Killer

“Well, at the moment it’s a complete shambles. About a week ago we had a terrible storm. You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if winter’s setting in early. Couple of huts blown down, nothing to worry about at first, then one of the generators burnt out. Nasty business. Nothing worse in the middle of an arctic storm than uncontrolled fire. Anyway, this generator went up and set one of the storage huts alight. Proper inferno it was. One man killed, not one of my scientists, thank God – though most of them would be no loss – and a couple more people hurt. Badly hurt that is; most of us got little burns and bruises like Simon. Anyway, by morning it was a terrible mess, never seen the like. Stuff everywhere, most of it frozen solid. Help arrived almost at once of course – well, it’s pretty heavily populated up there at this time of year, but this is the first chance Simon and I have had to come for replacement supplies – and a right old lot it is too . . .”

“Tents,” said Simon Quick, as though reading from a list, “collapsible canoes, sleeping bags, blankets, cold weather clothing, rifles, ammunition, scientific equipment, portable toilets, rope, harpoon gun, harpoons, net, dynamite. Food: tins of meat, vegetables, fish, fruit, fruit juice; bottles of seasonings; packets of cereals; beverages. Nearly two tons. Last less than a week at Barrow, but time enough.”

“It all got us this jet anyhow,” said her father, looking proudly round the slim interior with its twenty-four seats, shining grey plastic, deep blue carpet. “You don’t think we ride around like this all the time? Usually we have to beg lifts from all and sundry, but the Corporation in their infinite wisdom lent us one of their executive jets to play around with until we get back on our feet. The Board of Directors would have a fit if they knew we were ferrying dynamite around in it. Pilot did.”

“No, Daddy, I meant what’s the camp like to work in? How’s it run?”

“Oh, of course. You’ve never been in one, have you? Well, ours is really two camps, so it’s pretty big. Basically it’s for scientific research, so there are a lot of scientists; and they’ve given us some cold-weather men to nursemaid us, and to do the dirty work. I’m in charge of the scientists, such as they are; and Simon’s chief cold-weather man. See?”

“Yes, of course. It all seems quite logical. But what’s Mr. Ross going to do?”

“Ah, well; that is a question. The answer seems to go like this. One of their pet scientists,” his tone made it clear that he himself was nobody’s pet scientist, “has come up with a series of experiments he wants to do during the winter. Silly idea. Still, rather than give this man a completely new camp, the Board have decided it would be more economic to give him one, like ours, that was scheduled to close for the winter, from November to May. Now, if they do this, a certain amount of re-structuring will have to be done. Some of the huts, for instance, could do with a little draught-proofing and perhaps some insulation. And Ross, as their chief cold-weather man, has to design these improvements. He could do it quite adequately on his desk, if you ask me, but he wants to do it on the spot. Well, if you’d lived in Washington for five years, I dare say you’d understand that.”

After he had delivered himself of this speech, Kate’s father lapsed into an abstracted silence. Kate knew better than to distract him, and when, after a couple of minutes he took out a pocket calculator and a notepad she gave up all hope of communication, and looked out of the window.

For more than an hour she gazed at the monotony of the tundra, too far below to present a spectacular view, even in all its summer finery, but suddenly, as the plane turned to make its descent into Barrow, she found herself looking away over the Arctic Ocean. The sun was impossibly high in the clear sky, and it shone off the surface of the water, concealing its depths. Kate allowed her eyes to wander up toward the horizon, and suddenly there was a blaze of light. She blinked, and it remained constant, its hues shifting and changing only as the jet continued to turn. It was as though some unimaginable giant had set a crown of sapphires and emeralds on top of the world.

“What is that?” breathed Kate, overcome by the beauty of it; the greens shading from the deepest sea-green to the lightest crystal, the blues from the palest glimmer of a clear winter sky to the violets and indigos of a calm summer’s night, all a dancing flame set in the finest filigree of gold.

“It is the pack,” said Ross, suddenly behind her.

“It’s your birthday!” cried her father. “Katherine, why didn’t you remind me?”

“I want to see it properly, Daddy,” she pleaded, the little girl again.

“What? Oh. Yes. I suppose so. Yes. Of course you can. Certainly. Go and tell the pilot. Say I said it was all right.”