Frozen Solid by James M. Tabor

was experiencing—unless he was one of those monster psychopaths who felt nothing, including remorse. Regardless, he and she were connected by Emily’s death, although only she knew that.
    An odd sensation came over her, and she glanced around. It felt like people in the galley were looking at her. It had to be her imagination, of course, another side effect of the secret. Or some weird form of Pole-induced paranoia. But then, working her way through the awful food, glancing up now and then, she realized it was not her imagination. People really were looking at her strangely, some staring, others peering out of the corners of their eyes. A couple even pointed. Four men in particular, at a table halfway across the room, were making no attempt to hide their interest. Then one of them rose and walked over.
    “Hey.” He was smiling—smirking, actually—and standing with his head cocked to one side. He wasn’t bad-looking, but his eyes kept flicking around, scanning for something or someone more important. She was surprised to see eyes like that down here. In Washington they were as common as flies.
    “Hi,” she said.
    “Maynard Blaine.” She took his extended hand and, eventually, had to pull her own free.
    “I might need that someday.”
    “Need that someday. Ha, ha.” His laugh was like two little coughs. “So you are Dr. Holly Leland, replacement for Emily Durant and the newest addition to our distinguished team of Beakers.”
    “How did you know that?”
    “Are you kidding? Fresh face, you stick out like a sore thumb.”
    That was why people had been looking at her. “It’s Hallie, not Holly. You knew Emily?”
    He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Well, just to say hello.”
    “I knew her.” Hallie was surprised at how surprised he looked.
    “You did?”
    “Very well.”
    His features became disarranged, like a turned kaleidoscope. Putting them back in order took a few moments. “Tough break,” he said.
    “For me or her?”
    “Both. But I meant her dying like that.”
    “Like what?”
    He shook both hands beside his head, like a man warding off bees. “Enough about her. I came over here to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
    “Like
what
?” Hallie wanted to learn what he knew about Emily’s death, but he misunderstood. He thought she was very eager to hear his offer.
    “How would you like to be my ice wife?”

10
    UNDER OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES, SHE MIGHT HAVE BANTERED—
Where’s the ring?
and
Why aren’t you on your knees?
Not now.
    “I’m in a relationship.”
    He winked. “What happens at Pole stays at Pole.”
    “How about ice friends.” She hoped the words, and her tone, would ease his exit.
    “Like, friends with
benefits
?”
    “Not that kind.”
    Blaine’s smirk faded, his shoulders sagged.
    “Friends?”
    He sighed. “A friend indeed leaves a man in need.” But he shook her outstretched hand, and once again she had to pull free. “Holly,” he said. “A thorn by any other name is just as sharp.”
    “Hallie.”
    “What’s your field?”
    “Microbiology. What’s yours?”
    “Genetic virology.”
    She decided that a serious insult to speed his departure might not be wise on the morning of her first full day here. It was entirely possiblethat he had killed Emily. Or knew who did. Be smart, be civil, try to learn something.
    “What science are you doing down here, Maynard?”
    “Do we have to talk shop?”
    “I’m sure your friends would enjoy having you back.”
    “Picornaviruses.”
    “Mostly common cold pathogens.”
    “Right.”
    “Using human subjects?” she asked.
    “Do I look like Josef Mengele? Mice.”
    “What strain?”
    He seemed surprised by the question. “Um, BALB/c. Why do you ask?”
    “I work with mice, too, back in the world. I like to keep abreast of the matches between strains and applications.” In fact, she was very current on the optimal mice strains for picornavirus research because work conjoining those viruses and