The Laptev Virus

Max’s friends from high school had teased him, saying that he would never get a good-paying job by pursuing his hobby. He had worked as a truck driver for a few years, but he tired of the road and longed for time off so he could get a chance to go hunting. Then one day he had seen an ad in the newspaper for an experienced hunter, and he had applied online that same evening, attaching dozens of photos of large prey that he had felled. It was the only way he could think of to impress the people who might otherwise frown at his meager work experience.

The job meant that he would have to live way up north in the Arctic for a few months of the year, but he would make enough money during that time that he could afford to take the rest of the year off and spend lots of time hunting. So far, to his dismay, being a bear hazer at Riesigoil had been much more boring than he had expected. Protecting the workers from polar bears had sounded like a lot of fun, but it had turned out to be more like just babysitting the workers while he held a toy shotgun in his hands. Still, whenever he got too frustrated by the tediousness of the endless expanse of ice, he reminded himself of the months of hunting that lay ahead, and that generally cheered him.

“The machinery’s already set up there? Everything’s ready to go?” asked Brian, his voice cracking as he strained to be heard over the loud stuttering of the helicopter. He was referring to the drilling equipment they would need to use to be able to remove the ice core samples. Sometimes they were required to spend extra time setting up all of the equipment, but often it was another team that identified the area and prepared it for their team.

Since they wanted samples from depths greater than 30 meters, they would need to use specialized drills that hung on cables. The drills could be electromechanical, or electrothermal, Brian had explained to Max earlier that week. Thus Max now knew that, in Brian’s opinion, electrothermal drills were not as consistent and were to be avoided if possible.

“You bet,” said Evan, consulting his instruments. “They have it all set for us. We should be able to get in and out in about two hours.”

As they gained altitude, Max, who was sitting by a window, looked out and saw gray everywhere: the sky above, the ice below, and everything in between. The entire landscape, as far as the eye could see, was varying shades of unbroken gray. He was certain that whatever other faults it might have, Texas never had this much gray.

The ride was a short one, and within fifteen minutes, the four men had reached the site where the drilling equipment stood waiting for them. Evan put the helicopter down and soon they were outside, feeling the cold wind biting their exposed faces. Max walked over with Brian, who was wearing a bright red knit cap, and watched him as he inspected the long, cylindrical drill bit which was connected to a slender cable that would soon suspend the drill shaft as it made its way down into the hole. On the end of the drill bit Brian showed Max the four carbide teeth that would cut into the ice, shaving layer after layer as it penetrated downward.

“See these two barrels there?” Brian asked.

Max peered in and saw an inner one and an outer one.

“That motor you see there,” Brian said, indicating with his gloved finger, “is attached to the inner one and that’s what makes it rotate.”

Max peered at the inside of the barrel of the inner core and saw the threads which spiraled up and around the inside. “What are them stringy things there for?” he asked.

“Those are called ‘threads’ and they serve to remove the ice chips that get freed by the carbide teeth, you see. That helps to keep the chips from getting in the way of the tip of the drill,” explained Brian.

Max sauntered back toward the metallic bird, his shotgun slung carelessly over his shoulder and saw Evan cast another uneasy glance toward the west where an even darker patch of gray sky now loomed.

“Let’s try to finish this one quickly and get back out of here,” Evan said, his shoulders held stiffly against the wind which was beginning to pick up. The three men got busy with the equipment and began the procedure of extracting the ice core sample while Max loaded his shotgun and calmly began scanning the horizon.

“Aren’t you going to use binoculars?” asked Ted. In his late forties, Ted was the oldest of the bunch, and already graying at the temples. In Max’s opinion, besides being a know-it-all, Ted worried too much, especially about things which were none of his business.

“Nah,” said Max, not deigning to glance in Ted’s direction. “We ain’t seen a single one of them in all the times I’ve been out here. Don’t see why one of ’em would show up now.”

Ted and Evan exchanged uneasy looks, but neither said anything. Max was the one with the shotgun. Besides, they needed to concentrate on the task at hand.