The Last Outpost

by Hannah Ross

  Scott squinted ahead. "Are those rock cairns I see in the distance?" he asked. "I understand that there has been some research going on –"

  But then he noticed that the rock structures seemed like more than cairns. These were actual buildings, rounded, with neatly done stonework and what looked like doors and windows. The roofs were covered with some material Scott couldn't recognize at a distance. They were conical, and a plume of smoke rose from one of them. And it was then that it hit him with a full impact - there were people, actual people living in this valley, and he was about to see them.

  Transfixed, he couldn't tear his eyes off the nearest building. Soon, there was some stirring within, and a man and woman walked out. They weren't close enough for Scott to make out their features, but he saw that they were tall and blonde, with fair skin and a fine, powerful build. They exchanged a few words in a melodic language he didn't understand, and he heard a snatch of the woman's laughter. They were dressed from head to toe in something that looked like attire made of skins, akin to what he had seen in photographs of the indigenous people of Alaska, the Canadian north, and Greenland.

  Speechless and amazed, he turned to Lindholm, and saw a genuine smile, soft and proud at once, creasing the corners of the old man's lips and eyes. "The Anai people," Lindholm said. "The greatest mystery discovered upon the continent of Antarctica."

  "What – how…" Scott was spluttering.

  "Nobody has been able to trace their origin so far, and their language has made experts dance with the joy of discovery and tear out their hair in frustration at once. From all we know, they are the only indigenous people in the whole continent, and they never venture far from this valley, which provides all they need to live comfortably - except for their sealing and whaling trips, of course. The other side of the valley leads through to a snug, sheltered little bay, you see, quite a way from ours, which they use as their whaling base in season."

  His mind spinning with the velocity of a million miles an hour, Scott was finally able to string a coherent sentence. "But how come nobody knows?" he demanded. "As you said, this is a scientific breakthrough - possibly the greatest anthropological discovery of the modern era. How come the publications don't shout about it across the world? How long have you known of this? Is this a recent discovery?"

  "The Anai people have been discovered about twenty years ago," Lindholm said. "We - a selectively chosen group of people - have had a significant measure of contact with them, very carefully limited and monitored, over this time, but we have been very scrupulous about leaving them alone, and keeping their existence as top secret, classified information. It was a government decision."

  "I don't understand," Scott frowned. "Why? The world would want to know."

  "I'm sure of it, but... can you imagine what would happen if the existence of these people were revealed? It would cause a sensation, a furor. Unstoppable waves of tourists would invade this sheltered little valley, photographing the Anai and snatching away bits of their tools and utensils for souvenirs. They would be spoiled by modern civilization, like every indigenous people had been before. They would abandon their gentle and harmonious ways, their unique lifestyle that exists nowhere else in the world. No, no, they are far better off as they are."

  In a way, this made sense, but Scott was unconvinced. "This can't be the only reason," he challenged.

  Lindholm heaved a sigh. "You have to understand, Buck, that some of these things are far beyond my prerogative. I am bound by the secrecy clause in my contract - just as you are now, if I may remind you. The whole agreement about the land division of Antarctica, the status quo of the Antarctic Treaty, is based on the assumption that there aren't any, and had never been any, indigenous people upon the continent. The appearance of the Anai would challenge this entire concept, especially as they happen to exist within the U.S. jurisdiction. It would cause endless legal complications for the conduct of scientific research, not just here, but in areas extending far beyond, and for the utilization of natural resources, so potentially vital for our economy.”

  Scott felt a flash of understanding mingled with anger. "In other words," he said calmly, "the existence of these people is kept a secret, and their status as the indigenous owners of this land is denied them by the U.S. government, for the sake of land-grabbing and money."

  "No, no, no. Mr. Buckley, you are quite on a tangent here. Nobody is infringing upon the rights of the Anai. Hardly anyone is permitted to do as much as step within their valley or the bay beyond it, and even among the workers of the McMurdo station, no more than a handful of people are aware of their existence, so well-kept this secret is. During all the time since they were discovered, they have kept on living their lives as they did since the dawn of the world, without the least alteration or the tiniest bit of discomfort. The whole area, their whole civilization is a unique laboratory. Nobody will ever harm them... but it is better if they remain hidden from the prying eye of global organizations. When you get to know them more closely, you will agree with me, I'm sure."

  "But how did the government manage to keep these people a secret?" Scott persisted. "With the whole world globally visible through live satellite maps twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, this just doesn't seem possible."

  "Satellites don’t have a very clear view of this valley. You must have noticed it yourself - even while we were in the helicopter, it seemed no more than a dark chasm. And besides, the satellite coverage in this area is... imperfect."

  Scott understood. "The government sees to that," he stated. Lindholm nodded.

  "Would you like to step a bit further into the valley and take a closer look?"

  Scott was caught. While the moralist in him still struggled, the scientist found the offer irresistible. He itched to see more of the valley and its mysterious people. Quite eagerly, he followed in the steps of Lindholm, who went on down the trail leading into the confines of the valley.

  They were now quite close to some of the dwellings on the outer edge. They crouched behind a clump of the strange crooked little bushes, and watched the Anai go about their daily lives. A woman sat outside, shaping what looked like a clay pot and calling out to a brood of flaxen-haired youngsters. Two men, deep in eager conversation, were apparently comparing the tools or weapons each held in his hand - they could have been harpoons or spears.

  Suddenly, a dangerously swift whoosh made Scott fall upon the ground. A throw-spear struck the earth between him and Lindholm and quivered ominously. Then there was a gale of laughter. To Scott's surprise, Anders was grinning as well.

  "They have discovered us," he said without the least bit of apprehension.

  Lindholm walked out from behind the bushes, and Scott straightened up, brushing dirt from his clothes. No less than five or six Anai men were approaching them, all still chuckling as if at a very good joke. One of them, a handsome young strapping fellow, bent to retrieve the throw-spear, and Scott was struck by his fine build and the graceful fluidity of all his motions. To his surprise, the young man proceeded to clap Lindholm on the shoulder, and both men smiled.

  "Anders," Scott heard from the young man's lips, pronounced with thick indescribable accent, but very melodiously.

  "Hello, Ri Omrek," Lindholm said. "Some of them have picked up some English from us," he uttered a quick, quiet explanation in Scott's direction.

  The young man was looking at Scott with evident curiosity. "This is Scott Buckley. He is a friend," Lindholm said in a slow, clear voice. The Anai men seemed to find this sufficient recommendation. They approached Scott and clapped his shoulder, or clasped his arm, as was evidently their custom in lieu of shaking hands.

  Anders Lindholm and other researchers, apparently, were not enough of a novelty to raise more than passing interest around the settlement. The men, with friendly waves and smiles, dispersed to their various affairs, and only Ri Omrek kept by their side, measuring Scott up and down. Scott noted the exotic handsomeness of his features. The A
nai were as white as the people of Scandinavia, with fair skin and hair in all shades of blonde, reddish and light brown, and eyes green and blue and grey, but their cheekbones were wide and their eyes shaded by heavy lids like those of the Eskimo people - this, Scott fleetingly thought, was probably the effect of the polar climate.

  "You think we not see you. We see you coming from afar," Ri Omrek said, looking very pleased with himself. Lindholm chuckled.

  "I should have known better than to try getting close unnoticed," he said.

  Scott looked with fascination at the throw-spear still held in the Anai man's hand. It was beautifully made, with a head of finely worked flint and a thin, well-polished wooden shaft probably made of the same arborescent plants they had hidden behind. The flint had some shiny particles that caught and reflected the light.

  "Come and sit a while," Ri Omrek invited.

  "We don't have much time. Must head back soon," Lindholm said. Scott was too dazed to speak, so engaged he was in observing the young handsome alien that walked by their side as they were heading in the direction of the village.

  "Shame. But a bit of food and drink, yes? Ki Tahan will be glad. Ki Tahan my... sister," he cast for the right word, looking at Scott, who merely nodded.

  "Ki Tahan is the chieftainness of the village," Lindholm explained to Scott out of the corner of his mouth.

  They passed several of the stone houses. Near each of those, people were at their usual business, and didn't give them more than a fleeting curious look. Some were digging and tending what looked like fields and vegetable patches - something was definitely growing there, and Scott was itching to examine the crops that would make it in such remote and unique conditions, but realized it was probably not the right time. There were green leaves poking in neat rows above the ground, and stalks of what looked like wild wheat or some other grain. Whatever these people grew, it had to be annual, and to complete its life cycle within the one long Antarctic day.

  There were some small paddocks near some of the houses, and within them Scott noticed some kind of very strange-looking, fat waterfowl which were clearly domesticated. At another spot, a young woman was sitting down, and it looked like she was weaving. Her garments did not look like they were made entirely of skins, and Scott surmised that the local grasses must provide the Anai with the possibility to make some sort of fiber.

  Finally, Ri Omrek stopped next to one of the houses. "Here," he said, "home of Ki Tahan. I live here too."

  There was nothing about the house of the chieftainness to distinguish it from the other houses of the village - it was plain stonework, held together by, Scott guessed, some sort of local clay. A leather flap was tied snugly across the entrance, and there was no smoke rising up, which gave him a notion that nobody was home. Their Anai guide was evidently thinking along the same lines.

  "Ki Tahan out," he said. "She and her son go to the river, fish. Must be back soon."

  A river! Yes, there must, of course, be a river in a valley so warm, on a continent so full of freshwater. The lust of discovery nearly drove Scott mad. He didn't know where to look first. He could have rushed to this river and taken notes for ages and ages. A body of running water in the middle of Antarctica - who knows what unique specimens can be found there!

  In the meantime, Ri Omrek tied up the flap and stepped back, inviting them in with a gesture. "Welcome," he said. And, with the trepidation of a man stepping into a whole new world, Scott bent his head to duck under the low frame, and walked in after Lindholm.

  Compared to the bright light outside, the stone house was twilit, and Scott couldn't make anything out until the young Anai stepped in and tied up another oiled leather flap, snugly fitted against a window like a thick waterproof curtain. Then Scott let his eyes wander over every article in the compact, well-arranged hut.

  There was a wide, ingeniously made bed in the corner, constructed from a shelf of stone, on which rested a thick mattress made of skins and stuffed with some soft-looking material, maybe dried grass. Other skins were piled neatly atop it, sewed together in pairs, but more thinly stuffed - these functioned as blankets. There were large, sturdy-looking grass-woven baskets standing along a wall, some as tall as a man's waist, with the look of storage containers, and smaller baskets and clay pots arranged along shelves affixed to the walls. The shelves had an unusually light, bright polish, and upon running his hand along one of them, Scott came to the astonishing conclusion that these must be made of whale ivory.

  Another shelf kept his admiring glance for some minutes, for it housed a magnificent collection of ivory figures - penguins and seals, birds and fish, as well as human figures in various postures. They were polished as smooth as silk, and each was a small masterpiece. Scott ran his hand reverently along a piece of ivory depicting the figure of a small boy with a spear. Their host approached him, looking gratified.

  "I make this," he said, "for my sister's son. To... how's your word? Game?"

  "Play," Lindholm suggested.

  Scott was even more astonished. So these beautiful ivory figures, which were worth a fortune in terms of the civilized world, were used as children's playthings here! With difficulty, he tore his eyes away from the shelf and continued taking in details of the interior. The little house was very neat and admirably arranged. There was a woven grass-mat on the floor, a circular stone-hearth in the middle of the room, and a collection of what looked like ladles, prongs, forks, and other cooking utensils hanging off the wall. These, too, were made of ivory, which evidently was a material of prime importance with the Anai.

  A leather partition hanging from the ceiling divided one corner of the hut from the rest of it.

  "That my place," Ri Omrek nodded in the direction of the corner upon noticing Scott’s look. "My bed there. I live with my sister, not..." he struggled for words. "Not always," he concluded. "Until I find woman. Then, build house for me."

  Ri Omrek pulled out what looked like low sitting stools - they had an ivory frame, and seats of stuffed skins. These were beyond a doubt the most unusual chairs Scott had encountered in his life, but they were very comfortable nonetheless. Lindholm settled down, bending his thin, angular legs like a giraffe.

  "A drink?" the Anai man suggested. "Ki Tahan will be here soon."

  Not encountering any resistance, he poured from a skin hanging upon the wall, and handed round the cups. Scott sniffed his with interest mingled with apprehension. The brew had a strong, grassy, tangy smell, and the taste was very unusual, but surprisingly refreshing. There was definitely some alcoholic content there, too, but it was nothing compared to Lindholm's habit of sipping Aquavit while on duty.

  Two voices outside, a woman's and a child's, made Lindholm and Ri Omrek turn around.

  "Ah, that's Ki Tahan," Lindholm said, and sure enough, in another moment the two newcomers entered the house.

  The chieftainnes looked very like her brother in face and form, but her powerful build and assured movements were softened by a graceful femininity, inherent and unconscious. Ki Tahan's hair, golden and flaxen, was pulled back in a thick long braid that would have been envied by any woman in the habit of leaving a fortune at the beauty parlor every month, and her eyes were vivid, sparkling blue, just barely tempered with a greyish hue. She wore a pair of leather breeches and a longish tunic, and what looked like soft, sock-like moccasins. She was probably some years older than Ri Omrek, but not by much, for she was young and, Scott couldn't help thinking, exceptionally beautiful.

  Her child, a little boy carrying a pronged fishing spear of appropriate size, greatly resembled her, and his attire was a miniature copy of his mother's, from tunic to footwear.

  Ki Tahan smiled and nodded as she saw her guests, and put down the fishing spear and woven basket she was carrying. The latter was, judging by the smell of it, full of fish. Her brother approached her and said a few words in their quick, fluid tongue, and she nodded.

  "Welcome, Anders," she told Lindholm, "and friend of Anders," she gave Scott a cu
rious look.

  "I'm Scott," he said. Somehow, calling himself Buck didn't seem dignified enough with this woman, who exuded authority in every line of her figure.

  "Scott," she repeated. The way she said it, it sounded like 'Zkott'. "A short name," she observed with a smile.

  Scott shrugged. "It's the only one I have," he said. He wasn't sure the Anai would be able to catch his meaning, but Ki Tahan's smile grew wider, and her brother chuckled.

  "Short name, saves time," Ri Omrek observed. Ki Tahan slung a bow and a quiver of arrows off her shoulder, and hung them upon an ivory hook affixed to the wall. The bow was made of ivory as well, and Scott looked at it with great admiration. It was a masterpiece – not only lovingly polished to a silky hue, but decorated with intricate carvings of birds and strange beasts and flowers, with something like elaborate runic writing in between.

  "Not have use of bow today," she said. "Today, only fishing."

  Lindholm observed the bow admiringly as well. He got up, approached the wall, and ran a hand over the carvings. "This is a beautiful bow, Ki Tahan," he said.

  "Ri Omrek make for me," she said, looking at her brother fondly.

  "My first bow. I try to make good. Now making for myself too," Ri Omrek said.

  "You eat with us, yes?" Ki Tahan said, unloading the fish she had caught into a large cooking pot made of hardened clay. "Egan," she called to her son, and said a few words. The little boy ran to bring a clay pitcher of water from the corner. She smiled, mussed the boy's hair affectionately, and poured the water over the fish. She then took a smaller clay pot - which was essentially a large burner with a wick, full of some kind of fat, probably rendered from whale or seal - and placed it in a depression in the middle of the hearth. Using a firestone, she promptly produced a spark and lit the burner, and suspended the larger clay pot above it, using two sturdy ivory prongs affixed between the outer hearth stones. As the fish were cooking, she sprinkled some dried herbs over the stew, and some white crystals that looked very much like salt - Scott assumed the Anai obtained it from the ocean.