Through The Wormhole, Literally

by David Winship

  Later, when they talked all this through, polkingbeal67 attempted to summarise Melinda's analysis. "So," he said, "you were saying I have an ingrained behaviour pattern characterised by a tendency to flee challenging situations. You were saying I have a deep-seated fear of disapproval and an inability to face up to my responsibilities. And you were saying that my excessive self-concern invariably overrides doing the right thing... "

  "I was?" asked Melinda, totally mystified but secretly gratified that her words had been worthy of such an impressive-sounding interpretation.

  "Well, at least you weren't calling me a coward."

  "I wasn't?" asked Melinda, quite nonplussed.

  A look of alarm flashed across polkingbeal67's face. "Of course not," he said. "If you had, we'd now be submerged in a vat of liquid vitalmados, fighting a duel to the death! Besides, cowardice comes from over-thinking things."

  "Right," said Melinda, with a bit of a twinkle in her eye, "and, that would never apply to you, of course. The only thinking you did was with your legs! Literally."

  Again, first-time experiences can be daunting, but the first hint of a glimmer of a smile tugged slowly and tentatively at the corners of polkingbeal67's mouth. It hovered for a second or two and vanished so quickly that Melinda later wondered if she had imagined it.

  You would probably be interested in knowing what thoughts were running through yukawa3's mind while all this mental and emotional jousting was going on. After all, it was his harrowing refusal to eat fish that had caused the upheaval. He tried to interject a telepathic message. "Anyway, I'm still not going to eat fish," he said, but no one was tuned in at the other end.

  . . .

  After negotiating the stormy seas of Drake Passage, the Malvinas Explorer approached Barrientos Island, one of a series of volcanic islands just to the north of the Antarctic Peninsula. Although the winds were still high and light was fading, Fernandez decided to risk a landing. One of the tour leaders delivered a garbled speech of cautionary instruction. Warning the assembled company of possible encounters with 'homicidal wildlife', she advised everyone to give animals the right-of-way at all times and to maintain a precautionary distance of at least five metres. As she spoke, the rocky spires of several of the Aitcho Islands, tinted with twilight pastels as the sunset progressed, could be discerned behind her. There followed the obligatory inspection of everyone's outer clothing and accessories to minimise the threat of introducing foreign plant material to the fragile ecosystem, then everyone piled into inflatable dinghies powered by outboard motors and, a few minutes later, sea legs became land legs once more.

  While the passengers engaged with the playful Gentoos, skuas flew overhead with an air of urgency. In marked contrast, a pair of giant petrels soared slowly and lazily along the shore, aimlessly changing direction every now and again. A fur seal flopped over the rocks in ungainly fashion and barked at yukawa3, who passed close by, apparently intent on making the acquaintance of a group of chinstrap penguins clustered on a rocky outcrop, preening, gathering stones and displaying. Further along the beach, a dozen or so elephant seals, the only residents to show no interest in the visitors, were totally engrossed in fighting boisterously among themselves. Polkingbeal67 surveyed the scene with a feeling of calm excitement that he had never experienced before. The contrast between the unfathomable beauty of the landscape and the brutal, finite territoriality of the creatures that populated it filled him with wonder. It represented a fascinating disconnect between the narrow horizons of primate social life and the intimations of immortality suggested by the vast natural beauty stretched out beyond it. It was a dichotomy, yes, but it was a fusion at the same time, in much the same way as the spirit or soul is disconnected but fused with the body. He viewed it all with non-judgemental appreciation. It did not depress or disappoint him; it simply engaged his senses in transcendental contemplation. Staggered by this, he stopped reflecting on yukawa3's mental health for a moment... and started worrying about his own.

  The deteriorating light cut short the trip and no one had time to wander far beyond the beach area. As they re-assembled to board the dinghies, they were treated to the bizarre sight of yukawa3 being pursued by an angry chinstrap penguin, much smaller than himself. To the astonishment of the onlookers, yukawa3 was tripping and tumbling during the chase and would easily have been caught, had it not been for the timely intervention of 'homicidal wildlife' in the form of a belligerent fur seal. The incident provoked debate about yukawa3's physical condition. It had not gone unnoticed that he had foregone his usual fishing sorties. Polkingbeal67 and Melinda were no longer alone in feeling very anxious about yukawa3's refusal to eat fish and krill.

  Fernandez, on the other hand, along with one or two of the tour leaders and other crew members, knew that food deprivation in the short term did not constitute a life-threatening emergency for king penguins. The male birds, in particular, are capable of fasting for several weeks, especially during the incubation process. For all his faults, Fernandez understood and appreciated wildlife. As Jorge often enjoyed telling the passengers, a spider had lived in the skipper's ear for a whole week on one expedition! Anyway, as far as Fernandez was concerned, he was satisfied that there were no animal welfare implications relating to the penguin, at least not for the remaining duration of the expedition. It did occur to him, though, that an opportunity was dangling before him like low-hanging fruit and he was not the sort of man to pass up a chance to make some money.

  "What happened out there?" asked Melinda, eyes scrunched up against the driving spray as the rolling waves slapped against the hull of the dinghy.

  Polkingbeal67 raised his hand and translated while yukawa3 nodded gravely: "You saw nothing, okay? Let's just move on from this and forget about it."

  "No, come on, what happened?" Melinda persisted. "You looked like you were in a bit of trouble back there. Quite literally."

  "The stupid bird accused me of stealing his stones! I mean, what the hell? There are stones everywhere! The whole beach is covered with them. Anyway, please tell me how anyone can actually own some stones? You can't own a stone."

  "You took his stones?"

  "No, not at all. Well, not exactly. I thought I'd be friendly and I introduced myself and, I don't know, I thought it might be a good idea to demonstrate the tripod dance. I mean, what's wrong with that?"

  Melinda shook her head. "Yeah. No, probably not a great idea when they're all getting ready for the nesting season."

  "Well, maybe I slightly dislodged some of the stones he was putting together and maybe they kind of slightly rolled down a slope. What? They're just stones! I mean, I... What is the point of... anything?"

  At that point, just as a large wave buffeted the dinghy, a greenish haze formed around yukawa3. As Melinda described it later, he became "fuzzy" and indistinct as if he had become a distorted holographic image of himself. The phenomenon only lasted a few seconds but it left yukawa3 unable to stand unaided until they reached the ship.

  Having left the ailing penguin to recuperate in his cabin, polkingbeal67 discussed the incident with Melinda up on deck. "He says he felt another one of those deja vu feelings, like before but really intense. It doesn't make sense but he says he didn't feel like time was repeating - he says it felt like it was disappearing, pulling away from him. I don't get it - even if he had an insufficient dose of HDA, he shouldn't still be suffering the after-effects. Not after all this time."

  Intelligent as he was, polkingbeal67 had overlooked another possible cause of yukawa3's affliction, though, to be fair, it was about as implausible and outlandish as anyone might dream. Given that Melinda had not even mentioned the chillok ambassador's threat, we will surely forgive polkingbeal67 for not realising that yukawa3's Karma 5 may have become infested by vengeful chillok spirits (a Mortian's Karma 5 comprises all the intangible attributes that define a person, such as intellect, character, conscience, emotions and personality). Disembodied chillok entities may have implanted themselves in the haples
s cadet with the aim of applying hypnosis or perhaps inflicting psychological disorder - it was certainly the kind of sinister tactic they had deployed in the past. If polkingbeal67 had had any inkling of such an eventuality, he would have recognised that it represented a mortal danger not only to yukawa3, but also to himself.

  Before too long, the captain and a few crew members approached, inspecting the ice forming on the deck. Fernandez, evidently keen to make conversation, grabbed Jorge's arm and instructed him to act as interpreter. "Hola,” said Jorge. “Ze captain, he say where is pinguino? He wanna try pinguino tricks."

  When polkingbeal67 explained that yukawa3 was feeling unwell and was resting in the cabin, Fernandez barked: "How you do pinguino tricks? Es secreto?"

  When polkingbeal67 responded by chuckling and answering evasively, Fernandez turned to Melinda and fixed her with an accusing stare. "You are stowaway, si? I give you cabin."

  He was invoking the principle of reciprocity and Melinda indicated with a nod that she understood her obligations in that respect. To remove all doubt about it, Fernandez made a gesture suggesting he would throw her overboard if she proved uncooperative.

  Jorge translated his threat: "He say: you want port or starboard?" Fernandez nodded for emphasis, furtively checking the tattoos on his hands.

  "Yeah, okay, I get it," said Melinda. "What is it you want again?"

  "He want do pinguino tricks," said Jorge.

  Melinda tried to give herself time to think. "Okay, but it's difficult. Remember, I've got a PhD in, er, Interpenguin, er, ..."

  Polkingbeal67 rushed to her assistance. "Noise Studies," he prompted.

  "Yeah, of course, Interpenguin Noise Studies. It's a challenging field. Literally."

  Fernandez and Jorge both looked at her with sceptical eyes.

  "No, iss trick," said Fernandez, winking conspiratorially, "Iss trick, si?"

  "No, no," replied Melinda, "it's not a trick. It's complicated. Communicating with animals like penguins requires you to develop a sophisticated set of, um, ..."

  "Ears?" suggested polkingbeal67.

  "Perspectives," said Melinda, nodding, trying desperately to sound well-versed in the vocabulary of animal linguistics. "Yeah, literally, I'm not the world's greatest expert of course, but you have to understand their perspective." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "Etcetera," she added, for good measure.

  "Etcetera?" Jorge echoed.

  "Absolutely, yeah," said Melinda. "You have to actually, literally think like a penguin."

  Jorge echoed her words derisively: "Think like pinguino?"

  "Yes, of course, precisely."

  "Swim? Eat fish?" Jorge asked incredulously.

  Melinda persevered. "Exactly, but you have to go further than that. You've got to waddle like a penguin, huddle like a penguin; you've got to actually be a penguin. Try waddling like a penguin! Go on, everyone try it! Like this!"

  Not wishing to offend anyone's aesthetic sensibilities, I will draw a veil over the rest of this encounter. Suffice to say that many of the passengers had been taking the air on deck that evening and YouTube saw a sudden surge of video uploads from the vicinity of Barrientos Island.

  . . .

  Later, when they were alone, Melinda and polkingbeal67 discussed the captain's interest in learning the science of penguin communication. "It's really curious, isn't it? What do you think he's up to?" asked Melinda, leaning against the railing. They both gazed at the indistinguishable grey-black junction between the night sky and the dark, menacing ocean that rolled and churned under the ship causing it to heave with each successive wave.

  Polkingbeal67 scratched his head. "Maybe he's thinking of providing some on-board entertainment?"

  "But why would he want to get involved himself? Why not just get me to do it?"

  "Would you agree to do it?"

  "Would I have any choice? Didn’t you hear him threaten to throw me overboard? I was like, you can't do that in this day and age. Literally. But, y’know, I wouldn't put it past him."

  Polkingbeal67 nodded. "Okay, yeah, good point. So, maybe he is up to something."

  Despite the best efforts of animal rights organisations and despite being banned outright in large Argentine cities including Buenos Aires, circuses were still popular family entertainment (and therefore big business) in certain South American countries, even in some districts of Argentina. Fernandez had a brother who owned a travelling circus that was touring in Paraguay. From the moment he had witnessed yukawa3's performance on the South Georgia beach, the prospect of making a few pesos out of the engaging and talented bird had been crossing and re-crossing his mind until the tangled web totally ensnared his waking thoughts. Oh yes, Melinda and polkingbeal67 were absolutely right - he was up to something, and that something was a plan to kidnap yukawa3 at the conclusion of the expedition.

  The fact is, however, most of us are inclined to trust people we do not know until such time as they actually deceive us, and by the time the ship docked at the wharf in Ushuaia, any incipient misgivings Melinda and polkingbeal67 may have had about the captain's motives had evaporated. Yukawa3's malaise had regressed and he had been unable to leave the cabin for the remainder of the trip. Undermined by physical weakness and fatigue, his lethargic state had been interrupted only by occasional fits of delirium. Fernandez had impressed Melinda with his attentive manner and expressions of concern. Even polkingbeal67 agreed that the captain's conduct towards all three of them during the latter part of the cruise had been exemplary and above reproach. So when he offered to take yukawa3 to a top veterinary facility recommended by a close acquaintance, no one suspected anything untoward. In fact, it offered not just an opportunity to get some expert treatment for yukawa3, but also it gave Melinda and polkingbeal67 time to ponder the daunting challenges they faced in transporting a penguin to England.

  Fernandez, with yukawa3 cradled in his arms, wrapped in a blanket, escorted Melinda and polkingbeal67 from the wharf to the Hotel Austral, just a couple of blocks away from the noise and bustle of the main shopping street. Swollen grey clouds greeted them and the thin, wind-driven sleet stung their faces. A few heads turned, but most people were oblivious to the contents of the blanket. They shuffled past, their bodies hunched against the cold, their eyes fixed on the pavement in front of them. It was not the sort of day to fully appreciate the dramatic backdrop of the Andes mountains. With a few bows, a couple of handshakes and a flurry of incoherent parting words, Fernandez left them at the entrance to the hotel and hurried off with yukawa3 in search of a taxi, having promised to call back at the hotel later in the afternoon.

  Watching them disappear into the street, a few pangs of foreboding suddenly flicked at polkingbeal67 like the sleet against his skin. "We trust this Fernandez, right?" he asked as calmly as he could.

  Melinda caught the anxiety in his voice and felt a need to express reassurance. "Yeah," she said, "absolutely, yeah. Literally."

  Try as he might, polkingbeal67 could not dispel the disquiet in his heart or quell the toxic doubts that besieged him. Rushing through the hotel foyer, he demanded that the receptionist look up the name of the veterinary facility Fernandez had specified. The perplexed receptionist looked up from her screen, shrugged, looked again and shook her head. "No, sir," she said. "It's not in Ushuaia, anyway."

  Once you shake the apples from a tree, you cannot restore them. And so it is with trust. It was particularly galling for polkingbeal67, for this was the first time he had ever put his faith in a stranger, someone outside his close circle of Mortian friends. A deadly pallor spread over his face. "We've abandoned yukawa3!" he exclaimed. "We've left him in the clutches of a perfidious stranger and there are no guarantees that we'll ever see him again!" With that, he dropped his bag and ran off in pursuit, Melinda close behind. The pair of them sprinted down the street, weaving in and out of pedestrians, vendors and stray dogs on the pavement, polkingbeal67 outpacing Melinda at every turn. Slipping on some ice, polkingbeal67 lost his balance and landed sp
read-eagled on the ground. When Melinda caught up with him, he was mumbling Mortian swear words and uncurling from a foetal position. "We mustn't waste another second!" he said, checking his reflection in a shop window and grooming his hair with his fingers.

  "Where are we going?" asked Melinda wheezily as they set off again on their helter-skelter whirlwind chase through the centre of the southernmost city on Earth. Up and down steep streets, past tacky gift shops, casinos and restaurants, then a jumble of rusty old vehicles and wooden houses protected by sloping sheet metal roofs designed to prevent accumulations of snow. Panting and puffing, Melinda yelled her question once more: "Where are we going?"

  Polkingbeal67 turned his head as he slowed to a jog. "I don't know," he shouted. "Where would you go if you wanted a taxi?"

  "The railway station?" Melinda suggested. "Yeah, literally, the railway station."

  Melinda asked passers-by for directions. The first woman, wary of being mugged by such wild-looking creatures, hurried on without making eye contact. Eventually, a couple of tourists, probably skiers, stopped and engaged with them. "El Tren del Fin del Mundo?" one of them asked. He was referring to the Southern Fuegian Railway, dubbed the Train of the End of the World, a narrow gauge steam railway originally built as a freight line to transport timber to the prison of Ushuaia, now operating as a heritage railway into the Tierra del Fuego National Park.

  "I don't know," she said. "We literally just want the regular railway station." As the tourists exchanged baffled glances, she turned anxiously to polkingbeal67, who shrugged in helpless confusion. "Well then," she continued. "I suppose we'd better go where you said. Will there be taxis there?"

  "Taxis? Si, yes," said one of the tourists. "There are taxis at the End of The World."