The Antarcticans

by Suriano, James

  Noila dropped her bag and walked through the door at the other end of the room. Where a bathtub should have been, there was a deep pool made from the same orange and brown stones as the hearth. Water flowed in from a small pipe at the end closest to her, and she heard the sucking of a drain somewhere else. There were no other faucets or pipes attached. She dipped her hand into the water, which gave off a sweet, sulfuric scent. The water was hot. She heard someone call her name from the main room.

  “Noila, I hope this is okay,” Vinettea said, standing next to the door. Noila hadn’t heard it open. “I’ve heard this technology is considered intrusive by some humans.” She turned to the side at an angle where her mass disappeared and revealed herself as a holographic projection.

  “Yes, fine, great. Thank you. Where and when should I meet up with the other scientists?”

  “You can do much of your work right here. I just stopped by to point out some features of the room.” As she walked past Noila, her arm passed through one of the chairs, disrupting the projection. “Come take a look at this.”

  Noila followed her into the bathroom.

  “You’ll have to do this for me.” Her finger hovered over a button located next to the window.

  Noila reached for the button and looked at Vinettea.

  “It’s okay. I’m not really here. You can put your hand through mine.”

  Noila reached for the button, her hand passing through the projection of Vinettea, and pressed it.

  “Okay, step back now. See those two red tiles on the floor? Put one foot on each and don’t move.”

  Unsure what would happen next, but very curious, Noila firmly planted herself on the floor. The walls began to creak; the sucking sound of the water grew louder; and the seams of the wall behind the mirror and sink became visible as it turned on an unseen axis. When the wall had turned 180 degrees, stainless-steel lab cabinets and a steel countertop appeared. A rack of test tubes and pipettes, all the basic lab essentials, and a few tools and machines Noila didn’t recognize sat upon it. The overhead lighting changed from the warm hues of the cabin to a bright, crisp, fluorescent light. While she was focused on the lab counter in front of her, the rest of the room had changed as well. The walls were tiled and contained small cubbies and drawers filled with research instruments. In the bottom of the large bathtub the hot spring had been feeding into, a deep echo rang out, and two long mechanisms that looked like stiff metallic hoses descended from the ceiling just enough so Noila could see them. Noila went over to it and looked down into the cavernous thin crevices descending forever into the Antarctic ground.

  “You can’t see it, but there’s a vast lake of water below at temperatures below freezing. Because of some unusual natural phenomenon, the water stays liquid below zero degrees Celsius. I’m told it makes for a unique research environment. These Ptahs”—she pointed to the two metallic tubes in the ceiling—“can help you take samples there for experimental purposes. Just tell them what you need—they’re intelligent biomachines. This is all you should need from me.” Her white mane lifted up behind her, and the black dress she was wearing when she had first greeted the scientists was now violet, with crystal netting covering her upper chest, shoulders, and back. She shrunk to a pinpoint of light then vanished.

  I wonder if the extra-cold environment enables the quantum tunneling I learned about on the Viking? Noila wondered.

  A loud alarm sounded inside the cottage. Noila instinctively ran for the front door and out into the cold without her coat on. The village streets appeared as they had when she had entered her house. A very tall, muscular Antarctican came tearing through the streets in uniform, almost knocking her over.

  He shouted at her, “Get inside your cottage before you get killed!”

  The earth cracked beneath her feet, and she froze in fear.

  The Intercept

  Gavin was staring down the security guard, whose ill-fitting, stained jacket and slicked hair pulled into a ponytail reminded him of a mobster. The silver letters announcing THE SETAI were fixed to the wall behind the security guard with a small waterfall cascading over them, making them shimmer.

  “I’m not leaving until you let me see him,” Gavin said.

  “Sir, he isn’t taking guests today. You need to arrange an appointment and come back.”

  “Then I’ll stand here and wait.”

  “If you don’t leave, sir, I’ll have to call the police. You’re trespassing. This is private property.” He cocked an eyebrow.

  Gavin ran to the elevator as one of the tenants got off. He jumped in and punched the “close” button. The doors closed, and he pressed the button for the fourth floor, where he knew he needed to change elevators to get to Lucifer’s penthouse. When the doors opened, two burly security guards reached into the elevator and pulled him out. They reeked of the same cheap cologne the front-desk security guard was wearing. They dragged him into a side room off the small lobby. There, they shoved him into a plastic folding chair, pointed hard at him as if to say, “Stay there,” then left the room. He heard the lock click on the other side of the door.

  Ten minutes later the door opened, and Lucifer walked in.

  “You know, Gavin, it’s a very busy time here. I really could do without the distraction of you showing up unannounced.” He pulled the other hard plastic chair toward him and sat down on it backward, draping his hands over the back and clasping them together. “What exactly is it you’re looking for that can’t wait a few more days?”

  “I want to see my son now.” Gavin was staring hard at him.

  Lucifer let out a deep sigh. “Did you read that Gospel I gave you?”

  “Yes. What does that have to do with my son?”

  Lucifer shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t understand what you read. In time, patience is a must. I ask very little in return for what I give, but I do need you to hold up your end of the bargain.” He gripped the back of the chair then leaned back into the air. “You see, when you want the best for someone, you do everything you can, but sometimes you must realize that someone else is better equipped to give them what they need. It’s why spouses leave each other, companies break apart, and governments break down. The world is full of incompetent fools who believe they’ve found the road to salvation and instead are just railroading themselves off the edge of a cliff.”

  “Are you implying I’m one of those fools?”

  “Let’s just say you aren’t working with full information.” He smiled then snapped his fingers. The door immediately opened. “Scotch for Mr. Pennings, and I’ll have the usual.” Seconds later, a houseboy served their drinks on a silver tray.

  Gavin set his on the floor. “I don’t understand what the big secret is. Why can’t I see Joshua? He’s trapped on the Dragon, which I was unceremoniously booted off two days ago, and now I can’t get in touch with anyone about getting back there to see him.”

  “Why don’t we do this…” Lucifer glanced at his yellow-diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe and thought for a second. “Come with me. I can show you Joshua. You don’t have to be on the ship to see him.” He stood up and walked out of the room. Gavin followed him to his apartment. They walked behind the kitchen and into a small room that contained a tall cylindrical glass tube. “Step inside. You need to take your shoes off first.”

  Gavin stepped in barefoot. Lucifer waved his hand in front of the panel and said, “Dragon, room 428.”

  Lucifer disappeared from Gavin’s sight, and the next second, he was staring at a white wall with a lab coat hanging on the wall. He could still hear Lucifer talking.

  “You’re in your son’s room now. Move around like you normally would. You won’t be able to actually move or touch anything. The image you see of yourself is just a projection,” Lucifer said.

  Gavin turned around and scanned the room. It was the same room he remembered from when he and Noila had last been there. Joshua was completely covered in the white scrim and was motionless. He walked over to him. “Josh, buddy
, you doing okay?” He waited. Nothing. “Is he okay?” Gavin looked around the room, talking to empty air.

  “I haven’t heard from Dr. Cristofari lately regarding his condition,” he heard Lucifer say, “but she has strict orders to inform me of anything that might jeopardize his well-being. I assure you he’s fine. Spend some time with him. I’m going to go attend to some other items. When you’re ready to return to my apartment, look at the palm of your hand and say the words you see.” Lucifer’s voice went silent.

  Gavin sat next to Joshua. He told him what had been happening on the ship and said his mother was away. Joshua’s dog, Chelsea, was at home and doing just fine, albeit missing him and refusing to come out of Joshua’s bedroom, so Gavin had moved her food into the bedroom and forced her out only for her bathroom breaks in the yard. He whispered prayers over and over. When he had exhausted his words, he nodded off for a moment in the comfort of being so close to his son. He realized there was nothing else he could do for Joshua and he was undergoing the best care possible. Gavin looked at his palm, as Lucifer had instructed. The words “Do you believe?” appeared to be tattoed in the center. He read them aloud and was instantly on the floor of the glass cylinder in Lucifer’s condominium.

  Lucifer extended a hand to help him up from the floor. “Do you believe me now?”

  “About what?”

  “That I’m working toward your best interests.” Lucifer swept his hands together as if he had just finished a particularly difficult job.

  “Trust? I’ve been trained since the beginning of my life not to trust you.” Gavin felt a surge of courage bubble up in his frustration with the whole situation. “You think throwing a bone at me is going to reverse all that? Sending my wife on some mission to save the world? Appealing to her deepest need to help?” Gavin’s left hand began to tremble—a nervous tic that began when his father used to swat at him after a night of drinking.

  Lucifer looked up at the ceiling then back down to his nails, inspecting them for perfection.

  “Is it my name that confuses you?” Lucifer asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My name, Lucifer. In your mythology, I’m the deceiver, God’s adversary, Prince of Darkness, all those charming titles. Is this why you’re so difficult to deal with? You actually believe I’m those things? You believe them because of a name?”

  “I believe people when they tell me who they are.”

  “And then you attach a whole history to them based on what you think you know. I’m curious, when did you decide what your name was?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Ah. And has it informed your life at all? Made things easier or harder, because your parents chose a certain name, based on their lives, their knowledge or ignorance about the world?”

  Suddenly looking panicked, Lucifer went to the nearest control panel and typed frantically at the images that were illuminating. “You need to go, Gavin. I have a situation I need to deal with. I appreciate your concern for me. It’s endearing really. I bet you never thought you’d be ministering to Satan.” He pointed to the door then disappeared into another room beyond where they were standing.

  Unsatisfied with his visit, Gavin found his way out. He found it intensely frustrating when dealing with Lucifer. He drove up I-95 to Fort Lauderdale and made his way to Las Olas Boulevard. When he pulled up along the neon flashing light and pink peeling paint of the Elbow Room, he knew this was where he needed to go. Its run-down old-Florida feel made him nostalgic for a childhood he was always promised but never received. He settled in at a corner table, reveling in the noise and commotion of the tourist-fueled watering hole mixed with ocean breezes. Through the open front of the bar, looking out onto the ocean, he caught a glimpse of a large ship approaching the coast. The closer it sailed, the more he could make out the massive ship adorned with red-and-gold banding at the edges of the top deck. He knew it was the Dragon.

  Gavin stood up from the bar, crossed the street, and headed to the beach. The Dragon was still a mile or so out, but he knew Joshua was on that ship. There were other cargo ships on the horizon, but they were dwarfed by the size of the Dragon. It was headed south and moving; some of the beachgoers were pointing to it. He heard them say it was a US aircraft carrier. Two US Coast Guard helicopters were racing down the coastline then banked hard and headed for the ship. Fighter jets screamed overhead and fired warning flares at it. Beachgoers scrambled, yelling for their children to get out of the water. They shoved their sandy towels into their colorful bags, folded up their chairs, and ran to cross Ocean Boulevard without their sandals, leaving debris of forgotten sunscreen and water bottles behind. The lifeguards were listening closely to their radios, receiving some sort of official instructions, while at the same time whistling for any stragglers to come in from the water. The balconies of the hotels lining the ocean were filled with onlookers, pointing, and their hands were over mouths, wearing general looks of concern and uncertainty. Gavin could imagine what they were thinking: Are we being invaded?

  Remarks about other attacks on American soil peppered the conversations around him. Gavin tried to reassure a few people who were jostling past him, but they brushed him off and kept moving. Feeling the waves push their way into his shoes, he walked farther into the water. He was afraid of what might happen to Joshua. Even though he was seventeen years old, Gavin still thought of him as a little boy, screaming with delight as he slid down the playground slide, singing “Happy Birthday” at his own celebration, and asking Gavin why there were stars in the sky. His boy was lying in the depths of a massive ship that was being approached by armed fighter jets with unknown intentions. Gavin was pale, cold, and helpless on a deserted beach, with his family unreachable. The skies continued to shriek and light up with warning flares. He stood and watched as if it were the Fourth of July.

  The Dragon turned out to sea and increased its departure speed from the Florida shores on its way to international waters.

  A lifeguard was tugging on Gavin’s shirt. “Sir, it’s time to leave.” She was frantic. “We’ve been instructed to remove everyone from the beach. You have to go to the other side of the road.” Her voice was raised—he could feel her fear. Her eyes were watery; her sun-bleached hair was falling out of its bun; and her whistle hung listlessly from her neck as her right hand held a red flag.

  Gavin turned to her and placed his hand on the back of her arm. He held it there for a moment and looked warmly into her watery hazel eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.

  He made his way back to the Elbow Room, found his bartender, closed out his tab, and got in his car. He hadn’t finished the Scotch he had ordered—maybe he was fine to drive and maybe he wasn’t; he didn’t care right now. He sped along I-95 toward Florida City. Until he was about halfway there, he didn’t realize he was heading to see his mother. He pulled into the driveway, which was made of two slabs of concrete that extended from the curb to the single-car garage at the back of the lot. The door to the garage was only halfway down, and the back end of her late-model metallic-green Ford was sticking out.

  He used his key and opened the back door to the kitchen, which was just off the patio. He smelled his mother’s rose-scented perfume, mixed with her particular brand of aerosol hairspray. It was a comforting scent from his childhood, and he often joked to her that when she went to meet her maker, her perfume and hairspray would precede her. He quickly looked around the first floor; everywhere he looked, he saw memories, Polaroid images in his head of times long ago. His sister, Emily, was so clear to him here. She was still young enough that she was perfectly healthy, playing with her dolls, offering teatime with her pink-and-gold plastic tea set from Kmart. The door to the staircase that led upstairs was open, and he heard some shuffling and mumbling. He looked up at the faded, threadbare carpet.

  “Ma, you up there?” he yelled.

  “What the…? Goddamn it, Gavin. I’m upstairs,” she called out.

  He reached the top of the stairs
before she was done talking. He looked over the half wall. This was the part of the house where she spent the most time. His father had converted it from an unfinished attic into a room where only children could stand straight up. His bedroom was up here when he was a kid. His Star Wars and Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus posters were still on the walls, and his dartboard was peeking out from behind a stack of books his mother had piled against the wall. The window at the top of the staircase poured dusty streams of light through the dirty glass, enough not to knock over the books, not enough to read them. His desk from his high-school years sat against the wall where his bed used to be, and the desk lamp Father Jake had given him for his seminary school dorm was turned on.

  On the desk, his mother had piles of coupons, separated neatly and organized by store. There were baskets full of discarded newspapers she had hacked up with her massive shears for the savings within them. On one of the walls, her name was spelled out in big cutout letters she had found in the ads: Cathy Pennings, each individual letter held up by a different-colored plastic tack. His mother was never interested in the actual content of the newspapers; she’d spend the first hour of every morning with her coffee and brandy, scanning through the wispy black-and-white local paper, looking for “the” deal. When she found one she was particularly excited about, she’d exclaim, “Now there you go!” and grab her shears and snip away. After she had cut it out, she’d hold it in her hand like a long-lost picture of her beloved, read it over carefully, then tell whoever was in earshot, justifying her extra time spent reading, “You have to read the fine print. They’re always trying to get you.” Gavin, always hearing his mother’s voice, found himself reading the fine print on just about any document he encountered in his life.