A big welcome to J. Scott Coatsworth as part of his blog tour with Other Worlds Ink for Slow Thaw from Mischief Corner Books.
On the Ice
Writing a romance set in one of the coldest places on Earth was a challenge. But I do love a research rabbit hole, so down it I went.
Temperatures in Antarctica can reach as low as -85 degrees Celsius. That’s cold enough to freeze a sandwich solid, which does in fact happen on trips away from base. That fun anecdote made it into the story, and is one of the reasons scientists take chocolate bars – called nuttys by the Aussies – out on the ice. Won’t freeze, and lots of calories.
Newcomers to the Ice are called fingys – from F.N.G. – the fucking new guy. I had a lot of fun with that one. 😛
And one that I discovered just last week, after the story was finished?
The ice on the Ross Ice Shelf sings. From LiveScience.com:
“When [scientists] listened to recordings gathered over two years on the ice shelf, they found that the ice was almost constantly “singing” at a frequency of 5 hertz — five cycles per second — its doleful hum generated by the blowing of regional and local winds. They also learned that features of its song changed in response to events that affected the surface snow and ice, such as storms that shifted snow dunes’ positions, or excessive melting.”
How cool is that?
The Antarctic is one of the last unexplored places on Earth. Who knows what surprises lie under the ice?
For now, I’ll settle for taking you to the Antarctic as it is today, or as it may be in the next couple years. I hope you enjoy the ride.
J. Scott Coatsworth has a new MM trans/cisgender holiday romance book out: Slow Thaw.
Javier Fernandez is a climate scientist living in a research station near the South Pole. Since his husband was killed in a car crash, he’s preferred to be alone, and is less than thrilled to have a junior scientist thrust upon him by his rich patron.
Col Steele is a trans man fleeing a bad break-up, ready for the next step in his career, who is ready to spend Christmas anywhere but at home. When a crack in the ice separates the two men from safety, they are forced to come to terms with their own losses and each other.
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It was the start of the end of the world, but Col Steele didn’t know it yet.
The rhythmic whomp whomp whompof the helicopter’s rotary blades matched the beating of his heart.
I’m here. I’m really here.
He pressed his face to the glass, eagerly taking in the landscape below, capturing the view in his phone. There was no cellular network here, of course, and he had his Sony A73 packed away for the real work, but his phone was good enough to record his own personal memories.
The sparkling blue and white of the Ross Ice Shelf spread out before him, almost indescribable in its frozen beauty. The ice seemed to stretch on forever here in the South, as they called it. On the ice.
The copter had left the Southern Explorer a few minutes earlier, taking off from the grey deck and passing over a span of cold ocean water where a waddle of penguins played in the Ross Sea.
The cliffs of The Ice were white enough—and tall enough—to put the cliffs of Dover to shame with their splendor.
Col checked the temperature gauge on the console. It was a relatively balmy Antarctic day, with the temperature hovering just below zero Fahrenheit.
“First time?” His pilot, Joseph, steered the copter over the ice field with practiced ease.
“Yes. Not yours, I assume?”
“Nope, I’ve done the run to Amundsen–Scott more than a dozen times, people and cargo. Been out to Bettancourt three times now.”
Col nodded. Paul Bettancourt was his benefactor—a billionaire who was keenly interested in the science and effects of global climate change.
He picked me.Out of more than two hundred research scientists, the man had chosen Col to be the next fellowship scientist to join Javier Fernandez at Bettancourt Station for a six-month internship.
It was still sinking in.
The timing couldn’t have been better. Col had no desire to be home for the holidays this year. After a bad breakup with David, he was nursing a broken heart, and was in no mood for Christmas trees and candy canes. Far better the frozen tundra of Antarctica, to match his frozen heart.
The Ross Shelf was much more varied a landscape than he’d expected. The smooth white ice near the shore gave way to a variety of landforms, the result of the ice being pushed and pulled around by gravity and shaped by wind and snow and rain for millennia.
There were mountains and valleys, the peaks white and the shadows a beautiful blue.
In other places, the wind-blown snow created long scallop shapes along the ice.
In at least one spot, a wide, shallow pool of melted water almost glowed turquoise in the sunlight. Not a good sign.
“You see a lot of melting out here?”
Joseph nodded. “More every year. It’s been a slow thaw, but every summer season it goes a bit faster. Lots more icebergs too. Seeing one of those calve off the main shelf is something else. Crack! Thunder!And a great splash of water as it hits the ocean.”
Col grinned. “I’ve seen it in the Arctic. I spent a year based out of Whitehorse, studying the ice sheets up north.”
“Never been. Though I hear the girls in the Yukon are wild.”
Col snorted. “I wouldn’t know.” What he didn’t say was that he’d been one of them, once. On the outside, at least.
That was a lifetime ago.
Now this new life was laid out before him, and he just wanted to move forward.
He captured as much of the landscape as he could manage with his phone, awed that he was finally here. Then he tucked it away to just take in the experience.
“Might wanna get your phone ready,” Joseph said at last. “We’re almost there.” The pilot pointed off to starboard, and a small speck appeared in the distance, alongside a long line in the ice.
“It’s bigger than I imagined.”
Joseph’s eyebrow went up. “Bettancourt?”
“No. The Giant Crack.”
Joseph laughed. “You scientists suffer from a sever lack of imagination.”
Col grinned. “It’s true.” He stared at the Crack. It stretched from one edge of the horizon to the other, a sign of things to come. He’d seen many pictures of it, of course, but seeing it in person. It was awe inspiring, and a little frightening. It had happened two years before, but since then, the shelf seemed to have stabilized again.
It was the reason he was here, as much as his break-up with David.
He snapped a few pics, then looked down at Bettancourt Station.
It was a modest place, maybe the size of a couple RV’s hooked together. It basically was—two modules built by Northrup-Grumann to Bettancourt’s specs, brought in by military copter and hooked together. One served as the laboratory, and the other as living quarters for the scientific team.
Fernandez was there now. His last lab partner, Astrid Danvers, had departed a few days earlier. It had all been in the briefing email.
Col whistled. It was going to be a tight space for his six-month rotation down there.
Still, it would be worth it. Careers were made by postings like this, and he’d have a chance to put his education and experience to work at something that might actually help the planet.
Fuck you, David.
He took a couple more shots, and then settled in for the landing.
Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.
He decided that if there weren’t gay characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.
A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality.
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