2. Dove
2
DOVE
I lift a freshly cut slice of ice core sample up to the light, examining the tiny air bubbles suspended inside. The ancient atmosphere has remained trapped for centuries, waiting for me to extract its secrets. I place it carefully on the examination tray and position another section of the cylindrical core on the cutting platform. I’m grinding the blade through the final segment of frozen core when the door of the lab swings open.
Commander Barrett stands in the doorway, his weathered face creased with worry. The set of his jaw tells me this isn’t a casual visit to check on my progress.
“Mind if I interrupt, Callahan?” he asks, stepping into the lab.
I pull off my safety glasses and wipe my hands on a nearby towel. “What’s up?”
The commander sighs, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “We’ve got a situation. That wildlife photographer is refusing to come back to the station.”
Of course she is. I think back to our brief interaction—how she breezed into our station like it was a hotel lobby, how she demanded that I show her to the commander’s office. The fact that she’s now ignoring direct orders doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
“She radioed in requesting to stay another night,” Barrett continues. “I denied her request, made it clear the storm’s coming, but she’s gone silent since. Not responding to radio calls.”
I lean back in my seat. “And this concerns me because?”
“I need you to go bring her back. For her own safety.”
“Me?” I cross my arms. “There’s nobody else who can handle this?”
“Thompson and Mills are in the middle of equipment calibrations they can’t interrupt, and Patel’s down with that stomach bug. You know the terrain better than anyone else here, and you can handle yourself if conditions deteriorate.”
I glance at my carefully arranged samples, the data I was planning to analyze today. “Can’t she just stay out there and face the consequences of her own decisions?”
Barrett’s expression hardens. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
I exhale slowly through my nose, weighing my options. There aren’t any. “Fine. I’ll get her.”
“Thank you, Callahan. I knew I could count on you.”
I grunt in response. I don’t mind helping when there’s a real emergency, but wasting my time on someone deliberately ignoring safety protocols is something else entirely.
Ten minutes later, I’m zipping up my parka in the station’s mudroom. I don’t bother with extra supplies or emergency gear—the photographer’s shelter is just a few miles out and the weather’s clear.
I push through the exterior door into the Antarctic air. After working here for so long, the cold is just background noise. I head toward the garage bay where our vehicles are kept.
I fire up a snowmobile, the engine’s rumble cutting through the pristine silence. The endless white landscape stretches before me under a clear blue sky. It’s serene now, but the forecast calls for a storm a little over a day from now.
The snowmobile glides easily over the snow as I accelerate toward the photographer’s shelter. The sooner I collect her and her equipment, the sooner I can get back to my samples. Get in, grab the photographer, get back to base. Simple and straightforward.
I follow the GPS coordinates, squinting against the glare of sunlight on snow. Just another tedious errand keeping me from my work. The things I do because someone can’t follow basic instructions.
It doesn’t take long to reach the photographer’s shelter. Her bright blue tent stands out against the infinite white, a nylon island in a frozen desert. I kill the snowmobile’s engine and scan the area. Footprints crisscross the snow—some older, partially filled in, others fresh. The newest tracks lead away from the tent toward a small ridge about fifty yards out.
I follow on foot, the snow crunching beneath my boots. As I approach the ridge, I don’t see her at first. Then I spot her, lying flat on her stomach in what looks like a shallow depression in the snow. She’s partially concealed, her camera pointing toward a cluster of penguins waddling on the ice below. She’s completely absorbed, unaware of my presence.
Even bundled in layers of gear, there’s no mistaking the fullness of her figure—and her broad hips and curvy waist catch me off guard. My cock twitches with awareness, but I force my attention back to where it’s supposed to be, loudly clearing my throat to make my presence known.
She pulls her eye from the viewfinder and glances over her shoulder. When she sees me, she sighs and turns back to her camera.
“What are you doing here?” she asks without looking at me, adjusting something on her lens.
“You need to pack up your gear,” I say. “I’m taking you back to the station.”
“I already told Commander Barrett I’m staying one more night.” Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, as if I’ve simply misunderstood the situation.
“There’s a storm coming. For your safety, you need to return to base now.”
She keeps her eye trained on the penguins. “The storm isn’t due for more than a day. I just need tonight. Tomorrow morning, I’ll pack up early and be back with plenty of time to spare.”
My patience is wearing thin. “This isn’t a suggestion. It’s an order.”
“From you?” she asks dryly.
“From the commander.”
She shrugs, still not looking at me. “Well, you can tell the commander that I refused to go back with you. I’ll deal with the consequences when I return to the station.”
I stand there, my irritation building with every second. This whole fucking thing is such a waste of my time. I’m tempted to throw her over my shoulder and be done with it. I could. But something tells me she’d make me regret it every mile back to the station.
“What’s so damn important about tonight?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“The aurora forecast.” She continues taking photos. “Tonight’s going to be perfect. The conditions couldn’t be better.”
That gives me pause. I’ve seen the aurora many times. The way the green light ripples across the black sky like some kind of cosmic wave. It never gets old. But it’s still not a good enough reason to ignore direct orders.
“There will be other auroras,” I say. “Let this one go and come back with me.”
“I don’t have that luxury.” Her jaw tightens. “These two weeks were all I got for this assignment. Tonight’s my last chance.”
“You were specifically assigned to photograph the aurora?”
She pauses before answering. “No. I was sent to photograph the penguin colony.” She pauses again. “But getting them with the aurora is important to me. More important than you could understand.”
I feel my eyebrows pull together. “Try me.”
“What?” She finally looks back at me again, surprised.
“Try me. Explain why it’s worth risking your safety.”
She gives a short laugh. “I’m sure you don’t actually care. Please, just go back to the station and leave me here.”
“No.” I plant my boots more firmly in the snow. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Fine.” Her voice goes flat. “Then you can stay, but don’t disturb me.”
We lapse into silence. I watch her as she returns to her camera, adjusting settings and taking shot after shot of the penguins. The only sounds are the click of her shutter and the occasional soft breath of wind. I’m stuck. I can’t physically drag her back—well, I could, but I won’t—and I’m not returning without her. That’s not how I work.
I need a different approach. She’s been here for two weeks. She must have some decent shots already. If I can get her to show me her work, maybe I can find a way to convince her that she’s already got what she needs.
“Let me see your photos,” I say.
She looks over her shoulder, confusion written across her face. “What?”
“The photos you’ve been taking for two weeks. I want to see them.”
She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You want to see my work?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Um…okay.” She still looks thrown off. “Let me finish up here and we’ll go to my tent.”
I step back, giving her space. She takes a few more photos, shifting positions to catch different angles. Every time she shifts, my eyes drop to the ample curve of her hips. Goddamn it. I force my attention to the horizon.
Finally, she stands up and brushes snow from her clothes. She gives me a strange look as we start walking. “Are you sure you want to see them?”
I sigh. “Would I have asked if I didn’t?”
She mutters something I can’t hear. We reach her tent, and she ducks inside. I stand there, looking at the small opening. It’s a one-person tent. Entering feels invasive somehow.
She sticks her head back out. “You coming in or what?”
“Why do I need to get in the tent?”
“Because my tablet’s in here and I’m not bringing it out in the cold. If you want to see the photos, come inside.”
I curse under my breath and follow her in, my large frame making the space feel tiny. Between the two of us, her sleeping bag, all of her equipment, and the portable heater, there’s hardly an inch of space left.
She pulls out a tablet and hands it to me. “Here.”
I swipe through the first few images. Then my pace slows. These aren’t standard wildlife photos. There’s something else in them, something personal. Her images capture more than just the visible. It’s like she’s captured the soul of Antarctica itself.
“You took these?” I ask, stunned.
“You could sound less shocked.”
I look up, frowning. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“What did you mean, then?” Her expression is challenging.
“I expected something more…I don’t know. Like all the other wildlife photos I’ve seen. These are special.”
The defensiveness in her posture eases a little. “Oh. Thanks.”
I continue looking through them. “I don’t see how these won’t satisfy your editor.”
“My editor will be fine with them,” she says, tightness coming back into her voice. “But he won’t be blown away. That’s why I need the aurora shot.”
There’s that stubborn streak again. I exhale slowly.
“Hypothetically,” I say, “Let’s say you stay, get your shot, and your editor loves it. What then? Why does it matter so much?”
She hesitates, then shrugs in a way that’s trying too hard to be casual. “They’ll finally take me seriously.”
“They don’t take you seriously now?”
“No.” She looks away. “They didn’t even want me for this assignment. Their regular guy broke his ankle, so they settled for me. I’ve spent years hearing my work lacks ‘impact.’ They always give the big assignments to men who talk a better game than I do.”
I shake my head. “That’s messed up. But I still can’t let you stay. There are protocols for a reason. When the commander gives an order, it’s not optional.”
Her face hardens. “Then what was the point of looking at my photos? If you weren’t actually going to listen?”
“I did listen. I get where you’re coming from now. But that doesn’t change anything. We’re going back.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever bent the rules for you?” she asks, frustration edging into her voice. “When it really mattered?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“It is,” she insists. “You’re the one forcing me to leave.”
“The commander’s making the call, not me.”
“What happens if you go back without me? How much trouble will you be in?”
“That’s not an option. I’m going back, and you’re coming with me.”
“The only way I’m leaving is if you carry me out yourself.”
I smirk. “If that’s what it takes.”
Her eyes widen. Something passes between us that has nothing to do with our argument. Heat crawls up my neck, and I need out of this tent.
“Five minutes,” I say, already moving toward the tent opening. “Pack up. I’ll be at the snowmobile.” I duck out before she can respond, inhaling cold air into my lungs.
I stride to the snowmobile, trying to clear my head. I turn the key in the ignition. The engine coughs weakly and dies.
What the hell?
I try again with the same result.
“Goddammit.” I close my eyes for a moment. This day just keeps getting better.
Something cold and wet hits my face. I open my eyes to snowflakes—first a few, then more. Visibility drops rapidly as swirling white fills the air.
The blizzard. A full day early.
“Shit.” I try the snowmobile one more time. Nothing. I quickly calculate how long it would take to walk back. Too risky with visibility failing this fast.
I look at her tent. It’s a high-quality polar shelter, designed for these conditions. Not ideal, but safer than attempting to walk through a whiteout.
I walk back over and check the anchors, making sure they’re secure against the increasing wind. The entrance unzips and she appears, confusion on her face.
“What are you doing?”
“Storm’s here,” I say, tightening a line. “Snowmobile’s dead.”
She turns to look, her expression morphing to shock as she takes in the rapidly deteriorating conditions. I finish securing the last anchor and grab her arm, pulling her back to the tent’s entrance.
“Inside,” I order.
I know exactly what we’re facing—and how much trouble we’re in. How much trouble I’m in.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.