Z-Minus Box Set 2 by Perrin Briar

Author:Perrin Briar [Briar, Perrin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-11T22:00:00+00:00

Z-MINUS: 8 hours

Laurence M. Gould scythed through the shards of ice like a red-hot blade. The fragments made calming thudding noises on the hull. The air was cleaner than Hamish had ever experienced. In fact, it was too fresh. Hamish had to keep coughing to clear his lungs. He’d get the craving to suck on exhaust pipes before the week was out.

Captain Meadows was very hospitable, even offering his own cabin to the seasick Hamish, who clutched his stomach with every slight wayward movement. It had been rough coming out of Punta Arenas’ Chilean harbour, the sea lolling and ungainly. Now, the surface was calm and clear, not a ripple to be seen. Hamish still wanted to hurl.

They’d passed an island of sea lions on their journey. The creatures had looked up and watched as Laurence M. Gould passed, completely at ease, waiting for the stranger to leave their neighbourhood. It seemed a shame to ruin the calm tranquillity with Laurence M. Gould’s juddering engines.

Laurence M. Gould was clean and efficient, like its crew. He was a seventy-meter ice breaker, launched in 1997 and used by researchers from the United States’ National Science Foundation. There were two deckhands, Jerrol and Glyn. They moved with the smoothness of those who knew every intimate nook and cranny of their vessel. It only made Hamish feel even more like a spare.

He wasn’t the type to sit idly by while others did the work. It wasn’t in his nature. He’d asked if he could help. They asked him to tie a knot in the rigging, and after seeing his effort, they immediately redid it themselves and never accepted his help again. Some things were better left to the experts.

The clouds were reflected perfectly in the flat clear water below, and the white smudge on the horizon swelled as they pulled closer to the giant landmass until it stretched from one horizon to the other. It was cold, but no worse than the frigid temperatures he was used to on the east coast during the ‘winter vortex’ season.

Then some black smudges came into view, clear and vibrant against the white. They seemed at odds with the beautiful blanket of nature around them. The smudges became distinct, resolving into square blocks that clung unnaturally to the snow like limpets. It was Palmer Station, and it was going to be his home for the next two months.

Two months. Here. Hamish shook his head. He must have been mad to accept the position. He’d had a cushy summer deal in New York before he left. He was a research professor at Princeton. Instead of lounging on the beach somewhere like Tahiti, he was going to be here. In popsicle hell. But when the opportunity came up, he’d seized it with barely a moment of hesitation.

Ordinarily there would have been no physical contact with Palmer Station during the Winter Over, but the resident biologist Dr. Scott had passed away and they needed a hasty replacement. Hamish was that replacement. He’d been made the offer first – apparently he’d been Dr.

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