“We don’t need a party,” Mikel said.
“Just you?” Siem said knowingly.
“Just me.”
“Good luck,” Siem said in earnest, then wiped his mouth. “But if you wouldn’t mind—what did cause the explosion?”
“It was an ancient power source, fueled by deep-flowing magma that’s still under the ice,” he said.
“What kind of power source?”
“A mineral,” Mikel said. “One that is extremely powerful and apparently unique to the region.”
Mikel didn’t bother adding that the blast was actually the result of an ascended soul releasing its hold on a portion of that energy. Ascribing the incident to lava was cleaner.
“A new mineral?” Siem said dubiously.
“That’s what brought me down here in the first place,” Mikel said. “A sample I found, from the waters off the Falklands.”
“You have it?”
Mikel shook his head.
“Too bad. But the other part of your theory is a problem too,” Siem went on. “Lava would be difficult to overlook, and I don’t believe anyone has found geologically active pockets out there. It would be talked about. I would have heard about it.”
“The minerals may be screwing with their instruments,” Mikel said.
“Ah.”
Mikel also did not want to explain that the magma was not active now but in another epoch. He looked over at the scientists. “I should probably talk to Bundy about this.”
“Probably,” Siem said. “And I wish you luck. I do.” His eyes held Mikel’s. “You were pretty wild down there, Mikel. Are you convinced that you didn’t strike your head when you broke your wrist? Or perhaps the air was toxic?”
“I don’t blame you for being cautious, Siem—”
“It isn’t caution,” the maintenance engineer replied. “Frankly, it’s doubt. I’m a mechanical engineer.” He rapped the table. “Reality, not speculation. Also, I have some concern.”
“For?”
“Whatever you do out here will follow you when you go home,” Siem said. “I studied Antarctica, its history, before agreeing to accept this appointment. For centuries—going back to the seventh century, if you believe some accounts—people have come to the South Pole and left with crazy ideas. I’ve read about those ideas and their adherents. Holes to the center of the earth, spaceships of ancient aliens, living dinosaurs, dinosaurs from space living inside the earth. Trust me, Mikel. Careers have been ruined.”
“But imagine the contribution to science of the first researcher to find a prehistoric beast down here—even a frozen one.”
“And, with it, an ancient bacterium for which there is no known cure,” Siem added.
“The price of science,” Mikel replied. “How do you know there aren’t any of those vessels or creatures out here? You yourself, the others—you all saw a burning face.”
“We think we did, which is my point exactly,” Siem said. “The air, the cold, the magnetic pole, the movement of vast oceans around us and under us—the isolation. I’ve listened to the scientists as I work on the gear. It all affects the mind. That’s why we rely on impartial equipment, on data, to tell us what is real and what is not. And there is nothing that confirms a jot of this right now.”
“As I said, there won’t be,” Mikel replied. He was still looking over at the scientists. Two had left, leaving Bundy and glaciologist Dr. Victoria Cummins alone with their laptops. Mikel clapped his good hand appreciatively on Siem’s shoulder.
“Thank you for your advice, my friend,” Mikel said.
“You are welcome,” Siem replied. “Good luck getting out of this with your life,” he added as the archaeologist walked away.
Mikel didn’t know whether the engineer was referring to the impromptu meeting with a hostile scientist or the mission he proposed to undertake.
Probably both, Mikel thought. Siem was not wrong. But Casey Skett had left him no other opitions.
Dr. Bundy was facing Mikel as he approached. The geologist looked drawn but his brown eyes were as lively as ever. His natural frown deepened as Mikel neared.
“Speak of the bloody bête noire,” the middle-aged scientist said.
Dr. Cummins turned. Her gray eyes were pale against skin that was still bronze from a long, very recent research trip down the Amazon River. A glaciologist, she had spent four months studying the drop of sea levels in the region during the last ice age. Dr. Cummins was in her midforties, her dull red hair streaked with gray and pulled into a single tight braid. She said she had used it in Brazil to swat flies, like a horse.
“Doctors,” Mikel said in the conciliatory tone he used when he needed something.
The woman nodded and flashed a thin smile. Bundy looked back at his colleague as though they hadn’t been interrupted.
“Exhausting all preliminary, standard explanations for a jet of flame in the South Pole,” Bundy said, recapping, “and categorizing, for now, as a form of mass hysteria the shape that appeared to be a face of fire we all saw before that, we also happened to be talking—Dr. Jasso—about the way you hijacked my truck just before the explosion, as if you knew the bloody thing were about to happen.”
“I didn’t,” Mikel said. “Not exactly.”
“Meaning?”
“While I was in the caverns, I saw a ball of fire,” Mikel said. “It appeared to be—well, looking for a way out.”
“Consciously seeking an exit?” Dr. Cummins asked.
“It didn’t act like any flame I ever saw,” Mikel said evasively.
Bundy pinned the archaeologist with a look. “To be specific—a quality you seem reluctant to embrace—you referred to that phenomenon as being, and I quote from vivid memory, ‘What a soul looks like when it is sent back to hell.’ Since you happen to be here, despite being uninvited to my table and a private meeting—”
“In a public space,” Mikel pointed out.
“Public for members of this party,” Bundy said. “Putting that aside for the moment, would you care to explain and elaborate, Dr. Jasso?”
Before he could speak, Dr. Cummins said, “Mind you, I am very much inclined, as I just told Dr. Bundy, to ascribe the face to some version of Saint Elmo’s fire.” She tapped her laptop. “There was a coronal discharge and a very strong electric field in the region at that time. The crackling could have been mistaken for a voice.”
“Which supports my theory of collective hypnosis of a sort,” Bundy said, resuming their previous debate as if he had not spoken to Mikel at all. “We heard a voice and, therefore, we saw a face.”
“But Dr. Harvey’s point about rising gas catching and refracting sunlight must also be given consideration,” Dr. Cummins said, more to Mikel than to Bundy. “The motion of the gas and the sun itself would cause it to appear to move.”
Mikel pulled out a chair and sat easily to avoid shocking his bruised posterior. “It was not any kind of gas or luminous plasma, Dr. Cummins. The fire was not an illusion from out there.” He motioned vaguely toward the ceiling and the sky beyond. “The flame was real, it came from below.”
“Bloody rubbish,” Dr. Bundy said. “There is nothing active down there. Nothing that would have caused fire to spit up like that. We are still not reading any kinds of energy bursts, nor are any of the other outposts we’ve contacted. The RAF is looking into a possible missile strike, or space debris.”
“They can look all they want,” Mikel said with confidence that bordered on calculated smugness. “It was geologic.”