hands.
“Everyone clear this area NOW!” Graeter yelled, behind Hallie. She hadn’t heard him arrive. The doctor was telling the responders to prep an IV coagulant while he kept the sopping lab coat pressed in place. Hallie and Blaine joined the flow of people heading for the galley exits. She heard Graeter key his radio and say, “Get the biohazard team to the galley. Yes. That’s right.
Again
, goddamnit.”
11
HALLIE ARRIVED LATE FOR HER MEETING WITH THE STATION’S CHIEF scientist, but Agnes Merritt seemed not to mind. Before Hallie even sat, the older woman blurted, “Did you hear what happened in the galley?”
“I was there. Yesterday and today both.”
Merritt shook her head. “What an awful introduction to Pole, Dr. Leland. I can’t imagine how I’d feel in your shoes.”
“Thank you. Please call me Hallie.”
“Good deal. I’m Agnes. Aggie to my friends, which is just about everybody.”
Merritt’s office was slightly bigger than Graeter’s, and she had two folding chairs for visitors. A coffeemaker sat on a small table in one corner. Merritt filled mugs and handed one to Hallie. Then she passed a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
Hallie had left most of her breakfast back in the galley. She nibbled one cookie, then gobbled another. “These are great.”
“Grandma’s recipe. I love to bake. Sneak into the galley during off-hours.”
Unlike Graeter’s office, Merritt’s was adorned with framed pictures.One wall was all Antarctic shots: Merritt boarding a C-130 at McMurdo, standing in her Big Red parka beside the station’s “barber pole” ceremonial marker, hoisting a champagne glass in honor of some holiday or memorable occasion. The other wall’s pictures were from back in the world. Most of them were grip-and-grins, Merritt receiving or holding awards and certificates. A typical bureaucrat’s wall, Hallie noted, except that there were no family pictures.
Merritt looked to be in her late forties. She wore comfort-cut jeans that stretched tight across her wide rump and a black turtleneck with a red fleece pullover on top of that. She had a round face red from high blood pressure or windburn or both, a red-veined snub nose, and a small, moist mouth that formed circles around words, as though she were blowing bubbles when she spoke. “So tell me what happened.”
Hallie did, and then everything slipped out of focus. She realized that Merritt was speaking. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Dear, you just zoned right out.”
“God. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Pole’s tough.” She patted Hallie’s knee.
“Agnes … Aggie, two deaths like this, so close together. That has to be unusual, even for the Pole.”
“I thought so, too. But have you ever heard of dehiscence?”
“No.”
“Me, neither, until Doc called. Part of Harriet’s esophagus was removed last year. Some kind of precancerous condition. They severed and reconnected some major veins and arteries.”
“You’re saying they ruptured?”
“Doc thinks so. When surgical scars reopen, it’s called dehiscence.”
“Why now, though?”
“Goodness, why not? Altitude. Extreme temperature fluctuations. Radiation. Stress. Bad food. Hard work. On and on.”
“I never heard of something like that.”
“How many folks do you know who’ve had esophagectomies?”
“What about Diana Montalban?”
“You mentioned a C-section scar. Could have been the same thing, Doc said.”
That seemed like too much coincidence to Hallie. At the same time, it wasn’t hard to understand why Merritt would want to rationalize the deaths. Minimize threats beyond your control. Unknown is always more frightening than known. And as chief scientist, Merritt would have a vested interest in showing that on her watch, deaths were caused by problems the victims brought with them, rather than any they’d encountered here.
Or maybe the deaths were connected in some way to Emily’s, and Merritt knew about all of it. Since Hallie had
“Everyone clear this area NOW!” Graeter yelled, behind Hallie. She hadn’t heard him arrive. The doctor was telling the responders to prep an IV coagulant while he kept the sopping lab coat pressed in place. Hallie and Blaine joined the flow of people heading for the galley exits. She heard Graeter key his radio and say, “Get the biohazard team to the galley. Yes. That’s right.
Again
, goddamnit.”
11
HALLIE ARRIVED LATE FOR HER MEETING WITH THE STATION’S CHIEF scientist, but Agnes Merritt seemed not to mind. Before Hallie even sat, the older woman blurted, “Did you hear what happened in the galley?”
“I was there. Yesterday and today both.”
Merritt shook her head. “What an awful introduction to Pole, Dr. Leland. I can’t imagine how I’d feel in your shoes.”
“Thank you. Please call me Hallie.”
“Good deal. I’m Agnes. Aggie to my friends, which is just about everybody.”
Merritt’s office was slightly bigger than Graeter’s, and she had two folding chairs for visitors. A coffeemaker sat on a small table in one corner. Merritt filled mugs and handed one to Hallie. Then she passed a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
Hallie had left most of her breakfast back in the galley. She nibbled one cookie, then gobbled another. “These are great.”
“Grandma’s recipe. I love to bake. Sneak into the galley during off-hours.”
Unlike Graeter’s office, Merritt’s was adorned with framed pictures.One wall was all Antarctic shots: Merritt boarding a C-130 at McMurdo, standing in her Big Red parka beside the station’s “barber pole” ceremonial marker, hoisting a champagne glass in honor of some holiday or memorable occasion. The other wall’s pictures were from back in the world. Most of them were grip-and-grins, Merritt receiving or holding awards and certificates. A typical bureaucrat’s wall, Hallie noted, except that there were no family pictures.
Merritt looked to be in her late forties. She wore comfort-cut jeans that stretched tight across her wide rump and a black turtleneck with a red fleece pullover on top of that. She had a round face red from high blood pressure or windburn or both, a red-veined snub nose, and a small, moist mouth that formed circles around words, as though she were blowing bubbles when she spoke. “So tell me what happened.”
Hallie did, and then everything slipped out of focus. She realized that Merritt was speaking. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Dear, you just zoned right out.”
“God. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Pole’s tough.” She patted Hallie’s knee.
“Agnes … Aggie, two deaths like this, so close together. That has to be unusual, even for the Pole.”
“I thought so, too. But have you ever heard of dehiscence?”
“No.”
“Me, neither, until Doc called. Part of Harriet’s esophagus was removed last year. Some kind of precancerous condition. They severed and reconnected some major veins and arteries.”
“You’re saying they ruptured?”
“Doc thinks so. When surgical scars reopen, it’s called dehiscence.”
“Why now, though?”
“Goodness, why not? Altitude. Extreme temperature fluctuations. Radiation. Stress. Bad food. Hard work. On and on.”
“I never heard of something like that.”
“How many folks do you know who’ve had esophagectomies?”
“What about Diana Montalban?”
“You mentioned a C-section scar. Could have been the same thing, Doc said.”
That seemed like too much coincidence to Hallie. At the same time, it wasn’t hard to understand why Merritt would want to rationalize the deaths. Minimize threats beyond your control. Unknown is always more frightening than known. And as chief scientist, Merritt would have a vested interest in showing that on her watch, deaths were caused by problems the victims brought with them, rather than any they’d encountered here.
Or maybe the deaths were connected in some way to Emily’s, and Merritt knew about all of it. Since Hallie had
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