Dark Winter by William Dietrich Page A

it went off he'd jerk awake, disoriented and groggy. The sky didn't help him to tell time.
    When his door slammed open in the middle of one sleep then, lights blazing on, his shock and confusion were profound. He jerked in his blankets, panicked at the chance of fire, and then before he could collect himself Cameron and Moss were crowded into his room, jostling his bed, rifling his things.
    Lewis sat up in his underwear, dumbfounded. Norse was there, too, he realized, hovering just outside the door.
    "What the hell?"
    Moss was pawing through his duffel in frustration, and Cameron leaned over his bed, pinning him in place. "Relax, Lewis. We're here to help."
    "What?" His heart was hammering in confusion.
    "The quickest way to remove suspicion is to do a search. Mickey insisted."
    "Get him the hell out of my things!"
    "No can do."
    "Bob?" He appealed to Norse, who was watching from outside the door. The psychologist reluctantly stepped into the room, glancing around. "It's for your own good, sport."
    Moss swore, backed out from under the bed, and stood up, winded. "Nothing." The astrophysicist looked disgusted, at Lewis and at the world.
    "What in the hell is going on?"
    The three others looked at each other, confirming, and then Norse spoke. "That's what we want to ask you. Mickey's meteorite is missing."

CHAPTER SEVEN
    What we have here is a fascinating sociological situation." Robert Norse was enjoying their dilemma.
    The others looked at the psychologist sourly. Mickey Moss and Rod Cameron hadn't slept and Lewis was still groggy from having been awakened. The four were crowded into the station manager's office next to Comms, the radio communication center of the base. It was tight, hot, and electric with tension.
    "Fucking swell," Cameron muttered.
    "What time is it, anyway?" Lewis asked blearily.
    "Three-thirty."
    "Three-thirty in the morning?"
    "Stop whining. The sun's up." It was a sour attempt at levity. The sun was always up, until it went down in a couple of weeks and stayed there. Already the outside was a world of blue shadow.
    "Something of uncertain value," Norse went on, "disappears in a tiny community from which there is no possibility of a getaway. Why? Who? How?"
    "The why is obvious," Moss rumbled. "Our newest member, Mr. Lewis here, somehow called attention to my find after I sought his expertise. The motive is money."
    "Money?"
    "He confirmed that I'd discovered a scientifically important meteorite. The right kind can be valuable."
    Norse turned to Lewis. "Is that true, Jed?"
    Lewis looked at Moss warily, miffed that the scientist had searched him. "I agreed it might be important. I hadn't even started the chemical analysis yet." How much should he say? "Rich people will pay a lot for a piece of outer space. It's a fad."
    "What kind of money?"
    "Throwing figures around will only encourage thievery," Moss cautioned.
    "I'd say the thief's already encouraged," Norse countered.
    Lewis looked uncomfortably at Moss. The astrophysicist shrugged gloomily. "One entrepreneur put tiny slices in Lucite cubes and sold them on the Home Shopping Network," Lewis finally said. "Hundred bucks each."
    "Nice payday."
    "An intact one, from the South Pole, that could come from Mars or the moon… who knows? Thousands per gram."
    "Which means…?" Norse prompted.
    Moss was looking at the floor. Lewis shrugged. "Five million dollars?"
    "You're kidding," Cameron interjected.
    "Maybe more."
    "No way."
    "If there's any microscopic fossil evidence of life, the value becomes… astronomical. Pun intended."
    "Jesus." The station manager thought a moment. "But that's not an issue, not down here. By treaty, you can't sell anything found in Antarctica. It's against international law."
    Lewis's tone was flat. "That's good to know."
    "People down here don't care about money."
    "Glad to hear it."
    Cameron looked at Moss. "You knew this?"
    "In theoretical terms," the astrophysicist said blandly. "The price is irrelevant to the science. When