that he was a sore loser. If Tom published a new paper, rather than publish his own work, Silex would put his energy into trying to discredit Tom’s research. He rarely found fault with any of Tom’s procedures or results, but he was clever enough to hold up the paper’s acceptance and therefore Tom’s credit for the work for years.
“I head up PBRI, or Petrobiological Research Incorporated. I am, I mean we are, the developers of an advanced electromagnetic geological scanning device, or AEM, which the military is very interested in. I’m looking forward to working on you, err sorry… with you on this.”
Aimee turned her head from Dr. Silex and looked down at the notes in front of her on the desk; she exhaled through compressed lips and suppressed a small shudder of revulsion.
Alfred interjected smoothly. “This is a critically important project, Aimee. We need scientists with a mix of chemical, geological and petrobiological expertise. In addition, your work on organic-petrochemical interrelationships and Dr. Silex’s research into stratigraphic imaging techniques makes you two the best qualified candidates.”
Alfred looked at Aimee sympathetically and went on. “The ionosphere down there suffers from a lot of magnetic disturbance, so we might just have total communications failure. Or maybe they’ve gone deeper into the caves and can’t get a message out. Of course, our objective is to bring them back, Aimee, but until we know for sure they have come to any harm, the project expedition remains scientific. Therefore, as the senior scientist, it will be headed by Adrian.”
“I like to think I’m more working with you rather than being assisted by you,” Silex said. “But I’ll pass the introduction baton on, and we can talk more later on.”
The young woman next to him broke into a wide smile. She had an open face and Aimee couldn’t help warming to her. “Hi, Dr. Weir, my name is Monica Jennings. It’s nice to meet you.” With her hair tied back and a spray of small freckles on her face she looked like a hundred other healthy young women Aimee saw playing volleyball or on the athletic track in campuses across America. Aimee smiled back and asked Monica to call her Aimee, then nodded for her to continue. “I’m here to get you down in the hole and navigate the belly of the beast. My specialty is twofold; I’ve climbed just about every significant mountain there is to climb, and there’s not much I don’t know about going up or coming down ice. But my real love is caving — I’m a spelunker.”
The young grad-student type next to Monica was looking at her admiringly. “Very cool,” he said. Aimee could tell he was already smitten by the rock climber. The young man cleared his throat, obviously nervous and introduced himself. “I’m Matt Kerns, Professor of Archaeological Studies at Harvard University. I specialise in ancient civilisations and protolinguistics, and ahh…” Matt looked around at his table companions. “And if this is just a plane crash into a hole in Antarctica, I don’t know why I’m here.”
“Thank you, Dr. Kerns, a perfect time for me to pick up the threads from where I last left off. Mr. Beadman, please.” Once again the lights dimmed and Major Hammerson continued to describe and explain the detail of the new images filling the screen. These showed the crash site and the different teams, now further into the caverns, sorting the collision information. Aimee leaned forward; in the background of the current image she could see Tom giving a peace sign and holding what looked like a test tube. The next few shots showed the cavern from different angles and it became clear that this was no simple hole in the ground but a vast network of caves leading deep into the impenetrable darkness.
The next slide had Matt Kerns on his feet and scurrying towards the screen. “What is that? Is that a structure?” Matt asked to no one in particular.
“And now you know why you are here, Dr. Kerns,” said Hammerson. To the rest of the group the screen showed a jumble of eroded, carved boulders, with just the hint of some facial features on one of the walls. To Matt Kerns, it was his calling.
Matt was now inwardly focused, muttering to himself. “Large modelled stucco mask decorating both sides of a stairway on a former pyramidal platform. Very similar to Uaxactun, El Mirador, I’d say. Masonry is crude and roughly cut, thick layer of stucco evening out surface imperfections, corbelled archways built on stepped slabs. Looks a little like early Peten, about 150 BC, but with plenty of unique variations. No, the corbels are wrong. Must be earlier, I think; much, much earlier.”
Matt Kerns paused for a few seconds and then, nodding vigorously at Jack Hammerson said, “OK, yep, I’m in.”
Adrian Silex cleared his throat. “OK, our turn, please tell Dr. Weir and myself about the liquid residue you found in the caves.”
“I’ll do my best, Dr. Silex, but be patient as I’m no expert.” Major Hammerson opened a slim folder and drew out half a dozen sheets of tightly typed paper. He flipped over the first sheet, and ran his finger down the page. “This was in the last data packet we received from Dr. Hendsen — talks about various chemical compositions in subsurface hydrocarbons and the results of some propensity modelling for Antarctic potential; OK, here we are, this is where it gets interesting. There were two items in the report that made us both sit up straight and scratch our heads — two items that we believe require your unique talents in petrobiology and stratigraphic mapping.”
Hammerson put the papers down and looked from Dr. Silex to Aimee. “The first item of interest is the result of Dr. Hendsen’s ground-level EM mapping of the stratigraphy associated with the potential oil and gas traps. Initial images show a massive body of liquid below the surface which if it is oil, could hold reserves of between one hundred and one hundred and fifty billion barrels of oil.” Major Hammerson paused and then went on slowly and softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “That’s a lot of oil, enough to start a war over.”
At this point Alfred Beadman spoke up, “The United States, like eleven other countries, is a signatory to the Antarctic Treaty. If I’m not mistaken, it was the first ever arms control agreement signed during the Cold War at the end of the fifties, isn’t that right, Major?”
Hammerson nodded and picked up from Beadman. “That’s correct, Mr. Beadman, presented in 1959 to be exact, and there are even more signatories now. We’ll continue to respect that treaty. Problem is, there are dozens of countries who haven’t signed, or have no reason to even acknowledge the ‘hands off’ approach we are taking to this continent. We believe if one of the other large resource-hungry countries detects what we have found they will stake a formal claim of sovereignty over Antarctica, it could take several decades to unravel the mess through the United Nations, and by that time they would have digested the lot.”
“What about China?” asked Silex.
Beadman went on smoothly. “China was a late signatory and our feelings are we will be able to trust them provided the fair commercials stack up. Frankly, America doesn’t care if it has to pay for its share; it just wants to make sure that it is made available evenly to the world. We’ll bring China and all the other signatories in when we have some more concrete information.” Aimee frowned. Alfred Beadman was clearly no ordinary chairman of the board.
Major Hammerson brought their focus back to him again. “Now to the second item, and a little puzzle for our petrobiologists.” Hammerson looked directly at Aimee. “Why is the only chemical trace we can find in those caverns a type of organic ammonia — biology and source unknown?” Hammerson raised his eyebrows and went on. “And why did Dr. Hendsen write one word, a question, next to his results — secretion?”
Silex jumped in. “Contamination. Tom’s results were always a bit flaky.” Aimee’s head snapped around and she gave Silex a look that immediately had him backpedalling. He shrugged, “I mean, whose results wouldn’t get contaminated in those conditions?”
Hammerson interjected quickly; there were bigger and stranger issues to deal with. “Contamination? Possibly, but that’s not the only problem with the data we received.”
He nodded at Beadman who brought up the last image. It was indistinct and watery, but showed a young girl dressed in old-fashioned clothing, certainly not warm enough for the freezing temperatures of the Antarctic. She was holding a baby.
Aimee felt a chill up her spine and leaned towards the screen. “Who’s that?” she said.
“We don’t know. There was no woman with a baby on the original crashed flight, and it wasn’t one of the rescue team members.” He shook his head slowly. “Frankly, we just don’t know,” he repeated, “who she is or where she came from, and more importantly where she and everyone else went.”
The meeting had broken up quickly after Alfred and the Major had given brief details of the trip logistics and now Aimee just wanted to rush home and start packing. She saw Matt and Monica sipping coffee together, and Silex looking over the top of their heads while holding up a cup and pointing at it. She didn’t feel up to small talk, so as Hammerson shook Alfred’s hand and then headed for the door she went with him.
“Major, err sorry, Jack, have you been down to the Antarctic before?”
