It was 2 a.m., and I was working my all night shift in emergency communications — known as MacOps — at McMurdo Station, Antarctica. As usual all had been quiet since about 9 p.m. and could be expected to stay that way for another four hours.  Suddenly breaking the silence, a heavily-accented male voice came over the radio. “MacOps, MacOps, this is Mario Zucchelli Station. How do you read me?” Surprised, I lunged for the radio and said, “Mario Zucchelli ...

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