"If this keeps up all night," Troy said, "we may have to dig ourselves outta here in the morning." He leaned back and surveyed the rounded roof above him. "Remember what I said this afternoon about nothing ever changing in DivAg?"
Alec nodded.
"Well, sir, here's another fine example of progress halted dead in its tracks," the lanky hydrologist went on. "For centuries the Eskimos have lived through Arctic winters in igloos, made of snow blocks, cut and rounded to form a cave in the snow.
"What's good enough for the Eskimos is good enough for DivAg. Here we are right back in the Ice Age, living in an igloo. If that stove used blubber or seal oil instead of chemical fuel, the picture would be complete."
Alec grinned. "Just because something is old doesn't mean it's no good, Dr. Braden," he said. "The Eskimos proved the efficiency of the igloo. We've just adopted the principle and modernized it. It still works better than any other known snow-weather shelter. But I didn't see you cutting any snow blocks with your skinning knife to build this snug haven, nor crawling for hours on your belly across the snow to sneak up on a seal for your supper."
"Technicalities," Troy scoffed lazily. "The point is, that here were are living almost under the same conditions that the primitive savages of the frozen north lived under for centuries." He belched gently and stretched his long legs luxuriously away from the webbing of the bucket camp chair.
"I must say that you seem to be enjoying it," Alec commented. "Primitive or not, I still like this better than those rat warrens they call cities today."
Nearly two miles above them, the replacement snow gauge, C11902-87, already buried in a half-foot of new snow, sent out a strong and steady signal. At midnight, when both snow hydrologists were sleeping soundly in their bags, hundreds of miles away in regional survey headquarters at Spokane, the huge electronic sequencer began its rapid signal check of each of the thousands of snow gauges in the five-state area of Region Six.