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John scowled. His goggles were too damn tight, but he’d learned from experience not to adjust them outside the shelter. His fingers didn’t work that well in the cold. And despite all the high-tech cold weather gear he wore, John was freezing his bollocks off.
Antarctica—the mysterious realm. Many of his countrymen had explored this place with the intent of planting their flag in the name of their king. Personally, he couldn’t see the appeal. To his eye, this was a wasteland, full of ice, snow, and not much else.
John tapped his glasses to clear the buildup of snow. Britain has a queen now, he reminded himself. And with her ascent, the dominance and prominence of his home nation had predictably waned. Pity.
After failing to discover a natural passage to the Mother, John decided on an
