Colder Than Ice (2 page)

FINLAYSON
EXPEDITION NO LONGER A MYTH!

She
paid the owner for the paper and walked up the steps, this time one after
another, her eyes eagerly scanning the article’s contents. Nearly slipping
again on the worn sandstone, she decided to stop reading until she’d emerged
from the underground railway exit.

As
Allison walked through Hyde Park, she barely noticed the beautiful autumn day that
greeted her. The changing colors and the encompassing morning’s warmth scarcely
touched her awareness as she brusquely walked to work, nose firmly ensconced in
the paper.

27
March 2009-Dateline Antarctica.

A
random discovery made last week may well have laid to rest over a century of
speculation surrounding the true existence of the first explorer to establish a
base in Antarctica. The remains of an expedition’s hut were found during ice
core research, in an area previously recorded as not containing archaeological
relics.

Dr.
Sarah Knight, the glaciologist who made the discovery, said she’d never
expected to find anything in such a remote location, some nine days from Wills
Station. When she discovered wooden elements within a test ice core sample, she
conducted a GPS check of the drilling location and confirmed that the position
was not a historical site.

When
asked to speculate on what the actual remains might be, Dr. Knight was
confident in her reply. “We’ve mapped and recorded every explorer to have
traversed the continent of Antarctica, with the exception of one who, until
now, was thought to have perished in the Southern Ocean long before reaching
Antarctica. I believe these remains can be no other than from the hut of Eric
Robert Finlayson.”

“Good
morning, Dr. Shaunessy,” Arthur Packham greeted.

Allison
looked up from the newspaper and realized that she was in the Museum.

She
grinned. “Hi, Arthur, how are you?” She always enjoyed chatting with
Arthur, who was one of the museum’s oldest and most well-informed guards, and,
as always, smartly dressed in the charcoal grey uniform of the Museum’s
employees. Allison waved the newspaper at him. “Did you see the news this
morning?”

Arthur
smiled. “I’m fine, Dr. Shaunessy, and yes, I did. I’m sure you’re very
excited by this possible find.”

“After
so many years of speculation, it looks as if my research has been vindicated.
My theory regarding his supply ship must have been correct. They did manage to
unload both men and cargo onto land and then the ship must have perished on the
return journey,” Allison said wryly, and shook her head. “The odds of
finding the hut’s location are astronomical. I’d love to speak with this Sarah
Knight and see if there’re any other telltale signs around the site.”

Arthur
tapped his watch in gentle remonstration of Allison’s enthusiasm. “Now
that you mention talking to people, Dr. Shaunessy, isn’t there a faculty
meeting today?”

Allison
scowled and lightly cursed as she trotted to the elevator, leaving a chuckling
Arthur behind her. She turned to give him a quick wave goodbye and smiled. His
attention was already focused on a small girl, who tugged on the hem of his
jacket. From inside the elevator, Allison watched the scene and softly laughed
at Arthur’s patience with children as the doors quietly closed.

ALLISON
DUMPED HER gear on the desk in her office in the rear area of the Museum and
wheeled for the door. She’d barely taken two steps when she ran into a
six-foot-two immovable object, the scent of its aftershave unmistakable.

Rick
Winston took a step back and absorbed the impact by encasing Allison in his
arms. “Ooof! Alli, where are you going in such a hurry? And where’s my
good morning kiss?”

Allison
disentangled herself enough to brush Rick’s lips. “I’m as late as all
hell. The alarm wasn’t set this morning, I woke up late, missed my train, and
then dropped everything on the way to work and now I find out that part of my
thesis may have been proven. And, of course, to make matters worse, I’m late
for the only appointment I need to keep on a regular basis.”

Rick
gently shook Allison’s shoulders. “Slow down or you’ll burst something.
Old Pedant Peterson was held up leaving Melbourne. His plane was fogged in and
he’s not due for another twenty minutes or so. Come into my office and we’ll
have a cup of coffee and compare notes.” He stepped out of the embrace and
headed down the hallway.

Allison
resignedly sighed at the way he naturally expected her to follow him.

“You
do remember the purpose of the meeting today don’t you,” Rick called over
his shoulder before entering the wood-paneled room of what could only be the
office of a man.

Allison
rolled her eyes—as if such an important meeting could be forgotten. The faculty
members of Flinders had only been preparing papers for it for the past two
months. And now, the one paper she should have had ready to present wasn’t
ready at all. “Of course I do. Today is the day old Peterson spreads his
largess over the unwashed masses, namely us. What have you heard about the
projects the old geezer’s likely to sponsor this year?”

Rick’s
eyes quickly flitted toward his open door and then back at Allison. “For
Christ’s sake, Alli, keep your voice down. I suspect the old man already knows
that you think he’s an ignorant prat, without you calling him names. The last
thing you want is for someone to hear you.”

Allison
flung her head back and then forward, her short brown locks falling into her
eyes. She impatiently brushed them away. “What, like blimbo you
mean?”

Rick
stifled a laugh. “You’re going to get yourself in so much trouble one of
these days. Di will hear you and then that’ll be the end of it.”

Allison
insolently shrugged. “Well, what would you call her? All that flouncy,
curly long blonde hair and a body shape like an advance party for a famine. As
for her wardrobe, what self-respecting academic would be caught dead looking
like they’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine?” She shuddered.
“Ugh. The woman makes my skin crawl.”

Rick
laughed and gently closed his door. Walking past Allison, he playfully ruffled
her hair with his fingers. “You, my dear, have a terminal case of
non-diplomatic foot and mouth disease.” He poured steaming filtered coffee
into two mugs and handed one to Allison. “About the possible projects to
be considered at the meeting today, I’ve heard of the combined proposal from
the meteorology and geology department; I think it’s called the Simpson
project. Have you heard of any others?”

Allison
sat down and nodded as she took a long sip of her first coffee of the day, its
strong aroma teasing her senses. “Hmm, the Simpson Project. If I was a
betting woman and given the amount of discussion at last year’s meeting, I’d
say it’s a shoe-in. There’re also others. One is the Mungo Project. It’s a dual
one between the Palaeontological and the Anthropological departments. They’ve
taken a holistic approach and pooled their resources in order to study the
ancient environment, its fossils, and the culture of prehistoric man existing
during that era. I’ve no doubt that tightwad Peterson will be more than willing
to support two outcomes for the price of one.”

Rick
nodded. “You’re right. It seems to be the way things are these days. Man,
I liked it so much better when the Departments were at each other’s throats.
Divide and conquer, that’s what it should be about.”

Despite
the logic in Rick’s words, Allison was unsettled by the vehemence of his tone.
She cared little about how many academic departments there were to a project.
To her it made sense to pool projects where possible. She filed away his
reaction for a later discussion. “There’s one other and it’s almost
guaranteed to receive funding. About two hundred and fifty miles southwest of
Riversleigh they’ve found another dinosaur field that rivals Dinosaur National
Park in the States. By all accounts it’s an ancient water basin, full of
pristine fossils.”

Rick
drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t get it. We dug at Riversleigh years
ago and got a mountain of samples out of there. Why bother doing the same thing
again?”

Allison
smiled at Rick’s sometimes single-minded approach to life. “Yes, we did,
and got some excellent samples in the process. Stop and think. Where’s
Riversleigh?”

Rick
gave her a perplexed look. “Riversleigh is in the middle of Peterson’s
brother’s electorate. Remember, he’s the sitting member? What better way in an
election year to secure re-election than to ensure a guaranteed injection of
funds into the community?” Allison sipped her coffee. “Aside from
those, I don’t know of any other projects.”

Rick
shook his head. “Then why are we wasting our bloody time this morning? We
all know the old man only funds three projects a year. This meeting’s a done
deal.”

Allison
nervously shifted. “Not exactly. There’s another project I’d like to
table, but given my paper’s incomplete, I may require the support of
others.”

Rick
frowned and then his eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding. Have you
anything you can put in front of the old man about the Finlayson expedition?
You know he’s a stickler for detail and he’s not likely to be too happy with a
verbal briefing.”

“If
I’d have known what this morning’s headlines would be then I’d have been
prepared months ago. This vindicates key elements of my thesis.” She stood
up and paced the small office. “Even though the University Faculty
accepted my exposition, I could see doubt on the faces of some of the Panel.
There can be no better closure than to go down there and conclusively prove
Finlayson’s presence as the first person to expedition on the Continent.”

Rick
caught Allison’s hand and gently pulled her to him. “Calm down. You’ve got
my support and I’ve no doubt in the excitement of the moment you’ll have the
support of others in the meeting. But you’ve got to present this as
diplomatically as possible and you know you’re not good at that. Choose your
words carefully or you’ll never have a chance with this. In the extreme case he
says yes, are you sure you can pull this off? I mean, Antarctica isn’t like the
middle of Australia. The expedition cost alone is going to be astronomical.”

“Don’t
you think I know that? If I can just get some sort of commitment from him I
know I’ll find a way. Can you imagine the excitement of such a project?”
Allison managed to stop herself before she yet again launched into her pet
topic. She caught Rick’s barely stifled yawn. “What happened to you last
night? I thought you were coming over to my place?”

Rick
stifled another yawn. “Sorry about that, I got caught up here at work and,
given my apartment’s only two blocks away, I went home instead.”

Allison
opened her mouth to ask about the project that had kept him so late when the
telephone rang.

“Flinders
Museum of Australasian Exploration, Dr. Rick Winston speaking. He is? We’re on
our way. Thank you, bye.” Rick hung up and grabbed the half-full cup of
coffee from his desk. “The old man’s arrived, so we best get a move
on.”

With
a determined glint in her eye Allison took a step toward the door. Rick put
himself in the doorway, halting her progress.

“What’s
wrong?” Allison asked.

Rick
pushed a stray lock from Allison’s eyes. “Remember what I said. I’ll
support you, but you’ve got to present your case clinically and don’t rise to
his goading. Don’t interrupt me, you know he does. Let’s get going.” Rick
patted her backside and pushed her out the door in the direction of the
conference room.

Being
the last to arrive in the deeply stained wood-paneled room, Allison and Rick
took their seats at the antique cedar table.

Allison
listened with detached enthusiasm to the projects briefed to the Museum’s
Patron, Alastair Peterson. It wasn’t that she thought they weren’t deserving.
But every nod made by Peterson took her further away from her intent to present
the idea of support for an excavation of the Finlayson hut.

As
the meeting droned on she mentally worked on plans on how the dig might
proceed. Certainly it would be different from any others she’d participated in
before. There’d be a greater degree of isolation, not to mention the extreme
environment. Rick kicked her shin. She blinked out of her mental preparations and
scowled at him.

“So,
if there are no objections or additions to the three proposed projects I
believe we have our planning mapped out for the year ahead.” Alastair
Peterson tipped the ash of his expensive cigar into an ashtray.

Trying
not to cringe at what she believed to be a filthy habit, Allison cleared her
throat.

Peterson
condescendingly smiled at her. “Yes, Miss Shaunessy, is there something
you wish to add, seeing as how you’ve daydreamed through the majority of the
meeting?”

Allison
reined in her temper as the others around the table suddenly preoccupied
themselves in their own papers. Peterson persisted in calling her Miss instead
of Doctor. This usually didn’t bother her, but he seemed to take a perverse
pleasure in not recognizing her academic achievements.
Why, he wouldn’t know
the difference between a duck’s thighbone and a Hesperomis’ thighbone from the
late Cretaceous period. In fact, I bet if I asked him that now.
..She
mentally slapped herself. There were times to start an argument and clearly
this wasn’t one of them.