Choosers of the Slain [antikvár]

SI6NY BASE ANCHORAGE SOUTH ORKNEY ISLANDS, ANTARCTICA 0630 HOURS: MARCH 19, 2006 "Awake and about, woman! There's a hot plankton count to be done." Captain Evan York peeled the covers off his first mate and applied a hearty slap across her bare bottom. She in turn responded with a squealed curse, yanked them back up over her head, and burrowed deeper into her corner of the double bunk. York smiled down at the curl of tousled blond hair that showed from beneath the heavy Hudson's Bay blankets. Roberta Eggerston had been sharing his life and bed for the better part of five years now and yet she maintained her own individuality. Among other things, she would never be a morning person. "You know what you can do with your plankton count," she growled, "at least till the cabin is a decent temperature and the tea's ready." ' 'Shackleton never had to put up with this kind of sass from any of his subordinates." "Shackleton never got to sleep with any of his subordinates either, at least not so's the history books mention." York smiled again, rolled out of the bunk, and reached for his clothes: thermal long johns and a single pair of heavy wool socks, insulated jumpsuit, and the ubiquitous white plastic "bunny boots" of the Antarctic. He'd had his custom-made by Camtors of the Falkland Islands with full-