Green Snow

The man's hands were shivering, even within the thickest gloves he could find on the British or Russian markets, as he held the thin tube of ice he'd drawn from the ground. It looked like any other piece of ice that could have been drawn out of any ground. He supposed, with his degree and his job, he should be able to identify the problems that this ice indicated. But he too cold to honestly care, preferring instead to collect what samples he could in as little time as possible, and retreat to some (centrally-heated) Siberian town, where he could attempt to defrost.

A cold sun beat down on the ice. 'Come to sunny Siberia,' he muttered, 'and lose your fingers. Measure how much global warming isn't happening here, and how it is still too cold for reasonable human habitation.' He was talking to nobody in particular, as one does when they need to let off steam (which was condensing hastily upon being let off, in this case).

'Provessor Lowe,' said his small, dark Russian assistant, his thick accent even more muffled by the scarf around his face. 'I think ve need a few more samples, vivout us touching them, and then ve can head back.'

Head back? That would be good, thought the professor. 'Yes, yes. You do that…' he paused, groping for a name, 'Mendeleev.' He doubted that was the boy's name, but then he had never been very good with names. At least he could be reasonably sure that his first name was either Vladimir or Dmitri, as all Russians. 'I will, erm, start to pack away.' The boy hurried off.

Lowe returned to the tent, poured himself a cup of rather weak coffee from his colder-than-it-was supply of hot water. He made half an effort to put some of his paperwork into his bag, gave up and sat back on the chair. He had an assistant to do that job.

It had seemed such an easy choice, when trapped in a rather boring office at a rather boring university in a rather boring country, to come out on a not-quite-so-boring trip to the most northern points of Russia to measure the real-life effects of global warming. But he hadn't imagined (or hadn't tried to imagine) that it would be so, well, cold. And dull. At least he had an assistant, if he couldn't remember his name.

This assistant poked his head through the tent flap, accidently letting in a gust of wintry air that dropped the temperature of Lowe's coffee considerably. 'Sir,' said the Russian, 'I have put samples in car. Ve should go bevor it gets too cold.'

Too cold? thought Lowe, but he didn't voice his opinions on Eastern temperatures. But he was quite happy to help pull down the tent, as long as he was sure they'd be back in civilisation quicker if him helping helped.

Six minutes (and twenty-six seconds) later they were in the car, one of those big, four by fours that had the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car. The professor was driving, giving himself the impression that he had done something reasonably useful on that days outing. The ice was stored, neatly and safe from contamination, across the back seat and into the boot. Lowe didn't like driving in sub-zero temperatures, but he supposed he didn't have much choice, as global warming wouldn't happen at a quick enough pace to give him another option. He sighed, and put his foot down on the accelerator.

----

Nine o'clock, and Lowe was sifting through radio channels on the radio, kindly left in his room by whoever was letting the university lodge there. He had a nice view over some unpronounceable Russian town, with the research centre placed awkwardly in the centre of his line of sight. There was nothing on the radio (in an understandable language, at least) so he gave up and flopped back onto his bed.

His phone rang. A proper, ringing, sound (like phones should have). He rolled onto his bed, scooped it up off the window sill, and put it to his ear.

'Hello?' he asked, reasonably apprehensive.

'Andy? It's Catherine.' (Bad sign – his boss only rang when she wanted to tell him off about something.) 'Can you come over to the centre?'

'Now?'

'Please, it's important.'

'It's ten in the flippin' evening!'

'No, it's nine. And you're meant to be the expert. Something's really odd about the last lot of ice you brought in.'

----

Andrew Lowe was still grumbling as he crossed over the frozen-over street, a drizzle of snow covering his thick black hat. The work day should end when he got back to the apartment, he should be allowed to do what he likes, go to sleep, have a wash, watch telly, other such ways to spends nighttimes, not come back to the office and get cold. And more tired.

That said the thing shown to him by Catherine (Dr. Roberts, when he could be bothered to be polite) was reasonably interesting, he would admit. One chunk of ice, probably picked up by his assistant at the end of the day, wasn't the same as normal ice. It wasn't white, slightly transparent. Well, most of it was, just not the end.

'It's green. And glowing,' Lowe said, staring at the sample through the window of the sealed room it had been restricted to.

'Nice to see you still possess powers of observation,' said Dr. Roberts, tartly.

But it was green, and glowing. Afixed to the end of the ice was what looked like a bright green blob, which seemed to give off a gentle hue.

'Is it alive?' Lowe asked.

'No. But it seems like it was.'

'Alien?'

Catherine looked at him, and he couldn't help but notice that she looked tired. She was looking down her nose, in that superior way she did when she thought he was being stupid. It didn't help that she was taller than him.

'Of course it's not alien,' she snapped. 'It's probably just some rare far-north creature that seems a bit different to what we're used to. It's probably just some sort of ice-fish.'

'Oh. Not a metal man then. Just wondering, as normal "Earth" animals don't glow.' She glared at him. 'Done any DNA checks yet? You being the biologist, and all that.' She glared at him again.

'No, but when I do I'll be sure to make sure that it is a real creature, none of your "alien" crap.'

'Don't get angry, Doctor. I just thought, if it is something "not of this world" that maybe we should get in touch with the government or something? We're meant to be super vigilant for aliens, you know. The telly said so.'

Catherine raised her eyes in a sceptical way, not turning to him, preferring instead to observe the ice in the storage room. And the glowing, green blob.

'See you tomorrow, then,' said Lowe, and he retreated to his (warm) bed before she could stop him.

----

Eleven o'clock, Sunday morning, Lowe with little intention of getting out of bed. But the phone call made him.

'Andy?' came Catherine's voice.

'Yup,' said Lowe, tired. He wasn't awake enough for big words.

'I need a word with you. I know you're not working today, but it's important.'

'About the blob?'

There was a pause, and Lowe heard Dr. Roberts give a sharp intake of breath. 'Yes.' Another pause. 'Look, I don't want to talk at the office. Could we go out for lunch in one of those pretty Russian restaurants in town?'

'You asking me on a date?'

Catherine sounded exasperated. 'Please, Andy, this is serious.'

'Sure. I'll meet you in the centre at half twelve. See you there.'

'Bye.' She clicked off.

Lowe decided he would be better off getting dressed.

----

'So it is alien?' Lowe asked, smiling.

'I didn't say that. I said it didn't have DNA like I would expect. Not in the usual form, anyway,' was Catherine's hurried response. A waiter came over with a menu. It was in Russian.

'But you're implying it was alien,' persisted Lowe. Catherine didn't respond, she was browsing the menu. Lowe realised this wasn't going anywhere. 'What's a glass of coke in Russian?' he asked.

'I'll order,' was the response, resigned that she was the only one able to speak any Russian.

With the first drinks on the table, Lowe managed to drag the conversation back to the alien.

'It's alien.' Catherine seemed resigned to this possibility. 'It's dead, but not very. I doubt it getting stabbed by a drill helped it much. It seems to be shedding spores, which I'm not wholly convinced don't have potential to grow. So I don't think we should go anywhere near it. That said, I doubt it's dangerous.'

She drew out a small (glass?) container, filled with a green slime. 'What happened to not going anywhere near it?' asked Lowe, smiling slightly. Catherine gave him a withering glare.

'I needed it to do tests. And I thought you might like to see that it's glowing more,' she explained. Unsurprisingly, her observation was correct.

'I thought it was dead.'

'I don't think it's quite an "it". I think it's a part of "them",' Catherine attempted to explain, but didn't do very well.

'Oh.' There was a pause as some indistinguishable meat was placed at their places. It tasted alright, given the home-cooked ready-meals he'd been living on for the past twenty-five years since he'd first gone to university.

They ate in silence for a few moments, Lowe's eyes moving rapidly around, from the snow outside to the well-roundedness of one of the waitresses to the small stain on Catherine's collar.

'So what do we do about it? The alien?' he asked.

'You do whatever you feel you should. Being the highest ranked person on this trip, I think it's your responsibility to contact the government on matters of global security.' She said this without the slightest trace of sarcasm, unfortunately.

'You only wanted me on this trip because having a Professor makes it easier to get grant applications.'

'True, but now you're here you can do all the important stuff, while I carry on with my job.'

Catherine had an annoying habit of delegating roles that weren't directly related to her, and this typically meant that Professor Lowe had a habit of receiving jobs that weren't directly related to him, either. And she was in charge.

'So who do I call?' Lowe asked. 'Moscow? London? The Queen?' he suggested.

'I thought you were the alien expert.' She smiled at him in a rather overly mocking way.

'I hate you sometimes.'

'I know.'

The rest of the main course was completed in silence, with Lowe wondering how much of Catherine's money he could waste in a long distance call with the Ministry of Defence, or the Ministry of Aliens, or whoever did extra-terrestrials in Britain. Maybe he could make her pay for a business class flight to Geneva, or somewhere, where he could present the specimen to the watching eyes of world science. Professor Andrew F. Lowe, discoverer of a new alien creature, front page of the Telegraph.

The main course was cleared away. 'What do you want for dessert?' Catherine asked.

'Ice cream,' said Lowe, without really paying attention to the temperature outside. He realised his mistake after Catherine gave out a short chuckle, and hastily changed his order to a coffee. Not tea, hated the stuff.

The drinks came. Delightfully warm, even if they didn't taste that nice. At least they had mints to go with them.

'Why didn't you want to talk at the office?' asked Lowe.

'Well…' Catherine seemed slightly embarrassed. 'I didn't want to make anyone think anything was wrong. I think they've all seen the alien, so if we pretend it's nothing then they won't get scared.'

'So why do they think you're having lunch with me on my day off?'

'It's fairly obvious, isn't it?'

'True. You're a sly one.'

Outside, the warming effects of the coffee wearing off, Lowe was resigned to returning to the office, as it seemed like he wouldn't get much of a day off. He noticed a group of dark-clad people (with those big, fluffy hats) standing beneath a lamppost. One of them noticed the two scientists, and the group slowly trudged in front of them, blocking their way.

'Hello. Ve vud like to speak to you, yes.' No introductions, just a rather threatening greeting. In English, as if they were expected.

'About what?' asked Catherine, trying to seem brave. She had tensed. You didn't want to feel her slaps, so Lowe hoped these men weren't going to do anything stupid.

'Ve are NATUR.' (He sounded out each letter individually.) 'Ve verk for the Russian government. Ve are investigating your scientific institute, yes.' He voiced the "c" at the start of "scientific".

'It's perfectly legitimate. I have all the papers at the office, we can show you.'

'No, that is fine. Ve haf checked all the papers. Ve just need to make sure you haf not taken any equipment or samples from the centre, as it is vorbidden.'

Catherine gave a quick gasp of 'sugar' before she could help herself, obviously thinking of the alien sample she had in her inside coat pocket.

'Yes?' asked the scary Russian man.

'I… I took one of the cameras to my apartment to look at some of the photos. One of the centre's cameras,' claimed Catherine, yet Lowe doubted there was even a camera to take.

'Oh,' said the Russian, seemingly disappointed. The mood in the group seemed to lift, as a few hasty words of Russian suggested we were "clean". They hadn't even asked Lowe. Maybe he didn't look threatening. 'Tank you. Ve hope you enjoy the rest of your time in Russia.' And they were gone.

The two scientists hurried off, colder and in need of warmth. And scared.

'What did they want?' Lowe asked.

'The sample, probably,' was Catherine's response. 'I don't know how they knew, though. I doubt they work for the government, though. You can check that when you call about the alien.' Lowe's heart sank; she still wanted him to call some high-ranking official about a potential alien, which would without doubt result in him looking tremendously silly. It looked like he'd be working on my day off, regardless.

----

Lowe didn't need to call any Russian minister to find out whether NATUR were genuine. The research centre told the whole story. The police, the various members of the research crew and random members of the public were standing outside, in the freezing cold, looking at the outside of the building. If it wasn't so transparent that something was wrong, Lowe would have found it very funny watching them shiver. Catherine gave a little gasp, but didn't say anything. They hurried up to join the people standing in a semi-circle around police barriers.

'What happened?' Lowe asked in a hurried whisper to Mendeleev (or whatever he was called). He seemed surprised to see him standing behind him, but perfectly willing to answer.

'Robbers broke in and robbed things.'

'That's normally what robbers do.'

The day had started off rather differently from most normal days. It seemed to be carrying on in that vein – no matter how odd things managed to get, Lowe was sure that there could be something odder around the corner. Green blobs, aliens, scary and sinister Russian gangs, only strange lights in the sky were missing.

'What did they rob?' asked Lowe. He felt like he should be scared, but he wasn't really feeling it. He was content just to let the weirdness flow, and if he was lucky he might wake up at the end of it.

'Samples. It is really odd, and the police don't get it. There are some government persons here, too. I tink they vant to talk to you,' said Mendeleev, matter-of-factly. He didn't really seem to care, or maybe it was some sort of stunned stupor.

As if on cue, two "government persons" came over. 'Mr. Lowe?' asked one, in a barely decipherable accent that managed to muddle Lowe's own name into a state that he could barely understand it. Lowe nodded. 'And Miss Roberts?' Lowe looked at Catherine, who seemed to be crying. She nodded underneath gloved hands. 'Ve are government persons, and ve think you should come viv us.'

'Where?' asked Catherine, suddenly. Her voice sounded weak, strained.

'Moscow. I don't vink is save here. I have bad feeling about zis. I vink NATUR appear soon,' was the official's official response. It all seemed so sudden. The official registered surprise in Lowe's eyes at the mention of NATUR, yet seemed to disregard it as predictable.

'You seen NATUR, yes? Hmmm.' The official pondered this for a moment, turned to his associate for a moment, jabbered something in Russian and turned back. 'Yes, you come Moscow. Ve have car, ve take you to station. Ve will talk on rail.' The resigned look in the officials dark eyes suggested that this was more serious than it had appeared. At least Lowe wouldn't have to phone Moscow, which was something of a relief. His Russian wasn't up to much.

Boarding the train at some Siberian station, Lowe made a mental note of the strange things that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. The green blob, now lost to some mysterious (and as yet, unexplained) Russian (terrorist?) group, the group themselves, the fact that Catherine had seemed almost civil in a meal with him (the strangest thing) and the fact that the Russian government was escorting them, first-class, to Moscow. It had been a strange day, and Lowe couldn't quite understand why.

Maybe the long train journey would clear up a few of the more burning questions.