The Antarcticans

by Suriano, James

  “He never went to the center we discussed in Memphis.”

  “And he never will. It’s a bunch of quacks down there parading as doctors.”

  “No, they’re deeply faithful people using God’s power to heal the sick.”

  “If God wanted to heal the sick, he would heal them. He doesn’t need someone to mediate and pay a handling fee on his behalf. We’ve already been through this.” She pulled out a small notebook from her suitcase and brought it over to him. “This isn’t the best timing, but since I’m leaving so unexpectedly, I thought you should know.” She handed him the red moleskin book.

  Gavin undid the elastic band and opened it. He looked at the times and dates listed, each with a note regarding who had called and what they’d said.

  “Did you talk to them?” he asked.

  “Sometimes. Other times they left messages.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “There was a lot going on, and I thought you didn’t want to deal with your church. I thought that’s why you hadn’t checked in with them.” She paused and processed what he had said. “Wait, you knew?”

  “Yes, I was too embarrassed to tell you.”

  “Why did they take your ordination away?”

  “Someone must have found out what I was doing.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey, especially considering what we’ve been going through with Joshua.” She put her hand on his head and caressed his temple. “Let’s deal with what’s in front of us. When we get back, I’ll help you get back to where you want to be. All right, I have to get ready. Sorry…I know it feels like bad timing.”

  “I’d say.” Gavin shook his head, took a deep breath in, and looked straight ahead with wide eyes. “Feels like everything is bad timing these days.”

  Noila showered, dressed, and slung her bag over her shoulder. She saw Gavin hunched over the Gospel of Thomas. He’d been translating it since they came on board. He was scribbling translation notes in the margin then looking back over his translation dictionary, making comparisons.

  “Okay, I’m leaving,” she announced.

  Gavin jumped up from his chair. “Wait a minute. I’ll walk you down there.”

  “Please.” She held her hand up in protest. “You know I hate good-byes. Even if they’re just for a little bit.”

  Gavin thought back to the first time they were separated. It was a year or so into their marriage, before Joshua was born. He was a newly appointed pastor and was heading up a one-month mission in Honduras. Noila was still crying when he had called her from the local bar to let her know he had arrived safely.

  “Fair enough.” He kissed her and gave her a long, loving hug. “I hope you enjoy every minute of it down there. Sounds like a great adventure. I’m proud of you. I know you’ve been waiting for something like this for a long time.”

  Noila turned quickly and walked out the door to the lift at the end of the hall. The carpet in the hallway was red and thick with gold designs snaking through it. Her feet sunk into it with every step. She noticed the ornate crystal sconces and textured wallpaper, which made her feel as if she were walking through a palace. I could get used to this, she thought. She sighed. Am I really doing the right thing, working on a research ship? The doubts plagued her.

  She arrived at a door that led to a cargo bay. A small red light illuminated above the door and scanned her body; then a sound chimed, and the door opened. The smell of jet fuel and metal overwhelmed her. She stepped off the lush carpet onto the cold, oily, grated metal floor. The area she stepped into looked like it went on forever. Large transoceanic shipping crates filled the space to her right and were stacked up to the ceiling with straps the width of her body holding them in place. Helicopters and fighter jets and some other vehicles she didn’t recognize were parked to her left, with a path to the cargo-bay door, which was open with the light of the full moon bouncing off the water and into the ship, turning the metal an eerie light silver. A small group of people were gathered around the open door. Noila heard hydraulic motors revving, along with the slam and click of metal against metal. The sounds repeated in the same sequence. When she got closer, she saw the Viking, a much smaller ship, in the ocean about fifty feet away. It was extending a long, flat bridge to connect with the Dragon. The waves, which made the Dragon move only slightly, were jostling the Viking back and forth. The captain was struggling to hold the long, sleek, gray vessel stable enough so the extended bridge could connect with the docking station on the Dragon.

  When the bridge snapped into place, the perimeter of the cargo-bay door flashed green, and a long tone, accompanied by a pleasant-sounding British female voice, indicated the connection was secure. The hydraulics fired again, and the flat bridge expanded upward until it was a full jetty that formed a box the group of people could walk through to board the smaller ship. A minute passed before the man whose image had appeared in Noila’s room earlier disembarked from the jetty bridge and jumped off the edge in front of them. He was confident, tall, and well built. He wore the same sweater he’d worn earlier, along with heavy canvas pants tucked into hulking leather boots brimming over with fur. His face was freckled and weathered and looked much older than the rest of his body.

  “I’m Captain Clark, but most people call me CC,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be taking you down to the Getz Ice Shelf. Once everyone’s on board, I’ll go over some things you’ll need to know, both for your research and for safety reasons.” He beckoned them to follow him through the jetty to the research ship.

  Noila nodded and said hello to people as she made her way into the line. She was the last person to arrive in the cargo bay, and it seemed there were already conversations flowing and friendships budding.

  They entered what was a much smaller loading area at the rear of the Viking. The door was only ten feet above the sea level, and the waves crested over the threshold and sloshed through the open area. Noila waited for the water to retreat from the jetty connection point before she jumped onto the new ship then ran up to the incline of the floor and farther into the ship before the next wave of water rolled in. Captain Clark let out a sardonic laugh and shook his head.

  “That’s the last one. Disconnect the bridge and shut the door,” one of the crew yelled.

  The bridge collapsed into its original flat structure and reeled itself back into the room they were standing in. The large bay door closed and sealed just before the area was illuminated by warm red lights. Noila felt the heat from the lights evaporate the moisture in the room. She heard a sucking sound on the floor, and the remaining water disappeared through the drains.

  “Everyone follow me,” Captain Clark said. “You can leave your belongings here and retrieve them after you’ve chosen your rooms.” As he headed toward the door that led to the interior of the ship, he didn’t look back as he barked out his words. “The first thing you’ll notice is that the ship creaks a lot—freaks newbies out; they think something’s wrong. This ship is designed to withstand the harshest weather this planet can dole out. We sail through hurricanes, tsunamis, the Arctic, the Antarctic, and the hot waters of the Persian Gulf. She’s capable of operating in temperatures from negative one hundred to one hundred and twenty; beyond those limits we lose some operational flexibility. So get used to the creaking. There are six decks. Deck One: engine control and maintenance; Deck Two: facilities and service; Deck Three: living quarters; Deck Four, which we’re on now, is cargo and storage. There’s also a lounge, which has a whole bunch of shit to keep you occupied. Deck Five is all research labs, and Deck Six is the top deck—the bridge and the open air. None of you should be on Decks One or Two. If I find you there, I’ll confine you to your quarters for the rest of the trip and report your noncompliance back to the Dragon. Once you receive your project, please only enter your assigned lab. The environment in many of the labs is controlled. One unauthorized entry with someone unfamiliar with the protocols of that particular lab can destroy months of work just by walking in and touching the wrong
thing. So use your goddamn judgment.” He opened the hatch to the lift and climbed the ladder that went up to Deck Five. When everyone had climbed up to the next level, he began walking. One narrow hallway, with doors every ten feet on both sides, ran the entire length of the Viking.

  “Not much to see here, except that each of you will be assigned a lab to work in, some together obviously. Each door has a bioscanner”—he pointed to a small device attached to the top of one of the doors—“that will allow you access to your lab. Stand facing the door, press the green button, and wait until you hear the door unlatch. Then you may enter.” He pushed past the group of scientists, who were all listening intently, and slammed down the hatch the group had just come in through. “Whoever was the last one through didn’t shut the hatch. Use your common sense. I can’t relay to you every hazard on this ship, but if you go around expecting your asses to be wiped every time you take a shit, people are going to get hurt or you’re going to hurt yourself,” he snapped.

  Noila looked around at some of the other scientists who were commenting on Captain Clark’s abruptness. She had seen this kind of man many times in her life. Her family was full of them. Overly tough, as if someone had told them that the human race was a bunch of young mules that needed to be broken. They used their work, their religion, or their machismo to justify their an unacceptable behavior. These men were best avoided.

  When they emerged onto the top deck, the night was quiet. The moon, which had been out when they had boarded, was obscured by clouds.

  “Not much to see up here. That’s the bridge.” The captain pointed to an outcropping in the middle of the deck that rose up and resembled an inverted teardrop, completely smooth and plated in dark glass. “None of you are allowed in there. We have some basic furniture in storage to place out when the sea is calm or we have an event. If you come up here alone, or the sea is rough like it is now, make sure you tether yourself to the ship and wear a life jacket.” He pointed to a dozen cables with attached belt harnesses and then to a storage area filled with various-size life jackets. “If you go overboard, you won’t make it. The human body can withstand the temperatures of the waters we’ll be in for about three minutes before you’ll be paralyzed and sink—that is, if you aren’t crushed by the ice we’ll be cutting through. If you have a life jacket on and we fish you out sooner than that, we’ll probably be able to save you. Anything longer than that isn’t pretty.” He looked out at the ocean and saluted, then huddled everyone into the lift.

  They descended to Deck Three, which was almost identical to Deck Five—a long hallway with doors. “There are fifteen rooms here,” the captain continued. “One through five are for the crew. That leaves ten quarters for the twelve of you. Each room has a shower and a toilet and can accommodate two people. But they’re in different configurations—some have bunks; some have double beds. I’ll leave it to you to sort out what works best. I don’t know any of you. And I probably won’t know any of you during our journey there. So what you do in our rooms is your own business. I expect everyone to be respectful. If I get any complaints, you’ll spend the rest of your time here traveling in the cargo area, where you can sleep on the cold steel floor and piss out the cargo-bay door and hope you don’t get pitched into the sea.” His voice was serious, and his ice-blue eyes moved around, catching each person’s vision to make sure they understood. “That’s all. Make yourself at home. Meals are served in the lounge at 0600, 1200, and 1800 hours. Coffee, tea, water, and biscuits are served all day. Questions?”

  A man in a huge yellow parka raised his hand.

  “This isn’t fucking kindergarten,” Captain Clark said. “You don’t have to raise your hand. What?”

  “If we go to our rooms now, how will we get our lab assignments? I need to get started right away to have my project prepped before we arrive in Antarctica.” His voice was a bit shaky.

  “When you move into your rooms, the ship will identify you then give you any other information you need, including your lab assignments. Anything else?” He looked around.

  “I’m sorry…the ship?” the man in the yellow parka asked.

  “How long were you on the Dragon?” Captain Clark asked him.

  “Almost a week.”

  “So you know the Dragon is almost a living, breathing monster. We have the same technology on board this hulk. Every move you make is known and recorded, and you’ll receive information as you need it, whether you think you need it or not. If you have a fever or a vitamin deficiency or you need to call your wife because the two of you haven’t spoken in forty-eight hours, it knows.”

  The scientists chuckled.

  “Don’t assume any anonymity here. There is none.” The captain turned and walked to the hatch, pulled it open, and made his way down the ladder. When his head was clear, he reached up and yanked down the hatch, slamming it into place.

  The twelve scientists looked at one another and shook their heads. There was some chattering between individuals who clearly knew each other. The group quickly organized themselves into rooms. There was a husband and wife who shared a room and two female chemists who recently had been engaged. Everyone else had single rooms. Noila found herself in room nine. It had bunk beds, with small curtains that added some privacy if two people were sharing the space. There were drawers under the bunks, and off to the side was a bathroom, which was so small that Noila could sit on the toilet, lean forward, and put her head on the sink or stand up from the toilet and adjust the shower head, which was affixed to a bracket on the wall just above the button to flush the toilet. It wasn’t luxury room like she’d had on the Dragon, but at least she had her own private area. She pulled her pants down and sat on the toilet, holding the rail beside it to steady herself. Her inner ear hadn’t yet adjusted to the movement. The mirror lit up, and the face of a woman, who looked vaguely familiar, smiled dead ahead then looked down at Noila on the toilet. Noila’s mouth formed an O. She instinctively covered her lap with her arms and said, “So much for privacy.”

  The woman ignored her comment. “Hello, Noila. You’re assigned to lab 2588. Any questions?” She waited; Noila just stared at her.

  “The toilet paper is behind the small panel on your left.” She smiled and nodded toward the panel. “Let me know if you need anything else.” The woman’s image vanished, and the mirror returned to normal.

  The main sleeping area had a small desk that was sandwiched between the end of the bunks and the wall where the entry door was. Noila thought about Gavin; he would have set up shop there to do his reading. She opened the drawers beneath the bunks. In one of them, she found a sealed envelope, with nothing written on the outside. She took it out and flipped it over a few times. She looked behind her then slid her finger under the flap and tore the seal open. The thick stationary was embossed with the symbol of the Dragon. In the center of the card, printed in bold black ink, were the words “Good luck. —Lucifer.”

  “How lovely,” Noila muttered sarcastically.

  …

  The days on the ship were hurried and long. Henri, a French physicist, informed the rest of the scientists that he’d been appointed as the group’s administrator and had strict instructions regarding the intended work for each of the labs. During breaks and meals, it came out that most of the scientists had been recruited in a similar way to Noila. They all had lives they had put on hold for the promise of doing something extraordinary, something that could save lives. The scientists became friendly with one another and engaged in small talk during their meals in the lounge. The meals were always presented elegantly, with the proper china and flatware to accompany each dish. When Noila first arrived, she had assumed the food would be subsistence-grade ship grub, but Lucifer’s influence with the best chefs in the world apparently extended to the auxiliary ships. Even so, they spent most of their time locked in their labs, preparing for the research they would be doing in Antarctica.

  She had reported to lab 2588 the first day and spent hours reading through th
e background of her experiment. Most of the late Dr. Eldridge Cummings’s work was unpublished, and she was fascinated with how advanced it was. She had been given access to a body of knowledge only a few people in the world had. The experiments she would be continuing had been taking place over the past twenty years, and none of it had been available to the public. The communities of life that had been discovered on the ice shelf were previously unknown and relied heavily on the environmental and atomic phenomena she had only learned about theoretically in a physics class. Noila’s mind went wild with the implications of this information on what else might be possible to discover when the laws of nature as she knew them seemed to be in question. The previous scientists working with Dr. Cummings on this project had spent much of their time in a submarine under the ice shelf. Henri hadn’t mentioned this would be part of the work she was going to do, but she wondered whether it might be. So far information had been given to her on a need-to-know basis.

  The lab next to hers contained a material replicator that could make any of the parts or equipment she needed. She used it quietly and was sure not to touch anything else in the room when she entered it. The two female chemists who were rooming together occupied this lab and stopped saying hello once the first day was over and everyone was absorbed in their work. They never appeared bothered by Noila showing up to use the machine, so she assumed it was okay. She wasn’t sure what any of the other scientists were working on. Based on the bits of information she heard during meals, most of the work required specialized knowledge to even begin to understand the concepts behind the research.

  Noila came to the lounge most nights before bed to fix herself a cup of tea, and a small group of the male scientists would be laughing, drinking beer, and shuffling cards around. The first night, she offered to fill in the empty fourth seat for a game of pinochle. She was thanked for her enthusiasm but then smiled out of the room. That was the general mood of the ship: pleasant but guarded. After a few nights of her pleasantly interrupting the same guys, they finally let her join. She learned it was their fifteenth trip to Antarctica. Their advice was “Nothing is as it seems. We’re in a war zone.” They gulped through their hoppy beer and dealt the next hand.