Ice Hunt

As Perry climbed down the ice ridge, he wished they had simply sunk the entire Russian station. No good would come of it. He was certain of that. But he had orders to follow. He shivered as the winds kicked up.

A shout drew his attention back to the assembly of Jamesway huts. A figure dressed in a blue parka waved an arm in their direction, encouraging them forward. Perry crossed down the ridge toward the figure. The man hurried forward to meet him, hunched against the cold.

“Captain.” The figure was Erik Gustof, the Canadian meteorologist. He was a strapping fellow of Norwegian descent, characterized by whitish-blond hair and tall build, though at the moment, all that could be discerned were the man’s two eyes, goggled against the snow’s glare, and a frosted white mustache. “There’s a satellite call holding for you.”

“Who—?”

“Admiral Reynolds.” The man glanced to the skies. “You’d best be quick. There’s a big storm headed our way, and that last bevy of solar flares is still wreaking havoc with the systems.”

Perry nodded and turned to his junior officer. “Dismiss the men. They’re on their own until twenty hundred. Then the next team gets their turn ashore.”

This was met with general whoops from the men. They scattered in various directions, some to the station’s mess hall, others to the recreation hut, and others still to the living quarters for more personal dalliances. Captain Perry followed Erik to an assembly of three joined huts, the main base of operations.

“Dr. Reynolds sent me out to hurry you along,” Erik explained. “She’s speaking with her father right now. We don’t know how long communication will hold.”

They reached the door to the operations hut, kicked off snow and ice from their boots, then ducked through the doorway. The heat of the interior was painful after the frigid cold. Perry shook off his gloves, then unzipped his parka and threw back his hood. He rubbed the tip of his nose to make sure it was still there.

“Nippy out, eh?” Erik said, remaining in his parka.

“It’s not the cold, it’s the humidity,” he grumbled sarcastically. Perry hung up his parka among the many others already there. He still wore his blue jumpsuit with his name stenciled on a pocket. He folded his cap and tucked it into his belt.

Erik stepped back to the door. “You know the way to the NAVSAT station. I’m going to check on some instruments outside before the storm hits tonight.”

“Thanks.”

Erik grinned and yanked the door open. Even in such a short time, the wind had kicked up outside. A gust whipped inside and struck Perry like a slap to the face. Erik hurried out, shoving the door shut.

Perry shivered a moment, rubbing his hands. Who the hell would volunteer to stay in this godforsaken land for two years?

He crossed the anteroom and went through another set of doors into the main operations room. It held all the various offices of the administration, along with several labs. The main purpose of the research in this building was to measure the seasonal rate of growth and erosion of the ice pack, measuring the heat budget of the Arctic. But other labs in other huts varied greatly, from a full mining operation that sampled cores of the ocean floor to a hydrolab that studied the health of the phyto-and zooplankton under the ice. The research was continuous, running around the clock as the station drifted along, floating with the polar current and traveling almost two miles every day.

He nodded to various familiar faces behind desks or bent over computer screens. He crossed through a set of airlock-type doors that led into one of the adjoining huts.

This hut was extra insulated and had two backup generators. It was Omega’s lifeline to the outside world. It contained all their radio and communication equipment: shortwave for maintaining contact with teams on the ice, VLF and ULF for communication with the subs assigned here, and NAVSAT, the military satellite communication system. The hut was empty, except for the lone figure of Amanda Reynolds.

Perry crossed to her. She glanced up from where she leaned over a TTY, a text telephone unit. The portable keyboard device allowed her to communicate over the satellite. She could speak into the microphone and answers would come out on the LCD screen.

Amanda nodded to him, but spoke to her father, Admiral Reynolds. “I know, Dad. I know you didn’t want me out here in the first place. But—”

She was cut off and leaned closer to read the TTY. Her face reddened; obviously an argument had been under way. And it was an old argument from the looks of it. Her father hadn’t wanted Amanda to take this assignment in the first place, worried about her, about her disability. Amanda had defied him, coming anyway, asserting her independence.

But Perry wondered how much of her fight was not so much to convince her father as herself. He had never met a woman so fiercely determined to prove herself in all things, in all ways.

And it was taking its toll.

Perry studied the worn look in her eyes, the bruised shadows beneath them. She appeared to have aged a decade over the past two months. Secrets did that to you.

She continued, speaking into the phone, heat entering her voice. “We’ll discuss this later. Captain Perry is here.”

As she read her father’s response, she held her breath, biting her lower lip. “Fine!” she finally snapped, and ripped off the headset. She shoved it at him. “Here.”

He took the headset, noting the tremble in her fingers. Fury, frustration, or both? He palmed the microphone to keep his next words private with her. “Is he still keeping the information under lock and key?”

Amanda snorted and stood. “And electronic padlock and voiceprint recognition and retinal scan identification. Fort Knox couldn’t be more secure.”

Perry smiled at her. “He’s doing his best. The bureaucratic machinery under him grinds slowly. With such sensitive matters, diplomatic channels have to be handled with delicacy.”

“But I don’t know why. This goes back to World War Two. After so long, the world has a right to know.”

“It’s waited for fifty years. It can wait another month or so. With the already strained relations between the U.S. and Russia, the way has to be greased before letting the information out.”

Amanda sighed, stared into his eyes, then shook her head. “You sound just like my father.”

Perry leaned in. “In that case, this would be very Freudian.” He kissed her.

She smiled under his lips and mumbled, “You kiss like him, too.”

He choked a laugh, pulling back.