some of the details. After doing so, I'll be happy to take questions.'

He glanced down at the company.

'We are heading to the southern tip of South America, to retrieve a large meteorite for the Lloyd Museum. If we're correct, it will be the largest meteorite ever unearthed. In the hold, as many of you know, there is a special cradle built to receive it. The plan is very simple: we anchor in the Cape Horn islands. My crew, with the help of some of you, will excavate the meteorite, transport it to the ship, and place it in the cradle. Then we will deliver it to the Lloyd Museum.'

He paused.

'Some of you may be concerned about the legality of the operation. We have staked mining claims to the island. The meteorite is an ore body, and no laws will be broken. There is, on the other hand, a potential practical problem in that Chile does not know we are retrieving a meteorite. But let me assure you this is a remote possibility. Everything has been worked out in great detail, and we do not anticipate any difficulties. The Cape Horn islands are uninhabited. The nearest settlement is Puerto Williams, fifty miles away. Even if the Chilean authorities learn what we are doing, we are prepared to pay a reasonable sum for the meteorite. So, as you can see, there is no cause for alarm, or even anxiety.'

He paused again, then looked up. 'Are there any questions?'

A dozen hands shot up. Glinn nodded to the closest man, a burly oiler wearing greasy overalls.

'So what is this meteorite?' the man boomed. There was an immediate murmur of assent.

'It will probably be a mass of nickel-iron weighing some ten thousand tons. An inert lump of metal.'

'What's so important about it?'

'We believe it to be the largest meteorite ever discovered by man.'

More hands went up.

'What happens if we get caught?'

'What we are doing is one hundred percent legal,' Glinn replied.

A man in a blue uniform stood up, one of the ship's electricians. 'I don't like it,' he said in a broad Yorkshire accent. He had a mass of red hair and an unruly beard.

Glinn waited politely.

'If the bloody Chileans catch us making off with their rock, anything could happen. If everything's one hundred percent legal, why not just buy the bloody stone from them?'

Glinn looked at the man, his pale gray eyes unwavering. 'May I ask your name?'

'It's Lewis,' came the reply.

'Because, Mr. Lewis, it would be politically impossible for the Chileans to sell it to us. On the other hand, they don't have the technological expertise to get it out of the ground and off the island, so it would just sit there, buried — probably forever. In America, it will be studied. It will be exhibited at a museum for all to see. It will be held in trust for mankind. This is not Chilean cultural patrimony. It could have fallen anywhere — even in Yorkshire.'

There was a brief laugh from Lewis's mates. McFarlane was glad to see that Glinn seemed to be gaining their confidence with his straightforward talk.

'Sir,' said one slight man, a junior ship's officer. 'What about this dead man's switch?'

'The dead man's switch,' Glinn said smoothly, his voice steady, almost mesmerizing, 'is a distant precaution. In the unlikely event that the meteorite comes loose from its cradle — in a huge storm, say — it is merely a way for us to lighten our ballast by releasing it into the ocean. It's no different from the nineteenth-century mariners who had to throw their cargo overboard in severe weather. But the chances of having to jettison it are vanishingly small. The idea is to protect the ship and the crew above all, even at the expense of losing the meteorite.'

'So how do you throw this switch?' another shouted out.

'I know the key. So does my chief engineer, Eugene Rochefort, and my construction manager, Manuel Garza.'

'What about the captain?'

'It was felt advisable to leave that option in the hands of EES personnel,' said Glinn. 'It is, after all, our meteorite.'

'But it's our bloody ship!'

The murmuring of the crew rose above the sound of the wind and the deep thrum of the engines. McFarlane glanced up at Captain Britton. She was standing behind Glinn, arms at her sides, stony-faced.

'The captain has agreed to this unusual arrangement. We built the dead man's switch, and we know how to operate it. In the unlikely event that it is used, it must be done with great care, with precise timing, by those who are trained for it. Otherwise, the ship could sink with the rock.' He looked around. 'Any more questions?'

There was a restless silence.

'I realize this is not a normal voyage,' Glinn went on. 'Some uncertainty — even anxiety — is natural. As with any sea journey, there are risks involved. I told you what we are doing is completely legal. However, I would be deluding you if I said the Chileans would feel the same way. These are the reasons each of you will receive a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus if we are successful.'

There was a collective gasp from the crew, and an eruption of talk. Glinn held up his hand and silence again descended.

'If anyone feels uneasy about this expedition, you are free to go. We will arrange passage back to New York, with compensation.' He looked pointedly at Lewis, the electrician.

The man stared back, then broke into a broad grin. 'You sold me, mate.'

'We all have much to do,' Glinn said, addressing the group. 'If you have anything else to add — or anything else to ask — do so now.'

His eyes ranged enquiringly over them. Then, seeing the silence was absolute, he nodded, turned, and made his way back along the catwalk.

Rolvaag,