or belly-slide to the water's edge, hesitate, and then follow a leader, their awkwardness instantly changing to grace as they glided away like sibilant torpedoes.
Greta came too, clicking away with the Leica. Hart felt slightly irritated with her for photographing the Nazi posturing and then reminded himself it was her country. She was oblivious to his mood, delighted at being ashore again. He slowed to wait for her to catch up.
"They look like little people," he said to her.
"This is their nesting time. No one knows yet where they go in winter, but in summer they swim to places like this to breed."
"It's funny to see them pause at the water's edge like we might, as if it was too cold."
"They're not pausing for the cold. They're checking for leopard seals. The leopards lurk just below the surface, looking upward for the silhouette of a penguin before they strike. Stay away from the edge yourself, if you venture onto the pack ice."
"Yes, ma'am," Hart said, mock saluting. "So why are the penguins clustered here?"
"They use pebbles to build their nests and return year after year to rookeries that have a supply of them. You can see them quarreling over the stones now."
Hart watched. Some penguins were simply searching the ground for rocks but others eyed the cache of their neighbors. Sometimes they'd stage a raid and snatch a pebble to much tumult and squawking. Often their own supply would be raided by still other penguins at the same time. It was a pointless competition that seemed, well, very human.
"They're not very bright," the pilot said.
"No, they're little more than hormone boxes, driven by instinct. Skuas and the gulls are the brighter birds. They'll work as a team at breeding time, one bird distracting a parent penguin from its egg while the other snatches it. But there are so many penguins that I guess enough survive."
"If only they'd cooperate with each other."
"Sometimes they do. See there? That penguin is giving his pebble to another. He's probably a male, demonstrating his attention to a female. Romantic, yes?"
Hart grinned. "The rocks we humans give are usually prettier. But yes, they seem to imitate us."
"That's why biology is so fascinating. I see us in them."
"Even krill?"
She laughed. "It's hard to love krill, which drift in the ocean like aimless clouds. But whales? We know so little about them, except their magnificence. Did you know some can dive more than an hour, more than two kilometers deep?"
Hart wondered whether she'd learned that from the book Jürgen had given her. With a slight air of irritation, he gestured toward the political liaison and his men, inspecting a nearby glacial fissure. "What do you think of them claiming the whales' home?"
She shrugged. "Such a claim lets people like me do science. And Jürgen says that if Germany doesn't act, some other nation will. In fact other nations have. The British, the Norwegians, you Americans, the Argentines, the Chileans... everyone planting flags."
Hart nodded reluctantly. "I suppose you're right. Still, Drexler seems so... arrogant about it all. Germany this, Germany that. So damned serious."
"He just made a joke with the penguins— he's not as severe as you think. And you're pretty intense yourself. No talk of home or family or sports. Do you know what I think? You two don't like each other because you're too much alike. Both loners, both rigid in your opinions, both interested in... well, very alike." She flushed a bit.
Hart was miffed by the comparison. "I just find him... self-important. Claim this icebox? For what? No one can really live here. The weather is fine today but wait for the first storm. The darkness of winter. It's insane."
"Then why are you here?"
"To explore. To fly. Not to give a Hitler salute to penguins."
"Maybe Jürgen can see humor where you can't," she retorted. "He's not so bad if you'd get to know him. And he befriended me. I had a... a mentor, a professor, who was killed in a car crash, and I had no
Greta came too, clicking away with the Leica. Hart felt slightly irritated with her for photographing the Nazi posturing and then reminded himself it was her country. She was oblivious to his mood, delighted at being ashore again. He slowed to wait for her to catch up.
"They look like little people," he said to her.
"This is their nesting time. No one knows yet where they go in winter, but in summer they swim to places like this to breed."
"It's funny to see them pause at the water's edge like we might, as if it was too cold."
"They're not pausing for the cold. They're checking for leopard seals. The leopards lurk just below the surface, looking upward for the silhouette of a penguin before they strike. Stay away from the edge yourself, if you venture onto the pack ice."
"Yes, ma'am," Hart said, mock saluting. "So why are the penguins clustered here?"
"They use pebbles to build their nests and return year after year to rookeries that have a supply of them. You can see them quarreling over the stones now."
Hart watched. Some penguins were simply searching the ground for rocks but others eyed the cache of their neighbors. Sometimes they'd stage a raid and snatch a pebble to much tumult and squawking. Often their own supply would be raided by still other penguins at the same time. It was a pointless competition that seemed, well, very human.
"They're not very bright," the pilot said.
"No, they're little more than hormone boxes, driven by instinct. Skuas and the gulls are the brighter birds. They'll work as a team at breeding time, one bird distracting a parent penguin from its egg while the other snatches it. But there are so many penguins that I guess enough survive."
"If only they'd cooperate with each other."
"Sometimes they do. See there? That penguin is giving his pebble to another. He's probably a male, demonstrating his attention to a female. Romantic, yes?"
Hart grinned. "The rocks we humans give are usually prettier. But yes, they seem to imitate us."
"That's why biology is so fascinating. I see us in them."
"Even krill?"
She laughed. "It's hard to love krill, which drift in the ocean like aimless clouds. But whales? We know so little about them, except their magnificence. Did you know some can dive more than an hour, more than two kilometers deep?"
Hart wondered whether she'd learned that from the book Jürgen had given her. With a slight air of irritation, he gestured toward the political liaison and his men, inspecting a nearby glacial fissure. "What do you think of them claiming the whales' home?"
She shrugged. "Such a claim lets people like me do science. And Jürgen says that if Germany doesn't act, some other nation will. In fact other nations have. The British, the Norwegians, you Americans, the Argentines, the Chileans... everyone planting flags."
Hart nodded reluctantly. "I suppose you're right. Still, Drexler seems so... arrogant about it all. Germany this, Germany that. So damned serious."
"He just made a joke with the penguins— he's not as severe as you think. And you're pretty intense yourself. No talk of home or family or sports. Do you know what I think? You two don't like each other because you're too much alike. Both loners, both rigid in your opinions, both interested in... well, very alike." She flushed a bit.
Hart was miffed by the comparison. "I just find him... self-important. Claim this icebox? For what? No one can really live here. The weather is fine today but wait for the first storm. The darkness of winter. It's insane."
"Then why are you here?"
"To explore. To fly. Not to give a Hitler salute to penguins."
"Maybe Jürgen can see humor where you can't," she retorted. "He's not so bad if you'd get to know him. And he befriended me. I had a... a mentor, a professor, who was killed in a car crash, and I had no
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