Finding life in Vostok depended on two major issues. The first dealt with how the lake had formed. Was it simply a basin that had filled with meltwater fifteen million years ago, or had it been a flourishing natural lake that rapidly froze over during Antarctica’s last major climate change? Geologists examining satellite photos generally agreed that Vostok’s shape and location rendered it a natural rift lake, formed thirty million years ago when tectonic forces had split open to forge a long, narrow water basin. Surrounded by the East Antarctic highlands, Vostok’s surface waters would have frozen over quickly when temperatures dropped, potentially entrapping its aquatic life-forms.
This led to one of the key questions our expedition had been organized to answer: had complex life-forms survived?
Most species found on Earth rely on food sources dependent on photosynthesis, the process by which plants make energy from sunlight. Vostok’s waters were isolated in darkness, and yet in both the deep ocean and certain rift lakes, unique ecosystems had evolved based on a process by which certain microbes created energy through a chemical reaction called chemosynthesis. The process began when geothermal vents released superheated chemical-laced waters rich in hydrogen sulfide into the lake or sea. Chemosynthetic microbes spawn microbial mats, which in turn feed plants and grazers such as snails, limpets, and scaleworms. Fish consume the grazers, predators eat the fish, and suddenly you have the foundation of an entire ecosystem devoid of sunlight.
Our truck parked before the main entrance of the dome — a prefabricated aluminum structure that served as a weather room. Grabbing our gear, we braved the wind for another twenty strides and hurried inside, our boots tracking snow onto the rubber mats.
A sign was posted in English, Chinese, German, and French:
All Personnel must DEGOMBLE before entering dome.
Ben translated. “They want us to brush off the powdered snow.”
True took the opportunity to slap the back of my headgear clean of debris. “Wouldn’t want ye tae mess up the dome, Dr. Wallace.”
“True, if you’re that unhappy being here, then just go home. Or catch the return flight back to Davis and carry on with the Swede. I really don’t need a 260-pound babysitter with an attitude.”
The big fella thought for a minute, then grinned. “Nah, I’ll stay. Maybe Dr. Liao needs tae be degombled, ye think?”
“By you?” Ben blurted a sarcastic half-laugh. “Pal, she’s so far out of your league you can’t even see the playing field.”
“A hundred dollars against your thousand says we bed together at least once before the mission is through.”
“Done!” Ben shook True’s hand. “I’ll say this for you Highlanders — you aren’t afraid to go down swinging.”
“And I say him that’s born to be hanged will never be drowned.”
Having degombled, we entered the dome.
The temperature inside was a balmy thirty degrees, the air warmed by portable blowers, the ice covered by plywood sheets. Mobile lights pointed up at the domed ceiling, cabled to power generators that lined the periphery.
Ming had organized the facility into quadrants. Accommodations for her crew and the dozens of participating scientists were relegated to Tent City, an assortment of colorful nylon tents clustered by nationality. The smallest were single crawl-ins; the largest were six-person walk-ins with extended porches and multiple storage areas.
A mess station was set up next to the living areas. Crates held frozen microwavable meals, and coffee and hot beverages were available around-the-clock, provided one supplied his own mug and utensils. Folding tables and chairs accommodated diners and poker players. A row of port-a-potties lined the dome wall next to a supply trailer and first-aid tent.
The last two areas were devoted to science. Mission Control consisted of two long rows of folding tables that held three computer stations, a rack of video monitors, and a half-dozen crates on skis supporting the generators that supplied power to the Valkyrie units. An Army tent erected behind the command post doubled as a meeting area and Ming’s sleeping quarters.
The last quadrant was almost completely occupied by a portable lab contained in an inflatable Level-3 containment bubble.
These four sections, each of which occupied about half an acre, surrounded a much larger central work area of exposed ice cordoned off by neon-orange fencing. Towering two stories above this site stood a gantry designed to hold our submersible.
Ben pointed to the chaos of twisted steel. “The Barracuda will be suspended nose-down for our launch. About a mile into our descent they’ll begin pumping water into the hole to re-seal it behind us. We can’t enter the lake until the hole is frozen over, otherwise the pressure will blast us back into the dome like Old Faithful.”
I turned to see Ming exit the Army tent. She was wearing an orange fur-lined parka, jeans, and white “bunny boots” insulated with wool felt. Seeing us, she waved, a smile stretching across her tanned face as she approached.
Ben and I received bear hugs, True a nod. “Isn’t this exciting? There’s a briefing scheduled in my tent in one hour. Are you hungry? Let me call my assistant. She’ll show you to your tents, and you can get something to eat before the meeting.”
Using her walkie-talkie, she summoned a brown-eyed, blonde-haired American woman in her mid-twenties, sporting a track star’s physique and a sorority girl smile. And just like that, True’s attitude changed. “Gentlemen, this is my research assistant, Susan McWhite. Susan, this is Dr. Zachary Wallace, Captain Ben Hintzmann, and … ”
“Finlay MacDonald. But the ladies all call me True because the rumors, well, they’re all true.”
Susan blushed as True kissed the back of her glove. “You’re a feisty one.”
“And a man who loves a good wager,” added Ben.
“Susan, please show our guests to their tents. Make sure Dr. Wallace and Captain Hintzmann get something to eat before they join the briefing; we could be a while.”
“Yes, Zachary. You and Captain Hintzmann go on without me.” True winked. “Dr. Liao and I have a lot of catching up tae do.”
“Mr. MacDonald, every person on this base has two jobs, yet you don’t seem to have any. Susan, would you assign Mr. MacDonald to a task that fits his particular skill set?”
“Yes, ma’am. Let’s see, sheepherding is out … ”
True grinned. “This one’s a pistol. I may have tae marry ye. But no worries, Ming, darlin’, ours will be an open marriage.”
Susan led us to three double-occupancy nylon tents set up in the English-speaking section of Tent City. “These three are yours. Inside you’ll find sleeping bags, pillows, extra blankets, coffee mugs, and eating utensils. We’re under strict water rations, so safeguard your silverware. Anything else you need,” she glared at True, “any supplies, just see me.”
We stowed our gear, then followed Susan to the dining area.
She hung back to speak with me. “Ming didn’t mention it, but I’m a marine biologist specializing in cetaceans. I know you invented an acoustic lure for a giant squid. Did you ever think about creating something similar for humpback and gray whales?”
“Actually, I’m more interested in intra-species communication, especially among orca. Last week while we were training, Ben and I witnessed a pod of orca attack and kill two minke whales. The coordination of the hunt was incredibly efficient.