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possibly fins . . . though until we can actually examine them, I’m only guessing.”
    In his mind, Hayes could see that thing flying around like some sort of cylindrical gargoyle, dipping down over sharp-peaked roofs. That was the image he had and it was very clear in his mind for some reason as if it was something he had seen once or maybe dreamed about.
    â€œHas LaHune see it yet?”
    Gates said he hadn’t, but that he was very excited about the prospects of the discovery. And Hayes could almost hear LaHune saying just that,
Gentlemen, I am most excited about the prospects of this monumental discovery.
Yeah, that’s exactly how he would have said it. Hayes shook his head. LaHune, he was some kind of guy. Dennis LaHune was the NSF administrator who ran Kharkhov Station, summer and winter. It was his job to keep things running, make certain resources were not wasted, keep everything on the straight and narrow.
    Yeah, Hayes thought, resident ballbuster, bean-counter, and NSF ramrod. That was LaHune. The headmaster lording over this clutch of unruly, free-thinking students as it were. LaHune had more personality than your average window dummy, but not much.
    Lind said, “I can’t believe he hasn’t come to see what we have out here. You would think it was his job.”
    â€œC’mon, Lind,” Hayes said. “He’s got more important shit to be doing like counting pencils and making sure we’re not using too many paperclips.”
    Gates chuckled.
    The water that melted off that irregular block of ice was being collected in buckets, tagged for later study. Drip, drip, drip.
    â€œGets under your skin, don’t it?” Lind said. “Just like that movie . . . you ever seen that movie, Hayes? Up at the North Pole or maybe it was the South, they got this alien in a block of ice and some dumbfuck throws an electric blanket over it and it unthaws, runs around camp sucking everybody’s blood. Think that guy from
Gunsmoke
was in it.”
    Hayes said, “Yeah, I saw it. Was kind of trying not to think about it.”
    Gates smiled, set his digital camera aside. With his big shaggy beard he looked more mountain man than paleontologist. “Oh, we’re unthawing our friend here, boys, but it won’t be by accident. And don’t worry, this creature has been dead a long, long time.”
    â€œFamous last words,” Hayes said and they all had a laugh over that.
    Except Lind.
    They’d lost him somewhere along the way.
    He stood there staring at the thing in the ice, listening to the water dripping and it seemed to have the same effect on him as the call of a siren: his eyes were fixed and wide, his lips moving but no words coming out. He stood there like that for maybe five minutes before anyone seemed to notice and by then it looked much like he was in a trance.
    Hayes said, “Lind . . . hey, Lind . . . you okay?”
    He just shook his head, his upper lip pulled up into a snarl. “That fucking LaHune . . . thinks he’s in charge, but doesn’t have the balls to come and look at this . . . this
monster.
Bastard’s probably on the line with NSF McMurdo, bragging about this, telling them all about it. But what does he know about it? Unless you stand here looking at it, feeling it looking
back
at you, how can you know about it?”
    Hayes put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, chill out here, Lind, it’s just a fossil.”
    Lind shrugged off his hand. “Oh, is that all it is? You telling me you don’t feel that thing
looking at you?
Jesus, those eyes . . . those awful red eyes . . . they get right inside you, make you feel things, make you want to do things. You telling me you can’t feel it up
here?”
He was rubbing his temples, kneading them roughly like dough. “Can’t you feel what it’s thinking? Can’t you feel it getting inside your head, wanting to steal your mind . . . wanting to make you