letting the world know she was playing to win with a pricey designer suit and a smart wedge-cut hairstyle that just brushed the tops of her shoulders. Now her hair went tumbling loosely down over bib overalls and a maroon twill shirt, framing her face with thick auburn waves, highlighting her large emerald eyes like the deepest of sunsets over a wood of Irish pines. Nimec supposed she could dress herself in sackcloth and still be as lovely as ever.
He sat there a while, looking at her. He could think of a dozen matters they had to discuss, every one of them pressing, every one relating to the incidents that had brought him so far from home. But he was uncertain how to approach the subject he really wanted to talk about first.
“So,” he said. “How’ve you been?”
She shrugged, her hands on the desk.
“Cold,” she said. “And generally busy.”
“How about when you aren’t busy?”
“Cold and lonely.”
Nimec gave her a little nod. There had been photographs in her San Jose office. Vases with fresh flowers from the shop down the street. And abundant sunlight.
“I hear people come to Antarctica to find themselves,” he said. “Or reinvent themselves. It’s being away from everything they know. And the emptiness. I suppose they must feel like they’re filling it in. Writing their lives over on a blank page.”
Megan shrugged again.
“That may be true for some,” she said.
“And you?”
She paused a beat, but otherwise did a good job of seeming unaffected by the question.
“There’s no place else like this on earth. It’s magnificent. Beautiful in its way. It gives you the room and time to contemplate. But I’m doing this because Gord needed me here to get our operations off the ground.”
“So if not for his asking you to stay…”
“I’d scoot back to California like a kitten jumping onto a warm lap,” she replied, looking directly at him. No hesitation this time.
Nimec considered asking her what was actually on his mind. Instead he decided to change the topic. He cocked his head toward the map of the Dry Valleys.
“I figure those pins have got something to do with the missing search team,” he said.
“You figure right, Pete.” Meg swiveled in her chair, faced the map, and pointed. “The yellow one shows where they struck camp. It’s where McKelvey Valley crosses the northern mouth of Bull Pass. See?”
He nodded.
“The red pin would be about four miles from the camp-site, straight down into the pass,” she said. “That’s where they were last sighted.”
“By whom?”
“A chopper pilot named Russ Granger. He’s been at McMurdo forever, makes regular air runs to its research bases in the valley system.”
“He have any contact with the team?”
“No,” she said, and then thought a moment. “Well, let me revise that. They
“When would that have been? The time of day, I mean.”
“Ordinarily we’d be entering vague territory. But I think I know where you’re heading, so let me put my answer in context,” she said. “Time measurement becomes almost arbitrary when the whole year’s roughly divided into six months of daylight, and six months of darkness. Most stations set their clocks to match up with a time zone in their home countries for ease of communications… though that can lead to chaos when they have to make arrangements with other bases. Here at Cold Corners we’ve opted for Greenwich time simply because that’s what they use at MacTown, and there’s considerable interaction between us.”
“Then whatever time it was for Scarborough’s group would’ve corresponded with the pilot’s.”
“Yes,” Megan said. “Russ was heading to Marble Point.” She gestured toward its position on the Dry Valleys map. “That’s a little refueling facility at the foot of the Wilson Piedmont Glacier, about fifty miles northwest of McMurdo. He’d made the first two stops of his shift, and thinks it was about seven A.M. when he saw our party.”
“And your best guess about how long they’d been out on foot…?”
“Two hours at most. The area they covered had some tedious rocky patches, but Scarborough would have left camp early.”
“Old military habit?”
She nodded. “He isn’t the type to waste a minute.”
Nimec contemplated that, peering at the map.
“They were just getting started,” he said.
“Yes.”
“What about after the pilot saw them that morning? They report in to Cold Corners at any point?”
Meg was shaking her head now.
“That would have been largely at their discretion. Of course we’d have expected to hear from them if they located the rover. Obviously if they needed assistance. But we never received a Mayday. It’s the part that drives me crazy, Pete… trying to understand why Scar wouldn’t have let us know he was in trouble.”
“Had me and the boss wondering too.” Nimec rubbed his chin. “Any chance I could talk to the pilot myself?”
“It should be easy to arrange. Russ drops by to help us often enough.”
Nimec nodded, pleased. He was still looking at the map.
“I assume the blue pin marks the spot where Scout’s transmissions zilched.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s at the opposite end of the pass from our recovery team’s camp. A span of twelve miles.”
“How come they didn’t pitch their tents closer to it?”
“The only way into the valleys is by chopper, and landing one in Bull Pass is a dangerous proposition. It’s narrow in places, and winds are fickle. That leaves us having to choose between drop zones at McKelvey to the north and Wright to the south. And the approach from Wright Valley on foot is full of obstacles. There are ridges, hills, all kinds of steep elevations.”
Nimec was silent, thinking. Then he turned from the wall map to look at Megan.
“How soon can you have a helicopter ready so I can check out the area for myself?”
She faced him across the desk, a wan smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“What’s on your mind?” he said.
“Pete, if anybody else had spoken those words, I’d be positive he was kidding. You arrived less than an
“I caught a few winks on the plane,” he said.
She pursed her lips. The smile did not quite leave them.
“How about we strike a compromise,” she said. “Grab a bite together in the cafeteria.”
“I’m not hungry—”
“Today’s special is a hot turkey breast sandwich on homemade club. You won’t believe our greenhouse tomatoes. And the coffee. We have a selection of lattes and mochas. Cappuccino too. And espresso. Also four or five blends of ordinary roast if your taste leans toward the pedestrian side.”
He looked at her.
“Lattes in Antarctica,” he said.
She nodded. “This is an UpLink base. Moreover, it’s
Nimec suddenly couldn’t help but crack a smile of his own.
“Okay, princess,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
