The Winter Over(9)

“Well, shoot,” Dave said, nonplussed. “I guess I have to page Sammy, after all.”

Biddi glanced out the window. “What’s the NGH look like, by the way?”

He spread his hands wide. “Little yellow box on two wheels with a smokestack and a big hose on the side. You have to tow it with a Skandie or a tractor.”

She pointed. “Is that what you’re looking for, hon?”

He walked over and squinted. Sure enough, Sammy was chugging across the ice field on a snowcat, the NGH trailing faithfully behind. He sighed. “It’s a wonder I get any work done around here.”

Biddi swatted him on the arm. “You let me know if I can help out any more. And if I can start any more engines.”





CHAPTER FOUR


Anne Klimt put her hands on her hips and assessed the contents of the lab. By Caltech or MIT standards, it was barely adequate. Grad students had assembled better systems in their dorm rooms. And, of course, this facility was dwarfed by Shackleton’s COBRA lab, which was in its own freestanding building. But the difference was that this tiny, second-rate lab, stuffed inside the base with ten others just like it, was her domain and she was its queen.

Well, not entirely. She’d have to share it with Jun Takahashi and two other beakers who’d come in with the latest winter-over drop-off—newbies, so new she hadn’t even learned their names yet. But still, it beat bumping up against fifteen other astrophysicists. Winter, with its perpetual darkness, was the better season for astronomy by far, but it was not always the most sought-after assignment. A bevy of her fellow astro-nerds, hoping to pad their résumés, had flocked to join the summer crew, but virtually none of them had opted to stay for the next nine months. They were already heading stateside to apply for post-docs and lab positions with their shiny new South Pole credentials.

Anne didn’t begrudge them their priorities; she knew how the game was played. But she’d wanted to prove something beyond her capacity for science, and there was no better stage for that than a winter season at Shackleton. Well, being assigned to the next spacewalk, perhaps. But who said that wasn’t in the cards, too? At thirty-eight, she was young, in shape, and attractive enough to become the next face of space exploration. Her academic credentials were pristine, and if they wanted to know how she performed in a stressful environment, a winter-over at Shackleton should lay just about anyone’s fears to rest. Even the most skeptical, chauvinistic review board in existence would be impressed that she’d survived months at the world’s coldest research facility and not ended up as a popsicle—

She put a hand to her mouth. What is wrong with you? Barely a day had passed since the news that Sheryl had died out on the ice and here she was making jokes, even if it was unintentional. Colin had told her that Sheryl had frozen to death, unable to make it back to the station after going for a long run past the skiway. Anne imagined what it must’ve been like as the cold crept into your bones, to feel your life ebb away . . .

She gave a little shriek. Standing in the doorway was a tall man wearing black denim overalls over a waffled long-sleeved undershirt. He had corn silk–blond hair and blue eyes that reminded her of fishbowls. A patchy goatee and mustache decorated his face. Judging by the expression on his face, he was as startled as she was.

“Jesus Christ.” Her voice crackled, the fear turning her angry. She put a hand to her throat, feeling as though her heart had stuck there. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He gestured at the wall behind the door. “Can I take a look at the panel over here?”

“What?”

“I’m the electrician,” he said, enunciating the words in a flat Midwestern accent. “I got to do a first inspection for the winter season.”

“God, you startled me,” she said. Now that her heart rate was returning to normal, she saw he was holding a workbag and had trailed a cart full of tools behind him. It was a wonder she hadn’t heard him coming down the hall. “Go ahead.”

He placed his bag on the floor with a light metallic clatter, then pulled the cart into the room and shoved it against a wall. She watched him for a minute, uncertain if she should leave and let him do his thing, or if she should continue working, or if she should hover and act like she was interested in his work. Then it occurred to her that maybe she should hang around and make sure he didn’t do anything to the actual equipment, the stuff a wire jockey shouldn’t touch.

If he’s doing the first inspection of the season, then he’s a winter-over, just like you , Anne reminded herself. And you don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with one of the people you’re going to be stuck with for most of a year.

Putting on her best smile, she walked toward him, sticking her hand out as she went. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. I’m Anne. I’m one of the astrophysicists wintering over. And please don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel so old.”

The man glanced up from sifting through the items on the cart, then back down. He slowly extended his hand. “Leroy Buskins.”

I wonder if he’s ever shaken hands with a woman outside of a church before . “You’re staying on for the winter, Leroy?”

He nodded. “Just got in.”

“They don’t give you much time to rest, do they?” she asked, putting some sympathy in her voice. “A day to get your wits about you and then you’re on your first shift.”