âIf those relics are extraterrestrial, I want them.â
âYou think thereâs something inherent in their properties that you can use?â Annja asked.
âPerhaps. But I do know that with my money and resources, I can get them examined faster than the bureaucrats in charge. And if thereâs power to be had, then I want it for myself, yes.â
âSuch a humanitarian,â Annja said.
âNot a chance. Five hundred years can do a lot to make you rather self-centered, Annja. Iâm horribly selfish, I admit it.â
Annja smiled. âI didnât want to say anything, butââ
Garin held up his hand. âGet back to your shelter and stay there. If anyone stops you, tell them I said youâre to stay there until I say itâs okay to come out.â
âSo, Iâm grounded?â
Garin frowned. âGet to work, Annja. Lives just might depend on it.â
Annja opened the door. As she did, one of the medical team soldiers came in and reported to Garin. The medic shook his head. âWe did all we could. Colonel Thomson is dead.â
The LC-130 Hercules turboprop plane jumped and dropped as the turbulence buffeted it about the sky. Annja Creed, dressed in extreme-cold-weather gear issued to her by the U.S. military, clutched at the armrests on her seat. She felt as if her stomach were on a roller-coaster ride and had forgotten to inform her.
She swallowed the rising bile in her throat and felt the plane lurch again. âThis is getting ridiculous,â she said. She unclasped her seat belt and tried to stand, bumping her head against the interior bulkhead in the process.
âDamn.â
If the plane was going to crash, she at least wanted to see it coming rather than sit trapped in her seat. Annja clawed her way forward toward the cockpit.
She passed one of the crew on her way. âIs it always like this?â
He grinned. âYup. This time of year, itâs always stormy down in these parts. You get used to it after a few trips.â
âWonderful,â she said, not feeling any better about the turbulence.
She made her way to the flight deck. âHi.â
The pilot turned. âYouâre supposed to be strapped in, Miss Creed. Itâs not exactly safe for you to be roaming around.â
Annja smiled. âI got the distinct impression that it wasnât safe sitting in my seat, either.â
âWeâre totally fine,â the pilot said. âThis is run-of-the-mill updrafts, turbulence and assorted atmospheric anomalies.â
âAnomalies?â Annja asked.
He shrugged. âWe donât really know what to call them. But they come with the territory of flying near the bottom of the world.â
The copilot glanced at her. âYouâre in no danger.â
Annja smirked. âGuess I figured if the end was coming, I wanted to see it rather than hide from it.â
The pilot nodded. âUnderstandable sentiment. Iâd be the same way. If you want to, you can stay as we make our approach.â
âHow much longer?â she asked.
âMaybe fifteen minutes. We come in low and fast, so make sure you hold on to something when we hit.â
âHit? You guys sure do have a great way of putting things.â
âWell, we donât so much land as we skip and slide to an eventual stop. Those skis underneath our wheels are there for a reason,â the copilot said.
Annja nodded. When theyâd taken off from the Air National Guard base in New York, sheâd noticed the long skis on the underside of the plane. Without the benefit of a proper runway, aircraft going to Antarctica sometimes had to land on skis.
It was the first time Annja had ever done this and she wasnât quite sure what to expect.
The flight to New Zealand had been a long one with three in-flight aerial refuelings supplied by KC-130 supertankers. Annja had watched the experienced crew guide the plane to within a quarter mile of the flying gas station, take on a full tank of gas and then continue on its way.
She looked out of the cockpit glass and could see snow falling. The pilot pointed to the instrument console. âWipers, please.â
âWipers.â The copilot switched them on and they flicked the flakes from the glass.
The plane felt as if it was starting to descend. Annja could hear flaps grinding in the cold blasts of air outside. The pilot kept the throttle up. Suddenly, Annja felt very much out of place.
Best just to let these guys get done what they need to get done, she thought. She turned and headed back to her seat.
She passed more crew members. One of them was drinking a tumbler of coffee. âCan I get you some?â he asked.
Annja shook her head. âNo, thanks. Not sure my stomach will let it settle right now.â