artifacts. That’s what they were alleged to be around the base only days after they had brought in the strange objects from out there on The Ice. Like all human communities, big and small, everybody wants to know everybody else’s business.
McMurdo Station is the largest city on the continent. Large, that is, by comparison to all the other hundred some odd bases on the international scene. A city, but more appropriately a structured settlement of human habitation. The summer population at McMurdo numbers about twelve hundred. During the winter months, only a tenth of that. In the summer, approximately a hundred scientists conduct research at the base, mostly marine biologists because the base is located in the coastal area. McMurdo is one of three U. S. bases open year round.
The National Science Foundation is headquartered at McMurdo. The NSF runs the U. S. Antarctic Research Program, which utilizes about 2,500 people to operate programs dealing with upper atmosphere, physics, astronomy, chemistry, biology, and a number of other scientific areas. The U. S. Navy for years operated all the aviation activity coordinated for the NSF, which included helicopters and fixed wing aircraft. Now the Air Force was jointly involved. All marine activity is handled directly by the NSF, which operates its own specialized research vessels.
Not only the NSF, but Ruger’s interest as well was piqued, because McMurdo was abuzz with all kinds of rumors about the discovered pieces. There had to be some validity to it, everybody assumed, or else Mike Ruger wouldn’t have been rumored to be commissioned to go back out on The Ice. And he wouldn’t have canceled his seat on the plane just to stick around for the fun of it. Everybody knew the government liaison officer had held a private meeting with Ruger right before his seat was canceled.
“What are they paying you to do, Mike?” John Lightfoot had inquired shortly after Ruger came out of the liaison office, the innocent tone of his voice so faked that Ruger almost laughed in his face. Ruger was sitting in the officer’s club lounge drinking a cup of coffee, still mulling over the hard to believe generous offer he had just accepted from the Americans to stay around for a few extra weeks, or however much time it took. They wanted him to take a team of “researchers” back out to the Mulock Glacier. The team would arrive sometime late in the day on the 7th. That was this afternoon. Everything was packed, ready to go.
What the hell , Ruger thought. Another couple of weeks out on The Ice was nothing. Three quarters as much of what I make for the entire season .
“None of your business, John,” Ruger had responded to Lightfoot’s inquiry. Ruger’s tone was always non-threatening, but people sensed you didn’t push this man too far.
“Mind if I join you, Mike?” Lightfoot said, pulling up a chair across the table from Ruger. He was still wearing his outerwear parka, and Ruger figured he’d just come from Morrison’s office. John Lightfoot was not a likable individual. He might have been a hotshot photo journalist with international credentials up the kazoo, but not many people liked him. He was tolerated. Lightfoot was pushy, always sticking his nose into other people’s business, even when it didn’t involve business. Always pissing somebody off , Ruger thought, as he looked across the table at the man.
“Be my guest, John,” Ruger replied, sloughing off the annoyance, which he knew wasn’t going to go away anyway.
“Temperature’s really dropping,” Lightfoot said, referring to the sudden change in the weather pattern.
“Coming down off the glaciers,” Ruger replied, his tone indicating disinterest. Lightfoot had been here all summer working on an assignment for National Geographic Magazine. He had seen Lightfoot’s work. It was excellent. This guy was as good as they came, but pompous asses like Lightfoot couldn’t be praised. “Thought you were all done,
McMurdo Station is the largest city on the continent. Large, that is, by comparison to all the other hundred some odd bases on the international scene. A city, but more appropriately a structured settlement of human habitation. The summer population at McMurdo numbers about twelve hundred. During the winter months, only a tenth of that. In the summer, approximately a hundred scientists conduct research at the base, mostly marine biologists because the base is located in the coastal area. McMurdo is one of three U. S. bases open year round.
The National Science Foundation is headquartered at McMurdo. The NSF runs the U. S. Antarctic Research Program, which utilizes about 2,500 people to operate programs dealing with upper atmosphere, physics, astronomy, chemistry, biology, and a number of other scientific areas. The U. S. Navy for years operated all the aviation activity coordinated for the NSF, which included helicopters and fixed wing aircraft. Now the Air Force was jointly involved. All marine activity is handled directly by the NSF, which operates its own specialized research vessels.
Not only the NSF, but Ruger’s interest as well was piqued, because McMurdo was abuzz with all kinds of rumors about the discovered pieces. There had to be some validity to it, everybody assumed, or else Mike Ruger wouldn’t have been rumored to be commissioned to go back out on The Ice. And he wouldn’t have canceled his seat on the plane just to stick around for the fun of it. Everybody knew the government liaison officer had held a private meeting with Ruger right before his seat was canceled.
“What are they paying you to do, Mike?” John Lightfoot had inquired shortly after Ruger came out of the liaison office, the innocent tone of his voice so faked that Ruger almost laughed in his face. Ruger was sitting in the officer’s club lounge drinking a cup of coffee, still mulling over the hard to believe generous offer he had just accepted from the Americans to stay around for a few extra weeks, or however much time it took. They wanted him to take a team of “researchers” back out to the Mulock Glacier. The team would arrive sometime late in the day on the 7th. That was this afternoon. Everything was packed, ready to go.
What the hell , Ruger thought. Another couple of weeks out on The Ice was nothing. Three quarters as much of what I make for the entire season .
“None of your business, John,” Ruger had responded to Lightfoot’s inquiry. Ruger’s tone was always non-threatening, but people sensed you didn’t push this man too far.
“Mind if I join you, Mike?” Lightfoot said, pulling up a chair across the table from Ruger. He was still wearing his outerwear parka, and Ruger figured he’d just come from Morrison’s office. John Lightfoot was not a likable individual. He might have been a hotshot photo journalist with international credentials up the kazoo, but not many people liked him. He was tolerated. Lightfoot was pushy, always sticking his nose into other people’s business, even when it didn’t involve business. Always pissing somebody off , Ruger thought, as he looked across the table at the man.
“Be my guest, John,” Ruger replied, sloughing off the annoyance, which he knew wasn’t going to go away anyway.
“Temperature’s really dropping,” Lightfoot said, referring to the sudden change in the weather pattern.
“Coming down off the glaciers,” Ruger replied, his tone indicating disinterest. Lightfoot had been here all summer working on an assignment for National Geographic Magazine. He had seen Lightfoot’s work. It was excellent. This guy was as good as they came, but pompous asses like Lightfoot couldn’t be praised. “Thought you were all done,
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