“Surely you can take a guess?”

I racked my brain for any stories I might have heard. To my surprise, a few came to mind. “I’ve heard rumblings about aliens, and don’t the flat Earthers have some theory about some ice wall?”

“Those are just the tip of the iceberg.” Giles practically giggled as he shoved a folder in my direction. “I’ve emailed you a copy of the information the team gathered, but here’s a peek at some of the subjects you’ll be exploring while you’re there.”

Exploring—AKA explaining, AKA shredding to pieces. See, my show was about demolishing myths and conspiracies, the former usually based in old folklore, the latter spread around social media as the truth. With the advent of AI, my segments disproving those had been gaining in popularity as people sought to discern fact from fiction.

I plopped into the seat across from Giles before grabbing the folder and flipping through the many pages. As I read, my brows lifted to my hairline and my mouth rounded. “Geezus. No wonder you think we can make this a three-parter.” Turned out Antarctica was a hotbed for theories. Aliens featured predominantly in the notes, but so did a possible Nazi exodus, rumors of secret bases, ancient pyramids, the belief Atlantis might be buried under the ice, hidden tropical oasis’s ala Jules Verne, and shoggoths—monsters inspired by the Lovecraft book, At the Mountains of Madness. The last page made me laugh, though. “You really think filming from every angle of Antarctica will convince the flat earthers the world doesn’t end there?”

“If anyone can do it, you can,” beamed my boss and friend.

I mean, he probably had a point. I’d been hosting Unravelling the Myths for years now. A dream job that had me travelling the world, seeking out the most common folklore and proving the science behind the belief. Like wet hair giving colds. False. Deoxygenated blood being blue. Also, nope. True was eating fish helps the brain, and chicken soup really does make a difference if you have a cold, a discovery that led to me calling my mom to apologize. As for conspiracies… no, the president of the USA wasn’t a lizardman. Even better, he had a sense of humor and agreed to let me prove it. He chuckled and cracked jokes as I drew his blood for testing, scraped his skin to show no scales underneath, and x-rayed him in front of a camera.

“So what’s the deal? I thought Antarctica was pretty much closed to visitors,” I remarked, taking another guzzle of much-needed caffeine.

“Another myth!” Giles crowed. “You can visit, it’s just not recommended because the terrain and climate are so harsh.”

“And yet here you are sending me,” I muttered.

Giles arched his left brow. “Is this the right time to say you were invited?”

Once more, I almost spit my coffee. “By who?”

“The NSF.” Which stood for National Science Foundation. “Due to some recent social media blitzing by influencers claiming the government is hiding the truth about that continent, there’s been an uptick in people wandering to the South Pole, unprepared, I might add. It’s causing all kinds of problems for the search and rescue crews.”

“And the solution is to send me and my team to add to the problem,” I drawled.

“More like put a stop to it. The NSF thinks if someone reputable can debunk some of the wilder social media claims, that it will put a stop to the influx of morons.”

I straightened in my seat. “This invite, does it come with any perks?”

“It includes transportation there for you, a videographer, and a sound technician. They’re also providing accommodations, plus an escort to keep you safe while you investigate and get to the truth.”

“Shouldn’t the scientists there already have all the evidence needed to counter the many claims?”

“They do, and they’ll be sharing those findings with you so you can have them verified by our trusted sources.”

“Sounds like that can be done remotely. So why bother going in person?” I asked even as I knew. Emails, phone calls, even video chats with people were all well and good but they didn’t give the authenticity required. Being there in the flesh, standing in the spot called into question, actually poking the myth with my little finger, was what the audience—and ratings—demanded.

“Come on, it’s the chance of a lifetime,” Giles cajoled.

“That could see me becoming a meat popsicle. I’d better be getting a helluva of a bonus for this,” I grumbled.

“The biggest.”

“My winter gear will need updating.” A cold New Jersey winter wouldn’t compare to the South Pole’s freezing temps.

“Bill it to the show.” Giles beamed. “So, you’ll do it?”

Of course I would. After all, I’d not gotten my Primetime Emmys and Critics’ Choice Awards by staying safe at home.

“When do I leave?”

Chapter 2

Nothing beats shopping on someone else’s dime. I outfitted myself with the warmest gear money could buy. Luggage, too, since mine couldn’t fit all the bulky outerwear and the boots.

Oh my god, the boots.

I asked the guy in the store for the warmest pair he had. Initially, he had me looking at some cute and girly, pull-on ankle boots, then I explained I’d be visiting the South Pole and bye-bye stylish footwear. Out came what he called mukluks, a boot tall enough to cover my calf, and he went on to explain about insulation and synthetic soles. Whatever. Apparently, they would keep me warm. For walking around the station, though, I decided to grab the cute ones, because hello, the show was paying for it.

As I turned around with my purchases from the register, I bumped into a woman and dropped both shoe boxes.

We both bent, and she held out the mukluk box with an arched brow. “Goodness, you must be going somewhere chilly.”

“Antarctica,” I stated, getting to my feet.

“I’ve been there. Rough place. Would not recommend. Zero stars,” she tittered.

“It’s for a job.”

The woman, Asian of appearance, her dark hair cut in a short bob but edged in silver, cocked her head. “You’re a scientist.”

“Actually, I’m the host of a show called Unravelling the Myths. We’re going to dig into the rumors surrounding the South Pole and show our viewers the truth.”

An amused smile tugged the lady’s lips. “The truth is there are some secrets best left buried.”

“Such as?”

“Forget I said anything. Have a lovely trip. I look forward to seeing the show.”

The woman stepped away, and I immediately forgot her. I’d have to rush to make my hair appointment.

Within days of getting my new assignment, I boarded a plane to Christchurch, New Zealand. Once there, I’d be winging my way to Antarctica on a C-17, a military transport that I doubted offered first or even business class options. Accompanying me was Joslyn, who knew how capture my best angles and the most amazing shots of our environment. I also had Vernon, who spent the long flight over to New Zealand gushing about his new equipment that could handle the cold and the reverb from singing ice. For those who don’t know what that means—me included, until Vernon explained—apparently the wind blowing over the snow dunes could create an eerie flute-like noise. An interesting tidbit that might make the cut for the three-part episode if we needed a bit of filler. Add to that the groaning of glaciers, the crackling of ice, and even a hum when the ice shelf shifted, all combined to make a haunting music that rumor said could drive a person insane. Perhaps another myth we’d explore—and hopefully not find to be true.

After too many hours of flight, we landed in Christchurch, jet-lagged and in need of a drink. Maybe two. However, forget going to a hotel. Soon as I disembarked, a stoney-faced man in an olive green and brown patterned uniform, hat jammed firmly on his head, strode in my direction.

“Miss Jenkins, I presume,” he barked while giving me the once-over and looking unimpressed.

Couldn’t say I blamed him. My long dark hair, tousled from my less-than-successful nap—blame the yapping Vernon—needed a good brushing. Fatigue had the whites of eyes streaked a lovely red, and the bright sunlight had me squinting behind my large, thick-framed glasses—worn because I actually needed them and not because they made me look smart. As for my outfit, I’d chosen my comfiest trackpants with matching sweatshirt for travel, having learned style and long trips didn’t mesh well together.

“You are…” I prompted.

“Captain Harrison, here to escort you to McMurdo station as well as join you on any expeditions you undertake outside the perimeter.”

The tone grated, as did his mission. Not even on the ground in Antarctica and I already had a shadow. I pasted on my brightest smile. “What fun. It’s been a while since I’ve had a babysitter.” Insulting? Yup. Blame his attitude.

At my comment, his lips pressed even tighter. “It’s a necessary security measure for all visitors.”

“Afraid I’ll poke my nose where I shouldn’t or talk to the wrong folks? I’m good at unravelling mysteries.” Kind of like the woman I’d been named after. My parents loved Scooby-Doo a bit too much, and thus we had my brother Fred, my sister Daphne, and me, Velma. When I’d asked my mom if they would have named a fourth child Shaggy, she used to laugh and say, Don’t be silly, dear. Shaggy’s actual name was Norville. I wasn’t sure that was much better.

“Dig all you want. We have nothing to hide,” the captain declared.

“You’re saying I can wander wherever I like and speak to anyone I meet?”

“My orders are to give you unfettered access to anyone and anything in the base with only restricted areas being the exception.”

“Have many of those?”

“A few, like the power station, for obvious reasons.”

“Do I look like a terrorist, Captain?”

“You look like someone who shouldn’t be here,” was his flat reply.

I arched my brow. “Agreed. And yet, here I am. If we’re lucky, I’ll be able to quickly gather the evidence for my piece and get out of your hair.” Not that he had much. As with many in the military, he kept his short. Pity. His face might not have seemed so stony and square if the dirty blond stubble grew out and framed those rugged planes.

“Evidence?” he snorted. “I assure you, none of the rumors being floated are true.”

His reply had me shaking my head. “I think you mistake my purpose. I’m not here to prove those theories correct, but rather poke so many holes in them, those posting will be embarrassed enough to take them down.”

Only a subtle shift of his expression indicated his surprise. “You really think a television show can do that?”

He’d obviously never heard of or watched any of my episodes. “I’m more than just a tv show. Unravelling the Myths is a hit on YouTube, Spotify, and anywhere that can stream video or audio podcasts.” Then, because he didn’t seem suitably impressed, I added, “In the last year alone, I’ve averaged fourteen million viewers per episode.” I even had an episode that bumped Joe Rogan for a week—Did we really go to the moon?—a feat that had Giles practically swooning. To those wondering at the answer, watch the episode.

“The world has more than eight billion people,” the captain pointed out, unimpressed by my numbers.

“The majority of whom would never think of going to Antarctica, and thus, are not my target audience. My show appeals to those who are curious. The ones who need to be dissuaded from deciding to hop on a plane and be the next great Darwin.”

“These people aren’t scientists.”

“Never claimed they were. The opposite, actually, or have you never heard of the Darwin Awards?” Handed out to people who did the stupidest things and died.

“You really think you can convince them?” Ah, the skepticism. I dealt with it on an almost daily basis.

“Show them the truth. Make it undeniable. Will it be enough for the crazies? No. But nothing short of a tin foil hat and a straitjacket will stop them.”

He blinked at me.

I smiled. “Captain Harrison, may I introduce my coworkers? This is Joslyn Webb, my videographer, and Vernon Kilpatrick, my sound guy.”

The short and buxom Joslyn, with her curly blonde locks, grinned. “Hi.”

As for Vernon—who could have been Shaggy’s brother—he offered a wave.

The captain gave them the same unimpressed once-over. I swear he held in a sigh. “If you’ll follow me. We’re due to leave if we’re to stay on schedule.” He spun on his heel and stiffly walked in the direction of a large military plane.

My lips pursed. “He’s going to be a pain in my ass, I just know it.”

“He can be a pain in my mine if he wants,” murmured Joslyn. “Va-va-voom.”

The remark startled because, until that moment, I’d looked at the captain as an obstacle in my way but watching him pause to speak to one of the flight crew, I noted the breadth of his shoulders, the height as he towered over the woman bobbing her head, the leanness of his physique. Probably all muscle under that uniform.

“No banging the captain,” I warned.

“Why not? It might soften those rough and delicious edges,” Joslyn purred.

“Assuming he’s into women,” Vernon countered. “If not, I’m ready to pitch in.”

I put a hand to my forehead and held back a groan. “Would the two of you stop? No one is seducing the captain. The man is probably married, and the last thing I need is for him to get even more annoyed by our presence.”

“You’re no fun,” grumbled Joslyn.

“Fun is for later, once this job is in the can. Until then, we work and do our best to not piss off the captain.” Or notice his ass when he dropped to his haunches to pick up something on the ground.

No banging the captain, I mentally repeated, even as it occurred it had been a while since I’d been with anyone. Blame a lack of time and interest. Most men fawned over me, impressed by my notoriety. They didn’t see me as a person but rather enjoyed the attention that followed when we went out in public.

My last sexual partner had been… hmm… it took a while to remember Brian. A guy who worked for the marketing firm we used, who initially ticked a few boxes until a picture of me sleeping leaked. Thankfully, the comforter covered my naked bits, but the betrayal stung. Him getting fired did soothe my irritation somewhat but didn’t fix my trust issues.

While the captain expected us to follow him like good little soldiers, I waited instead on the tarmac, stretching while I ensured our gear got unloaded in its entirety from the comfortable plane and reloaded onto the C-17 that likely didn’t offer in-flight Wi-Fi. When the captain exited the military plane and glowered at me, I waved even as I continued to do my squats and side-to-side bends.

Once everything had been transferred and my muscles begged me to let them atrophy, I went up the ramp and paused at the top. It was worse than expected.

Joslyn gasped. “Where are we supposed to sit?”

The interior of the craft proved wide open, or would have been, if not for crates running up the middle. Our luggage had been added to the pile, and a pair of soldiers secured the cases with straps.

The captain heard Joslyn and pointed. “This craft is equipped with Globemaster seats. Unfold, sit, and strap in.”

The aforementioned seat lacked padding and led to me asking, “How long is the flight?”

“Five hours.”

“I take it there’s no drink or food service,” I grumbled as I snapped myself into the harness.

“You’ll be fed,” the captain promised with an ominous tone.

It turned out to not be as awful as expected. A warmish television dinner type thing. Also, once we took off, the captain gave us permission to move around if we wanted. Vernon, after he’d finished exploring, chose to stretch out across a few seats for a nap, whereas Joslyn flirted with some of the people travelling with us, or as she liked to call it, gathered intel.

Me, I pulled out my laptop and began chronicling our journey. Later, I’d polish the rambling thoughts into a script to read in a sound studio. Production would then splice some of Joslyn’s videos together and overlay my speech over it.

The captain sat beside me, a surprise since I’d expected him to ignore me until we landed.

“What exactly are your plans?” he asked, getting right to the point.

“To debunk some of the theories floating around about the South Pole.”

“Which is rather broad in scope. I mean, what exactly are you going to do? Just talk to people, or are you planning to also leave the station?”

“While interviewing will be part of the process, I also plan to visit some of the spots of contention.”

“Such as?”

I closed my laptop. “The supposed pyramid, for one.”

“It’s not an easy hike.”

“Wasn’t planning to walk. I was told someone could fly us to it.”

“Not sure why you’d bother. It’s just a snowy mountain.”

“With a shape that has been causing wild speculation. Don’t get me wrong, Captain, I don’t think there’s an actual manmade pyramid under the snow, but I need to prove that to my audience, which is why we’ll be utilizing radar and thermal imaging.”

“Why bother when it’s already been done? We have the data.”

“Data that the conspiracy theorists suspect might be false, hence why I have to acquire my own results.”

He said nothing for a moment before nodding. “Fair point. I can ensure you have that equipment on the helicopter.”

“Thank you.”

“Any other places you’re planning to visit?”

As I named them, the captain unbent a little, even snorting when I mentioned the Nazi theory floating around.

“Ain’t no Nazis,” he promised. “But there are penguins along the coasts. And seals. So many seals.”

Given he appeared in the mood to talk, I asked, “How long have you been stationed here?”

“Five years.”

I arched a brow. “Long posting. Don’t you miss home?”

He shrugged. “This is my home until the next mission.”

“What about family and friends?” A query that pinched his lips.

“I was orphaned as a child. Joined the military at eighteen.” An answer without answering.

Rather than push, I went on a different tangent. “Have you ever encountered anything weird, or something that couldn’t be explained during your time at the South Pole?”

“No.”

“Really? No strange lights in the sky? Hidden caverns with temperature spikes? Aliens? Creatures that shouldn’t exist?”

He rolled his eyes. “The Antarctic is a frozen wasteland. Nothing but the hardiest of animals live out here.”

“And humans.”

“With lots of support. McMurdo Station might have up to a thousand people during the months where we get continuous daylight, but once the period of darkness starts, we go down to a skeleton crew and most only do one rotation because it’s harsh.”

“Gets cold, does it?”

“Bitterly cold, which makes it difficult for supplies to get flown in, but the lack of sunlight is what folks struggle the most with. After weeks of not seeing the sun, the mind starts to play tricks.”

“When you say the mind plays tricks, what do you mean?”

“You’ll start to hear things, especially when the wind blows. Some swear the singing of the snow and ice is actually voices. Others begin to hallucinate or suffer from nightmares.”

“I take it you’ve never been affected?”

“We all experience it to some measure. Unlike the others, though, I know the dreams aren’t real.”

“And what do you dream of, Captain?” A teasing query that I didn’t expect him to answer.

To my surprise, he replied. “Of an ancient being asleep since the dawn of mankind.”