The wind roared, its frosty bite stinging the thin strip of exposed skin belonging to Dr. Elena Winters. A pair of thick-gloved hands wrapped around a hand auger, whose sharp metal teeth slowly cut through the pristine ice. Dr. Winters adjusted her grip and shifted the weight of her petite frame, urging the stubborn auger to bore deeper. A halo of white swirled around her headlamp whose feeble beam barely pierced the Antarctic twilight. If it were not so dark, an observer might see that a few hundred feet from the struggling headlight was a large tent. Its shape resembled an Indian lodge, and its bright red fabric popped in the monochromatic landscape. It was about the size of a small school bus, encasing those nine hundred cubic feet with a small measure of protection from the brutal elements. Scanning around the tent, one would find concentric circles of small, rectangular flags colored with the same obnoxious red as the tent fabric. These circles began at perhaps ten meters from the tent and continued to radiate outwards in twenty meter intervals until they reached Dr. Winter’s current location. Beyond the crimson tent and its collection of little flags was nothing but ice and snow, blinding white with a tinge of glacial blue here and there in all directions as far as the eye could see.

Six long months ago, Elena had arrived on the runway of McMurdo Station a weary academic seeking to discover herself in the unforgiving Antarctic landscape. Unfortunately, that epiphany of self-discovery had not yet arrived. Rather, Dr. Winters labored day after day in the stifling darkness of Antarctic winter drilling and studying ice cores. Her fingers had somehow developed blisters despite constantly being sheathed in thick gloves. Her toes felt perpetually numb, but she didn’t mind. The little crimson tent was her refuge, her shelter from the elements, her laboratory, and her home. Elena Winters did not belong with the faint of heart. Spurred by a burning desire for discovery, a groundbreaking paper with her name at the top, she persisted.

With a labored grunt, she jerked the auger from the ice in a practiced motion. She exhaled, a cloud of breath disappearing into the frigid air. She transferred the ice core to a table within the makeshift camp she had set up not far from the drilling site. She released a perfect cylinder of bluish, yet crystal-clear ice.

She quickly pulled off her gloves and opened her notebook, beginning a new entry.

Sample 671-B

2024/12/02

surface ice core removed w/ 10 cm hand auger

Her pencil paused mid-note. Something about the ice caught her eye. Beneath the usual crystalline patterns was a faint, irregular shadow - too linear to be natural.

She frowned and leaned closer, her breath fogging the surface of the core. The shadow was dark and distinct, like the edge of an object suspended in the ice.

“What’s that?” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the wind buffeting the tent.

She rotated the core under the lamp, her gloved fingers stiff and clumsy. The shadow remained, taking shape as a sharp rectangle.

Elena’s curiosity flared. Objects buried in ice weren’t unheard of - dust particles, volcanic ash, sometimes even the odd meteorite fragment. But this...this was something else.

Setting aside her tools, she reached for her ice saw and began slicing carefully into the core. Each motion was slow and deliberate; any misstep could fracture the delicate structure and destroy the mystery inside. Minutes ticked by, the only sound her steady breathing and the rasp of the blade against frozen layers.

Finally, a small section broke free. Nestled inside was a corroded metal container, its edges crusted with frost. Elena’s heart quickened as she examined the object. It was small, just big enough to fit in both hands, with faint markings etched into the surface - symbols or perhaps letters, worn by time.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered to the box, as if it might answer her.