If the world of Antarctica had seemed surreal to Marshall Abbott before, it was nothing like what he was experiencing at this very moment. Not ten feet down from the edge, the lighting abruptly changed from the normal orangish hue of the Antarctic summer to that of a strange, eerie blue glow, almost indistinguishable from being immersed in an ocean of sunlit sea water. The ice was thick, but to a certain depth it still seemed to refract what little sunlight was available from the surface
Abbott felt himself dangling helpless in this most unnatural world, surrounded on all sides by a spectrum of blueness that was almost indescribable. The farther down he peered, the deeper the blueness became. Ruger was already about thirty feet beneath him, and his silhouette had turned to almost black from the indigo blue of a moment ago. The silence was overwhelming, and the subtle clacking of metal spikes scratching the ice wall gave Abbott the overwhelming feeling that he was violating the sanctity of this phantasmagoric world within the ice crevasse. Only Ruger’s low, reverberating voice jarred him back into reality.
“Work your way over here, Marsh,” he heard Ruger say. Looking downward, Abbott now saw the yellowish beam of the carbide light that Ruger had switched on.
As Abbott slowly descended, angling his way over to Ruger’s location, he suddenly experienced a humbling feeling of just how powerful the forces of nature were that were acting on the glacier even at this very moment. Abbott felt an unexpected rush of emotion, remembering back to when he was a child and how his grandfather once took him into the fields and had him place his ear against a corn husk. Inside, he could hear it growing. As Abbott hung suspended there above the darkness of the icy abyss, in the quietness he could hear the ice moaning from deep within the bowels of the earth. Only God would know how deep down it went. Unimaginable pressures must be continually torturing the structure of the massive ice sheets that cover this continent, and in the blink of an eye this crevasse could just as easily close up as it had opened, sealing forever whatever form of existence had dared to wander in and violate its sanctity. It was a sobering thought. Abbott arrived within a few feet of Ruger, who dangled precariously in open air, having arrived at what appeared to be chambered spacing as the width of the crevasse opened up below them.
“Take a look at this,” Ruger said softly, and his voice echoed in the acoustic chamber.
Ruger held the beam of his light on what appeared to be a piece of debris embedded in the ice, but the opaqueness made it difficult to image.
“Almost looks symmetrical,” Abbott said, puffing a huge white cloud of his breath.
“Yeah, but I can’t tell for sure,” Ruger replied, studying the debris a bit closer.
“Can we hack it out?”
Ruger shone the light around the darkened face of the wall behind him. “Yeah, but let’s look around a little more first.”
“Did you get a good enough look at the debris up above?” Abbott asked. “The ones you thought you saw when you found the crevasse?”
Ruger nodded, deep in thought. “I think they were more than just rocks. We’ll have to rappel from the opposite side to find out, though. I wanted to check out this side first, being we’re already here.”
Abbott looked down. “Goddamn it, Mike! How far down does this thing go?”
“Hold on,” Ruger replied, chopping off a jutting ice chunk. He dropped it. “…one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand…” The ice chunk hit the bottom with a resounding crack, shattering into fragments which Ruger guessed had scattered to both sides. “I think it’s relatively flat at the bottom. I heard the pieces scatter.”
“Yeah,” Abbott replied. “Two, two and a half seconds. What’s that?”
“Thirty two feet per second squared. What is it?.. no more than one fifty total from the top? Something like that?”
“Sounds about right.”
“We got enough line?”
“Should have.”
Ruger dropped a few more feet down into the abyss. “Why don’t you see if you can chop that piece out of there while I a take a look a little deeper?”
“Sure,” Abbott replied, making his way over to the spot that Ruger had just vacated, careful not to cross lines. Spreading his legs to gain as much stability as he could, digging the boot skates into the ice, Abbott started hacking away at the debris. The closer he came to dislodging it, the more certain he became that the small piece of debris looked as if one of the edges held a straight line. Prying the chunk with the edge of the ice ax, he pulled to dislodge it. The last look he got of it as it slipped from his grip and plunged downward was the distinct impression that the debris, whatever it had been, appeared to have a forty-five degree angle on one side. “Shit!” he exclaimed loudly, and two seconds later both he a Ruger heard the debris hit the bottom the crevasse. “I dropped the damn thing, Mike!”
There was a moment of reverberating echoes. “Don’t worry about it, Marsh,” Ruger replied calmly from below in the darkness. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Even without the aid of the carbide light, Ruger could make out the distinct shape of a massive structural beam that curved along the vaulted chamber ceiling, securely embedded in the flow of the ice that the glacier had every intention of conveying to the surface during the next hundred years or so.
* * * * *
Above on the ice field, the mood had turned pensive. The anticipation that had permeated the group right before Ruger and Abbott descended into the crevasse had disappeared. The possibility of finding anything substantive was no longer foremost in all their thoughts, but rather had been replaced by one of uncertainty about what everyone was supposed to be doing. It had become apparent that without the presence of the two men below, the group lacked any cohesiveness to conduct the activities at hand. God forbid, Grimes thought, that anything should happen to the both of them.
Lisk, who had assumed charge of the group, had secured himself to a lifeline and was hovering near to the edge of the crevasse, keeping a careful eye on the two spikes that Ruger had driven deep into the ice. The spikes at the moment seemed to be bearing all the weight with the snowmobiles as their backup. Lisk wondered how far down they were, as he could no longer hear them talking. Prall and Monroe were standing guard, and it completely unnerved both Allison and Grimes, who both felt that they were the ones being guarded. If this was the reality of the intelligence world, it was frightening, and they wanted no part of it.
Time passed, and only the faint whistling of the frigid wind through the cracks and ruts of the glacier reminded all of them of their predicament. No one had spoken for some time, and it was as if the quiet ice world had paused to contemplate what it was going to do to the human invaders. It was Prall who finally broke the disquieting silence.
“We have a visitor.”
All heads snapped around. An inconceivable feeling of helplessness leaped into Allison’s throat, and at that instant all she could think of was Mike Ruger who had disappeared into the ice crevasse beneath the surface of the planet.
In the moment it took everyone to comprehend what Prall had announced, both he and Monroe had dashed to the snowmobile. Retrieving the field binoculars, Prall gazed off into the distance. Lisk remained in position at the edge of the crevasse below the group’s vantage point, but all attention was turned on Prall, who now pointed down the glacier toward the base camp.
“What?” Grimes blurted out “Where?”
“I don’t see anything,” Allison said, cupping her face to peer off into the distance. This guy must have eyes like an eagle, she thought. She still couldn’t see anything.
“There,” they heard Monroe say, pointing not at the camp, but up in the sky.
A minute passed. In the far off distance, a dark image began to form just above the horizon. It was increasing in size, and was definitely coming toward them.
“An aircraft?” Almshouse speculated.
Prall had the binoculars trained on the object, which was still nothing more than a faint dot to
the human eye. He said nothing.
After a moment’s pause, Allison said, impatiently, “Well? What is it?”
Prall remained silent, ignoring everybody. For another minute, which seemed to pass like a century, Prall still said nothing. Lisk stood patiently waiting for Prall to give him an assessment. With typical military aplomb, there was no speculation. There was confirmation, then a report.
Prall dropped the binoculars from his eyes, handing them to Monroe. “Confirm,” was all he said.
Monroe lifted them to his face and studied the distant object. “I confirm,” he said, barely audible for the others to hear.
Prall turned and looked down at Lisk. “It’s an aircraft. Small type. Two engine. Can’t get a make.”
“I think it’s a Twin Otter,” Monroe replied.
“Military?” Lisk called up.
A moment later, Monroe responded, “No. I don’t think so,” and handed the glasses back to Prall.
“Passing by on a route maybe,” Lisk speculated.
“I doubt it,” Monroe answered. “Unless he’s off course.”
“Hold on,” Prall said, watching the sudden and obvious change in the flight pattern.
Allison said aside to Grimes, “How would they know that?” Grimes shrugged his shoulders, but it probably went unnoticed underneath his bulky garb.
“Shit!” Prall suddenly exclaimed. “It’s circling. Must have spotted the camp and it’s headed up this way.”
“Probably just checking in to see if everything’s all right,” Grimes hollered up to Prall, who didn’t acknowledge. “People do that all the time out here, you know.”
“Sure it’s not military?” Lisk called.
“Negative on military,” Prall responded. “Looks to be civilian, all right. Has a name and logo on the side, but I can’t make it out.”
“What’s it doing out here?” Almshouse commented.
“It’s free air space, Peter,” Grimes answered. “There are tourist expeditions all over, but they usually don’t come this far up the mountain ranges.”
“Not here,” Prall said, referring to the free air space, and Grimes had to think about it for a moment. The aircraft began to circle at a lower altitude.
“Why not?” Grimes finally asked.
Almshouse answered, “Because its a restricted area. We restricted it. There’s nothing authorized into the area except on Colonel Abbott’s say so.”
“Well, it sure looks like somebody isn’t paying any attention to your regulations,” Allison commented loud enough for everybody to hear.
Prall cursed under his breath. The plane was now low enough and close enough for them to hear the drone of its engines. It had already circled the base camp twice as if waiting for the inhabitants to come out of their tents. Obvious that no one was at home, the aircraft began to fan out, circling on a wider pattern along the glacial field. In a short while, the plane’s course was headed directly to their position on the ridge.
“Get the bort number, Donnie,” Lisk ordered, referring to the identification number stamped on the tail.
“Got it,” Monroe replied as the aircraft slowly lumbered overhead at about five hundred feet.
“We’ll find out who it is later,” Lisk called out.
“You don't have to,” Allison called back. “I can tell you who it is.”
Prall spun around. “Who is it?” he demanded.
“A.N.I.,” Grimes answered. “Adventure Network International. They fly expeditions all over the continent, mostly down on the Antarctic Peninsula. They’re out of Puntas Arenas.”
“We hassle with them all the time,” Allison added. “They’re always screwing up the environment.”
“Question is,” Monroe said, “are they out sight-seeing or what?”
The plane had circled around. On the second fly-by the pilot tipped his wings, signaling that he had seen the people on the ground. In the following minutes, the aircraft made a series of tight circles around their position on top of the ridge near the ice crevasse.
“Some son-of-a-bitch is taking photographs,” Prall said.
Lisk, in the meantime, had been trying to attract Abbott’s attention, calling down into the depths of the crevasse. Abbott had to ascend a few feet to hear what he was saying, and Lisk was finally able to communicate the fact that they had a civilian aircraft circling them. There wasn’t much that could be done, so Abbott elected to stay down. Now he wished he’d brought along the radio so Lisk could keep him informed.
The plane circled for about five minutes when at last, it made a turn into what they all thought was one last pass over the group before heading back down the glacier toward the east. Prall watched it like a hungry cat would watch its prey from the distance. It took another minute before everyone realized it wasn’t ascending. It was landing.
“Shit!” Prall exclaimed angrily. “Come on Donnie,” he ordered, then turned to Lisk and said, “He’s coming down. Tell Abbott I’ll handle it from here.”
“Gerry!” Lisk called. “Just don’t do anything irrational until Marsh gets down there. We don’t want any goddamn incidents with civilians!”
Even through the goggles, they could see that Prall’s eyes were saying, Go fuck yourself, Lisk. I outrank you. “Let’s go, Donnie,” he said calmly.
Monroe started the machine, and in a minute they were zooming down the glacial slope headed for the plane that was starting to make its final turn and come in for landing.
Lisk had already been yelling down to Abbott to inform him of the situation. Ruger, who had been down a little deeper than Abbott belaying the ice along the vaulted ceiling to get a better look at the structural piece, couldn’t hear what Lisk had been yelling. Ruger stopped and worked his way back over to Abbott.
“…some tourist plane,” Abbott was saying. “Adventure something…They said it’s landing. We’ve got to go back up, Mike. Now.”
It took only a moment for Ruger to realize what the presence of the aircraft meant. “Lightfoot!” he blurted out angrily under his breath.
Ruger scurried along the line toward Abbott. “Shit!” he exclaimed. “I know who it is, Marsh,” he said, huffing his way back into a dangling position, suspended again out over the main shaft of the crevasse.
“What?” Abbott responded from his position against the wall ten feet above Ruger.
“I said I know who it is,” Ruger repeated.
“You know, or you think you know?”
Frustrated, Ruger replied, “All right. I think I know who it probably is. Keep moving.”
Abbott pulled himself up along the wall. “Who is it?”
“Guy named John Lightfoot.” Ruger pulled hard and in a moment was next to Abbott. “He’s a photo-journalist. Been at the base all summer. Works for National Geo.”
They rested for a minute. Abbott asked, “How’d he find out about this?”
“For Christ’s sake, Marsh,” Ruger responded. “I told you before the whole damn continent knows why you guys are out here and where you are. Lightfoot tried his damnedest to come along with me. Even went to Jimmy Morrison, the Base Manager, and begged him to appeal to the government officials to catch a ride as the official photographer. Of course they turned him down flat.”
“Then how is it he’s showed up?” Abbott replied, looking up at the top edge where Lisk was now within thirty feet or so.
Ruger was shaking his head. “I should have known he was up to something. Saw him twice in the communications center. It’s obvious now he was chartering a plane.”
“This was supposed to be a restricted area.”
“That doesn’t mean shit out here, Marsh,” Ruger said. “Especially to the people who run those expeditions out of Chile.”
They stopped again momentarily to catch their breath. One more run and they’d be back at the top. Ruger said, “The Chilean government still doesn’t recognize a lot of the provisions of the Antarctic Treaty. Especially since the Falklands War back in the eighties. Things go
t a little screwed up politically in the whole region. That’s why all these tourist companies base themselves out of there. Mostly Puntas Arenas. The Chilean government doesn’t do anything to them when they violate territorial claims.”
Abbott asked, “What’s this guy like?” He resumed climbing.
Ruger let out a cynical laugh. “If I was you, Marsh, I’d tie him up, put him back on that plane, and pay the pilot to ferry him to the Arctic.”
“That bad?”
“This guy will compromise your whole project here. He gets his nose into everything.”
They reached the top where Lisk had been patiently waiting. “Prall and Monroe went down,” he said, pointing over his shoulder as he helped Abbott to get a hold on the line.
Suddenly, Allison called down to the three of them as they made their way back up to the snowmobiles. “It’s taking off! Look!”
As the three men scurried to the top of the ice ridge, in the distance they saw that the aircraft had just lifted off the ice runway and was climbing rapidly to the east.
“Guess he got his pictures,” Ruger commented.
“Like hell, Mike,” Grimes said. “Take a look down there. Real close.”
“Looks like somebody got off,” Almshouse said, squinting. They all watched the tiny dot moving away from the landing area beyond the base camp.
“Come on!” Abbott suddenly shouted. “Al…bring everybody back to camp while I find out what’s going on.”
“I told that bastard Prall…no incidents,” Lisk said.
Abbott quickly jumped into the rear seat of the snowmobile, beckoning for Ruger to hurry up. Looking down the glacial slope, they could see that Prall and Monroe hadn’t yet reached the solitary figure that was walking along the ice toward the base camp. They apparently had been stopped and were waiting to see what the plane was going to do.
The Nexus Colony Page 15
