Terminal Freeze

8

For a moment, Marshall felt almost too dazed to speak. And then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling of disbelief vanished, flushed away by an anger he wasn’t even aware he’d been keeping in check.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised by the calmness of his own voice, “but that isn’t going to happen.”

The smile didn’t leave Conti’s face. “No?”

“No, it’s not.”

“And why is that?”

As the producer asked this question, Marshall saw Sully approaching from the direction of the base. No doubt he’d heard the commotion of Conti’s last shot and come to investigate. The climatologist had been fawning over Conti every chance he had, eager to curry favor and perhaps land a supporting role in the production.

“Mr. Conti has just told me the real reason they’re here,” Marshall said as Sully joined the group.

“Oh?” Sully asked. “What’s that?”

“They want to cut the Smilodon out of the ice cave and thaw it in front of live television cameras.”

Sully blinked in surprise at this revelation, but said nothing.

Marshall turned back to the producer. “It’s one thing for you to take over our base, interrupt our research, let your people treat us like squatters. But I’m not going to allow you to jeopardize our work.”

Conti folded one arm over the other. Marshall realized Ekberg was staring at him intently.

“That carcass represents an important-maybe hugely important-scientific discovery,” he continued. “It’s not some cheap publicity stunt you can exploit for your own ends. If that’s why you came up here, I’m sorry you wasted your time and money. But you might as well pack up and leave now.”

Sully seemed to master his surprise and hear Marshall once again. “Ah, Evan, there’s really no need-”

“And another thing,” Marshall spoke over Sully. “I’ve already told Ms. Ekberg here: that cave is unsafe. The vibration of heavy equipment could bring the damned thing down on your heads. So even if we didn’t object to your crazy idea, there’s no way we’d grant you access.”

Conti pursed his lips. “I see. Was there anything else?”

Marshall stared at him. “Isn’t that enough? You can’t have the cat. It’s as simple as that.”

He waited for Conti’s response. But instead of replying, the director threw a significant glance at Wolff.

Wolff cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. “Actually, Dr. Marshall, you’re right. It is simple: we can do whatever we want.”

Marshall turned toward Wolff, feeling his jaw set in a hard line. “What are you talking about?”

“If we want to cut the cat out of the ice, we can. If we want to chop it up and barbecue it, we can do that, too.” The channel rep reached inside his parka and withdrew a sheaf of papers, which he held out to Marshall.

Marshall didn’t take them. “What’s this?” he asked.

“This is the contract that your Dr. Sully, and the head of NMU’s research department, signed with Terra Prime.”

When Marshall didn’t reply, Wolff went on. “In exchange for underwriting your six-week expedition, Terra Prime-and by extension its corporate parent, Blackpool Entertainment Group-has exclusive and unlimited access not only to your site but to any and all discoveries you make, at our sole discretion.”

Reluctantly, Marshall took the document.

“Clause six,” Wolff said. “The operative word is ‘unlimited.’”

Briefly, Marshall scanned the contract. It was as Wolff said: in effect, Terra Prime controlled any physical or intellectual property their expedition produced. He hadn’t realized Terra Prime was a subsidiary of Blackpool, and he didn’t like it: Blackpool was infamous for its sensationalist, exploitative journalism. Clearly, Wolff anticipated this moment would come: that’s why he was carrying the contract around in the first place. Marshall looked more closely at the man. Even in a parka, Wolff was thin, almost cadaverous, with close-cropped brown hair and an expressionless face. He returned the look, pale eyes betraying nothing.

Marshall turned to Sully. “You signed this?”

Sully shrugged. “It was either that or no expedition. How could we know this was going to happen?”

Marshall didn’t answer. Suddenly, he felt more tired than ever. Without another word, he refolded the contract and passed it back to Wolff.