Beneath the Ice Page 3

  “Dr. Gwen James, biologist, University of California, San Diego. Griffin and I have been working on subglacial bioforms. I’ve been retained to monitor and record any discoveries indicating microscopic life. I’m also the team paramedic. It’s not my forte, so stay healthy.”

  “Thank you, Dr. James,” Perry said, then asked, “Since we have two Dr. Jameses, may we call you Gwen?”

  “That would be unprofessional,” Griffin said.

  “Shut up, Griffin,” Gwen shot back. “It’s not unprofessional, and it will go a long way to make communication error free.”

  Perry pressed back the urge to smile. There was fire in the woman, and, apparently, she was used to handling her brother.

  Skipping over his own crew for the moment, he turned to Larimore. “Commander?”

  Larimore sat up in his chair. “Commander Trent Larimore, United States Navy. I oversee a team of six Seabees. Our job is to erect the exploration module, maintain environmental parameters, and generally be the life of the party.”

  “Seabees?” Gwen asked.

  “We’re the construction arm of the navy, ma’am,” Larimore explained. “ ‘We build, we fight’ is our motto.”

  Next, Perry turned to a brown-haired woman with cover-girl cheekbones and hazel eyes.

  “Sarah Hardy, robotics, King’s College, London.” There was a slight twang to her words.

  “You don’t sound British,” Jack said with a wink.

  She smiled. “I’m not. I grew up in Austin, Texas. My family moved to England when I was a teenager. I’m with NASA.”

  “Thank you, Sarah,” Perry said. “Jack?”

  The large man stood, bowed, and then said, “Jack Dyson, civil engineering, MIT, and all-around swell guy.” Perry saw Dr. James roll his eyes. “My job is to make sure Perry doesn’t make a mess of this operation.”

  “Translation: He’s the other project manager,” Perry explained.

  “Gleason Lane,” Perry’s friend said without waiting for a cue. “Like Perry and Jack, also MIT, except I majored in a challenging discipline—computer science. I handle all the tech stuff except robotics. That’s the lovely Sarah Hardy’s expertise.”

  “Perry Sachs,” Perry said. “Project director, Sachs Engineering, architecture, MIT.”

  “Architecture!” Dr. James exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why would Pentagon honchos send an architect to Antarctica?”

  “Because he’s the vice president of Sachs Engineering,” Larimore said before Perry could reply. “They have built things in places you can’t even imagine. They’re a known quantity at the Pentagon.”

  “That’s something else that bothers me,” Dr. James said. “What does the Pentagon want down here? The International Antarctic Treaty of 1959 prohibits any military action or bases.”

  “Which is why a civilian is leading this project,” Larimore said.

  “It’s just like the military,” Dr. James complained. “I’m at the bottom of the world and have been given only the barest of information. If we’re leaders on this team, then why don’t we have the whole story?”

  “That’s why we’re meeting right now,” Perry said. “I’m going to bring everyone up to speed, but it probably won’t satisfy you. Right now, I know more about this project than anyone in this room, and I can tell you: It’s not much.

  “Six months ago,” Perry continued, “a radarsat image of Lake Vostok was taken by NASA as well as another aerogeophysical survey by aircraft. These have been done before, but a change was noted.” He folded his arms. “As you know, we are situated over an under-ice lake named for the Russian research center many miles east of here. There are nearly eighty under-ice lakes in Antarctica. Lake Vostok is, by far, the largest.”

  “It’s roughly the size of Lake Ontario,” Dr. James interjected.

  “Was about the size of Lake Ontario,” Perry corrected. “It’s larger. It’s grown.”

  “Not possible,” Dr. James said with a dismissive wave. “Things move slowly in this environment. The ice cap below us is moving at one centimeter per day. That means that one year from today, our camp will be four meters closer to the ocean. Four meters—that’s all. Vostok could not have grown by any perceptible amount since the last survey. Maybe it’s just a misinterpretation of data.”

  Perry shook his head. “NASA doesn’t think so. The Pentagon doesn’t think so. The lake is 10 percent larger. Three months ago, another survey was done, and the lake had changed another 2 percent.”

  “That would mean the ice above the lake is melting,” Gwen said.

  “And melting fast,” Jack said. “Relatively speaking that is.”

  “Are you suggesting that the Antarctic ice cap is melting below our feet, Mr. Sachs?” Dr. James asked. “That’s not possible, not in any time less than millions of years.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head as if attempting to convince himself. “It’s absurd. It can’t be.” He released a humorless chuckle. “Of course, it would be bad if it were true—really bad.”

  “What do you mean?” Gleason asked.

  “Studies have been done,” Griffin explained as if speaking to a class of undergraduates. “There’s always someone out there who can’t resist running a worst-case scenario computer model. One study showed that if just the east ice sheet of Antarctica were to melt, the world’s water level would rise two hundred feet.”

  “That can’t be good,” Jack said.

  “Not good?” Griffin said. “A two-hundred-foot rise in the ocean would destroy billions of dollars of homes and buildings, displace millions of people, and have unimaginable impact on ocean life. For example, you could kiss all of Florida good-bye. Only divers would be able to visit Disney World.”

  “Is that what’s happening?” Sarah asked. Perry could see the lines of concern crease her face.

  “No one is saying that the ice cap is melting, but something is going on. Our job is to find out what.”

  “That explains the secrecy,” Larimore added. “Imagine what the media could do with that information. By the time the press was finished, the world would believe the end was coming next week.”

  “So what are we supposed do?” Gwen said. “We can’t monitor such changes from here. Such things are better done from space.”

  Perry started to answer when Griffin leapt to his feet. “Wait a second.” He glanced around the room, looking each person in the eye. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Sit down, Griffin,” Gwen said. “He hasn’t said what we’ll be doing.”

  “Don’t be dense, Sis. Think.” He pointed around the room. “Military specialist, construction experts, and—this is the real giveaway—a robotics expert.” He spun to face Perry. “You’re planning to puncture the ice sheet. You want us to help you bore down to the lake.”

  “That can’t be it, Griffin,” Gwen said. “That’s insane.”

  Perry said nothing. He stared at the biologist.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” she said. “I . . . I won’t allow it. That water is pristine. It hasn’t seen the light of day for four hundred thousand years. No one has figured out how to study it without contaminating it.”

  “I have,” Perry said.

  “That explains all the specialized equipment you made me bring,” Larimore said.

  “Wait until you see what’s coming next week,” Perry remarked.

  Gwen was on her feet. “You’re not going to do it. I won’t let you. We are not going down in history as the ones who contaminated the largest, purest, most undefiled water on the planet.” She began to pace. “We’ve found microbial life forms beneath the ice. Who knows what might be living in the lake or how it has changed over the centuries? The moment you touch that water you could be dooming entire and yet unknown species to extinction.”

  “Didn’t I read somewhere that the Russians bored into Lake Vostok?” Sarah asked.

  “No, you didn’t,” Griffin said. “No one has bored into the lake. The Russians stopped drilling a hundred mete
rs above the lake’s surface. To keep the hole from freezing over, the idiots pumped the hole full of Freon and aviation fuel. There are over sixty tons of toxic chemicals hovering over the lake. We don’t need to repeat their error.”

  “We’re not going to repeat anyone’s error,” Perry said. “The environmental considerations have been factored in. One reason you were chosen for this mission was your well-known commitment to keeping Antarctica clean.”

  “It’s already been defiled.” Griffin’s expression hardened. “What you’re suggesting is sheer hubris. I don’t plan on participating.”

  “That goes for me, too,” Gwen said.

  Perry paused, then said, “I assure you that we will not contaminate the lake, but understand this: We are going beneath the ice. You can help us, or you can leave on the plane. But you have less than an hour to make up your mind.”

  He watched them for a moment. He had feared the twin scientists would respond this way. What really bothered him, however, was the way they might respond when they heard the rest of the story.

  Chapter 2

  Perry’s head pounded as if a spiked ball were bouncing around inside his skull. He stepped into the camp’s central building. Jack had dubbed the place Dome Sweet Dome, but everyone else called it the Dome. He paused long enough to peel back his parka hood and remove the dark goggles that protected his eyes from the cold, wind, and ultraviolet light. He bent forward, rested his hands on his knees, and took several long, deep breaths.

  “I bet you thought you were in shape,” Jack said. He sat with Gleason, three of the Sachs crew, and three of the Seabees.

  “This working at altitude is killing me,” Perry confessed. “I feel like a man with one lung running a marathon—uphill.”

  “Should I tell you what you look like?” Jack quipped.

  “No need,” Perry said, then took several more deep inhalations. “I’ve seen you after your thirty-minute shift.” He stripped off his parka then walked to an empty wood chair and plopped down.

  Jack snickered.

  “Your team is up, chuckles,” Perry said. “We’ll talk about pain when you get back.”

  Jack rose as did the others in the commons.

  Perry watched Jack slip on his cold weather gear. Jack paused, then said, “Seriously, buddy, are you okay? Some people have problems with elevation. One of the navy boys is down with altitude sickness. Gwen ordered him to bed and put him on O-two.”

  “I’m fine—just a headache and shortness of breath. I’m adjusting. Another day and I’ll be playing soccer on the ice.” Perry looked up at his friend and saw concerned eyes studying him. “I’m fine, Jack. Just go out and see if you can match what my team did.”

  “Match? We’re holding back so you boys will have something to do. We wouldn’t want you to feel left out. Gleason is sitting this shift out. He has some reading to do.”

  “No, I don’t,” Gleason shot back. “No one’s going to accuse me of not carrying my own weight . . .” He trailed off, catching Jack’s intent. “Of course, there is that report—”

  “Knock it off,” Perry ordered. “I don’t need a nursemaid. Now, get out there and get to work. The sooner the Chamber is up, the sooner we can get down to business.”

  Jack hesitated then nodded. A moment later, he led Gleason and the others out into the icy wind.

  For a few moments, Perry was alone in the wide, concave room. He leaned his head back and stared at the dome overhead. The ribbing of the geodesic structure made Perry feel as if he had been swallowed whole by a massive, ancient creature. Light fixtures had been screwed into supports, their electrical cords tied into place by nylon straps. The light in the room was stark and uninviting. He reminded himself that this place was home for the next few weeks.

  He had been many places in the world, but this was by far the strangest. Outside, bits of ice flew on a bed of rising wind—wind that bit the face and froze every exhalation. Ice everywhere, yet, technically, Antarctica was the driest place on earth. Very little precipitation fell at the bottom of the world, but when it did, it remained as crystals of frozen water. The image of the vast ice sheet filled his mind. He had seen it in pictures, studied satellite photos . . . The starkness was almost frightening; the white reflection almost painful. Cobalt blue sky bowed overhead touching the ice softly on the horizon. It was beautiful but ominous.

  “Are you drinking water?” a voice asked.

  Perry raised his aching head and saw Gwen James seating herself on a nearby bench. The modular bench, like all the furnishings, had been flown in when the Dome and associated barracks were set up. Almost everything was assembled on-site, everything but the building he was now in. It had been airlifted by massive Sikorsky helicopters and set in place as a single unit. The cargo-crate dormitories had arrived in the same way. Very little assembly was required. Griffin James had overseen the installation, but Sachs Engineering employees did the work. The assembly team left three days prior to Perry’s arrival. Perry had made sure a bonus check was waiting for each man upon his return to the States.

  “Yeah, I keep pouring it down,” Perry replied.

  “It’s one of the best ways to battle altitude sickness. You should be drinking three or four quarts per day. And your urine output should be copious and clear.”

  “I don’t talk about urine output until the second date,” Perry said, smiling. “I’m fine, but thanks for the concern.”

  Gwen and Griffin, despite their objections to the project, had decided to stay. Perry was glad. It would have been difficult to replace them on such short notice.

  “The work is going okay?”

  Perry nodded. It made his head hurt more. “It’s grueling, but the Seabees are tough, and my men are used to adverse conditions. The Chamber should be finished soon—two or three days more, if the wind doesn’t get worse.”

  “I’ll confess to being impressed,” Gwen said, pushing back a strand of dark hair. “It’s a big structure, and a handful of men are piecing it together in less than a week.”

  “That’s the advantage of modular construction. All we have to do is match part A to part B and—voila!—instant dome. Well, almost instant. Besides they’ve built this before.”

  “They have?”

  “Three times. We did it as practice. Three teams working in thirty-minute shifts. It’s almost second nature to them.”

  “Including the cold?”

  Perry sat up and rubbed his eyes. “No, not the cold. That was one thing we couldn’t duplicate. If we had had time, if we weren’t racing the onset of Antarctic winter, we might have trained on-site at altitude and in the cold. I did make them wear gloves while working so they could get used to handling the tools. They hated it.”

  “I bet no one is complaining now.”

  Perry laughed. “If they are, I haven’t heard it.”

  “You never will. The men respect you. That’s easy enough to see. I doubt they’d dare disappoint you.”

  “They’re good men, every one of them.”

  The conversation lulled, then Gwen said, “I suppose I should apologize for my behavior, and for my brother’s. We’re . . . passionate about our science.”

  “No apology needed,” Perry said. “You expressed your opinion, and it was heard. We need you here. I’m just sorry we didn’t get off to a good start.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. Time can’t be unwound.”

  “Where is Dr. James?”

  “In his quarters, reviewing what little information we have on this area. He’s opinionated, gruff, and often rude, but he is also brilliant.”

  “He just needs to know that we are not the bad guys. We’re cautious, and we’re good. Things will be done right.”

  “I hope so. You may be destroying something very nearly perfect. Did you know, Mr. Sachs—”

  “Please, call me Perry. I would be much more comfortable.”

  “Very well. Perry, did you know that pollution has found its way down here? We’re only a few hun
dred kilometers from the South Pole, yet we can find traces of human pollution. The largest creature native to Antarctica is a fly, the wingless midge, which grows to only twelve millimeters—less than half an inch. Beyond that, there are microscopic animals such as nematodes and tardigrades, but that’s it. A great deal of life comes to Antarctica—penguins and sea lions, for instance—but they are not native to the land.”

  “I do know that,” Perry replied. “We’ve made it a priority to leave this area as clean as we found it. All waste is collected and packaged for removal. Even the buildings will be removed. I can promise you we won’t leave a single candy wrapper behind.”

  Gwen studied Perry. He felt as if the biologist had put him under a microscope. “You haven’t told us everything, have you?”

  “What do you mean?” Perry asked.

  “Scientists are observers by nature. We are fascinated by the details. I’ve been watching you. I think you know more than you’re telling.”

  Perry matched her gaze, his mind spinning with possible answers. He settled on the simplest. “I do know more than I’m telling.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened. “I’m surprised you would just admit it.”

  “My only other choice is to lie to you. I’m not comfortable with that.”

  “A man of morals? You’re a rare breed.”

  “Not really. There are more of us than you think.” Perry closed his eyes and tried to push the headache to a back corner of his skull.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” A new voice.

  Perry opened his eyes to see Griffin standing a short distance away. “In good time, Dr. James. In good time.”

  “Why not now?”

  Perry sat up. The last thing he wanted was another confrontation with Griffin. “Let me ask you something. How much do you talk about your research, especially your findings?”

  “That’s different. Science is very competitive, and it’s not unprecedented for research to be stolen. A good scientist is a cautious scientist.”

  “You’re right. It is different, but not entirely. I have reasons for withholding information. Believe it or not, it’s for your own good.”