Wait . . . why is there an astrobiologist in Antarctica? Did they find a lost city of strange cyclopean architecture, where the frigid wind whistles through eldrich columns, howling its maddening susurrations into the night sky of too many stars? I think you buried the lede here!
Buried it, as the dead are buried, and those things more horrible than the dead, those things which dream and are best forgotten, lest their slow shuffling gait return to the soil of this their usurped planet . . .
(The attempt at scrambled eggs was really nifty)
