Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

More disturbing was the paper on the increase in ice thickness in the Ross Ice Shelf. Here Evans found some troubling points. First, the author did say that the shelf had been melting for the last six thousand years, ever since the Holocene era. (Though Evans could not remember reading, in any article about melting Antarctic ice, that it had been going on for the last six thousand years.) If that were true, it wasn't exactly news. On the contrary, the author suggested that the real news was the end of this long-term melting trend, and the first evidence of ice thickening. The author was hinting that this might be the first sign of the start of the next Ice Age.

Jesus!

The next Ice Age?

There was a knock on the door behind him. Sarah stuck her head in. "Kenner wants us," she said. "He's discovered something. Looks like we're going out on the ice."

The map covered the entire wall, showing the enormous, star-shaped continent. In the lower right-hand corner was Weddell Station, and the curving arc of the Ross Ice Shelf.

"We've learned," Kenner said, "that a supply ship docked five days ago bringing boxes of field material for an American scientist named James Brewster, from the University of Michigan. Brewster is a very recent arrival who was permitted to come at the last minute because the terms of his research grant were unusually generous in their allowance for overheadmeaning the station would get some much-needed money for operations."

"So he bought his way in?" Evans said.

"In effect."

"When did he get here?"

"Last week."

"Where is he now?"

"Out in the field." Kenner pointed to the map. "Somewhere south of the slopes of Mount Terror. And that's where we're going."

"You say this guy's a scientist from Michigan?" Sarah said.

"No," Kenner said. "We just checked with the university. They have a Professor James Brewster, all right. He's a geophysicist at the University of Michigan, and right now he's in Ann Arbor waiting for his wife to deliver a baby."

"So who is this guy?"

"Nobody knows."

"And what was his offloaded equipment?" Evans said.

"Nobody knows that, either. It was helicoptered out to the field, still in the original crates. The guy's been out there a week with two so-called graduate students. Whatever he's doing, he's apparently working across a large area, so he moves his base camp frequently. Nobody here knows precisely where he is." Kenner lowered his voice. "One of the graduate students came back yesterday to do some computer work. But we won't use him to lead us out there, for obvious reasons. We'll use one of the staff people at Weddell, Jimmy Bolden. He's very knowledgeable.

"The weather's too dicey for helicopters, so we have to take snow-tracks. It's seventeen miles to the camp. The snowtracks should get us there in two hours. The outside temperature's perfect for springtime in Antarcticaminus twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. So, bundle up. Any questions?"

Evans glanced at his watch. "Won't it get dark soon?"

"We have much less nighttime now that spring is here. We'll have daylight all the time we're out there. The only problem we face is right here," Kenner said, pointing to the map. "We have to cross the shear zone."

"The shear zone?" Jimmy Bolden said, as they trudged toward the vehicle shed. "There's nothing to it. You just have to be careful, that's all."

"But what is it?" Sarah said.

"It's a zone where the ice is subjected to lateral forces, shear forces, a bit like the land in California. But instead of having earthquakes, you get crevasses. Lots of 'em. Deep ones."

"We have to cross that?"

"It's not a problem," Bolden said. "Two years ago they built a road that crosses the zone safely. They filled in all the crevasses along the road."

They went into the corrugated steel shed. Evans saw a row of boxy vehicles with red cabs and tractor treads. "These are the snowtracks," Bolden said. "You and Sarah'll go in one, Dr. Kenner in one, and I'll be in the third, leading you."

"Why can't we all go in one?"

"Standard precaution. Keep the weight down. You don't want your vehicle to fall through into a crevasse."

"I thought you said there was a road where the crevasses were filled in?"

"There is. But the road is on an ice field, and the ice moves a couple of inches a day. Which means the road moves. Don't worry, it's clearly marked with flags." Bolden climbed up onto the tread. "Here, let me show you the features of the snowtrack. You drive it like a regular car: clutch there, handbrake, accelerator, steering wheel. You run your heater on this switch here" he pointed to a switch "and keep it on at all times. It will maintain the cab at around ten above zero. This bulgey orange beacon on the dashboard is your transponder. It turns on when you push this button here. It also turns on automatically if the vehicle shifts more than thirty degrees from horizontal."

"You mean if we fall into a crevasse," Sarah said.

"Trust me; that isn't going to happen," Bolden said. "I'm just showing you the features. Transponder broadcasts a unique vehicle code, so we can come and find you. If for any reason you need to be rescued, you should know the average time to rescue is two hours. Your food is here; water here; you have enough for ten days. Medical kit here, including morphine and antibiotics. Fire extinguisher here. Expedition equipment in this boxcrampons, ropes, carabiners, all that. Space blankets here, equipped with mini heaters; they'll keep you above freezing for a week, if you crawl inside 'em. That's about it. We communicate by radio. Speaker in the cab. Microphone above the windshield. Voice-activatedjust talk. Got it?"

"Got it," Sarah said, climbing up.

"Then let's get started. Professor, you clear on everything?"

"I am," Kenner said, climbing up into the adjacent cab.

"Okay," Bolden said. "Just remember that whenever you are outside your vehicle, it is going to be thirty below zero. Keep your hands and face covered. Any exposed skin will get frostbite in less than a minute. Five minutes, and you're in danger of losing anatomy. We don't want you folks going home without all your fingers and toes. Or noses."

Bolden went to the third cab. "We proceed single file," he said. "Three cab-lengths apart. No closer under any circumstances, and no farther. If a storm comes up and visibility drops, we maintain the same distance but reduce our speed. Got it?"

They all nodded.

"Then let's go."

At the far end of the shed, a corrugated door rolled up, the icy metal screeching. Bright sunlight outside.

"Looks like a beautiful day in the neighborhood," Bolden said. And with a sputter of diesel exhaust, he drove the first snowtrack out through the door.

It was a bouncing, bone-jolting ride. The ice field that had looked so flat and featureless from a distance was surprisingly rugged when experienced up close, with long troughs and steep hillocks. Evans felt like he was in a boat, crashing through choppy seas, except of course this sea was frozen, and they were moving slowly through it.

Sarah drove, her hands confident on the wheel. Evans sat in the passenger seat beside her, clutching the dashboard to keep his balance.

"How fast are we going?"

"Looks like fourteen miles an hour."

Evans grunted as they nosed down a short trench, then up again. "We've got two hours of this?"

"That's what he said. By the way, did you check Kenner's references?"

"Yes," Evans said, in a sulky voice.

"Were they made up?"

"No."

Their vehicle was third in the row. Ahead was Kenner's snowtrack, following behind Bolden's in the lead.

The radio hissed. "Okay," they heard Bolden say, over the speaker. "Now we're coming into the shear zone. Maintain your distance and stay within the flags."