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more about southern events than he pretended. "It's produced weird weather around most of the world, but nothing here. And it started over a month ago, and it's nowhere near as bright now as it was. So how could it cause trouble now ?"
    "I don't know."
    "Look, you two." Barringer wondered why he could never hold a decent meeting. The talk always seemed to run off down side alleys. "I'd like to know what caused the trouble, too. But I'd like a hell of a lot more to decide what we're going to do right here in this camp. And I don't want a debate. I want to make some suggestions."
    That produced at least a temporary silence. Barringer waved his arm around, indicating the walls of the prefabricated hut. "You could probably run right through the walls if you wanted to, but it won't blow away and it's thermally insulated. So option one is to sit in here and wait 'til we all go crazy with each other's company. I don't like that. So here's my idea. We know that BSP has leases northwest of here, and Amarillo has leases to the southwest. They must have test crews, too."
    "They do," Dahlquist said. "I talked to them a week ago, about interpretation of the seismic."
    "Do you know where their camps are?"
    "Pretty well. They're both fifteen to twenty miles away from us. I can give you a heading."
    He did not say "compass heading." Bathurst Island sat almost on the North Magnetic Pole.
    "We can manage twenty miles," Barringer said, "even without the snowmobile. It's time we compared notes with the other groups. If we're the only ones with troubles, great. They'll help us. If we're all in the same boat, then we'll help each other. So I say we draw lots, to decide who—"
    "Me." Judd Clemens had his hand already in the air. "I want to go. I know how to travel easily over snow, I've done it often enough."
    "And me." Big Eddie Hansen raised his hand.
    Barringer stared at him. "Do you know how to move on snow?"
    "Better than you do. And like you said, I'd go crazy sitting here waiting for nothing."
    "He'll be fine," Clemens added. "Me and Eddie know the land and we work together good. All right?"
    "Just give me a minute." Barringer had been thinking of two trips, one man to BSP and one to Amarillo. But what Judd Clemens said made a lot more sense. If BSP was affected, so almost certainly was Amarillo. And two men could help each other if one got into difficulties. "All right."
    "When can we go?" Clemens asked.
    Barringer glanced out of the thick plastic window. It was still a few days short of the equinox, so at this latitude the sun never rose above the horizon. From about ten to two in the afternoon, a strange half-light reflected off the clouds. Today it was calm outside, with no breath of wind. "It looks good to me right now. What do you think?"
    "Perfect." Clemens stood up. "Come on, Eddie. Let's get suited up and our snowshoes on, and we'll be off."
    "Where'll we go, Judd?"
    "Amarillo. They eat better than at BSP. With luck we'll be there in time for dinner."
    In five minutes they were pushing out through the multiple layers of thermal plastic that covered the flimsy door of the hut. In one more minute, Judd Clemens was back.
    "Here." He handed the rifle that he was carrying to Dahlquist. "I thought I'd better test it to make sure this fired, before we lugged it all the way to Amarillo. You can add it to the list of things that doesn't work. See you tomorrow, early afternoon."
    He pushed his way out again, while Dahlquist sat down and examined the weapon.
    "Odd. I would have thought that this—oh, I think I see. It's the laser range finder and the target follower, they are controlled by a little ballistic computer. When that's out of use, there's a safety feature that stops the gun from being fired."
    "Could it be bypassed?"
    "I think so. With a bit of tinkering." Dahlquist laid the rifle down. "I'll take a look at it later. At the moment I have three weeks' worth of well logs to look at—and no computer to help."
    Barringer took the