The Decision to Drill

The company engineers arrived three days early.

They came in a big ski-plane that landed on the snow beside the base. Eleven men and women climbed out, wearing grey parkas with the company logo and carrying shiny metal cases. At the front was a tall, thin man with neatly combed grey hair, wearing a formal suit under his parka, as if he were at a meeting in an office rather than in Antarctica. His name was Mr Hartmann, the project director.

"We begin drilling the day after tomorrow," he said, after shaking everyone's hand quickly. "The weather is right, the machine is ready, and we have no time to waste."

"Mr Hartmann," said Dr Kamal, "we need to talk to you. We've discovered something."

They gathered in the base's small meeting room: the engineers on one side of the long table, the scientists on the other. Dr Freya showed the pictures: the microscope images, the glass dish with its tiny crystals, the thermal camera with its glowing lights stretching away beneath the ice.

Mr Hartmann listened with his hands clasped in front of him, his face not changing at all.