“Messenger. Sorry.” Jason took a deep breath and looked away. Hold it together. Just a few more minutes… “I don’t like having to run to Antarctica to fight for my grant money.”
“Fight?”
“I was told the funding for my research project might be pulled if I didn’t get here within 36 hours to argue my case. Twenty million dollars for Asteroid Belt mining, gone—like that!” He snapped his fingers. “And no explanation why.”
Milos shook his head. “Yes, the newcomers, they are—what is your word? Intense?”
“The newcomers?”
He nodded. “They do not wear uniforms, but we know they are American military, all very top-secret hush-hush. They are here for maybe two months. Why the secrecy? I do not know, but all make guesses. One guess, it says they are excited for a meteor in the ice. Another guess, it says they are finding vast new oil fields. Me? I cook the food. Too many questions get you only trouble.”
“Or save your life,” Jase said.
Milos considered, then shrugged. His gaze dropped to the bags at Jason’s feet. “This is all you are bringing?”
“I didn’t have much time to pack.”
“I shall help you get the right stuff later. Plenty of everything, with the main season over. But first, the big-dog newcomers wait for you.” He grabbed both bags, turned, and lumbered for the main building. “This way, my friend!”
Jason found himself hustled through a series of hallways. It might be the end of the research season, but the base still hummed with activity. He passed rooms full of people and equipment of every variety imaginable, a cafeteria with a dozen tables, and an empty rec-room with a ping pong table, a pool table, and a jukebox. At last they reached a small conference room. There, two men with laptops worked side by side. They broke off their discussion as Milos swept in and dropped Jason’s bags in a corner.
When the man on the right stood, Jason recognized him—Colonel Franklin Bloch. With his hawk nose, steel-gray hair, and coolly aloof gaze, Bloch made a lasting impression. He had been the one who Skyped Jason, informing him that his funding was under review and would likely be cut off if he didn’t drop everything and get to Antarctica on the next plane. Or series of five planes, as it turned out.
The other man was of Asian descent—Chinese, Jase guessed, from his high cheek bones—and wore thick glasses with black plastic frames. His shaved head made guessing his age difficult, but he had the look of a man who had seen a lot of action over the years. He had also been on that video call. He hadn’t spoken a word, though, just studied Jase across the video link like a shark picking out its next meal.
“A pleasure to meet you in person, Dr. Cosgrove.” Giving a forced smile, Bloch came around the table and extended his hand.
Jase shook it, and found it disturbingly limp and moist, like shaking hands with a mushroom. He had to make a conscious effort not to wipe his palm off on his pants.
“I’m here. What’s this about my funding?”
“Sit down, Jase,” Milos said cheerfully. “I shall get you coffee?”
Jase glanced over, hesitated, then nodded. He could use the caffeine. “Thanks. Black, please.”
Milos glanced at the other two. “For you also?”
Both shook their heads. Milos headed for a Keurig machine on a table against the wall and began pushing buttons and fumbling with k-cups and mugs.
Bloch said, “This is Artemis Wu. He’s chairman of the Armed Forces Research Grants Committee.”
“But I thought everything was settled,” Jason said, looking at Wu. “My project was approved and funded six months ago. Why make me drop everything and rush out here?”
“Two reasons,” Wu said, “First, I require the services of the premiere metallurgist in the world. Second, time is a factor. The weather is about to change, and I needed you here before it does.”
Jason snorted. “If you want the best metallurgist in the world, you picked the wrong guy. You want Nick Armstrong—”
“Dr. Armstrong died five days ago,” Bloch cut in.
Jason stared at him. “That’s not possible. He’s barely 40—”
“Suicide,” Wu said, studying his fingernails. “The Antarctic…did not agree with him.”
“No way!” Jason’s legs felt weak. He had known Nick for the better part of two decades. They’d gone to M.I.T. together, gone to class together, partied together, worked off and on together over the years. Sure, Nick liked to drink…liked it a little too much, sometimes. But suicide? It seemed impossible.
Gulping, he sank down in the chair. Nick…dead. They’d talked only a few months ago.
Then he realized what Wu had said. The Antarctic didn’t agree with him.
“Nick was here?” he asked, looking up.
“Yes. You must finish his work.”
Bloch returned to his chair, took a sheet of paper from a manilla folder, and slid it across the table. He followed it with a silver Cross pen.
“Sign at the bottom,” he said, “and we’ll get moving.”
“Black coffee,” Milos said. He set a mug—WORLD’S BEST DAD! it proclaimed in big red letters—in front of Jason, then left, closing the door.
Slowly Jason picked up the paper. It was a nondisclosure agreement. He’d signed a couple of them in the past, when he’d done corporate research, but this one struck him as exceptionally draconian. Matters of national security…prison and a multi-million-dollar fine if he so much as shared the project name.… Crazy, all of it!
He shoved the paper away. “I can’t sign this!”
“It is, of course, your choice,” Bloch said, “but I strongly recommend it.”
“Or you’ll cut my funding.”
Bloch shook his head, smiled. “I only said that to get you here.” He spread his hands apologetically. “Mining the Asteroid Belt is a good idea. It’s necessary if our space program is to thrive. But you’re still in the early planning stages, and your associates will manage until your return. You can speak to them every day by secure sat-link, if you like. We have a far bigger project, one of immediate global importance, and we need your help now. Once you have the details, I’m certain you will agree that it takes precedence over everything else. Including asteroid mining. In fact, I guarantee it.”
Jason snorted. “There must be a dozen others available who would do as good a job.”
Artemis Wu spoke for the first time. “No false modesty, Doctor. I only work with the best. And now that’s you.”
“Forget it,” Jason said. He shoved his chair back and stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.”
“Ah…about the plane,” Bloch said. “Bad news, I’m afraid. The one that brought you here is full for the outbound flight. We’ll get you the next available seat, of course. Unfortunately, as you know, there are no commercial flights from this base, and passengers leave as space allows. There is only one more flight scheduled this season, and I hear it’s also fully booked. A spot for you might open up in the spring…by fall at the very latest. But look on the bright side. I understand you get a medal and a certificate from the station for wintering here. And possibly a tee-shirt.”
“Or,” said Wu, “you can join my team, be well compensated for your time, and do your country a service. A vital service.”
Jason stared at him. “That’s blackmail.”
Wu smiled his shark smile. “No, Doctor. A job offer. And as a goodwill gesture, you have my word that I will continue to throw my support behind your asteroid mining project when you return to it. You will find me a valuable ally.”
Ally. Not friend. Did Wu have friends?