Sarah Andrews - In Cold Pursuit

Valena sat, clutching her flight lunch. What was his name? During the in-brief, he had been introduced as the National Science Foundation’s top representative here in McMurdo, el jefe , the man in charge of all of the scientists, but had used up copious amounts of his welcoming message trying to persuade everyone that they should not believe or spread rumors. She now watched him acutely as he paced slowly across the room, searching his stiff posture for clues about what he was about to say. Had Emmett been injured? Was he sick? Where was he?

The man reached the far wall of the room, turned, started back. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the floor. That was bad.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, feeling like she was reading from a poorly written script. This was not how it was supposed to be. She was in Antarctica. She had worked hard, had excelled in science, had moved heaven and earth to get into the Antarctic program, and now…where in hell was Emmett Vanderzee?

“I’m George Bellamy,” the man said. “Well, you know that; I was just introduced to all of you right outside that door.” He stopped pacing, his face twisting with discomfort. “Well, uh …I have some bad news for you. Uh, very sad, um… well, your PI—uh, the principal investigator of your project, Emmett Vanderzee?—uh, well, he I am sure meant to be here to greet you, but, ah… well…” He crimped his face into an unfunny smile, as if he’d just been stung by a bee on one cheek.

“Well then, um… where is he?”

“He’s on an LC-130 Hercules,” he said.

“An LC-130. Oh, I see. He’s been delayed coming in from checking his field locations, then… or whatever it was he had to do before I got here.”

Bellamy blinked. “He—no, no, he’s been redeployed.”

“Redeployed?”

“He’s going north,” Bellamy snapped, as if speaking to a student who had been caught daydreaming.

“North.” Valena quickly computed the implications and permutations of the word. Okay, this man is speaking in present tense, so that means that Emmett is not dead, but why would he be heading to New Zealand? “ Has Dr. Vanderzee been injured?” she asked.

Bellamy shook his head vigorously. “No. No…” He began to pace again.

Valena tracked his movement. Well, if Emmett’s not dead, and he’s not sick or injured, and whatever is wrong with him is making this man really, truly uncomfortable, then what exactly is the problem? She cleared her throat. Waited. Spoke. “And he’s on a plane going north because…?”

“Hm. Well, I can’t tell you that, exactly. In fact, I am not sure, myself. And the less said about this, the better.” He let out an uncomfortable laugh. “McMurdo is a rumor mill. We must be careful not to feed it!”

“Rumor?”

“Now, as regards your status here, I’m sorry to say that we can’t get you on a plane until at least Tuesday.”

Valena jumped to her feet, dropping her sack lunch on the floor. “Wait! Isn’t Emmett coming back?”

“Well, that is to be determined, I suppose.” He presented her with a dismissive smile, a man done with an awkward duty. Stepping behind his desk, he said, “Now, you must be tired, so you’ll want to get situated in your dorm room, and—”

Valena raised her hands in entreaty. “But I’m here to do research for my master’s degree!”

Bellamy shook his head sadly. “I know this must be a terrible disappointment. We should have caught you in Christchurch this morning and saved you the flight, but we did reach the other student on your project—Taha Hesan? He hadn’t left Reno yet, so we were able to put him on hold. But, well, now you’re here, so… well, as I say, we can get you out in a few days. I’ll just need you to be discreet.”

Valena’s self-control began to slip. “He’s not coming back?”

Bellamy flipped a hand toward the ceiling in frustration. “This could all be cleared up, I suppose, and we’d get Dr. Vanderzee on the next available flight south again, but scheduling here in Antarctica is always tight. The next several flights south are filled, and there are frequent delays due to the weather. Antarctica is the land of delays! Nothing ever quite goes according to plan, and after a while it wouldn’t be worth continuing, because the season will simply fly by.”

“What could be cleared up?” she said, and then, her voice hitting a keen pitch, demanded, “Tell me what’s going on here!”

“Dr. Vanderzee… had to leave to attend a hearing.”

“A hearing? What kind of hearing?”

Bellamy’s face darkened ominously. “A man dies in your camp, there are matters to be cleared up. Surely you understand that.”

A thin ringing noise filled Valena’s ears. She sat down and tried to brace her elbows on her knees, which felt oddly gelatinous. “That journalist died of altitude sickness,” she said.

“Indeed he did. And I’m sure that will all come out in the hearing. Now, Ms. Walker, I’m sure this is all a shock to you, but… well, I really can’t tell you anything more, because you see it’s all got to be kept confidential, and I need you to, uh, keep everything I’ve just said to you in strictest confidence. The US Antarctic Program does not need this kind of publicity!” His hands suddenly seemed to have left his voluntary control and began to fly around like great sallow moths. “We do the finest science, and we struggle and slave to get the word out, and now this!”

Valena stared up into his face. “I am here to continue Dr. Vanderzee’s excellent work.” She wanted to add, And this is not going to stop me , but her words had grown thick, and she couldn’t get them to come out of her mouth. Huge government programs were an abstraction to her. Her priorities lay in her thesis work and what lay beyond it: having participated in Emmett Vanderzee’s critically important study of rapid climate change, she intended to roll on through a doctoral program, thereby earning a position at the DRI—the Desert Research Institute in Reno, which was world famous for work in cold deserts like Antarctica—and begin her own projects, which would bring her back to the ice again and again. “I—I’ll phone the other people on the project and get back to you in the morning with a revised plan,” she managed at last.

Bellamy nodded his head like a woodpecker. “Certainly. Certainly.”

Even though she was swathed in layers of down and fleece, Valena felt cold. She was ten thousand miles from home, exhausted, and had no idea whom to turn to for help. Bellamy had an agenda, and it did not include her. If she didn’t get out of his office soon, her tears would flow, and she did not want him to see them. She needed time to think, to get her emotions back under control. She stood up and headed out of his office and toward the outer door.

“I need your word that you will keep our conversation in strictest confidence,” Bellamy called after her.

Valena turned, said, “I’m scheduled for survival training day after tomorrow, and—so that’s what I am going to do.”

“As long as you exercise the utmost discretion. We probably can’t get you on a flight until Wednesday, anyway. Watch the bulletin board near the entrance to the galley. They’ll post your flight north. Make sure you’re on it.”

Valena’s chill suddenly turned to heat. She turned and gave the big man with the pale hands a quick but defiant stare, then shoved open the door that led into the airlock, bowing her head against the cold blast of air that awaited her outside.

THE DORMITORY ROOM WAS A NIGHTMARE. VALENA HAD been assigned to a barracks room with seven other women, two of whom were abject slobs. Their duffels spewed clothing, and their skis formed tripping hazards between her bunk and the door. The bunk beds and freestanding closets had started out cheap and had been badly abused from there. And being last into the room, she had drawn an upper bunk. What was it going to be like if she had to get up in the night and pee?