Frank knew that name. Douglas Mawson, the Australian explorer whose 1912 expedition had nearly ended in madness and starvation. Legend said he’d buried a supply depot somewhere under the ice before abandoning it. A depot of whiskey, books, and—most importantly—a hand-cranked radio transmitter powerful enough to reach the outside world without satellites.
The storm was coming. But Frank had a key, a half-tank of jet fuel, and a very bad idea.
Not a soft stop. A philosophical stop. The kind where the cable bends, the motor whines, and the universe whispers, “No.”
He pressed the trigger.
Frank peered into the drain with a headlamp. At the bottom, something glittered.
Frank was the “urinal drain unblocker.” That wasn’t his official title. His badge said “Sanitation Systems Engineer,” but everyone knew. He was the man who stuck his arm where no one else would.
