by Perrin Briar
Two months. Here. Hamish shook his head. He must have been mad to accept the position. He’d had a cushy summer deal in New York before he left. He was a research professor at Princeton. Instead of lounging on the beach somewhere like Tahiti, he was going to be here. In popsicle hell. But when the opportunity came up, he’d seized it with barely a moment of hesitation.
Ordinarily there would have been no physical contact with Palmer Station during the Winter Over, but the resident biologist Dr. Scott had passed away and they needed a hasty replacement. Hamish was that replacement. He’d been made the offer first – apparently he’d been Dr. Scott’s first choice. Hamish didn’t know he held him in such high regard. But Hamish was an excellent biologist, one of a handful fully capable of filling Dr. Scott’s shoes, but he was more of a theorist than a physical researcher. Hamish felt a little uneasy at the job description. Everyone in the science community would be judging him.
The captain brought Laurence M. Gould around in a wide circle, turning the engine off long before they reached the land. They coasted, silent and calm. The cold wind pressed against Hamish’s face, a breath of ice.
“Storm’s coming in,” Captain Meadows said.
“Now?” Hamish said.
“No,” Captain Meadows said. “Later. This afternoon, perhaps.”
Hamish looked up at the sky. Not a dark cloud in sight. He didn’t know how the captain could predict the weather with any level of certainty. There certainly wasn’t any high tech weather gear on board, but he supposed there was such a thing as instinct. Experts were able to make excellent judgements in their field of knowledge with very little time or information. It was called ‘thin slicing’, and it was something every man, woman and child in the world was exceptionally good at. They often couldn’t explain why they felt the way they did, only that they did. It could leave a seemingly profound and deep meaning in their mind at times, but really it was merely the way the mind worked.
You often meet someone and get an instant impression, sometimes good, sometimes bad. It’s the setting of their eyes, the expression on their face. Something about their appearance tells the human mind not to trust this person, that there was something a little ‘off’ about him. It might be the look in his eye, or the way he pronounced a certain word, or the cut of his hair, but something tipped you off to not trust him. It was the kind of thing scam artists and conmen trained themselves to be adept at, to hide in plain sight and give the right clues. That was why, when it was revealed that the kindly old man at the end of the street who had always been quiet and kept to himself, was revealed to be a serial killer, it was always a shock. People assumed they should have picked up on it. And they would have, had the killer not been so adept at hiding. Being a serial killer required you to be exceptional at hiding. Your profession depended on it. Their habits and mannerisms gave them away if they weren’t careful, so they had to be vigilant at all times.
It had been a long journey to the Antarctic. Hamish had flown from JFK airport to Chile, and then taken Laurence M. Gould from the harbour. He hadn’t gotten much more than forty winks on the plane. Normally, he could have flown in from Chile on a charter plane, but it was the dead of winter, and there were strict rules of conduct concerning flight. It was so cold the fuel tank could freeze, and the plane would literally fall out of the sky. Hamish would have made a bad sailor, but an even worse pilot.
There was a second reason for not letting airplanes land on the Antarctic, and that was contamination control. All parties who conducted research were obligated not to dump their refuse outside for fear of contamination. No one could claim ownership of the Antarctic. It was for the whole human race. Everyone was there to research nature’s diversity and hidden depths. It was an international treasure, and it should not suffer the same fate as the rest of the world.
With shrinking government funding and a mass migration of marine experts out of the Antarctic, they were lucky to have anyone at all working at Palmer Station. Some of the world’s greatest scientists had worked there. Right now there was a skeleton crew to oversee experiments and carry out general maintenance during the Winter Over. They were meant to be undisturbed for the entirety of that period. But circumstances beyond their control had brought Hamish to them.
As Laurence M. Gould pulled up alongside the shore, Hamish made out a single figure waiting for him. He stood watching as the boat pulled up to the flimsy quay. As shipmate Glyn tied them up, a gangplank was lowered. The crew began unloading the freshies – fresh food and other supplies the occupants of Palmer Station had requested ahead of time. Might as well make the most of Laurence M. Gould if it was docking anyway.
Hamish and Captain Meadows walked down the plank onto the quay and met the waiting man. The man shook Hamish’s hand. He was tall, with wavy blond hair and blue eyes. He must have been cold, but he showed no signs of it. Hamish felt a shiver. It was colder than he thought. He wanted to put on a thicker coat, but didn’t want to appear less manly than those present.
“Welcome to Palmer Station,” the man said. “I’m sorry there aren’t more people to welcome you. They’re all busy with various tasks. You’ll meet them later.”
“It’s no problem,” Hamish said, though truth be told, he was hoping there would be more people here to meet him.
“I’m Daniel,” the waiting man said. “I am Dr. Scott’s assistant. Now, I’m also your assistant.”
Hamish looked the man over. This was the man he was going to have most contact with over the next couple months. He seemed friendly and approachable, and didn’t wear the same false smile many assistants did. It would be best if they got on well.
Hamish held out his hand and gave Daniel a warm winning smile.
“Nice to meet you, Daniel,” he said. “I’m Hamish.”
“I’ll take you for a tour around the facility in a moment,” Daniel said. “First I need to have a word with the captain, if you’ll excuse me.”
Captain Meadows was orchestrating his shipmates, making sure the garbage was safely stowed onboard. They would be heading back to Punta Arenas, Chile as soon as they could.
The captain removed his hat and held it between his hands at Daniel’s approach. He looked somber.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Captain Meadows said. “The professor was a good man.”
“A great man,” Daniel said. “But he’ll come back to us soon.”
Captain Meadows frowned.
“Come back?” he said. “I thought he passed away?”
“Dr. Scott sometimes goes on little forays like this,” Daniel said.
Captain Meadows looked Daniel over. Was he being serious?
“He’ll return to us when he’s good and ready,” Daniel said.
“As you say,” Captain Meadows said, putting his hat back on his head.
Daniel held up a package for the captain.
“What’s this?” Captain Meadows said.
“Just a few of Dr. Scott’s personal items,” Daniel said. “He wants it returned to his family. He wrote tags and attached them to the figurines before he left. I figure he wanted them sent out.”
“Are you sure?” Captain Meadows said. “If he’s going to come back maybe he had other plans for them.”
“Dr. Scott never did anything without a comprehensive plan,” Daniel said.
“Where do they live?” Captain Meadows said.
“All over the US,” Daniel said. “I’d be very grateful if you could see to them getting posted.”
“Posted?” Captain Meadows said.
He fingered the address on each package.
“Most of these are for New York,” he said. “New York is my old stomping ground. I’m heading there as soon as I get back to Punta Arenas. I can deliver them personally, if you like.”
Daniel smiled.
“Dr. Scott would appreciate that,” he said. “But some of the others are a little far.”
Captain Meadows reached into the bag and read the label of each package
. The majority were due for New York. Two were for Chicago, another for LA. One for Charlotte, North Carolina.
“North Carolina,” Captain Meadows said with a smile. “My sister doesn’t live far from there. I was going to visit her anyway. I can drop it off on the way. I’ll just post the others.”
Laurence M. Gould was fully loaded, the crew standing by, ready to leave. The conversation had come to its natural conclusion. Daniel didn’t seem the type to want to continue a conversation if there was no purpose to it.
“Thank you,” Daniel said. He added perfunctorily: “Would you and your crew like a cup of coffee before you go?”
“No, thanks,” Captain Meadows said. “We should be getting back. Good luck with the rest of the season.”
He looked up at the sky.
“You’d better be careful,” he said. “Looks like it’s going to be a bad one.”
Hamish followed the captain’s look. There still weren’t any dark clouds. How could he still think there was going to be a large storm? Daniel nodded politely and waved Captain Meadows and his crew off.
The mooring line was cast off and Laurence M. Gould’s engines revved as he turned and took to sea. The water was clogged with floating clouds of ice that pushed back and forth toward the coast like it was breathing. Come the depths of winter those shards would reform and freeze up again, reattaching themselves to one of the largest ice cubes in the world. The Antarctic contained thirty million cubic kilometers of ice and ninety percent of the Earth’s fresh water.
Captain Meadows and his crew couldn’t resist casting a look back at the landscape. It was a balmy fourteen degrees, another stark reminder that the Antarctic was undergoing massive change. But Captain Meadows and his crew’s eyes weren’t focused on the beautiful rolling white dunes or the starched white cliffs, but on the horizon, where the land met the sky. They could see something there that none of the others could.
Hamish was suddenly hit by how remote they were on this rock. There was no hub of civilization for hundreds of miles. They were alone. A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the cold. Hamish couldn’t describe why, but as Laurence M. Gould pulled away, he found he wished he was onboard too.
Z-MINUS: 7 hours 2 minutes
“Captain Meadows said something about a storm,” Hamish said.
“The captain always says something about a storm,” Daniel said. “Sailors always assume the worst. But it rarely happens.”
“So there isn’t going to be a storm?” Hamish said.
“I didn’t say that,” Daniel said.
He bent down to pick up a box of supplies.
“Are you hungry?” Daniel said.
“Starving,” Hamish said. “All we ate onboard was what we could catch on the way here. It was pretty slim pickings.”
“It won’t be much better over the next couple months,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “Locked away here with the minimum of supplies and strict regulations.”
“You make it sound like a prison sentence,” Hamish said.
“Isn’t it?” Daniel said.
“You’re really filling me with confidence,” Hamish said.
“How about some coffee and eggs?” Daniel said.
Hamish smiled and licked his lips.
“Now you’re talking,” he said.
“Thinking with your stomach,” Daniel said with a grin. “You’re one of us already. Come on, give me a hand with the freshies. The others will fall in love with you if they associate you as the bringer of food.”
The others will fall in love with you. Hamish didn’t need them all to love him. Only one.
He picked up the second box of supplies and carried them toward the main building. An American flag hung limply on a pole. Hamish knew how it felt.
Z-MINUS: 6 hours 50 minutes
Palmer Station was a series of squat brightly colored buildings that clung stubbornly to the sloping rocks. Surprisingly few footprints traipsed from one location to another. A few people in high-viz jackets wandered from building to building. None turned to look at Hamish. They were all busy doing their thing.
“Have you ever stayed at a Winter Over before?” Daniel said, kicking the front door open with his boot.
“No,” Hamish said. “First time.”
“This’ll be quite an experience for you,” Daniel said.
They entered the main social room. It had a kitchen at one end and a large island behind it. There were stools placed underneath it to be used as a breakfast bar. There were three long dining tables, each of a different hand-me-down design, in front of the main entrance.
The second half of the space was taken up with the main social room. Sofas were arranged in a U-shape, itchy old blankets found in every grandmother’s house draped over them, facing a large old TV with a big ass on it. Someone had taped it to the cabinet to stop it tipping forward onto the floor. There were speakers on either side of it and DVD and video players in separate drawers, scart leads hanging out like protruding tongues.
If Hamish hadn’t known better, he would have thought these were student digs. But the truth was scientists and creatives of all types were never the most organized people in the world. As they were all scientists, it was unlikely anyone would willingly be the mother figure, and so they lived in relative squalor. Worn board game boxes were stacked under the coffee table.
“With a place as isolated as Palmer Station we’ve had to come up with ways to reduce waste,” Daniel said. “Food, water, electricity, everything is divided and shared out amongst the inmates.”
“Inmates?” Hamish said.
“Our name for ourselves,” Daniel said. “The residents. Even with modern advances we have to be careful. It’s the closest thing to living in a bomb shelter you can get. We take turns with cooking, so make sure to check what everyone likes to eat. We’ve got vegetarians, vegans, but no fruitarians, thank God. We live on the edge of a knife, and the edge is sharp. You’ll want to wear two layers of clothing at all times. Not just to keep warm, but to keep in the smell as much as possible.”
“Smell?” Hamish said. The logic didn’t follow.
“Water rationing,” Daniel said. “You’ll get a couple of minutes for a shower twice a week.”
“What about all the snow?” Hamish said. “Can’t we melt that?”
“It’s protected,” Daniel said. “We have very strict guidelines about how much of it we can use, and from where.”
Bummer.
“And there I was looking forward to a nice long soak,” Hamish said.
“You’ll get your chance for a soak, but it won’t be long and it won’t be all that hot either,” Daniel said.
“It just keeps getting better and better,” Hamish said drily.
He tried to keep himself from thinking of the hot sand Tahiti beaches and coconut cocktails.
Hamish was already beginning to regret his decision to come to this hellhole. The comfort and convenience he’d taken for granted had been violently stripped from him. But it would only take a little while to get used to. He hoped.
“We still have high frequency radio and a satellite internet connection,” Hamish said. “Though bandwidth is limited so no YouTube or Skype videos. Our next contact with the outside world will be in mid-October when the next crew arrives on a Twin Otter from Akureyri, Iceland. They’ll care for the instruments and station from October through February.
“In the meanwhile we have our work cut out for us to winterize the station. Pallets need to be moved, buildings need to be dragged out away from the main station to limit drifting, and vehicles need to be winterized and parked away from the station as well. Everything needs to be flagged and mapped. The winter drifting is unimaginable. Huge pallets and whole buildings can disappear beneath drifts of snow. Come spring there’s too much snow to shovel all by hand so we have to use heavy equipment. But it’s all too easy to destroy things when you’re not exactly sure where every buried item is. So we flag everything, photograph everyt
hing, map everything, and hope that any changes are recorded in as much detail as possible. Makes you wonder why we put up with it all, doesn’t it?”
“You can say that again,” Hamish said.
Daniel laughed and slapped Hamish on the back.
“We’re unlocking the secrets of Earth’s climate,” he said. “Revealing lakes and mountains beneath the ice, exploring the deep sea and contemplating the origins of life and the Universe. Once seen as a desolate place frozen in time, Antarctica is now known to be experiencing relentless change. Local transformations such as the loss of ice, changes in ocean circulation and recovery of atmospheric ozone have global consequences — for climate, sea level, biodiversity and society. The work we do here will have global implications.
“The questions we try to answer fall broadly into six themes: One, define the global reach of the Antarctic atmosphere and Southern Ocean. Two, understand how, where and why ice sheets lose mass. Three, reveal Antarctica's history. Four, learn how Antarctic life evolved and survived. Five, observe space and the Universe. And six, recognize and mitigate human influences.”
“That’s a lot of questions,” Hamish said. “And here I was thinking I was here to make snowmen.”
“It’s enough to keep us busy, anyway,” Daniel said.
A pair of men with goatee beards were smacking a dented ping pong ball between one another. Rallies lasted no longer than a couple of strikes. They appeared to be aiming for strength as opposed to accuracy and skill.
“This is Patrick, this Ian,” Daniel said.
“Hey,” Patrick and Ian said, not taking their eyes off the ball.
They both came from the same stock. They were tall with gangly features and bulging eyes. Not lady killers.
“I’ll introduce you properly later,” Daniel said. “They’re in the middle of something very important. I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”
The corridors were a rabbit run, closed in, tight, and bare. The lights overheard were fluorescents, bright like an alien beam. The corridor was long and ended with a single dirty door at the end.