The Winter Over(59)

Vox was silent.

“I . . . the tunnel suffered from a series of cascading failures, that much any engineer could’ve told you. But I knew, and I suspect my team knew, that it was my work that started it all. Nobody on the team was blameless, but I was the first link in the chain that broke. The rest came after. And it was the whole that killed those people.”

“Were you . . . arrested?”

“No, nothing so dramatic,” she said. A sour taste filled her mouth. If there had actually been consequences, some defining moment of punishment, would she have been able to leave it behind? “The company’s insurance coverage paid the survivors and their families and the mayor threatened criminal action, but it was all bluster, forgotten a few weeks later. None of us even lost our jobs. But I quit anyway. I knew what I’d done and I couldn’t work with people who knew it, too.”

“What did you do then?”

“I bounced around, taking odd jobs in stranger and stranger places. Oil rigs, mining ops, lumber camps. Trying not to put myself in a position to hurt people with my mistakes. But, eventually, each job petered out and it was clear just how trivial the work was, leaving me feeling worse than before. I needed another big job with bigger stakes, to show myself I could pull through. With my track record, no one would hire me for a large contract, but then I thought maybe they had trouble finding people crazy enough to go to Antarctica. So here I am. Hoping I can find myself without hurting anyone.”

The last was said in a whisper. A long moment passed before Vox’s voice cut through the silvery hiss.

“You are very brave to tell me this, vozlyublennaya . That you feel so bad so many years later confirms for me something I already knew—that you are a good person. That you are intelligent, thoughtful, and care about the people around you. You do not have to fear being wrong when you know this is the truth.”

The simple words pierced Cass, but rather than her emotions translating into tears, she felt suddenly lighter and more lucid than before. The muscles in her throat relaxed. “Thank you, Vox. Those words mean more than you’ll ever know.”

“Good, I am glad. I was afraid you would cry. I never know what to do when women cry. I try to tell jokes, but I only know two and they are both about physics. And are in Russian. And not very funny.”

She laughed, her voice shaky. “You’ll have to tell me them sometime.”

“You promise to laugh?”

“I promise.” She peeked down the hatchway and froze, thinking she’d seen a shadow slide through her field of vision. But there was nothing. “Thank you for offering to call McMurdo. But don’t do anything yet. If they don’t hear from us soon, they’ll send their own people out eventually.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes. But let’s keep our next date. If anything strange happens—stranger than what’s already occurred—I want to be able to get in touch with you.”

“Is not good enough, Blaze. We should stay in touch more often. If something happens to you, that is too much time to have passed. I will check every third day, yes? I will run up and down channels, to make sure you can reach me.”

“That takes time, Vox. Won’t you get in trouble?”

“My time is now my own,” Vox said. “Comrade Konstantinov is confined to his quarters after slipping in the dining hall and breaking his leg.”

“What happened?”

“He made the cook file a report that said the floor had not been cleaned properly, but we all know he tried to drink all the vodka on base in a night. Some stereotypes are true, you know. Besides, I would do it anyway just to feel a glow twice in my heart. Once for defying that pig of a man and again because I know I am keeping you safe.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Thank you, Vox.”

“Believe me, it is my pleasure,” he said, then sobered. “Cass, be careful. Maybe you think you are wrong about this experiment. Perhaps you do not trust your own judgment. But, remember, there is always the chance that you are right. If so, you are only halfway through the winter. There are more dangers to come.”





CHAPTER THIRTY


“Bad luck is one thing,” Deb said, both palms pressed to the side of her head, as if holding in the contents. “But this is ridiculous. Jack, what is going on?”

“Deb, we’ve got problems, there’s no doubt. And they’ve all decided to roost at once, or nearly at once. But that doesn’t mean—”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen winters that were worked on a long leash and other crews that had their problems, but this is insane. No one has this kind of bad luck. This is intentional. This is sabotage.”

“Is that all you’re saying, Deb?”

She glanced to her left at Keene, but the psychologist kept his gaze trained on the manager. Her face paled, but remained resolute. “You know something. I don’t think you’re part of it, but you know something you’re not telling us. So, here’s your chance. Tell us.”

“Or what?”

“Or, as deputy manager, I’ll take the steps necessary to set this straight.”

A moment of thick tension held the room still. Hanratty sat motionless. Ayres stood near the door, ramrod straight and frowning. Taylor’s eyes flitted back and forth between him and Deb. Keene had dropped his gaze and was staring at his hands.