by Hannah Ross
“Greetings, Elder,” said Omrek.
“Greetings to you as well, Ri Omrek and Ki Arahak,” Ne Riorag inclined his head, addressing them far more formally than most of the villagers would have done. “Where are you headed with these traveling sacks?”
“I’m going with my brother-in-law to the place of his people from beyond the Great Sea,” Omrek said with a hint of defiance, not oblivious to the frown on the elder’s face. Ne Riorag gave a small shake of the head.
“I understand why Ki Arahak would go,” he said, looking at Scott. Like his son, Ne Riorag insisted on using Scott’s Anai name at all times. “He cannot, after all, be expected to sever ties with his people. But what have you to do there, Ri Omrek? Do you not have business enough to keep you in the valley? Do you not have a home, and a woman, and a child to be born soon?”
Omrek drew himself taller, his jaw square and tight. “There is not much for a man to do around here at this time of the year,” he said.
“True, but the light season will soon be upon us. This is a good time to visit the Cave of the Spirits and purify your mind, or learn from the wisdom of our forebears by reading. I have plenty of tablets I can lend you.”
“Why would one read the same things over and over, when there’s so much new to be learned?” Omrek argued. “I confess I fail to understand you, O Elder. You, too, had visited the settlement of those beyond the sea. Do you not see the fascination in their buildings, their books, the things they can construct – things that enable them to cross water and air?”
Ne Riorag shrugged his shoulders. “It is curious, yes,” he said, “but the Anai have lived and thrived for many generations without any of those things. The valley has been a kind home to us, and we have had the blessing of the Spirits. Once the Others came, however, they unleashed the monster that was sleeping below the ice. The beast is loose now, and who knows but that it might come again? Does it not strike you as a sign, Ri Omrek?”
Omrek shook his head. “This does not make any sense,” he said. “The ice holding the beast melted because of a shift in the position of a hot water stream hidden below the ground, one of those that give blessed warmth to our area and enable us to live. It would have come tumbling down sooner or later. And besides, the monster carried away our enemy, that evil man named Victor Nash.”
Scott would never forget it. As much as he had disliked Nash, a scumbag who had tried to exploit and abuse the natives of the Anai Valley, the man’s fate was horrifying.
Due to the unique conditions and total isolation of the valley, it housed ancient species that had gone extinct upon the rest of the planet – among them a type of pterosaur, giant and vicious and able to fly. At first, he found it hard to believe in the tales of the Anai, which narrated a meeting with those beasts when the Anai people first came to the shores of Antarctica. He had to cast his doubts aside, however, when he came upon the solid wall of ice encasing a giant reptile that looked as though it had only frozen yesterday.
Nothing prepared him, of course, to the idea that the beast might still be alive. With a shudder, he recalled the evil eyes, the vicious snarl, the final, terrified scream of Victor Nash, the giant leathery wings flapping away in the direction of the sea. That was the last they had seen of the creature. The scientist in him might be sorry for that, but the simple man of family felt nothing but relief.
Ne Riorag turned away, his expression resigned. “You are a free man, Ri Omrek,” he said. “Nobody can restrict your comings and goings. But if I were you, I would have stayed home.”
Omrek seemed visibly relieved once they were finally able to shake off the old man and started climbing the path that led up and away from the valley. “Ne Riorag is so… close-minded,” he remarked. “For most of my life, I had thought that there is no world beyond our valley. So did everyone else. Our ways are good, tried and true, and we were content. Far be it from me to scorn the customs of our fathers. But we see new horizons now… it’s like always walking the ground, and finally being able to fly. Why would anyone reject that?”
“You are a young man, Omrek. Ne Riorag is thrice your age. Older people don’t take to changes easily.”
Omrek snorted. “This isn’t about age. The Ne clan are all like that, tough-headed and stubborn. What say you about Ne Tarveg? He isn’t much older than I am, yet he is just as old-fashioned as his father.”
Scott couldn’t argue with that. “Come on,” he clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. “It’s like Riorag said – we are free men. He can say what he thinks, and you can do what you like. So let’s hurry and get to those snowmobiles.”
Chapter 2
Omrek’s eyes sparkled as McMurdo research station came into view. Normally, the station wouldn’t host above two hundred and fifty people during the dark season, but the post-war arrangements have brought more activity to the area. With the United States retreating inwards to lick its wounds and try to repair some of the damage caused by the Great War, American involvement in Antarctica has almost ground to a halt. The management of McMurdo was now a joint venture with New Zealand, and the kiwis had supplied the new general overseer after Scott retired from this post.
There were now close to five hundred people at the station, and twice that number were due to come with the first flights from New Zealand at the start of the light season. New buildings were currently being constructed in order to accommodate the newcomers.
People turned their heads and looked curiously at Omrek as he passed, attired in his Anai sealskins (Scott had changed into his orange staff garments before leaving home). Anai visits to the research station have now become more common, but they attracted attention nevertheless. Omrek seemed to feel a little self-conscious as he pulled the hood of his parka tighter over his head.
They made their way to Building 155, where Scott’s work quarters were located. He had given up his senior staff accommodations together with his post of an overseer, and instead retained a little room, scarcely more than a nook, where he could rest whenever he came to the station to use the laboratory or the database, or to make contact with the outside world. Now that the logistics of running McMurdo were no longer his job, Scott could devote himself to science. He collected samples from the waters of the bay where the Anai hunted, and was writing a PhD on the small reptiles native to the Anai valley – which, though not as impressive as the flying dinosaurs, were as fascinating from an evolutionary point of view.
“Well, here we are,” Scott said, once the door of the little room was closed behind them and they dumped their bags on the narrow bed. “Are you hungry? We could go down to lunch at the Galley. They are just starting to serve,” he added, glancing at the watch. This strict regulation of hours and activities felt a little strange after living for a while under the guidance of sun and stars.
“I’d like that,” Omrek said gratefully, and his stomach gave an audible rumble. “But… say, Scott, do you have another outfit like yours?”
“Um… yes, sure,” Scott said, a little taken aback. He stepped over and opened the narrow closet, where three more sets of orange overalls and parkas were hanging. “Why? You wanted to try these on?”
“I’m a little tired of people staring,” Omrek said, taking off his sealskin parka. “They look at me like I’m some kind of strange animal, and whenever someone speaks to me, they make out their words loud and slow, as if I’m both dumb and a little deaf. It’s enough to drive anyone mad.”
As he delivered this little speech, Scott was struck once again by how much the young man’s English had improved. His turns of phrase sounded natural, his accent was very good – no worse than that of, say, the Finnish researcher Petri Karhu. In the orange suit, Omrek looked just like any resident of McMurdo. Only the seal-bone beads in his thick, shaggy blonde hair spoiled the effect a little.
The mess hall, familiarly called the Galley, was full of chatter and the clatter of knives and forks as they descended. The smell told Scott it was turkey pot pie day, and he loaded hi
s plate, along with roast potatoes and salad on the side. Omrek imitated him, careful to avoid any dish his brother-in-law didn’t take.
“Go ahead,” Scott nodded, hiding a smile in the corners of his mouth. “The food here is all good. You can eat whatever catches your eye and live to tell the tale.”
They sat down, and Omrek set to the task of operating his knife and fork with great seriousness. Now that he was dressed in the regular McMurdo clothes, nobody paid him any particular attention. Several people nodded to Scott as they passed by their table, or stopped for a moment to shake hands and say hello. Nobody lingered, though. Scott missed his friends Jerry and Zoe, who had left the station to get married and start a new life in New Zealand. Jerry had been running the McMurdo greenhouse, supplying the station with fresh vegetables, greens and even fruit year-round. The new greenhouse technician was OK, but the results of his work did not resemble Jerry’s lush green paradise.
Scott uncapped two small bottles of diet Coke and offered one to Omrek. His brother-in-law eyed the dark bubbly liquid suspiciously, and sniffed at the bottle. Scott stifled a laugh and took a sip of his drink. “It won’t kill you,” he said mildly, recalling that Omrek had never tasted soda before.
“Is this… some sort of brew?”
“Not really. Just a fizzy drink. It won’t make you light-headed like fermented grass juice.”
With a daredevil expression, Omrek took a large gulp and caught at his throat, sputtering and spraying liquid out of his mouth and nose. People all around stared up from their plates to watch. Stifling a laugh, Scott quickly snatched his plate out of harm’s way.
Omrek’s streaming eyes looked at him accusingly. “This drink, it leaps like a thousand tiny frogs!”
“The bubbles take some getting used to, I suppose. You might want to take smaller sips,” Scott said, fighting to keep a straight face. He pulled out a wad of napkins and dabbed at the table.
Omrek pushed the bottle aside with as much dignity as he could muster. “Your food and drink take some getting used to,” he remarked.
“We’ll get to the ice-cream machine in a minute. You’ll like it,” Scott promised. “It’s –“
He looked up, having caught a few words in a language he didn’t recognize. Two men had just entered the Galley, evidently absorbed in conversation. First he saw the familiar broad shoulders and round, closely cropped head of Petri Karhu. The man next to him was tall, thin and silver-haired, with a deeply lined face and eyes of vivid, sparkling, steely blue. Scott got up, and so did Omrek. The Anai man let out a gasp of recognition, and Scott couldn’t help exclaiming:
“Anders!”
The face of Anders Lindholm, full of good-humor and pleasant surprise, turned in their direction, and the old man covered the distance separating them in a few strides so quick and agile it was hard to believe he had seen over eighty winters, thirty-odd of them in Antarctica.
“Scott, my friend!” he said, shaking hands. “And… heaven help me, it can’t be… Omrek?”
Omrek grinned and grasped the old man’s arm in the Anai fashion. “Greetings, Anders. It’s an excellent surprise, seeing you here.”
Lindholm stared at him in astonishment. “I heard something of the recent developments in your valley, but… goodness, your English is far better than Mr. Karhu’s Swedish.”
“That doesn’t say much,” interjected Petri, shaking hands as well and grinning.
“And these clothes!” Anders went on. “I hardly recognized you, Omrek. Is that your usual attire these days?”
“This is the first time I put these on,” Omrek confessed, self-consciously picking at his orange pants.
“But…” Scott was confused. “What are you doing here, Anders?”
Lindholm shrugged. “As you probably know, Scott, California is no longer what it used to be. I had lost my little coastal home, and San Francisco, where my children and grandchildren live now, is full of refugees. It was no life for me. And I… I kept having dreams about icy caps and the auroras, until I realized I feel homesick, and that home is here. I arrived about a week ago, on an out-of-season flight from New Zealand that hosted seven passengers in total.”
“But I thought that the post of general overseer – “
“Oh, no,” Lindholm laughed. “I couldn’t possibly take on that again. No, no, I have come for my own little independent research, using the privileges I have earned by three decades of faithful service. And besides, Douglas is just the man for the overseer job, as far as I was able to gauge. Not that you would have done any worse, Scott,” he hastened to add. “I was sorry to hear you had resigned… but, of course, considering everything, I understand.”
“Scott was adopted by our people,” Omrek interjected, while Petri Karhu stepped off to the serving station to pick up trays.
“So I have heard,” Lindholm nodded. “Remarkable, I must say – quite remarkable. Do you really live in a stone hut and hunt seals with a flint spear?” he went on, his eyes crinkling with humor. “Mind, had I been forty years younger, I might have done the same for Ki Tahan.”
Scott mumbled something incoherent. Omrek was grinning. “Scott makes a good Anai, but he keeps up with his work here.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Lindholm said. “And I’m glad to find McMurdo largely unchanged, while the world is in tatters. It is comforting. All is pretty much the same here… except for that foolish boy Victor,” Lindholm’s face darkened.
“That boy,” Omrek said, frowning, “tried to kidnap my wife. I would have killed him if the ice beast hadn’t taken him.”
Lindholm’s eyes sparkled with macabre excitement. “You actually witnessed it! Why, the most amazing discovery of the century! A perfectly preserved, live pterosaur emerging from the ice! I was nearly ready to tear my hair out, Scott, when you wrote to me and told you hadn’t even taken any photographs.”
“We were kind of busy with other things,” Scott said dryly, “like trying to stay alive, for instance.” He fancied he had caught a whiff of Aquavit on Lindholm’s breath. Old habits die hard.
Petri came back with two loaded trays. “I got you some pot pie and salad, Anders,” he said, “and a milkshake. I hope it’s alright.”
“Thank you, Pete,” Anders said, accepting the tray. “This will do. I no longer have the privilege of a private kitchen.”
Petri Karhu ate his lunch with admirable appetite, and went back for second and third helpings. He downed his milkshake in two mighty gulps and, suppressing a belch, got up. “Well, I’ll see you around,” he told the others. “I must go back to work.” Petri was a veritable fount of energy and, in addition to his research, was happy to serve as a Jack-Of-All-Trades. He was an occasional electrician, plumber, carpenter, and general handyman, and proved to be a great help during that tough winter when the war raged all over the world and the research station found itself isolated.
“I’m not letting you two slink off,” Lindholm said, wagging a finger at Scott as the latter got up, together with Omrek. “I have an appointment with Ray Douglas in a few minutes,” he glanced at his watch, “and then we three can go to my quarters and have a nice comfortable drink for old times’ sake.”
Scott knew just about anything was an excuse for a drink with Anders Lindholm, but he wasn’t crazy about the idea of downing strong liquor right after lunch. “I really need to keep a sober head, Anders,” he said.
“And I’m not touching your drink,” Omrek added. “You let me taste it once, remember? It’s too strong for me.”
Scott had no objection to meeting Ray Douglas, however. He had only seen him a few times before, when he first arrived from New Zealand to assume his duties. His general impression was of a small, wiry, energetic man, ever ready to spring out of his office like Jack-in-a-box.
“Where are you staying now, Anders?” Scott asked as they walked.
“Good ol’ Building 155. I now occupy the position of general consultant… vague enough to let me do what I like with my time, but it
enabled me to take that flight from New Zealand. It was madness, of course, but I couldn’t wait till spring… I just had the itch.”
They ascended the stairs, and as they approached the office that Scott, and Anders before him, had once occupied, they heard two voices behind the door. Lindholm glanced at his watch. “Someone’s infringing on my time,” he said. He raised a hand and knocked.
“Come in!” a voice called. Lindholm pushed the door open, and Douglas jumped off his chair like a spring to shake hands. “Great to meet you – take seats, please – Anders, I really appreciate you dropping by, there are a few things about which I had wanted to ask your advice… we have a guest here at McMurdo, by the way,” he gestured toward the man sitting in the chair across from him. “May I introduce Sergey Pechersky, of the Russian research station Siyanie?”
The visitor got up, and Scott was struck by his size – not so much by height as by breadth. The man was as tall as Omrek, but about twice as wide in the shoulders. Though by no means frail, the Anai looked like a wispy young boy next to the bulky Russian. His mighty shoulders were crowned by the neck of a bull and a shaved head with a receding forehead and protruding brow ridges. The whole impression was formidable. Without a shadow of a smile, the man extended his shovel-like hand. His wide knuckles were hairy, but his fingernails were neatly trimmed.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said with a strong accent. His voice was deep and gravelly.
“Likewise,” Lindholm said. “I was not aware that the Russians had any research stations near enough to visit McMurdo during the winter.”
“Siyanie is a newly established station, Anders,” Ray Douglas explained. “It was founded just after the War.”
Lindholm’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead, and he eyed Pechersky with undisguised antagonism. “Territorial claims must be in awful disarray these days,” he said.