The Realm of Misplaced Hearts

By Rick Hobbs

A strange object is discovered on the ice during the annual Antarctic Search for Meteorites. On the same expedition, a couple falls in love and a child is conceived, an extraordinarily intelligent child, a scientific prodigy named Fiona. From an early age, there are things Fiona knows for which she has no reason of knowing. Random confluence of events or a carefully planned experiment? That is the question. But one thing is clear: Fiona is being watched. The supersecret organization known as the Channel has plans to exploit her special gifts. And then, there are the Others...

The Realm of Misplaced Hearts will lead you into that zone where the eyes of the world and the eyes of the mind are joined by the eyes of the spirit and where love and compassion are pitted against greed and, above all, the thirst for power.

At all costs, Fiona must be protected. The future of the world is at stake.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496971623

Rick Hobbs

Rick Hobbs lives in Maine. He is a family physician and medical acupuncturist who practices and teaches a holistic style of medicine. For him, the mind-body-spirit connection is more than a cliché. It is real and plays a major role in both healing and wellness. Rick also has a penchant for hard science and spent his younger days studying physics at Georgia Tech. As a graduate student, he learned that physics can only take you so far. There are things that are seemingly unknowable. Yet throughout the history of science there have been rare individuals capable of reaching beyond physics, to fathom the depths of reality. One might call it “seeing through the eyes of the spirit.” In his first novel, Entangled Realms, Rick began a journey into that zone where science intersects with the realm of the spirit—a realm where good and evil battle over the power of knowledge. The Realm of Misplaced Hearts continues that sojourn, uniting a new cast of characters with the old.

Book preview

Chapter One

December 5, 1999

N ew York Air Guard three-zero-four-niner-zero calling Willie Field. Do you copy, Willie?

Williams Field here. Copy, five-by-five, Air Guard.

Colonel Pete Abrams here, Willie. We are about a hundred miles out and beginning our descent. How’s the weather down there?

Not bad right now, but we are watching a turbulent air mass which is heading in our direction. You know how these things are.

Right. How much time?

You might make it, but…

But, what?

I doubt it.

I thought so. What are my options?

Well, you’ve got your basic whiteout landing here versus a trip down to the pole. The ice runways are all closed for the season.

After eight hours aboard a noisy, smelly, uncomfortable LC-130, equipped with skis, the temperate breezes of Christ Church, New Zealand, were but a delicious memory, replaced by the harsh realities of Antarctica. For eleven years, the 109th Airlift Wing of the New York Air National Guard had provided ferry service for scientists and other personnel who planned to spend summer months in Antarctica. The usual jaunt was from Christ Church to Williams Field, a snow-covered airstrip, located on thick sea ice seven miles from McMurdo Station.

Landing a large aircraft on a packed snow runway tends to be a white knuckle affair under the best of circumstances. It becomes even more exciting if the winds are kicking up the snow and blowing you around like a kite in a hurricane. Normally, with Antarctic flights, when the weather at your destination takes a turn for the worse, if at all possible, you turn around and head for cover. It happens a lot. But there is a point of no return and this flight was well past it. With not enough fuel to do a one-eighty, they were committed to either land or crash on the Antarctic continent.

Weather was always up in the air. Driven by the powerful and unpredictable katabatic winds, whiteout conditions could develop within minutes and last for days. This was not the first time that Colonel Abrams had faced this situation nor, hopefully, in the face of inevitability, would it be his last.

Okay, keep me posted, Willie.

Roger that.

You caught the gist? asked the Colonel of Captain Patricia Corson, his co-pilot.

Indeed, I did, sir.

Have you ever done a whiteout landing?

No, sir. Simulator training only.

Well, maybe this is going to be your big chance.

My lucky day. I’ll give it a shot if you think I’m ready, sir.

You’re ready.

Captain Corson was the first woman pilot on the Antarctic detail and the best pilot Pete Abrams had encountered in a very long time. She was cool, confident, level-headed; she had a deft touch on the stick and rudder. All she lacked was experience in dealing with emergencies. Given the circumstances, that was about to change.

Just keep in mind two things, Patty. These are my mottoes.

Okay, sir.

The first motto is shit happens.

Got it, sir. What’s the second?

Crashing is not an option.

Understood, sir.

Minutes later. Air Guard three-zero-four-niner-zero, this is Williams Field. Do you copy?

Willie, we copy. What’s up? asked the Colonel

Let me put it this way, sir. As predicted, this is not turning out to be a beach day. Winds out of the east, currently at 45 knots, zero-zero visibility. It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better.

Roger; somehow, I knew you were going to say that, he said with a sigh of resignation. So what is your recommendation, Willie?

Colonel, we now have word that conditions at the pole are deteriorating as well, so continuing on to the polar station is not recommended. Hate to say it, but I think you are going to have to land in this mess. Instead of the runway, we will vector you to the snow field. You will be landing into the wind, sir.

Copy that. Turning to his co-pilot, Patty, you’re flying the plane. I’ll go get the troops ready.

Yes, sir.

Standing, in the back of the cavernous LC-130, holding the intercom microphone in his hand, the Colonel began his announcement. Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we are looking at some pretty nasty weather between here and our destination. The problems are high winds, blowing snow and zero visibility. In just a short while, this ride is going to feel like the back of a bucking rodeo steer and, when we get to McMurdo, we are going to be setting down by instruments and instincts. So, I need for you to be securely fastened in your harnesses. Before that though, I want you to quickly get into your long johns, mittens and parkas. Once on the ground, we might be stuck for a while. Any questions?

The passengers on board were all members of the ANSMET team. ANSMET stood for the Antarctic Search for Meteorites. Tim Wilson, one of two ANSMET veterans in the group shot his hand up. In your judgment, are we in a critical situation or is this just part of the adventure? I think everybody here would like to know.

Understood. Well, I wouldn’t call it critical; not yet, anyhow, but it is bad enough that if we had the fuel, as close as we are, I would turn tail and head back to New Zealand.

Thanks.

No problem. The thing you guys need to know is that we prepare for these situations. There’s a protocol. We’ll follow the rules and that should get us on the ground, safe and sound. Colonel Abrams looked around. Some concerned expressions but nobody was panicking. That was good. Okay, then, get changed into your weather gear. I’ll head back to the cockpit. We’ve got some work to do.

How did they take it? asked Corson, as the Colonel settled into the pilot’s seat, on her left.

Not bad, considering. I don’t think people sign up for this tour without being fully prepared for the risks. They make them sign releases out the wazoo.

"You mean the ones in which every other sentence contains the phrase: and you could die?"

"Yep. Those would be the ones."

I remember.

So, as we get into this, three things to remember, Patty: one, always trust your instruments; two, do your absolute best to keep your wings level and three, when you make contact with the ground don’t pull up on the yoke.

Got it, sir.

Okay, let’s see your stuff, Captain. No pressure here, but if you screw up we are all dead.

Thank you for your words of encouragement, sir.

Williams Field, this is Air Guard three-zero-four-niner-zero. We are now fifty-five miles out, showing airspeed of 350 knots and altitude of 11,000 feet.

Colonel, roger that. We have you on the edge of our navigational radar.

Initiating a descent rate of 1000 feet per minute.

Sounds good.

Okay, Patty, here we go.

Right, sir.

Williams, this is Captain Corson on Air Guard three-zero-four-niner-zero. Do you copy?

We copy, Captain.

Any change in your conditions?

Negative, Ma’am. The guys let the cat out and she was last seen heading your way, so keep an eye out for a furry UFO.

Will, do Williams. We are at 3000 feet and getting into the turbulence. Slowing our descent.

Roger, Captain. Not much farther. Radar shows you at eighteen miles out.

Yeah, keep the porch light on.

The back of the LC-130 was not like an airliner; more akin to the hole in a cargo ship. There were no plush seats, no windows and no call buttons. Passengers shared space with 25,000 pounds of equipment which would be used on the expedition. They were more-or-less on their own back there. Any sudden change in the plane’s attitude felt like a runaway roller coaster. The team was quiet…all except for Mike Hinson, who, along with Tim Wilson, was an experienced ANSMET team leader. Comic relief was his approach to reducing the stress of dangerous situation. Hope everyone went to the bathroom before we left, he said, because we are not stopping. That elicited some groans. The combination of having already spent several hours in the air, plus the beating they were now taking, plus the anxiety, meant that virtually everyone had to pee. Tim threw a water bottle at him.

As the plane descended the air became rougher and rougher, the jostling, now bone-jarring, felt like a mid-air version of bumper cars. Bodies jerked against tight straps. Sweat poured from underarms. Updrafts, downdrafts and side-slips cloyed at stomachs. Heavy equipment strained at ties, threatening to break loose. The noise level had reached a din, raising fears the aircraft was breaking apart.

Susan Macaulay, a post-doc astrobiologist from Cornell and a first-timer to Antarctica, was sitting next to Tim. I don’t really want to die, just yet, she shouted.

We are not going to die, said Tim, leaning over so she could hear. The guys up front know what they are doing. Think of this as your initiation. Sooner or later everyone who comes here has the crap scared out of them. You are just getting an early start.

Susan flashed a faint, nervous smile.

It will be okay. Just hang in there.

Williams, Air Guard here, radioed Captain Corson. Our GPS has you at 8 miles, bearing one-seven-three; we are currently on that course holding altitude at 1000 feet awaiting instructions. Get us on the ground as quickly as you can. We are getting thrashed up here.

Captain, maintain present bearing; begin descent at 200 feet per minute. You’ve got about two minutes to go.

Is that a promise, Williams?

Anything for you, ma’am.

Roger, maintaining heading of one-seven-three degrees and beginning descent at 200 feet per minute, give or take.

Just stay above the terrain until we get you lined up.

Got it.

Good luck, Air Guard.

LC-130s are not as large as C-17s but they are rugged and reliable, which is precisely the reason they are the aircraft most commonly used for transporting people and gear to Antarctica. Their structural limits are designed for heavy loads. In this case, the cargo weight, including passengers, was on the light side. This was an advantage from the standpoint of engine power but not so much with respect to flight stability. The closer to the ground they came, the more powerful and more turbulent the winds. For those in the rear of the plane, each passing moment brought more intense buffeting. The amplitude of sudden movements elicited involuntary, roller coaster gasps, even from the bravest, most experienced. It felt like the plane was coming apart. The noise, at times, was deafening. A few stomachs gave up their contents.

In the cockpit, Pete Abrams and Patty Corson were in a physical battle with the forces of Nature, a battle which they must win. Eyes glued to the instruments, they became a part of the plane. The trick was to compensate for altitude and attitude on a moment-by-moment basis, avoiding overcorrections. Despite the fact that all they could see out of the cockpit was swirling white; despite the sudden ups and downs; despite the changes in pitch and yaw; despite the cross winds that threatened to flip them over; working together, somehow they were keeping the plane on trajectory.

Air Guard, this is Williams.

Copy, Willie, said Patty.

Ma’am, we are going to have you make a right turn now to 180 degrees and, on our mark, turn left to 90 degrees.

Roger, turning to heading of due south, 180 degrees.

Maintain present altitude.

Roger.

Okay, Captain, you are now to make that left turn to 90 degrees, due east. State present altitude.

We are showing 250 feet, Williams.

Perfect. What I want you to do now is to maintain present heading and to begin descent at 100 feet per minute.

Beginning descent at 100 feet per minute.

Make certain that you do not drop below stall speed.

Roger.

You are now on the glide plane. There’s plenty of room and lots of soft snow to slow you down, so just keep her level, ma’am.

Roger that, Williams.

Okay, Patty, you watch the attitude and I will mark the altitude for you, said the Colonel. Keep in mind that the air will be denser and the winds stronger, the closer we are to sea level."

Got it.

Altitude 200. Keep her steady.

Patty nodded.

Altitude 150…

In the back of the plane, some prayers were being said, including by a couple of non-believers who reasoned that, on such occasions, it couldn’t hurt.

Altitude 100…, prompted the Colonel.

The plane was now pitching about violently, testing every seam, every rivet.

Altitude 50, Patty. Keep the nose level and, remember,…

Yeah, no flare. Nose slightly up and fly it right into the ground.

"Right.

Just then, a sudden crosswind gust caught the plane from the starboard side. The right wingtip flew up, threatening to catch the left wing in the snow, a recipe for disaster.

Straighten, Patty!

With a deft maneuver, Patty leveled the wings and just in the nick of time. Two seconds and it would have been too late. Skis made contact with snow and the plane bounced to a stop.

Williams to Air Guard. Well done, ma’am…well done.

Thanks, Williams.

That was great, Patty, said Pete. In those last few seconds, I thought we were going to wind up scattered all over the snow field but you did it. I don’t think I could have.

Well, sir, this just happened to be a good hair day, I suppose. Could not have done it without your coaching.

They could hear cheers in the back of the plane.

You go back there, said Pete, and tell them that the Colonel is changing his pants but that all is well that ends well.

Yes, sir.

Oh, and tell them that we likely will have to wait out the storm before they can send out the snow cats to pick us up. It may be a while.

Righto, Colonel. One thing, sir,…

Yes?

When do I get to change my pants?

The eight members of the ANSMET team all somehow managed to control their bladder sphincters until the plane had come to a complete stop in the emergency landing area at Williams Field. But the smell of fear lingered in the air.

The ANSMET mission was to retrieve meteorites from the Antarctic ice. The ice sheet covering the majority of the Antarctic continent is, in places, miles thick. Consequently, objects found on the surface of the ice generally were either put there by humans or came from somewhere else, namely space. Gravity acting upon the ice causes it to flow very slowly toward the edges of the land mass. In certain locations, mountains and hills get in the way of that flow, causing objects that are stuck deep in the ice to work their way to the surface. These areas are ripe for finding meteorites, some of which landed on earth thousands of years ago, all kept pristine by the extreme cold.

The team consisted of two team leaders, four scientists, one post-doc and one graduate student.

Tim Wilson was the most experienced member, this being his ninth year on the ice with ANSMET. During the rest of the year, he taught geology at the University of Arizona and indulged in his passion for climbing mountains. Mike Hinson, co-leader, despite his perverse humor, was also experienced and highly competent in dealing with the adverse conditions out on the ice. In his younger days, Mike had been a Navy Seal, assigned to special duty in the Antarctic.

The four research scientists represented diverse specialties: Harvey Ranger worked at Johnson Space Center in the Antarctic Meteorite Curation Facility, part of what was formerly known as the Lunar Receiving Lab; Priscilla Bowman came from Georgia Tech, where she taught aerospace engineering and worked on technology to support unmanned missions to Mars; Holly Becker was a geophysicist, also from Georgia Tech, who specialized in atmospheric physics; and Marvin Mitch Mitchell was an astrophysicist from Cornell, whose primary interest was analyzing neutrinos from exploding stars. Mitch was planning to stay for the winter, during which he would man the Antarctic neutrino observatory, a network of detectors placed in a matrix of deep vertical shafts in the ice.

Susan Macaulay was the post-doc, having just completed a year’s training at the NASA Astrobiology Institute. She, like Mitch, came from Cornell but her specialty was the study of life in the broadest sense – the nature of life and conditions for its development here on earth, on other planets within the solar system and in distant realms of the galaxy or, indeed, the universe.

Nate Stewart was a prodigious graduate student in astronomy, who, like Tim, hailed from the University of Arizona. His PhD research project was on detection of exoplanets, planets orbiting distant stars. Having grown up on a ranch in Colorado, he was also the consummate outdoors type, extremely rugged and resourceful. And Nate, like Tim, had caught the mountain climbing bug.

They sat huddled in the plane, in the middle of a huge expanse of snow, miles from the base. Colonel Abrams and Captain Corson had to shut the engines down, so there was no heat. Instantly, despite the parkas and down gloves they could feel the cold. The winds howled and tore at the wings, causing concern that the plane would tip over.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the McMurdo Sound area, said Mike Hinson in his best imitation of an Hawaiian tour guide. We will have ample opportunity for you to take photographs and to visit our beautiful shops, casinos and beaches. In the meanwhile, just relax and enjoy the ambiance while we await our luxury transportation to the lodge.

It took eleven hours for the wind to die down and for that luxury transportation to venture out.

Folks, we just heard from McMurdo. There are three snow cats heading our way. We will be out of here in no time, said Colonel Abrams. There were audible sighs of relief.

What about the gear? asked Tim.

We will leave that onboard until the plane can be towed back to Williams Field. Then the ground crew will unload the cargo and bring it to you at McMurdo. The weather is clearing, so it shouldn’t take too long.

Good.

When the cats arrived, they checked for damage.

Cat One to Air Guard.

Read you, Cat One. How’s it looking? asked Colonel Abrams.

Relatively unscathed, sir. Don’t think you will be able to open the rear-hatch, though. You’ve got snow right up to the belly of the fuselage. I would say you are good and stuck.

Copy that, Cat One. Hope they don’t expect me to shovel it out.

No, sir. We will take care of you.

I suppose you want us to open the forward hatch?

Yes, sir. That works. You will need to drop your ladder. The VIP service is taking the day off.

Okie, dokie, Cat One. Opening the forward hatch now.

On the ground, the snow was chest deep, in places, having been blown into drifts. In some instances, Antarctic drifts were gigantic, like sand dunes in the Sahara, and had been known to consume entire field stations.

After the last leg of their flight, including the harrowing landing, the trip by cat to Williams Field was not exactly a limousine ride but at least the cab was heated.

Susan and Nate, as the youngest and least attached members of the team, had bonded during their training sessions in Houston. They were in Cat One along with Tim Wilson and the driver.

That must be Erebus, said Susan, pointing to a mountain in the background.

Right. It’s a volcano, said Nate. Tim and I are hoping to climb it before we leave in February.

If the weather cooperates, said Tim. As you have just discovered, first hand, that is always a big if around here.

You guys are either very brave or very crazy, remarked Susan. Which is it?

Neither, said Tim. There’s just something about the challenge – both mental and physical – that sharpens the senses; builds confidence; inspires one to reach greater heights, both literally and figuratively.

Yeah, you could say that but, for me, personally, I think crazy as a loon is probably an accurate description, said Nate. But it is a good kind of crazy. Climbing makes you feel alive. It’s the old adrenalin thing. You may be scared shitless but you do what you have to do.

Maybe I would have said the same thing when I was twenty-three, said Tim, laughing. It is a matter of perspective and perspective is definitely affected by age.

They call it the ‘old fart’ syndrome, or OFS, said Nate, with a straight face. It’s okay, though. There’s a proven fact that, percentage wise, fewer old farts fall off mountains than young bucks.

I get it, said Susan. I honestly do…both the challenge part and the crazy part.

You are in decent shape; you should try it, said Nate.

Maybe I will, providing I make it through this summer, she said with a laugh, recalling that only hours before, she had been contemplating the finality of death and, given a choice, her preference was definitely for the uncertainty of life.

The snow cats took the Air Guard crew and the ANSMET team to Williams Field. The plows had already been by to clear the packed snow road, so the last leg of their journey, the seven miles to McMurdo Station, was a civilized ride on a conveyance affectionately known as the Terrabus. Once settled in their temporary quarters, the team met briefly in the common room.

Hours of boredom, interrupted by moments of panic, said Tim, smiling impishly. That is what these next few weeks will be. Kidding aside, the Antarctic is full of surprises and we all must be prepared to deal with them, just as our very able pilots did in getting us here. You can think of Mike and me as co-captains. Our main job is to keep you safe while fulfilling our mission. I advise you to go fill your bellies at the canteen and then to spend the next twelve hours or so catching up on your sleep, as I am sure you all must be really tired. Then the fun begins. Any questions?

Priscilla Bowman, the aerospace engineer, asked the question they were all thinking. Any suggestions about how to sleep when it never gets dark?

Yeah, close your eyes, cracked Mike. "If that doesn’t work, you can try putting something over your face. Generally, if you get tired enough, you will sleep, and you will get tired enough. Trust me."

Any other questions? asked Tim. Too tired to think, eh? Okay, troops…food, sleep. It is now 1800 hours UTC. See you for breakfast at 0600.

For three, intense days, the team learned how to survive sudden wind storms of the type they had experienced already; they received a crash course in crevasse rescues; and they all became proficient at using a GPS to find home. They also, learned the basics of snowmobiling and snowmobile repair. This was to prepare them for the six weeks they would spend in the Allan Hills region, searching for meteorites.

Chapter Two

A fter the survival course, came a few days making certain that all of the equipment and supplies were in order. The weather had been perfect since their auspicious arrival, almost balmy by Antarctic standards. On the day, they were to be airlifted to the Allan Hills Region, however, there was a sudden change with return of high winds and unusually cold temperatures. The recorded low that day was in the range of twenty below zero, Fahrenheit, with wind chills of greater than eighty below.

Whoa, Nellie! said Mike, as the team gathered in the common room to drink coffee. Crazy weather, eh? One might get the idea that we’ve done something to anger the gods.

Don’t get them all worked up, Mikey. You know this is to be expected, said Tim. One thing you learn about living in this environment – plans are never cast in stone. We just wait it out and go when the time is right.

Since I’ve been coming here, though, it seems there has been a noticeable change, said Mike. Don’t you think? More extremes. Generally, I would say, there has been a tendency to warmer temps but every once in a while, you get these unexpected cold snaps. And the winds, of course… More katabatic storms. I’m no scientist, but I would have to say that it looks to me like the climate is changing.

Holly Becker, the geophysicist from Georgia Tech, who, even in the heated building, was curled into a ball, holding her coffee mug in both hands and dressed in multiple layers, looked up. You are probably right, Mike. There is growing evidence. It looks like a warming trend over the past decade but not enough data yet to say much more. Actually, it seems to be a global phenomenon; not confined to Antarctica. The data is mishmash, though. Some zones are getting colder as others warm up; some getting drier as others have increased precipitation. We don’t really have a good atmospheric model to explain it all, yet. There are some sobering predictions, however, which are likely if the trend continues.

Such as?

Well, one consistent prediction is that, if warming persists, there will generally be more wind events and, here, I’m not talking about the katabatic winds. With warming, the air becomes less dense, hence gravity-dependent katabatic winds might actually decrease over time. One concern is that warmer oceans would mean bigger, more powerful storms; monster hurricanes, so to speak. Ocean storms get their energy from heat in the water. Another possibility is that sea level will rise as ice melts. We could be looking at twenty to thirty feet. Manhattan, for example, would be under water; most of Florida, for that matter.

I’m not sure I want to be around, said Mike.

I think we’ve got some time for some of those thing to happen. More immediate concerns, however, are the droughts we are already seeing. The east coast was hit really hard this past summer. These changes could affect the world’s food supply. There’s another worry. We’ve been watching the ozone level in the upper atmosphere over the South pole for a couple of years now. In the spring, roughly between August and October, ozone is being depleted in a region centered on the pole. It’s like there’s a big hole up there. It is especially troubling that each year the hole seems to be growing.

Could that be changing the weather…or, the other way around, a result of changing weather patterns? asked Mitch Mitchell, the astrophysicist from Cornell.

Good question, replied Holly. There are theories…

Whatever the cause, it’s not doing oceanic life any good, interjected Susan Macaulay, the astrobiologist, also from Cornell.

How’s that? asked Mitch.

Well, the ozone content in the upper atmosphere is the major component which blocks UV. Decrease the ozone and you get more ultraviolet radiation reaching the surface of the earth. Plankton species in the oceans are particularly sensitive. Decrease the plankton enough and the bottom of the food chain disappears.

What are the theories? asked Nate, the astronomy grad student from the University of Arizona.

The atmospheric chemistry people are hypothesizing that the ozone hole is from fluorochlorocarbons being introduced into the atmosphere, said Holly. No one knows for sure, though.

Where might these fluorochlorocarbons be coming from?

From human sources. Freon would be the main culprit.

How about the rest of it…the climate changes?

Greenhouse gases, like carbon dioxide. We are seeing a definite rise in atmospheric CO2. That data comes primarily from ice core samples taken not far from here. There could be some natural contributors, of course, like volcanic eruptions, but there is concern that emissions from the combustion of fossil fuels are the biggie.

Bullshit, said Harvey Ranger, meteorite specialist from Johnson Space Center, the oldest member of the group at fifty-two and the most taciturn. Earth’s atmosphere just cycles. It has done so many times in the past and we are just in one of those periods of change. It has nothing to do with human activities.

Maybe, said Holly, but, based on ice-core samples, the world has never seen anything like this…at least not during periods when Earth was geologically stable. Since the industrial revolution, CO2 levels have been rising at an unprecedented rate, also methane. If there is a human factor and we don’t address it, we could be soiling our nest, making our planet uninhabitable.

I still say, bullshit, said Harvey. Let’s stick with real science, shall we?

Science is about analyzing and understanding data, replied Holly. We have data. Admittedly, we do not fully understand it yet, but this is real science. You deal with meteorites which, stated simplistically, are dense chunks of rock. Your job is to determine their properties and, from that, extrapolate something about their origin. That’s your area of expertise and it’s very important. Otherwise, none of us would be down here, doing what we are doing. However, chunks of rock are substantive. They occupy a certain volume in space. They can be kept under controlled conditions, such as at a certain temperature, at a set pressure and in a nitrogen atmosphere. You can examine them grossly, microscopically and chemically. Studying the atmosphere is different. Depending on where you are, everything varies – temperature, wind velocity, atmospheric pressure, chemical composition, even depth. There is nothing uniform or substantive about it. But the alarm bells are sounding. We have to try to figure this out.

Harvey, clearly not in a malleable mood, just snorted. The methane probably comes from all the bullshit, he said.

Eventually, the weather did break but it took three days. The team spent the time checking and rechecking equipment and supplies, going over emergency procedures, eating, drinking and preparing themselves mentally for six weeks of hard work and relative isolation.

Transportation to the camp site was via a de Havilland Twin Otter, equipped with skis. Twin Otters are rugged planes, ideal for the Antarctic. It took three trips to ferry the people and all that they would require for the mission.

The place chosen for camp was a patch of snow at the base of an outcropping in the Allan Hills Region, within sight of a huge expanse of blue ice. The Antarctic ice sheet was formed by compression of thousands of years of snowfall. It is very dense, resulting in a characteristic azure color, matching the sky above. Overall, the visual effect of the landscape, for all its contrasts of color and texture, was breathtaking, yet, there was no mistaking; danger lurked in every direction.

The Allan Hills, in eastern Antarctica, are a line of rocky peaks protruding through the ice, forming a barrier between the grounded ice sheet and the Ross Sea. On the landward side of the hills, as a result of the very slow movement of the ice against the obstructive barrier of the hills, imbedded objects are gradually pushed up until they approach the surface. Katabatic winds ablate the surface ice, exposing the objects, causing them to become highly visible against the expanse of blue ice and white snow.

The region had been searched many times before and had always proven fruitful in the discovery of meteorites. In 1976, a famous rock, designated AH84001, was found in the Allan Hills. Originally, this find was of no special interest. No special interest, that is, until analysis of its composition pointed to its being a chunk of Mars. The theory was that AH84001 had been part of an ejection of material from the Martian surface, resulting from a