Free Zodiac Station by Tom Harper Page A

coincidence, I insisted, trying to shut up the superstitious voices in my head. Still terrifying.
    ‘Is that what Martin came for?’ she asked.
    I looked around. Only my footprints.
    ‘Martin never came down here.’ That wasn’t quite accurate. ‘Not when he was alive.’
    ‘Anything else?’ She jerked her head towards the snowmobiles. ‘It’s a long drive back.’
    I left the bones in their icy grave. And this time, I remembered to free the snowmobile tracks from the ice before I started the engine.

Nine
    Anderson
    Nobody enjoyed dinner that night. Hagger’s death made for a brittle mood. People shuffled food around their plates and didn’t make eye contact. Across the table, Fridge gnawed the meat off a chicken drumstick. I tried not to think about the bones in the crevasse.
    Quam got the evening off to a bad start. As soon as the food was served, he stood up and tapped his glass with a fork. He had to wait, awkwardly, while the conversations grudgingly wound down.
    ‘I want to say a few words – since you’re all here.’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘Martin Hagger’s death is a tragedy. He was a great scientist, a respected colleague, and a good friend.’
    That morning, he’d told me Hagger was a busted flush. Glancing around the table, I didn’t see much evidence of good friends. Most of them looked hostile – or just bored. I couldn’t tell if it was Hagger they didn’t care for, or Quam.
    ‘The important thing is, we don’t let this get in the way of what we’re all doing. The best tribute to Martin Hagger will be carrying on our valuable science here at Zodiac.’
    I think I snorted out loud. Fridge, across the table, gave me a funny look. I could have told him that Quam had forbidden me from carrying on the
valuable science
that Hagger had been doing – but I refrained.
    Quam pulled out a piece of paper. ‘I’d like to read a few words. I’m sure they’ll be familiar to most of you, but I think they capture something. By Captain Robert Scott.’
    ‘Penguin shagger,’ someone said.
    Quam ran the paper between finger and thumb to smooth the crease.
    ‘“I do not regret this journey. We took risks, we knew we took them.”’ He coughed. It’s fair to say, he wasn’t a natural public speaker.
    ‘“Things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint.”’
    ‘Easy for you to say,’ muttered a voice behind me. But most of the room had settled into a respectful hush. Even on the Platform – heated, insulated, Internetted and well fed – we knew the line between life and death up there was fragile and transparent as a window pane.
    Quam raised his glass. ‘To Martin Hagger. We’ll miss him.’
    The rest of us shuffled to our feet and mumbled Hagger’s name. ‘We’ll miss him.’
    ‘And the grant money he brought in.’
    Eastman’s voice cut through the toast, loud and meant to be heard. Quam’s face went bright red.
    ‘That’s in poor taste.’
    ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’
    ‘I won’t dignify—’
    ‘And it wasn’t just the grant money,’ piled in Fridge. ‘Hagger brought in all kinds of extra funding for you.’
    ‘If you’re insinuating …’
    It was fascinating, watching the scientists tear into their base commander like a pack of wolves. Far more than just professional rivalry. I leaned back and watched the sport. The only person who ignored it completely was Annabel. She sat up, finishing-school straight, dismantling her chicken with small, precise cuts.
    ‘Let’s cut the bullshit,’ said Eastman. ‘We’re all sad Hagger’s dead. But hands up who actually liked the guy.’
    It was obscene to play along – but I put up my hand. I owed Hagger that much. Down the table, I saw Greta’s and Jensen’s arms up too. Kennedy, Ashcliffe the polar-bear hunter and Quam followed suit more slowly, reluctant to get drawn in. Fridge’s and Eastman’s hands stayed down. Annabel kept eating.
    Someone killed him.
Even after our