Dark Winter by William Dietrich Page B

was seeing was the Porcupine River herd. I'd seen animals, of course, but never animals in numbers like you see numbers of people- never animals to make you question everything you thought you knew about whose world this truly is. They came over a ridge and down to the Kavik River. I stood there in that light watching them for hours. And that was it. Suddenly the idea of spending my life looking for a pollutant struck me as profoundly unsatisfactory. Sneaking onto a refuge seemed wrong. People told me my dinner was getting cold, but I ignored them, and then that I would get cold if I stood out there all night, but I ignored that, too. It wasn't even night, of course, the sun never fully set. I didn't feel the cold at all. Everything just got rosy and soft. Finally, when everyone else was asleep, I pulled together some gear and started walking after the herd. I left a note so they wouldn't worry about me."
    "What did it say?" she asked. She was looking at him appraisingly, finding herself liking a man who could be affected so profoundly by caribou.
    His smile was wry. "I quit."
    "I'm sure that did reassure them."
    "One of the things I realized is that I didn't truly know a single person in that camp. Had never thought deeply about what I was doing."
    "Nothing to hold you, like you said."
    "Nothing to care about. Nothing to be proud of. I walked two days before I hit the Haul Road that runs from Fairbanks up to Prudhoe Bay. It was the loneliest two days I've ever had, and two of the best. They turned me inside out. Then some scientists came by in a Bronco and gave me a ride. I stayed at an ecological research camp at a place called Toolik Lake and that's where I met Jim Sparco. He was doing climate measurements in the Arctic and he's one of those rare omnivores interested in all kinds of science. We hit it off, talking about weather, geology. Climate and oceans come from rocks, you know. Volcanoes run the planet. We stayed in touch while I bummed around Idaho. I was running out of money, deciding what to do next, when I got a package from Sparco's lab in Boulder. It had a T-shirt inside that read, 'Ski the South Pole. Two miles of base, half an inch of powder.' Plus his telephone number. I called and the rest, as they say, is history."
    "He sent it to a geologist."
    "Yes, because he knew me."
    "And because of Mickey's rock."
    He was surprised. "How'd you know about that?"
    "I told you there're no secrets here. It's a small place. Mickey went weird at the drill site one day last fall, evasive, and people have wondered ever since if he found something unusual. He seemed pretty excited for a guy whose project is over budget and behind schedule. Then a geologist? It's not hard to put two and two together. What else could he find in the ice but a meteorite?"
    "He told me no one knew."
    "People guess. There's always a lot of buzz about everything because there's nothing else to do. The question is, why did you come all this way to see it?"
    "It's more like I agreed to see it in return for getting to come all this way."
    She leaned forward, looking expectant. "And?"
    "And what?"
    "Is it significant?"
    He stalled, wondering what to say. "Don't I get seduced first?"
    "Sorry. Just twenty questions."
    "You're the worst spy I've ever seen." He knew she was pumping him and that he should muster some annoyance, but he actually enjoyed the attention. "The fact is, he asked me to keep quiet about it. I'm not supposed to talk."
    She nodded, her interest confirmed. "He wouldn't bring you down here if it wasn't important."
    Lewis smiled like a sphinx. "Women are so snoopy."
    "Women listen."
    "Sparco is a friend of Moss's. Our astrophysicist wanted an opinion from a rockhound. I was unemployed. That's all there is to it. I haven't even done any tests yet."
    "But what you saw is worth testing."
    "We'll see."
    "If it's the right kind of meteorite it could be big."
    "For Mickey's reputation."
    "That's not what I mean. You know that's not what I