Sahara. It's rationed." He stopped, listening. They could hear the clumping sounds of someone inside.
"No shower for three or four days?" Lewis leaned back in exaggeration.
"It's so cold and dry you don't sweat much here." He was talking to Lewis but his attention was on the door. He sounded distracted. "Or if you do, people get used to it."
"Splendid."
The door opened and a lumbering bear of a man shambled out, naked except for a towel around his waist, his hair wet. He was bearded, hairy, and huge, a veritable Sasquatch. He stopped in surprise at their presence. "What's this, a line to pee?" The voice was deep, the eyes hard and squinty.
"Just rising to join us, Buck?" Cameron's look was of dislike.
The man scowled. "Just cleaning up after trying to make some room for all the crap that came in."
"We had trouble getting the plane off on time."
"It got off."
"We're both stuck here now. I need you on time."
"It got off. And I need you to stop nagging and let me do my job." The two men held their gaze for a moment, a mutual glare, and then the big man's slid away and he looked past the station manager. "Who's this?"
"The new guy, Jed Lewis. Getting the tour."
"Another beaker fingie? Great." He didn't offer a hand. "You getting the Ten Commandments from Ice Prick? Learning how to fill out work requests?"
There was an undercurrent of resentment that Lewis felt unsure how to respond to. What was the beef of this guy? "Just looking."
"Well, don't look the fuck at me." The man pushed past them, lurching down the hall, his fist clutching his towel to maintain some dignity.
"Buck, we're on a team," Cameron said after him. "Lewis here is part of the team."
The bear turned. "It ain't a team, it's a caste, and it's beaker glory on G.A. frostbite. If I could have waved goodbye to this zoo I would've been on time for that." He sized up the newcomer, who was wondering what G.A. meant, and pointed a stubby finger. "You watch your ass around here, Lewis, because it's cutthroat island among the beakers whenever someone throws grant crumbs our way. You got any sense, you'll look out for Number One. And don't pay any attention to all the brown-nosing, middle-management, ass-kissing bullshit, either." His finger swung to Cameron. "I'll take a fucking shower when I fucking want to." He went in one of the rooms and the door slammed.
The station manager was looking after the man unhappily, his mouth working as if he were still deciding what to say.
"Who the hell was that?"
"That was Tyson. Our mechanic." It was a mutter.
"The guy they said was sulking?"
"Don't pay any attention to him." Cameron shook his head unhappily. "He fought to get hired down here and has bitched about it ever since. He's a malcontent and a loser." The station manager frowned at his own candor. "He'll come around." Cameron glanced at his watch, suddenly losing interest in the tour. "Listen, I'll finish showing you around tomorrow, including where you work. You'll be up for it then. For now, just take it easy, try to get used to the altitude, get over the jet lag, and unpack. Okay?"
"Is that guy having a bad day, or what?"
"Every day's a bad day for him."
***
Lewis went back to his room, sat on his bunk, and scratched the frost, watching a strip peel off under his fingernail. Pulled into the path of heat, the crystals began to melt. Welcome, fingie.
He decided to remain philosophical. First of all, he'd volunteered for this. Walked out of his oil patch job and straight into unemployment in a fit of righteous environmentalism and self-doubt. It was a miracle he'd met Jim Sparco and fit his emergency need for a polar research assistant. A miracle he'd been given a purpose again. There was no question he was meant to be here. Expertise, desire, and opportunity had all neatly fit.
And second, he knew, sailors, inmates, and astronauts had certainly endured worse. Despite the spongy outer wall, his room was toasty enough- except that he couldn't use