Pandora

CHAPTER 1

My name is Rick Donovan. My superiors at the National Aeronautics Space Administration call me Richard. Subordinates refer to me as Dr. Donovan while close friends call me Rick. My two ex-wives use other names, but bastard and son of a bitch seem to be their favorites. They didn’t choose to divorce me because I abused them, drank too much, or chased other women. It was nothing like that. They left me because I more often than not had my head buried in a microscope. They felt that my job was my mistress.

I became a scientist not because I excelled in subjects like physics, chemistry, and biology. I chose the field of astrobiology because of my innate insatiable capacity for curiosity. I suppose I was born into this world with a desire to understand what we as humans have yet to discover. The question as to whether other life exists in the universe has been asked ever since men first looked at the stars. I want to help mankind find that answer.

This particular science is relatively new; I think I should take a moment to tell you what it entails. Astrobiology addresses the question as to whether other habitable planets exist in our solar system and beyond, and how we humans can detect them. You’d be right to think that’s a lot to bite off. But actually what I do most of the time is study meteorites. To be perfectly honest, astrobiology sounds like it would be a glamorous profession, but that’s because some people have the misconception that I spend most of the time searching for intelligent extraterrestrial life. The truth of the matter is I don’t look for little green men. Instead I take samples from meteorites to determine whether they contain water and certain chemical signatures that signify whether or not the planet they came from could support a habitable environment. Not only do I try to ascertain what kind of planetary body the meteorite came from, but I also try to determine the meteorite’s age and how long it has been traveling in space. Some people might find that to be a boring occupation, but I find the work fascinating.

Whenever a meteor of any significance lands anywhere in the free world, NASA will usually send me to the site. In my tenure with NASA, I’ve been to numerous places and have studied literally thousands of meteorites. Unfortunately, my frequent absence from home has played havoc with my love life. As a result, a large portion of my income is spent supporting my two ex-wives. Needless to say, I’m not on a quest to find familial bliss! At thirty-six, all I have to show for the thirteen years I’ve spent working for NASA is a closet full of clothes, some of which no longer fit me, a Dodge Charger, and a Rolex watch that was given to me by my father. My 1969 Dodge is my prized possession. That’s probably because besides the watch, the car, which I must admit is still a work in progress, is my only asset.

At the moment, I’m sitting in a straight-back chair killing time, admiring the brass placard on an office door that belongs to my superior. The large black letters can be easily read from across the hall where I’m sitting:

Dr. Jonathan Farley

Director of the Institute For Advanced Studies

In my years with NASA, I’ve never been summoned by the man who runs this department. I’m curious. Why would someone whom I’ve never even met want to see me? It certainly wouldn’t be to give me my assignment. This is because my workload is normally given to me by one of two assistant directors, never by the director himself. Needless to say, I am somewhat apprehensive, particularly since I’ve heard rumors within the department that Congress is about to cut NASA’s budget. Was I being let go? I really didn’t think so. But then again astrobiologists aren’t in high demand, particularly if Congress wants to cut back on allocating funds for the Institute. If I was to be laid off, I seriously doubt if the man who heads up the department would be the one to hand me my pink slip. That job would be relegated to one of his two assistants. But then, if that was the case, what was I doing here?

I must have dozed off, because I felt someone gently prodding my shoulder.

Dr. Farley will see you now, said his rather bookish-looking secretary. If you will follow me, please.

Farley had taken over the division less than a month ago. It crossed my mind that he may have asked me to his office so he could introduce himself. But then I remembered that Farley had planned a cocktail party the following week for the sole purpose of meeting the three hundred scientists who were in the department. News, particularly gossip, travels at the speed of light at NASA. People who are supposedly in the know claim he’s a fair man. But knowing that didn’t ease my apprehension.

She led me to the door with the distinguished-looking placard, opened it a crack and said, Dr. Donovan is here, sir.

A booming voice replied, Well, for heaven’s sake, Margaret, let the man in!

By the sound of him, you’d expect to see a relatively young, robust person, not an elderly balding man. He certainly didn’t portray the image of an important space executive, but instead looked more like a shoe salesman. Everything about Dr. Farley looked ordinary. His suit was somewhat rumpled, obviously of inferior quality material, probably purchased off a hanger at a discount store. His hair was snow white, the little he had. His spectacles were so small that they hung precariously on his nose. But his eyes were mesmerizing. His piercing look made me think he could see right through to my soul. I saw an innate intelligence there, a shrewdness that belied the fact that Dr. Farley wasn’t the meek little man he appeared to be. No. Quite the contrary. This was a man who had an enormous amount of power, but for some reason preferred to portray an unimpressive image.

His handshake was firm. Thank you for being so prompt. Do you mind if I call you Richard? Dr. Donovan sounds rather formal, don’t you think?

Before I had a chance to answer, he said, You can call me Jonathan if you like. We don’t have to stand on formality, you and I, especially behind closed doors.

My tongue didn’t twist to call him by his first name, but I also didn’t want to disregard his suggestion by calling him Dr. Farley. I decided on sir as an alternative.

He led me to a small conference table where there were two straight-back chairs. He pointed to one. Please make yourself comfortable. Once we were seated, he said, You’re probably wondering why you are here.

The thought did cross my mind, sir.

He opened a file folder and glanced at a few pages for a minute or two.

I see you’ve been to Antarctica many times.

This was a surprise. Why mention Antarctica? I nodded. Meteors there are better preserved because they quickly get covered by ice. This causes them to be less polluted by dust particles. I stopped myself. But then I’m sure you know this.

A barely perceptible smile crossed his thin lips. Actually I didn’t. I’m an astronomer, not an astrobiologist.

He glanced back into the folder, the crease lines on his forehead becoming more pronounced. I see here that you speak Russian.

What possible connection did my speaking Russian have to do with the study of meteorites? I had hoped he’d just tell me why I was here, but by the looks of things, he was interviewing me. For what, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t say I’m fluent in the language, but I get by.

Do you recall the mega quake that took place in east Antarctica several months ago? It was an extremely large temblor. In fact, as I recall, it measured 8.3 on the Richter scale.

I said, Wasn’t the epicenter within the proximity of Lake Vostok?

Farley fixed his knife-like eyes on me. You are well informed. I’m going to be forthright. I haven’t been in this job long enough to get to know the people who work here. As a result, I relied heavily on Dr. Rubenstein.

Rubenstein was Farley’s assistant. He was also my boss. Where was he going with this? My mind raced ahead. What was he up to?

I told him I needed someone dependable to lead a group of scientists into Antarctica. He recommended you.

Taking on the role of a team leader certainly had never crossed my mind. Would you mind telling me why you chose me?

I realized it was a stupid question as soon as it escaped my lips. Farley had just told me that Rubenstein recommended me. Nerves do that sometimes. I wouldn’t have blamed him had he called me an idiot, but instead he grew more serious.

For two reasons. Because you’ve been to Antarctica on a number of occasions, I have to assume you are somewhat familiar with the continent. You also speak Russian.

Farley’s answer raised more questions. I was on the verge of asking him why my ability to speak Russian was important when he said, I know you must be wondering what this is all about. He glanced at his watch. There is a meeting I’d like you to attend. Would you mind following me?

He led me through a maze of corridors to an elevator that took us down several stories to a secure area where only people with a top secret clearance were allowed. An army corporal standing guard by a door at the end of the hall stood aside when we approached. When I walked into the room, I was surprised to see four men and one woman sitting around an oval-shaped conference table; four were dressed in civilian attire and one wore a military uniform. I had never seen a general with so many ribbons. What in hell was this about?

I’d like all of you to meet Dr. Richard Donovan, Farley said in that thunderous voice. Dr. Donovan is a senior astrobiologist here at the space center. I’ve chosen him to be the team leader; that is, if he’s willing to undertake the assignment. He looked in my direction. Dr. Donovan, I’d like you to meet your colleagues. He glanced at a bearded man wearing horn-rimmed glasses who was sitting directly to my left.

This is Harold Roth. He’s a mathematical physicist who comes to us from MIT. Dr. Roth has been doing some very important work involving molecular geometry.

Harold gave me a cursory nod. I wondered why a physicist with a specialty in molecular geometry would be needed in Antarctica, but before I could dwell on the man or his occupation, Farley continued with the introductions.

To my left is Dr. Virginia Mason who is on loan to us from Harvard. You wouldn’t think a person so young could be a world-renowned specialist in the design and construction of biological organisms, but she is. Dr. Mason’s specialty is biological chemistry.

Some people wear their emotions on their sleeve. The smile on her face told me Virginia Mason was obviously enthralled with the notion of having been asked to attend the meeting.

Next to Dr. Mason is Mr. Brian Hawk. Mr. Hawk is a meteorologist. You people will certainly need one where you are going.

Brian was obviously the youngest person in the room. He never even bothered to look at me. That was because he was too busy texting a message on his smartphone.

And to his right is Dr. Ron Applegate. Ron is an astrophysicist with us here at NASA.

Ron winked. I don’t know if you remember, but we met once a year or so ago.

I didn’t remember, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Yes, of course. I was all the more curious why Farley had picked me to lead these people to a godforsaken place like Antarctica. The continent was by far the most desolate in the world. And why had Farley chosen an array of scientists with such diverse backgrounds? Granted, astrobiology, mathematical physics, biological chemistry, and astrophysics were needed to study the cosmos, but we were being asked to go to Antarctica, not the moon.

Farley looked across the room to the military officer. I’m not going to keep you in suspense any longer. General Westerland is going to brief you on the reason you are here. Before he begins, I want to make something abundantly clear. Whether or not you choose to go on the mission, you are not to discuss with anyone outside of this room what the general is about to tell you. I think once you hear what he has to say, you’ll understand why secrecy is of paramount importance.

Suddenly a feeling of foreboding came over me. What in hell could possibly be in Antarctica that warranted secrecy? Why were so many brainy people in the room? And why was a three-star general about to conduct the briefing? Needless to say my anxiety level was high—extremely high.

CHAPTER 2

General Westerland brushed by me on his way to the podium. I couldn’t help but notice his stars, three on each shoulder. Even when I was flying helicopters for the Navy, I had never come across a general with three stars. The base commander where I was stationed, a brigadier general, only had one. I figured for a three-star general to be at this meeting meant there was something really important that he wanted to discuss.

Someone lowered a screen and dimmed the lights. Westerland cleared his throat and began.

As most of you know, several weeks ago an earthquake broke a huge chunk off the Lambert Glacier, which by far is the largest glacier in Antarctica. The section that slid into the South Polar Ocean was enormous. In fact, at a hundred eighty-three miles long and twenty-eight miles wide, it’s the largest piece of ice to ever hit the frigid Polar Sea. Mind you, that was just the part that broke off, so you can imagine the size of the glacier.

Brian Hawk whistled. That’s what I call a pretty large ice cube.

That it is, Westerland said. The sheared-off section exposed something enormous buried beneath the glacier itself. One of our roving spy satellites revealed a huge gray mass immersed several thousand feet beneath the Antarctic ice. Whatever the object is, it’s lying close to the bottom of that glacier above a subglacial lake. The Russians call it Lake Vostok. Although no one has actually seen the lake, we’ve known about its existence for years. This is because ice-penetrating surveys detected the presence of a liquid freshwater lake beneath the glacier.

A lake beneath a glacier? Virginia said. My specialty isn’t geology so I know nothing about these things, but it seems odd for there to be a lake inside a glacier.

I’m not about to disagree, Westerland said. Nonetheless, it’s there. Westerland glanced at Farley. Do you have any additional information about the lake?

Yes, I do, General, Farley said. Some of you may be wondering why no one has ever actually seen this lake. It’s because Lake Vostok is buried under two miles of Antarctic ice. In fact, some scientists believe it’s a counterpart to the ice-covered seas that most likely exist on such worlds as Europa and Enceladus. Which, as you know, are Jupiter’s and Saturn’s moons. We believe the lake has been cut off from the outside world for as long as fifteen million years. Some scientists predict that life forms not found anywhere else on Earth could have been transported into the lake from the atmosphere before the surrounding ice sealed it off. From what we’ve been able to determine, there’s a large pocket of air trapped above the lake and the glacier. You might think of it as a world within a world. Some say it’s a cradle for prehistoric microbial life.

I was still in the dark. What in hell does some obscure subglacial lake have to do with my specialty? I deal with meteorites, not microbial life in some glacial lake.

The transition from Farley back to Westerland was seamless. The Russians have had a drilling operation there for quite some time now, Westerland said. But as far as we know, they haven’t had any success in reaching the lake itself.

Earlier you said a satellite spotted something buried in the ice. How large is the object? Ron Applegate, the astrophysicist, asked.

Westerland flashed a representation of a dark shadow embedded in ice onto the screen. I was just coming to that. It’s so massive that it was not possible for the satellite to expose its shape in any one image. But we were able to form a composite picture.

The general placed another image on the screen. From the photographs it looks very mysterious; however, we managed to make a detailed study of the peculiar shape. Its configuration appears to be—

It’s obvious that it’s elliptical, but what in the hell is it? Brian Hawk, the meteorologist, cut in.

The annoyed look that surfaced on Westerland’s face told me this general did not like to be interrupted. If I knew, you wouldn’t be here, he said, his voice gruff. He placed his pointer, starting on the left side of the screen and moved it slowly to the right. The dark shadow begins at this point and continues for approximately five thousand meters to this point.

My guess is it’s some sort of natural aberration, Ron Applegate volunteered. It has to be. I don’t know what you’d call it, but that thing is almost three miles long. To say it’s monolithic would be an understatement. He paused, then added, You’re not thinking that it’s artificial in its origin, or are you?

We don’t have enough information to make any kind of an assessment as to what it is, Farley answered. Nothing even remotely similar has ever been seen before, in Antarctica or anywhere else for that matter.

Westerland placed another image on the screen. The object is so large that if you were in the lake looking up, you would think you were looking at a gray sky. This is because as best as we can ascertain, it’s over a mile wide at its widest point. Westerland cleared his throat. A moment ago Mr. Hawk asked what it was. The honest answer is we simply don’t know. We showed these photographs to a number of scientists here at NASA, but so far no one has been able to come up with a plausible explanation. Dr. Applegate asked if it was artificial in its origin. The fact that it’s so large makes one think it’s most likely a geological formation—were it not for the peculiar sightings.

Sightings? What kind of sightings? Harold Roth, the mathematical physicist asked.

I’m afraid I’m getting somewhat ahead of myself, Westerland said. "Before the earthquake, the Russian global news service, Russia Today, ran a story on an excavation project undertaken by Russian engineers. The article claimed that scientists were in the process of drilling a tunnel through the ice in order to reach the lake. According to the news story, the Russians claim they were doing this in order to study the lake’s pure water because they believe totally different life forms exist beneath the glacial ice. In fact, one Russian scientist was quoted as saying that the lake most likely contains an extremely complex ecosystem. That’s if you believe what they say."

Westerland paused to collect his thoughts. We think the story was just a smokescreen. The generals at the Pentagon believe the Russians were attempting to bore through the ice to that lake in order to try to determine what’s buried in the glacier. Westerland flashed several more images on the screen. These were taken yesterday by one of our satellites.

The images were somewhat blurry, but it was evident that there was a huge gray mass beneath the ice. Are you saying the satellite didn’t reveal the outline of the gray mass till the earthquake sheared off a portion of the glacier? I’m calling it a gray mass for lack of a better term to use.

Westerland nodded. That’s correct, Dr. Donovan.

Perhaps the Russians were telling the truth, Virginia Mason said. Maybe they were trying to bore a hole through the ice so they could gather some gene sequences from the water in that lake.

Intelligence tells us otherwise, Westerland said. "Approximately two months before the quake hit, several Russian scientists had an outpost close to the base of the Lambert Glacier. They were conducting a study involving climate change. Then all of a sudden they packed up and left. Shortly after that the place began to buzz with all kinds of activity. Flights came and went at a dizzying pace. Heavy machinery—some of it pretty exotic—appeared on the Antarctic ice sheet. There were reports of strange anomalies in the area. Do you really think the Russians would have subsidized such a costly, time-consuming project in order to catch a glimpse of a bunch of fish no one has ever seen before? Our guess is they must’ve known about that thing in