Cold War

“Come on, be serious,” she urged. “I’m asking as somebody who had hopes of being the first woman colonist on Mars.”

Megan shrugged again.

“I’m completely serious,” she said. “I like to cook.”

“Cook…”

“And bake.”

“Bake…”

“European pastries, especially croissants,” Megan said, gulping more ouzo. Her voice was a little dreamy. “Maybe because making the crusts is such a challenge. About two years ago I had the kitchen professionally re- modeled with all commercial appliances. My range is the best. It’s one of those great big stainless-steel jobs… dual-fuel, you know. Six gas burners, an electric oven that keeps the temperature right where you set it.”

Annie looked at her a moment. Then she suddenly ducked her head, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Megan leaned forward. The damn ouzo, she thought guiltily. There were more than a few staffers who could down it like lemonade without showing any effects, but poor Annie was a vacationer, only a few hours out of a helicopter from Amundsen-Scott. How could Megan have even considered suggesting that she order it?

“Annie, what’s wrong? If this poison’s getting to you—”

Annie shook her head in the negative, keeping it bent, still covering her mouth.

Megan’s eyes widened at the stifled sound that escaped Annie’s lips.

“My God,”she said. “You’re laughing.”

That was the final straw. Annie giggled helplessly, struggled to compose herself, and laughed even harder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Really, I hope you aren’t insulted—”

It was a no-go. She broke up again.

Meg looked at her.

“Okay,” Megan said. “Out with it. What’s so funny about my domestic interests?”

Annie waited until she’d managed to catch her breath.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Picturing you in a kitchen apron sort of caught me by surprise.” Annie wiped her eyes. “I just had the impression you’d yearn for Bay Area shopping or nightlife or something… that you’d prefer to get your desserts from a gourmet shop instead of a cookie sheet.”

Megan realized she’d split a grin of her own.

“I’m not sure why, but something tells me I should be offended by that characterization,” she said.

“Probably should,” Annie said. “I would be, come to think of it.”

The women faced each other, both of them laughing now.

“Annie,” Megan said, “I’ve told you before and I’ll do it again… your visit’s been a major reprieve. This ladies’ night out most of all.”

Annie nodded, reached for her glass.

“I think we should drink to taking the big step,” she said.

“From colleagues to friends?”

“In one drunken toot.”

“It’s going to be an unholy alliance,” Megan said, and was about to lift her own drink off the table when her cell phone bleeped in her pocket — a three-note sequence she’d tagged to Pete Nimec’s cellular only hours earlier.

She held up a finger to Annie, took out the phone, and flipped it open against her ear.

“Pete, hi,” she said. “If you’ve changed your mind about joining—”

She fell silent, listening. Annie watched Meg’s relaxed expression abruptly transform — the grave, alarmed look that came over it making her very worried.

“Yes… yes… how could?… okay, I understand…” Megan said. Her eyes snapped to the group at the dartboard. “Wait, I have some extra people with me. Stay where you are, we’ll meet you right away.”

She shut the phone with one hand, then glanced at Annie with dismay.

“We have a problem,” she said, pushing herself up off her chair.

* * *

“Meg, I don’t see how you expect me to use half these people… ”

“They can handle themselves.”

“They’ve been drinking.”

“I know. That’s just how it is. They weren’t on rotation.”

“But I need to rely—”

“I’m vouching for every one of them.”

Nimec and Megan stood facing each other in silence. They’d linked up in one of the interconnected utilidors bored into the solid ice underneath the station, its hooded lights shining down on a tubular steel liner crusted with frost like the inside of a freezer, the temperature almost forty degrees below zero. Close around them, Sword ops were hastily shrugging, zipping, and snapping into their ECW outfits as they came pouring into the tunnel.

After a moment Nimec nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Any suggestions about how to divide the manpower?”

“I’ve got two of our best with Annie and the Senators. I think we can spare four more to secure the area around the building.”

“That’s seven men,” Nimec said. “Not enough.”

“Eight men, counting Hal Pruitt.”

“Still won’t do.”

“Our total force is twenty-nine, Pete. There are only so many places where anyone can gain access to the base, and I can’t see anyone trying a full-scale action in this storm. It’s not feasible.”

“Maybe you’re right. But we also didn’t expect what we already know is happening, and I’m not about to gamble,” Nimec said. “I say we double up the perimeter defense into teams, leave four men inside to guard against a breech. That leaves me with thirteen—”

“I’ll go along with two men to patrol the building,” Megan said. “You’ll need the rest with you. And I’ve got the maintenance and support crew as backup. They’re a solid bunch, Pete.”

Nimec started to protest, hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“Your call again,” he said. “Make sure Pruitt stays at the monitors. We need him to direct traffic.”

“I understand.” Megan thought a second. “How do you feel about informing MacTown of our status?”

Nimec adjusted a velcro strap at the collar of his parka, then got his gloves and outer gauntlets out of a pocket.

“I can’t see how they can help us right now,” he said. “And I’m not sure I like involving outsiders until we have a better idea what our status is.”

Megan sighed. “I don’t know. We can’t stand around doping this out. But there’s an argument for contacting them. In case anything happens to us—”

“Do either of you want my take?”

This was from Ron Waylon, who had stepped up behind Nimec, his balaclava pulled over his head, the hood of his coat already raised.

Nimec glanced over his shoulder.

“Let’s hear it,” he said.

“There’s no 911 help in Antarctica,” Waylon said. “If we can’t stand on our own, then by the time somebody responds, it’ll be to bury us. Seems to me there’s nothing wrong with holding off unless things start to look bad. No matter what, we’ll have our chances to reevaluate.”

They looked at him. Looked at each other. Both were nodding.

“Issue decided,” Nimec said. His eyes steadied on Megan’s. “You gonna be okay?”