Oh, they had a hypothesis. Five men in a tin can at the bottom of the world and every one of them with a hypothesis about what came up out of the ice and what it wanted. Contact, said the one with the beard. Study us, said the doctor. Revenge, said the fellow who reads.
It was a fly. It wanted what a fly wants. Two hundred miles of dead white nothing in every direction and one warm building with a kitchen in it, and the thing had been down there in the dark a very long time with nowhere to lay anything.
The helicopter is not going to help. The searchlight only tells it where the kitchen is.
The dog worked it out on the first day. The dog has been sitting by the door ever since.
