Chapter 10
Russian Station Vostok
Antarctic Plateau
It was awkward for Trevor. Reading the letter that was intended for his fiancé over the radio was an uncomfortable exercise, especially with three bored Russians listening intently, each nodding as if in agreement with every sentence, though none understood a single word. Jake, who had promised Trevor to relay his letters for him, managed to say “got it” after each line without inflection, which made it as easy as it could possibly be presumed to be.
“There is a flight tonight. I’ll get this out to McMurdo. They will send it over the satellite to a guy who will mail it from there. Whole thing shouldn’t take more than a few days.”
“That’s awesome, Jake. Thanks, really.”
“No problem,” Jake said over the radio. “Beardmore is all clear.”
“Vostok out,” Trevor replied. He turned to his audience. “Enjoy that?” he asked. They nodded again seriously without comment. He sighed and headed for his bunk. Sokolov was not in the room and he stretched out on the bed. It was harder than he thought it would be. When he was offered the chance to work there, he didn’t hesitate. He told his fiancé that it would only be for a short time, and then the postponed wedding could take place when he got back. He’d expected to do his work, let time pass, and then go home. It didn’t work out quite the way he had hoped, however. Day and night cycles had gotten out of sync since there was no perceptible difference between the two, and once again, he was wide-awake in what should have been the night, tired beyond exhaustion, imagining the worst sort of fantasies. He was desperate to get home, terrified that if he didn’t, quickly, it would be too late. He tried to focus on something near at hand to take his mind off what he was sure was happening there without him, and couldn’t. He got up and went to the galley, where it was almost bearable to sit with the others and converse. He found Sokolov there alone.
“So, you’re leaving in a couple of days,” he said. “I sure wish I was.”
Sokolov waved his hand dismissively.
“You have not been here long enough to have such thoughts. I would agree, however, that it was perhaps a mistake to have come here when you have such pressing business at home. I had no such complications. On the contrary, it was in my interest to be removed from there as quickly, and for as long, as possible.”
“What will it be like when you get back?” Trevor asked. Despite his preoccupation with his own thoughts, Trevor had come to think of Sokolov as a friend, and having discovered how the man felt about his life in Soviet Russia, he was concerned for the scientist’s welfare when he returned. He felt something akin to guilt; by having allowed Sokolov to express his frustrations to him, he was afraid that he had contributed to the Russian losing the ability to suppress them.
“The same as before I left. Nothing ever changes.”
“Not what I meant,” Trevor said, empathy helping to soften his own worries.
“I know.” They sat in silence for a moment, each nurturing their own concerns.
“You’ll have a pretty cool trip back, anyway,” Trevor offered.
“Yes. Quite cool,” the Russian said.
Trevor smiled. He used his Americanisms without thinking about it and Sokolov adopted them in a manner that defined incongruity.
“Say hello to my group if you see them,” Trevor said. His science project had people scattered at various bases; a pair were supposed to be at Beardmore for a time.
“We may. That reminds me. Give to me the radio frequency that you call them on so that I can contact them if we are close,” Sokolov said of the upcoming journey.
“Sure. Not the best site for what I do, there, I think. Not like here. But you have to try if for no other reason than to know that it isn’t any good.”
“A good approach, if you have the resources to go everywhere,” the Russian said. “However, it would seem appropriate to work the areas that have the most promise first. There must have been some reason why the site was chosen.”
“True,” Trevor admitted. “Just the fact that there would be support facilities available made it attractive. One benefit is that it is a very stable area, virtually no flow from the glacier. What it lacks in depth, it ought to make up in consistency. Another feature of the shallowness is that although the trapped gasses will offer a somewhat reduced record, there should be a higher degree of solid particulate in the cores.”
“Why would that be of importance?” Sokolov asked.
“Historical reference. Volcanic fallout could help to correlate dates. Less ancient meteor impacts would leave traces, maybe even massive deposits. Biblical events, such as the darkening of the skies, could be given a chance to prove themselves.”
“It is good to see that you do not have a problem with under-reaching,” The Russian scientist said dryly.
Trevor smiled. “Cross-disciplining is a major theme in our program. The vulcanists actually came to us to see if we could correlate their presumed dates. They were themselves approached by the theology people. Glaciology and atmospheric chemistry overlap so much that they are becoming the same discipline. You must see that in your work. Cosmic physics and nuclear applications overlap, don’t they?”
Sokolov winced. “Do not remind me.” For an instant, the ghosts began to emerge and pulled their darkened veils across the Russian’s countenance before he stopped them. “Have you seen the machine we will travel in?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Only from here.”
“Get your coat.”
They went out into the blinding sun and walked over to where the huge machine was parked. They went around to the sledge that was attached to it with a ball-hitch, like a trailer to a truck. Erected on the skids was a large platform. On the platform was a heavy tent shelter that led Trevor to muse that this was the Russian Antarctic equivalent to the covered wagon. Inside was a well-ordered living space with bunks, a kitchen, and table. On a sledge attached to the Pullman car, as he unconsciously dubbed it, were supplies piled and tied down with cargo straps. The train was ready for departure as soon as the decision to go was made.
“It looks like a fun way to travel,” Trevor said.
“It is not such fun as it looks,” Sokolov replied. “Where the surface snow is soft, it is reasonably easy going. Where the sustrugi is hard, the pulling vehicle cannot flatten a road and the assembly rocks horribly from side to side. It is difficult to avoid seasickness at these times.”
“Oh.” The romance of an overland journey dissipated rapidly for Trevor at that time. Being sick from wallowing on frozen seas, while at the same time being sick with worry in the middle of absolute nowhere, was not at all appealing. A quick, direct flight was what he required. “Well, have fun anyway.”
“It is not for fun that we go,” Sokolov answered.
The Pole of Inaccessibility Page 20