Cold War

worse, terribly depressing as she stood in his shower the morning after, wishing she could stay under its stream until the pipes ran dry. She’d always believed she wanted loose romantic ties, easygoing friendships with sizzle. Now, suddenly and unforeseeably, Megan had realized that she needed more rather than less… and wondered how she could have been so dissatisfied without knowing it.

The first thing at work that same morning, she had gone to the boss’s office and told him she was taking him up on his offer. She did it without stopping at her own desk, not wanting to give herself pause to reconsider. Not wanting to overthink. Seeing at last that her greatest fear in life wore the shape of her own heart, she had refused to back away from coming to terms with it.

Three weeks or so afterward, Megan had swapped her Cole Haan city heels for mukluks and was riding a plane toward the southern polar cap. And she hadn’t regretted it for a second. Little about being in Antarctica was easy. But her choice, its timing, couldn’t have been righter…

Megan was still thinking in front of the computer when she heard a light knock on the door, told whoever it was to come on in, and saw that it was Annie Caulfield.

“Hi,” Annie said, entering. “This an okay time?”

“Actually, you’re rescuing me from a screen full of e-mail I’d prefer to neglect.” Meg rose to show her inside, pulled a chair up to her desk. “I was sort of expecting Pete Nimec anyway.”

“Oh.” Annie sat, cleared her throat. “How’s Pete doing? I heard he came out of San Jose in a hurry.”

“That he did. As a huge favor to me,” Megan said. “To be honest, we’ve had some differences that need to be ironed out… but you got that strictly on the QT.” She shrugged. “I’m sure my minor waves with Pete can’t be more trying than playing travel guide to the Capitol Hill Gang.”

“That’s probably not understating the case. They’re so used to being coddled by aides and interns, motherhood’s starting to seem like a breeze by comparison.” Annie smiled. “Seems we both needed a break, huh?”

“No understatement there either.”

They looked at each other across the desk.

“Annie Caulfield, you’re about the best visitor I could have wished for right now,” Megan said. “I’m just sorry the storm’s messing with your schedule.”

Annie flapped a hand in the air.

“Houston can survive without me a few extra days,” she said, and then was quiet a moment. “You know, Meg, the main reason I dropped by was to thank you for the open reception my group’s gotten in light of everything else that’s going on. And I don’t mean some bad weather.” Another pause. “Having been Chief of Astronauts for a lot of years… and especially after Orion… well, I understand how it feels to be hijacked by outside circumstances. What you and the rest of the base staff must be going through with your people lost out on the ice. Yet you’ve all bent over backwards to make us welcome.”

Megan nodded a little.

“Glad things are working out,” she said. “The kids going to be okay with your extended absence?”

“Are you kidding? When they hear I’m stuck in the snow they’ll think it’s an answer to their prayers,” Annie said. “My mom’s staying with them, poor woman… she’s the one I worry about.”

Megan smiled. She clicked in on Annie’s expression, realized there was more on her mind, and waited.

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Annie said after a companionable silence. “But since you’ve mentioned it… what’s bothering Pete? He seemed so great to work with in Florida. We became friends… and then, well, kind of lost touch…”

“Between us again?”

Annie nodded.

“Pete’s a gem,” Megan said. “He means everything to me. There’s no one in the world I’d rather have at my side in a crunch. But I guess certain adjustments are hard for him.” Her eyes made contact with Annie’s. “People in general have trouble changing direction. And men… they’re the worst. Quick to move when they know it’s wrong, slow when they know it’s absolutely right. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. Put a guy at a crossroads, and you’ve got a real problem. He’ll stand there with his feet planted forever unless somebody gives him a push.”

Annie chuckled a little.

“Meg,” she said. “it’s been really super talking to you.”

“Same at this end.” Meg was smiling again. “How about we do some more once we’re through with today’s business? We have a bar here… the Meat Locker, hardy-har. I guarantee you’ll be impressed at how well it’s stocked.”

“Promise to drag me out before the last call and you’re on.”

Megan looked at her and winked.

“Dear girl,” she said, “one of the beauties of living in Antarctica is that last call’s whenever you want it to be.”

* * *

Pete Nimec pushed open the high-mounted 4x4’s passenger door, then frowned as gusting wind slammed it back hard against his shoulder. He gave it more oomph and jumped out into shin-deep snow.

Waylon came around from the driver’s side of the truck. He’d left the engine running.

“Storm’s really on the move now,” he said.

Nimec couldn’t make out his comment. It was difficult enough to hear through his hood and face mask without the wind batting the words off into space.

“What was that you said?” he almost shouted, moving closer.

Waylon pointed overhead to the south, his arm at ten o’clock. “Check out the space invaders.”

Nimec gazed up at a huge floating armada of vaporish flying saucers and took an involuntary breath of raw air. It ranked as one of the eeriest sights that he’d ever seen.

“They snow clouds?”

“More of an advance escort,” Waylon said. Steam puffed from his mouth and froze into little pearlets of ice on his mustache, causing it to droop further down the sides of his chin. “Those are lenticular hogbacks. If this storm fits the regular pattern, we’ll see some shreddy cirrus clouds made up of ice crystals stream in behind them and then get low and thick and cover the sky. That’s whiteout time, and it’s no fun. The cumulus clouds come last, bring the main front. You know them right away because they’ve got these ugly anvil tops. The higher their tops, the harder they slam down on you.”

Nimec looked at him. “Sounds like you know your stuff.”

Waylon shrugged. “A bug in the jungle better know when an elephant stampede’s on the way.”

“Your antennas tell you how long before it reaches us?”

“I’m guessing an hour till snow starts falling, four or five before we feel the real brunt. But don’t hold me to that,” he said. “The on-line sat voodoo says it’ll be closer to six, which just seems way outside the mark.”

Nimec stood looking at him in the face of the wind.

“I’ll go ahead and bet my money on you,” he said.

Waylon didn’t comment. After a moment he nodded his head toward the long, ribbed metal structure to their right, where a group of men had formed a human conveyor belt from the entrance to a Caterpillar parked outside, stacking its flatbed high with crates.

“Anyway, sir, I’ve got a couple of reasons for showing you this arch first,” he said. “One, it’s our outermost building, a warehouse where we store contingency provisions. I figured we’d start here and work our way back to the main compound.”

He paused, watching the big tracked vehicle get loaded up.

“And two?” Nimec said.

“What you see is a perfect example of a Sword operation, Antarctic style,” he said. “It’s obviously not very exciting. The crates are filled with canned food and bottled water. We’re shifting them to the utilidors in case of a pinch, which is SOP before any Class II storm.”

Nimec was perusing the arch from where he stood. Although a wide path had been dozed in front of the entrance, its roof and sides were inundated with a thick caking of snow.

He searched his recollection.