Gillian Anderson - The Sound of Seas

“Better to risk that than the modules,” Dr. Cummins noted.

Bundy shot her a critical look. “You agree with this?”

“Yes, but for very practical reasons,” she said. “We may, quite literally, be on very thin ice, even here. If we don’t know the root cause, we won’t know how to prepare—or for what, exactly.”

“You’ll never know what’s out there unless I go,” Mikel added quickly. “And over days, over hours, important data may be lost.”

“Or the entire base could be lost,” Dr. Cummins added, addressing Bundy.

Bundy shook his head once. “Go out there and you may be lost,” he said. “Again. And this time Siem won’t go rushing out to save you.”

“I’m not asking him to save me, or to save anyone for that matter,” Mikel said, “except maybe the research station. Look, I’m not an official part of this team. I can walk out of here if I want.”

“And bloody good riddance—”

“Fine, I accept full responsibility for myself and for any damage or loss you may incur,” Mikel said. “Just a Ski-Doo, that’s all I want.”

“And those people who were going to pay for the last damage you caused?” Bundy asked. “The ones in New York? I suppose they will cover this too?”

“Working on it,” Mikel said.

“You’re all empty promises and hot air,” Bundy said. “That’s a boy talking, a boy caught in a half-truth, not a scientist.”

Mikel looked over at Dr. Cummins. “Do you agree with him?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You propose to do this with one functioning arm?”

“If I have to.”

“You’ll never survive,” Bundy snapped.

“That’s my concern,” Mikel replied.

“Not when my equipment is involved it bloody isn’t,” Bundy said. “No, absolutely not.”

“I’ll go with him,” Dr. Cummins said suddenly.

Bundy fired off yet another critical look. He seemed to have a bottomless supply. “Are you bloody serious?”

“Positively sanguine,” she told him. “Look. We’ve been sitting here for hours, getting nowhere. I want to know what’s down there too. But of more immediate concern, the ice around the pit is cracked. The melted ice inside may have solidified and secured it, but we don’t know. The satellite images don’t tell us that much. Furthermore, they don’t tell us what kind of areal degradation may have occurred below the surface. That’s where melting begins, along the ground line, and thanks to that flame geyser we saw—and maybe some we didn’t see—we could be sitting on a section of shelf that is weaker than we know. There could be hairline fractures or crevasses due to oceanic erosion. We must know the cause and we must try to determine the extent.”

“Which is the reason I’m imploring you to let me go out there,” Mikel said. “If there is a ‘next time,’ we may not have time to evacuate.”

“Or a place to evacuate to,” Dr. Cummins added. “I’ll admit, Dr. Bundy, that frightens me.”

The face of the geologist relaxed slightly. Mikel could be denied; a fellow scientist was different. Especially one who voiced legitimate concerns. He looked at Mikel.

“This man frightens me ,” Bundy said. “He is impetuous. And I don’t think he’s telling us everything.”

Dr. Cummins turned to study the archaeologist. “Dr. Jasso, I agree with Dr. Bundy. I believe you know things that we do not. Let me tell you, I have no patience for deceit. I worked with a botanist along the Amazon who sounded just like you. Same careful phrasing, same hesitation, same urgency . He said he had to take our raft, double back and study some rare flower he thought he had spotted growing near a tributary. I later discovered he had seen mud flecked with what he thought was gold. It turned out to be iron pyrite. I know because I had one of the natives watch him. He no longer had any credibility with me, and I sent him packing, Dr. Jasso.” She examined the scientist. “What is it with you, Doctor? What are you not telling us?”

Mikel was silent. But his expression registered respect for the scientist and she saw that. She fell silent as well.

“That was unilluminating,” Bundy remarked. “Dr. Cummins, I wish I shared your enthusiasm for this course of action. I do not. Dr. Jasso, since your arrival it isn’t only the ice that has eroded. My authority has gone to bloody hell. Research is— must be —systematic or it is useless.” He shook his head. “But I’m tired… too tired to argue about this. Until we know something about what is out there—which, right now, amounts to very, very little—I cannot and will not personally authorize an expedition.” He placed his pale hands on the table and rose. “Now, I am going to sleep. We will revisit this matter later, after we have heard from the British Geological Survey, the U.S. Geological Survey, and other organizations whose job it is—not ours —to assess the situation.”

“A situation on the ground that they will only study from outside the atmosphere,” Mikel said disgustedly.

“At last, you understand,” Bundy said.

The barrel-chested scientist departed. Siem had also left, leaving Jasso and Dr. Cummins alone.

The glaciologist rose suddenly. “Come on.”

“Where?” Mikel asked, startled from his sudden dejection. He wasn’t looking forward to trekking out there.

“To the garage,” she said. “Your friend is preparing one of the trucks.”

“My friend?”

“Siem. Good lord, I hope you read archaeological signs better than you read human ones,” she said. “Dr. Bundy is a scientist. A good one. He wants answers as much as we do, and he wasn’t saying no. He was simply abrogating responsibility for the decision I made to take you out there. Meaning, it’s my ass if we screw up. Your friend Siem was watching, saw my eyes give the order, and left.”

Mikel continued to stare at her. Dr. Cummins was correct. He had missed every piece of that.

“I understand that you work for a woman, the head of a small research organization,” Dr. Cummins went on, rising with some effort; she too was tired. “Going forward, we are not, are we, going to have a problem as to who is in charge?”

“We are not,” Mikel said, “with one caveat.”

The woman froze, her mouth turning up in a not very surprised half-smile. “You’ve got spine, I’ll give you that. What’s the caveat, Dr. Jasso?”

“You defer to me regarding a single matter.”

“Which is?”

“The ancient civilization that once held absolute sway over this continent,” he replied.

She took a moment, just staring at him. Then she said, “A… civilization?”

“Yes, quite large and advanced well beyond where the Aztecs and Mayans were at their height,” Mikel said. “A civilization that is not quite dead and is definitely not quiescent.”

Standing in the sunny but otherwise empty living room, Ben was not just tired and angry, he was perplexed. The Langloises were definitely gone; not only couldn’t he hear her jewelry here or in the hall—he opened the door to check—but he noticed Arfa emerge from under the sofa and leap gracefully onto the windowsill. The cat skillfully nestled in the small space between the flowerpots.

Against his strongest instincts, Ben Moss phoned Eilifir. He couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Mr. Moss, what can—”

“Have you been watching the building since I went in?” Ben asked.

“Yes—”

“Did you see the Haitian couple leave?”

“No—”

Ben swore and ended the call. Eilifir called back but Ben ignored him. He tried to think of where the Langloises could have gone—and then it occurred to him: they would have followed the energy. Not that of the smoke snake, but the one Madame Langlois herself had referred to.