The Big Bang Symphony: A Novel of Antarctica

41

260 41 The morning after the party, Mikala sat on the edge of her bed and took three ibuprofen to combat the effects of too much bad wine. Nothing, however, would expunge the memory of her father’s warm, sweaty hand in hers, the picture of him dancing ridiculously and drinking wine from the bottle. He was out of the box and she couldn’t shove him back in again. She zipped on all her layers and stepped out of the Hypertat into whiteness. A storm had socked the station. She hesitated just outside the door, knowing she ought to go back to bed until it passed. In fact, an early morning announcement over the public address system ordered everyone to stay in their shelters. Flags and ropes had been planted and strung between the dome and a few key outbuildings, but individuals were strongly discouraged from venturing out. The storm pleased Mikala. It suited her mood, the howling oblivion, the wind racing so freely across the landscape. She heard Rosie’s voice in it, her Antarctic muse, a ribbon of sweetness through the angst of the gale. This gave her courage. She grabbed hold of the rope attached to the Hypertat and stepped into the whiteout. The series of flagged wands, connected by the rope, guided the way to the dome. They wouldn’t have strung a line as far out as the Dark Sector, but maybe the shuttle would be running from the dome and she could catch a ride from there. Hand over hand, Mikala worked her way along the line. The wind blasted about in confused eddies and then passed in long sweeping howls. The dry swirling snow isolated her completely. She could see no other people, no buildings, nothing but white and her own mittens sliding along the line. Every now and then a wand with a red nylon flag appeared, flapping fiercely, announcing that she was still on course. Mikala stopped to listen and again heard Rosie’s voice in the wind. Quite suddenly, the snow-laden air lifted, revealing a dim blue through the clouds. Then a big patch of cloud swept up and away, and there, in the distance, among the cluster of buildings called the Dark Sector, was Marcus’s telescope. An instrument welcoming energy from the universe. Mikala knew that the storm was far from over, that this was just a momentary gasp, the storm’s inhalation before its next exhalation . But last night’s firsthand experience of those gray eyes and warm hands, set to the music of that angelic voice, overrode all reason. It was time to talk to her father. She let go of the line and started walking across the reach of ice, toward the telescope. Halfway there, the storm descended again and she could only hope she was walking in a straight line. She could see nothing. She was walking blind. She knew she had to keep going, keep moving, and hold on tight to the picture of her father, his ridiculousness , his humanness, as if she were traveling back in time to the moment when she was half sperm and half egg, just joining. When the veil of storm thinned again, she saw she was nearly there. She walked right up to one of the spindly legs that supported Marcus’s two-story instrument and wrapped both mittened hands around it. The telescope looked nothing like a conventional one. It sat atop the inner of two concentric and mechanically isolated towers so that no vibration would be transmitted from the building to the telescope. Hoisted on the legs of the towers was an irregularly shaped, shiny steel box that supported thirteen antennae, encased in steel tubes, sticking out of its slanted top. Yellow shields, like petals, surrounded the steel body. A big cosmic flower turned to the microwave background radiation. 261 Mikala entered the building attached to the telescope. She leaned against the inside of the door, breathing and shivering hard, until she felt slightly more composed. Then she climbed the stairs to the second floor, where she found Marcus sitting at a computer, clicking through data. His shoulders were hunched from fatigue. The hair on the back of his head was all mussed from where he’d slept on it. His shirttails were out, stretched over the paunch. He hove a big sigh, weaved his fingers behind his neck, and stretched...