Alex was concerned that Roy might accuse Debbie of giving a politician’s explanation of their joint perspective on the future; one that was designed to offend nobody. But he didn’t. Probably, thought Alex, because he would know it was true. He would know that these two friends of his had no great affection for humanity as a whole, but a deep affection for a small number of its members, all those people with whom they had chosen to share some of their lives.
It had been a good dinner. By sharing their thoughts, the bonds between the ‘senior five’ had been strengthened some more, and new bonds had been formed with the youthful pair of Stuart and Gill. All that remained to be seen was whether these bonds would be further strengthened by all seven of them sharing even more time together in their forthcoming Antarctic isolation. And there would potentially be plenty of time to share…
thity-three
As it transpired, they shared some time together the very next morning. Roy had suggested the previous evening that they all gather on the stern of the ship – on its Marco Polo Deck – for a concerted exercise in joint wildlife observation. This they did. And although the wildlife was a little sparse – just a few humpback whales in the distance, a passing unidentified seal, and the odd swimming and diving chinstrap penguin – it was a time ‘enjoyed by all’.
While they were here, they were also able to debate what Captain José might include in his afternoon presentation. (This had been announced over the tannoy system just after they had started their wildlife observation, and it was due to commence at 2.30 sharp.) Derek thought it would be a series of warnings and unchallengeable diktats to underpin the forthcoming period of martial law. Roy, however, thought it would be just a barely disguised pep talk. And as it turned out, he was nearer the mark. Albeit the pep talk did have a significant sting in its tail…
When the presentation started, the captain sounded just as happy and upbeat as he had in his broadcast address of the previous day, and at least to start with he had only good news. The Sea Sprite was now well stocked with all sorts of provisions, and not just extra food but also extra fuel for the zodiacs, and even extra toiletries and medicines. Albeit some of the labels on these extra supplies were in Spanish. He was also able to report that he was still in contact with the base at Rothera, and whilst they were still reluctant to give away any information on their own circumstances, those in charge there had agreed to maintain contact and to provide aid and assistance if this was ever needed, and if they could do so without endangering their own situation. It was, Captain José explained, an arm’s-length, fairly cordial relationship that he’d been able to forge, but one in which the overriding feature was caution. His contacts at Rothera did not want to be drawn into the role of nursemaids for all those aboard the Sea Sprite.
This revelation seemed to surprise or upset no one in the crowded lounge, and nor did what Captain José had to say next. This was that the Sea Sprite would be staying in Paradise Bay for an indefinite period. And whilst this decision would be kept under constant review, there was certainly nothing at the moment to suggest that there was anywhere better to sit out the scourge of the spores. He then went on to say that everything would be done to make this period of enforced waiting as bearable as possible. And whilst being confined on a ship might prove to be something of a trial, he was very confident that Jane and her team would soon come up with all sorts of irresistible diversions. There was even, he advised, a large supply of jigsaws on board – although not, unfortunately, a set of deck quoits. Probably, he mused, because the Sea Sprite lacked the requisite decks…
This admission set off a round of laughter in the lounge, which was probably what the captain had intended. Because he was now about to invite the ship’s doctor to speak, and little of what he was about to say would raise even a smile.
This was the Ukrainian doctor, Dr Kovalenko, and although he had not before addressed the assembled ship’s company, and although he was hampered by a rather thick Ukrainian accent, he immediately came over as a confident public speaker – and one with a decidedly brisk delivery. He kicked off by reminding everyone of his comprehensive services and by encouraging all those in the room to avail themselves of these services sooner rather than later if they felt at all unwell. But at the same time, could they please avoid the need for other of his services by being ultra-careful? Broken bones and deep cuts were always bad news, and, accordingly, rushing around the ship and racing down stairwells were not to be advised.
He proffered these warnings not as a joke, but with all the seriousness he could muster. So that there wasn’t quite the jolt there might otherwise have been when he moved on to the principal subject of his address…
Alex noticed that Captain José, who was standing to the side of Dr Kovalenko, looked decidedly uncomfortable at this stage of the proceedings. And that was because he no doubt knew what was coming. And then it came.
‘I know this is a subject we don’t want to think about,’ the doctor began, ‘but as your physician, I believe it is my duty to remind all of you that, however remote, there is still the possibility that we will be visited by the spores. And I doubt I need remind you that, once exposed to these spores, there is the prospect of only a drawn-out and painful death.’
The temperature in the lounge seemed to have dropped by ten degrees. Dr Kovalenko had just broached the taboo topic of the spores; something that most people had probably been able to push to the back of their minds in readiness for a well-provisioned period of indolence in fantastic surroundings. But there was something even more unmentionable to come; something connected with that likely drawn-out and painful death.
‘Well,’ Dr Kovalenko continued, more briskly than ever, ‘Captain José has authorised me to tell you that, following our visits to Cierva Cove and…’
Here he pointed to the lounge windows on the port side.
‘…that place over there, I have been able to assemble a whole range of medicines and… precursors, that I wouldn’t normally be carrying on this vessel. And, well… with these additional resources – and with my own supplies – I will very soon be able to provide every individual on this ship with the means to avoid a protracted and agonising death…’
Alex became aware that his mouth had dropped open. He also became aware that elsewhere in the lounge there was a large helping of stunned silence. But the good doctor just carried on.
‘What I am talking about is a drinkable liquid that is very similar to that which you might have seen injected into one of your pets, when that pet had reached the end of its life. It kills… almost instantaneously. Which, I think you’ll agree, is very much more preferable than twenty or more hours of excruciating pain.’
At this point, nobody expressed agreement or otherwise, and the doctor ploughed on with his engrossing revelation.
‘Of course, nobody will come under any pressure to make use of this… errh… remedy. But what I would ask is that all of you give it your serious consideration, and if and when you decide that you do want this… remedy, please visit me in my surgery. I will then provide you with one vial per person, to be stored somewhere in your cabin. It doesn’t need to be refrigerated, but it does, of course, need somewhere where it won’t be trodden on or sat on. Clearly, given the nature of the spores and the possible suddenness of their arrival, it would make no sense for me to attempt to distribute the vials when… well, when they might be urgently required. So, just to sum up, I will soon be able to provide, to anybody who wants it, an alternative to a horrible death, should the unlikely happen and we are overtaken by a cloud of spores. In fact, from around tomorrow lunchtime. But you must let me know whether you want this alternative. It should be your decision. I am, remember, a doctor, not a vet. And you’re not a roomful of sick and ageing pets…’
Alex thought that this ending was a somewhat miserable attempt by the doctor to finish his announcement with just a soupçon of levity. But if it was, it didn’t work. As
he looked out at his audience, all the doctor would have seen was a sea of almost expressionless faces, the sort of faces one observes on people who are just emerging from shock. However, Alex was already pretty sure that, when the shock wore off completely, many if not most of the Sea Sprite’s passengers and crew would be knocking on the door of the doctor’s surgery in order to take out their very own (very sensible) ‘death-insurance’ policy. He knew he would, and he knew Debbie would as well. They would both be fools, he thought, if they didn’t.
Inevitably, the wisdom or otherwise of taking up Dr Death’s deadly potion was the first subject discussed over dinner just three hours later. Stuart and Gill had apparently been asked by the captain to discuss the communication arrangements with Rothera, so it was just the gang of five at the table this evening, and all five were keen to express their relief that there was now a painless route out of their existence should the need for one arise. In fact, Derek expressed more annoyance than relief, and questioned why it had taken a global cloud of spores to furnish him with something he had wanted for at least twenty years: a clean, swift way to end his own life at a time of his own choosing.
Nobody questioned his irritation. Nor the wisdom of having a lethal insurance arrangement. They all knew that they were still not safe from the threat of spores, and their continuing vulnerability was underlined by Roy. And in particular by some of Roy’s ‘interesting facts’. In this instance it was his listing of some latitude figures and what they might mean for their chances of not encountering the spores…
To start with he informed his friends that they were currently moored in a position that was approximately sixty-five degrees south of the Equator. Rothera, the BAS’s main base, was, he then went on to inform them, about sixty-seven degrees south, and Halley VI, the BAS base on the Brunt Ice Shelf, was at seventy-five degrees. These positions compared to that of the supposedly super-safe refuge of Franz Josef Land of eighty-one degrees north of the Equator. In other words, they were nowhere near as far south as Franz Josef Land was north. And how could they be? There was that huge Antarctic continent that constituted a bit of a barrier to navigation. But the fact remained that their current presumed safety was very much predicated on the assumption that a polar location was more important than an actual proximity to a pole. If in fact the latter was more important, then they might still be very exposed.
This latest chapter of Roy’s collected compendium of facts caused a slight hiatus in the conversation. Maybe emphasising the vulnerability of all those aboard the Sea Sprite – in such a clinical manner – hadn’t necessarily been the best move on Roy’s part. And it certainly hadn’t been conducive to stimulating a feel-good mood. Roy must have realised this, and quickly attempted to repair the damage by informing the company that his major concern with the deadly cocktail on offer was that he might not be able to manage it. Not because it was deadly, but because he found vials almost impossible to deal with. They were in the same category as beer bottles, he explained, and he could never drink beer from a bottle. He always had to ask for a glass.
Derek assured him that, if and when the time arrived, he would in no way associate a small vial of poison with a beer bottle. And even if he did, and he couldn’t manage to swallow the vial’s contents, then he would almost certainly be more than happy to just chew on the damn thing, glass, contents an’ all. In fact, he assured him, he would find it a ‘piece of cake’. Even if not quite as tasty as regular cake.
On hearing this, Roy looked very relieved, and then positively happy when Derek moved the conversation even further away from latitude statistics by asking all those around the table whether they had any projects in store to while away the next four or five weeks. After all, he said, there were only so many presentations one could attend.
His wife was the first to respond. Elaine’s plan, it appeared, was to document life on board the Sea Sprite with her camera. She had two 4-gigabyte memory cards, and she wanted to fill them completely. It would be important, she maintained, that some record was kept of this unique period in their lives, and she would appoint herself as the record keeper.
Derek’s reaction to this idea was not particularly helpful or well-judged. It was to point out that in a Stone Age world – which in all probability was imminent – a digital record of events might not be terribly useful. Elaine, however, took this caustic observation in her stride, and suggested that if she couldn’t slot her memory cards into a working device, then she had somewhere else in mind where she would slot them instead.
Derek looked pretty unperturbed by this suggestion, but then sought to remove any mental image it might have created by asking Roy what, if anything, he planned to do.
That was easy, responded Roy. He would offer his services as a quizmaster. Jane was bound to want help in keeping everybody occupied, and what better way to do this than by putting on a series of quizzes? He could even do one on flags!
Debbie said that she thought this was a great idea, but that her own occupational therapy would involve her finding a bridge partner and some suitable opposition. She would initiate a bridge school. She hadn’t played in years, she said, but here was a golden opportunity to brush the rust off her game and enjoy herself as well. And if that worked out, and there was still some time, she would probably see whether there were any other souls on the Sea Sprite who might be interested in forming a strip-poker school…
Alex raised his eyebrows at this point, but then compounded the risqué element of his wife’s proposal by revealing his own solution to a month of potential boredom. This was to compile as many bawdy limericks as he could manage, and maybe even to invite everyone else to do the same, with a view to making it into a competition. At the end of their internment, he explained, all the limerick writers could present their efforts to the whole ship’s company, who would then be invited to select a winner.
This idea won the approval of all those at the table. And then, with a bit of prompting from his wife, Derek revealed how he planned to fill the next four or five weeks of his life.
‘I will read books – from the library,’ he announced. ‘And these will be bad books; books that are so bad that it will be a struggle to finish them.’
‘Why?’ challenged Debbie.
‘For the sweet taste of victory,’ he responded. ‘As you are all no doubt aware, I have become a serial loser of late. I had already lost my country and any respect for its modern values before I came on this trip. And I’ve now lost my liberty and I might still be on track to lose my life. So, I just need to be a winner – in some small way. And if I can defeat a bad book – by actually finishing it, against all the odds – then that makes me a winner. I will have clocked up a victory. And if it’s ten books, then that’s ten victories. And that will make me the happiest person on this ship. I shall be simply radiating happiness and joy.’
This prediction brought the house down, and the laughter only stopped when Roy asked him how he would identify all these bad books. Derek’s answer was that as about 99.9 per cent of all books published were bad, it was highly unlikely that he would end up with a good one.
This triggered another round of laughter, and the mood at the table was now far removed from the earlier chill caused by Roy’s discourse on comparative latitudes. It then only got better as the conversation lurched from one non-death/non-spore-menace topic to another. It even managed to lurch in the directions of the sticking power of religions in the face of enlightenment, the rapid demise in the initial popularity of hula hoops, the (disputed) inferiority of spatial awareness in women, and whether, in counting the steps up to a platform, it was legitimate to include the platform itself as one of the steps (ie the final step). It also managed to convince Alex that he and Debbie would be able to manage the forthcoming confinement with ease. Not only would they find plenty to keep themselves occupied, but they had already found a group of people who would no doubt help to sustain them to the end of this confinem
ent and beyond.
Alex also knew that those people had the very same thoughts themselves.
thirty-four
It was just 8.30 in the morning, and Jane’s voice leapt out of the tannoy. It sounded breezier than ever.
‘Good morning,’ she sang. ‘And what a morning. If you’ve peered out of your window, you’ll already have seen that not only are we in “paradise”, but we have the weather to match. Blue skies, no wind, and even a balmy minus two degrees already. In fact, perfect weather for a bit of sightseeing…’
Here she stopped. She was clearly waiting for that start of her message to sink in.
‘You see, Captain José has told me that, given what we’ve all been through and what we’ve all achieved, he thinks it’s only right and proper that you’re provided with a bit of a treat this morning. And this treat will be in the form of a zodiac ride around Paradise Bay. Starting with a visit to a formerly well-stocked Argentinian research station…’
The message then went on to deal with the zodiac loading arrangements and their timing, but Alex was already busy working out how he might make his own arrangements to ensure that his and Debbie’s zodiac was shared not only with their three long-standing friends but also with their new younger companions. After all, this might be the last time that Captain José allowed this welcome reversion to an ‘expedition cruise activity’, and he was keen that it should be enjoyed with all of his closest friends.
It wasn’t straightforward, but with a bit of pleading and a bit of forbearance on the part of other passengers, Alex succeeded in his endeavour. And shortly after ten, he was in a zodiac with his five chosen companions – and his wife – and with Nick at the business end of the craft with his hand on the tiller. Three minutes later, all aboard were stepping onto the Almirante Brown landing stage and preparing to have a nose around the empty research station – before contemplating a climb up that substantial bluff that overshadowed it.
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