She gaped at him. “Go with them? I’m an astronomer. I have work to do here. I don’t know anything about military systems. They need to send an expert, one of their own people. I’m not going out there. Are you bonkers?”
This was her second year as a winter-over. She knew how dangerous it was to fly in austral winter. It had happened only a few times in Antarctic history in response to medical emergencies. Besides, Samantha got enough of the cold every day on her fifteen-minute walk to and from the Dark Sector Lab and SPT—the South Pole Telescope. She wasn’t leaving the station and going out on the ice.
Hell, no.
“Look, I know you’re going through a hard time right now, but out of the fifty people down here, the NSF and the Pentagon believe you have the skill to do this. They requested Patty, actually, but… They’re not going to risk sending anyone else.”
“Are you saying I have no choice?”
“Of course, you have a choice, but you have to understand what’s at stake here. There’s a top-secret system on that satellite that could mean the deaths of millions of innocent people if it fell into the wrong hands. Patty would have done it.”
“Don’t try to manipulate me, Steve. The satellite is sitting in the middle of the continent in winter. It’s not like ISIS is going to sneak in and steal it.”
“No, but someone else might.”
“Who? The Russians? The Chinese? Their stations are staffed by scientists just like us. We don’t do world politics or Cold War bullshit down here.”
Researchers from around the globe came to Antarctica to work together for the sake of science. There were no international tensions here, no military presence. There was barely any law enforcement—just the Special Deputy US Marshal who worked as the station manager at McMurdo.
“Don’t be naïve. You heard what Vasily said last time we saw him. ‘All the science is a pretext for maintaining a presence here so we can stake a claim.’”
“Vasily was drunk.”
Everyone had been drunk that night, one of the few times that astronomers from different countries could gather at McMurdo for a drink.
“In vino veritas.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest, sat on the edge of his desk, his brow furrowed as if he weren’t sure what to say next. “What I’m going to tell you is classified, which means you cannot repeat this. Understood?”
“I know what ‘classified’ means.” Did he think she was stupid?
“The satellite didn’t crash due to a malfunction. It was hacked.”
“What?”
“The Pentagon was able to do a partial trace on the hacker before the satellite crashed—no idea how they managed that—but they say the hack came from somewhere south of the Antarctic circle.”
The breath left Samantha’s lungs. “Are they sure?”
“I trust the Pentagon to know their stuff.”
“Holy shit.” Samantha sank into Steve’s chair, mind racing.
If the hack had, indeed, come from down here, then someone wasn’t the scientist they claimed to be. They were using science to hide a hostile agenda.
Steve walked to the map of Antarctica on his wall and pointed. “The satellite came down here—that’s roughly halfway between our location and Vostok Station.”
“You think the Russians hacked it?” Samantha wanted to laugh.
“I’m pretty sure the Pentagon does.”
Samantha didn’t care about politics. She’d spent her adult life studying the Cosmic Microwave Background, learning what it had to say about distant galaxy clusters. She preferred the wonder and excitement of scientific exploration to the cynicism of politics. One elevated humanity, while the other seemed always to drag it down.
And if someone gets their hands on this technology and people die?
How would she live with herself then?
“You’ll get hazard pay, of course. I’m sure the Foundation would consider itself in your debt. Imagine the benefits—”
“Stop!” She stood. “I don’t care about money. I need to think about this.”