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Authors: Patrick Woodhead
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drill site. We have done the hard work and broken into lake. But I will not allow that hole to re-seal without samples.’
With an air of finality, Dedov stubbed out what remained of the cigarette into an old pocket watchcase and snapped it shut, disposing of the crooked filter. His eyes tilted back to the horizon as he slowly shook his head.
‘At least some good must come of all this,’ he muttered to himself.
The Global Antarctic Research Institute, or GARI as it was commonly known, was a monstrous blue structure raised like a spider on squat, metallic legs. It looked futuristic, as if designed for another world entirely, with separate living modules connected via gangplanks and spaced out in a horizontal line. The closest module rose thirty feet above the top of the tractor, dwarfing the vehicle as they passed directly between the building’s legs and into a garaging unit on the far side.
‘New international base,’ Dedov said, with obvious pride. ‘GARI can accommodate ninety-two people in summertime, with two separate generator houses. Different modules mean if there is fire, you can close off and move to next one.’
‘Incredible,’ Luca muttered, peering out through the window at the underside of the beast. ‘It’s like something out of
Star Wars
.’
‘Wars?’ Dedov repeated. ‘No wars in Antarctica! Only place on planet where we have no war. No military allowed here. Only scientist.’
As the garage roller door ground down towards the floor, Dedov pulled the tractor to a halt. Before Luca had a chance to open the passenger door the Russian turned towards him, grave-faced.
‘Whole base was built by four governments. But only one task: to drill into special lake.’ He reached out for Luca’s shoulder. ‘Now you see why it is important for you to succeed. If lake is lost, if hole re-seals and we fail to get samples, science will fail too.’
‘I’ll get the guys to the drill site,’ Luca replied. Then, looking out to the far side of the vast hangar, he spotted the silhouette of a small helicopter, the front end covered in thick tarpaulin. ‘Why don’t you just use that thing to get there?’
Dedov followed the direction of his gaze. ‘It is not ours, and it is broken. Apparently, it needs special part.’
‘So fly the part in on the Ilyushin.’
‘And who will fix it? You? Anyway, it is not one part. Apparently it is many.’
‘What about other planes then? Aren’t there smaller ones fitted with skis?’
‘
Da
,’ Dedov agreed, with a nod of his bulbous head. ‘We have such planes in summer. We have Twin Otter plane, Antonov-2. Even, sometimes, there is DC-3 Basler.’
‘So where are they now?’
‘The birds have flown. Soon there will be last light here and small planes have to fly back to mainland before the start of winter. They hop along coast, from one science base to next, and go out of Antarctica via the peninsula.’
He slapped Luca on the shoulder, abandoning the topic. ‘So you have to use the old-fashioned way, like a proper polar explorer! But you must move fast.’
Luca met his gaze. ‘I can move as soon as the scientists are ready. I’ve already got a routing on my map that we can follow.’
‘Map? Let me see.’
Luca pulled out the laminated paper, folded into a neat square. Dedov took it from his grasp. Tilting his head forward to peer over the top of his glasses, he followed the plotted course. After a moment’s pause, he handed it back.
‘This route is no good,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘You have no time and quickest way is
east
around mountain rim. Not west.’
‘I was given instructions. My contact was specific on this point.’
‘Then your contact was wrong.’
Dedov was about to say something more when his head tilted forward. His eyes seemed to zero in on the single beam of light that shone through a skylight on the right-hand side of the hangar. His eyes watered slightly, while Luca could see a thick vein on the side of his neck
With an air of finality, Dedov stubbed out what remained of the cigarette into an old pocket watchcase and snapped it shut, disposing of the crooked filter. His eyes tilted back to the horizon as he slowly shook his head.
‘At least some good must come of all this,’ he muttered to himself.
The Global Antarctic Research Institute, or GARI as it was commonly known, was a monstrous blue structure raised like a spider on squat, metallic legs. It looked futuristic, as if designed for another world entirely, with separate living modules connected via gangplanks and spaced out in a horizontal line. The closest module rose thirty feet above the top of the tractor, dwarfing the vehicle as they passed directly between the building’s legs and into a garaging unit on the far side.
‘New international base,’ Dedov said, with obvious pride. ‘GARI can accommodate ninety-two people in summertime, with two separate generator houses. Different modules mean if there is fire, you can close off and move to next one.’
‘Incredible,’ Luca muttered, peering out through the window at the underside of the beast. ‘It’s like something out of
Star Wars
.’
‘Wars?’ Dedov repeated. ‘No wars in Antarctica! Only place on planet where we have no war. No military allowed here. Only scientist.’
As the garage roller door ground down towards the floor, Dedov pulled the tractor to a halt. Before Luca had a chance to open the passenger door the Russian turned towards him, grave-faced.
‘Whole base was built by four governments. But only one task: to drill into special lake.’ He reached out for Luca’s shoulder. ‘Now you see why it is important for you to succeed. If lake is lost, if hole re-seals and we fail to get samples, science will fail too.’
‘I’ll get the guys to the drill site,’ Luca replied. Then, looking out to the far side of the vast hangar, he spotted the silhouette of a small helicopter, the front end covered in thick tarpaulin. ‘Why don’t you just use that thing to get there?’
Dedov followed the direction of his gaze. ‘It is not ours, and it is broken. Apparently, it needs special part.’
‘So fly the part in on the Ilyushin.’
‘And who will fix it? You? Anyway, it is not one part. Apparently it is many.’
‘What about other planes then? Aren’t there smaller ones fitted with skis?’
‘
Da
,’ Dedov agreed, with a nod of his bulbous head. ‘We have such planes in summer. We have Twin Otter plane, Antonov-2. Even, sometimes, there is DC-3 Basler.’
‘So where are they now?’
‘The birds have flown. Soon there will be last light here and small planes have to fly back to mainland before the start of winter. They hop along coast, from one science base to next, and go out of Antarctica via the peninsula.’
He slapped Luca on the shoulder, abandoning the topic. ‘So you have to use the old-fashioned way, like a proper polar explorer! But you must move fast.’
Luca met his gaze. ‘I can move as soon as the scientists are ready. I’ve already got a routing on my map that we can follow.’
‘Map? Let me see.’
Luca pulled out the laminated paper, folded into a neat square. Dedov took it from his grasp. Tilting his head forward to peer over the top of his glasses, he followed the plotted course. After a moment’s pause, he handed it back.
‘This route is no good,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘You have no time and quickest way is
east
around mountain rim. Not west.’
‘I was given instructions. My contact was specific on this point.’
‘Then your contact was wrong.’
Dedov was about to say something more when his head tilted forward. His eyes seemed to zero in on the single beam of light that shone through a skylight on the right-hand side of the hangar. His eyes watered slightly, while Luca could see a thick vein on the side of his neck
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