by Anna Blix
The Christmas Hypothesis
Anna Blix
Published by Rivey Field Press 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Anna Blix
www.annablix.com
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Progress is made by trial and failure; the failures are generally a hundred times more numerous than the successes; yet they are usually left unchronicled.
— Sir William Ramsay
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Acknowledgments
1
On a snowy little rock-island in the middle of the Arctic Ocean, in a sea of choppy ice, sat a squat building with a radio mast on its roof. This outpost occupied the most northern piece of solid land in the entire world, and most people referred to it as the North Pole science station. However, its formal name was the Petrov-Nielsen Polar Laboratory. Over the years, the little island had received visits from polar bears, migratory seabirds, and a steady stream of scientists coming from all around the globe.
Then there was Niklas Heikkinen — a peculiar man with an unruly beard, and not a visiting scientist as much as a permanent installation at the polar station. Just as the saggy couch in the common room or the old refrigerator, Niklas was part of the furniture. He was a Finnish researcher, sent out by the University of Helsinki, but nobody knew exactly what project he worked on or why he’d stayed so long. The others simply shrugged and accepted his presence at the station as a curiosity. He wasn’t old, maybe in his late thirties, but he was an odd and grumpy man, best left to his own.
This gloomy October morning, Niklas pulled idly at his beard where he stood by the window in the common room. Fifteen years. He’d persevered and stayed year after year in this dreary place while others had come and gone. That had to count for something. He’d relentlessly stuck to his research. Piecing information together into a glorious theory that would shed light on the effects of climate change in the Arctic. And soon enough, the hot shots in Helsinki were going to know what he’d achieved. Nobody would dare to make fun of him when he had the support from above. When he became a famous scientist. He chuckled to himself and squinted out into the grey air. But he saw nothing outside but fog.
Somewhere in that fog was a small jet plane. It was scheduled to land in one hour precisely, if only the fog would lift. Niklas pressed his forehead against the cold glass and cupped his hands around his eyes, screening off the ceiling lights. At least it didn’t look like it had snowed overnight — the path leading up to the airstrip was clear.
Right now, his boss was sitting on that plane. Niklas wondered what Juha would say when he showed him the charts. He would probably want to submit the paper to a more prestigious journal. After Niklas had investigated the phenomenon in more depth, of course. This would take months. He mustn’t get over-excited and jump to conclusions.
But he was really on to something here, he knew it. Something big. His paper would make an impact. All he had to do was finish it. And then, at last, he’d have the recognition he deserved. Researchers from around the world were going to discuss his work. He’d be invited to conferences again. Wherever he went, people would know his name.
2
When Niklas opened the door to his room, there was a familiar earthy waft, which for some reason reminded him of his grandmother. He sank onto the bed, pushed aside a stack of letters, opened a desk drawer and took out his notebook along with a chocolate bar, which he ate straight away.
He flicked through his printouts. The graph mapping salinity against ice thickness was a good one. He should show Juha that first. It was sure to grab his attention. Juha had many things on his mind and needed to see something that emphasised exactly how important this was.
It was autumn now. If he told Juha he needed until next summer, July or August maybe, that should leave him enough time.
Niklas’s eyes wandered to the Christmas card taped to the wall behind his bed. The glossy front showed a beach scene with palm trees. In the centre lounged a jolly-looking man wearing flip-flops, Bermuda shorts and sunglasses. He wore a Santa hat with an unbuttoned red coat, and held up a drink — possibly a piña colada, Niklas didn’t know. “Have a Sunny Christmas,” read a bright yellow text above Beach-Santa’s head.
Niklas flicked the card up. On the back was his mother’s handwriting. He turned his head to read the upside-down text. “Dear Niklas, Wishing you a merry Christmas. Love, Mum and Dad.” Every year, his parents sent him an early Christmas card, and then they went back to radio silence. Better keep the card safe so he didn’t lose it. He pressed his thumb against the piece of tape to secure it, and then he reached back into the top drawer to let his fingers find the stainless steel flask his father had given him on his eighteenth birthday. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. That felt better.
On the way to the washroom, Niklas passed Vlad, a young researcher from Belarus. “I dropped off your post the other day,” Vlad said.
Niklas walked on, pretending not to hear.
“Did you get it?” called Vlad.
“I got it.”
“Anything interesting?” Vlad made a choking sound, like he was holding back laughter.
Niklas opened the door to the washroom.
“The plane has landed,” said Vlad.
Niklas glanced at his Casio. A quarter past eleven — the plane had arrived early. He rushed back to his room and threw his towel on the bed. Then he put on his snow-boots, grabbed his parka and pulled it on with a sweeping motion as he hurried down the corridor and out into the Arctic cold.
As soon as Niklas drew his first breath, ice started to crystallise inside his nostrils. He pulled his hood up over his head and tightened the drawstring around his face. His beard was already stiff with frozen condensation.
The fog had lifted, but it was still a dull day. At this ti
me of year, just before the long polar night set in, the sun barely rose to kiss the horizon before it set again, and today there was only a slight lightening of the grey cloud cover.
Niklas walked up the path to the airstrip. The floodlights were on, and a small jet-plane was parked with its engines switched off. The pilot disembarked, followed by Juha.
Niklas greeted him with a handshake. “Terve, Juha. How was your flight?”
Juha, in his early fifties and of a stout build, had dressed for the weather in fur-lined boots, down coat, gloves and a fur hat. He looked at Niklas over the rim of his round glasses. “Not bad.” Juha’s eyes moved past Niklas, seeking out something behind him. He smiled and raised his hand.
Niklas turned and saw Tom walk up the path, in his bright blue parka. It had probably cost him, that parka. There weren’t any parkas like that when Niklas had bought his. But fancy equipment could only get you so far. At some point, you needed to put the actual work in. An area where Tom was sadly lacking. Besides, what was Tom doing out here? There was no need for him to be out here now.
Tom came up to them with a big smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Juha, you all right? Let’s get inside before we all freeze to death.” He relieved Juha of his overnight bag, and the three men walked back to the main station building, while the pilot unloaded the provisions.
Niklas went inside first. “You can take your usual room, Juha. It’s free.”
They stopped outside the room at the far end of the corridor and Tom put the bags down. Juha opened the door. “Can I have a word later, Niklas?”
Niklas nodded. “I’ll talk you through our latest results. And I’ve got some interesting data to show you. Meet me in the lab at one thirty.”
He returned to his room to have his usual prawn flavour instant noodles, which he prepared with hot water from the electric kettle under his desk. He broke up the dry noodles into a cereal bowl and poured over the boiling water. Then he added the small sachet of spices and stirred until the noodles softened.
“Bon appétit. And have a sunny Christmas,” he said to Beach-Santa on his Christmas card and raised the bowl to reciprocate the toast. Spooning up some broth, he blew softly on the hot liquid and slurped it up. He wondered if Mum and Dad were preparing for their sunny Christmas in Tenerife. Sitting in sun-loungers and sipping piña coladas. Then he wondered what a piña colada tasted like.
But it didn’t matter what his parents were doing. As soon as his paper was published, he wouldn’t have time for things like family anyway. He would be far too busy with all the environmental conferences. Travel to North America, Europe, Asia. Whizz around the world and cause a stir.
Then Tom could get lost. As if his work was so special. Poking around dead polar bears, looking for microplastics. For some reason, the university found Tom’s work sensational. Extended his grant, so he could come back the following year and repeat the exact same thing. Anyway, Tom would be on his way to warmer latitudes in a couple of weeks, as would the rest of the researchers. Only Niklas and Peter, the caretaker, stayed the winter.
Niklas left his room at 1:25 pm. He found Juha and Tom sitting at a table in the kitchen, both eating a sandwich from the new delivery.
Juha nodded. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Niklas proceeded to the laboratory, where he sat and waited. There wasn’t much he could do in one minute anyway. Vlad sat at one of the microscopes. Niklas observed him as he worked.
It was nearly two o’clock when Juha entered. He nodded to Vlad, who switched off the microscope and left the room. Juha sat down and put his laptop on the table.
“How are things going?” he said.
Niklas opened his notebook and read from the first page, “Vlad is making progress analysing bacteria in ice. He has a few more samples to collect, but he will finish in time, as long as he can tear himself away from the television. He’s going back home next week.” Niklas turned the page. “The Italian students are doing okay—”
“Can I stop you there for a minute?”
Niklas looked up.
Juha shifted on his chair. “I meant how are things going for you? You were due to submit your paper for peer review last week? Did you send it off before the deadline?”
Niklas paused before he answered. He had planned to save his own research for last and present it as the grand finale, after he’d gone through what the others had done. He flicked through his notes. Where was that salinity chart, now that he needed it? “I’ve had to do a lot of teaching.” He turned the pages frantically. “The new guys need a lot of hand-holding. But I have some very exciting results to show you.” Where was that graph? “I’ve found an astonishing phenomenon.”
Juha raised his hand. “I take that as a no. You didn’t submit your work. Like last year and the year before that.”
Ah, there it was at last. “Look here.” Niklas turned his notes around so Juha could see. “Look at the salinity over parts of the Lomonosov Ridge. Remarkable.”
Juha shook his head.
Niklas continued, “I want to study this in more depth before I draw a conclusion, but you must agree the behaviour is most unexpected. It suggests that—”
“Don’t. Please. It doesn’t matter. This is how it always goes. You always find something that you need to study in-depth. Every single year. When were you ever going to publish your results?”
“When I’m finished.”
Juha exhaled slowly. “When you’re finished…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. There’s no easy way for me to say this. We’ve decided to…”
A sudden twitch fluttered in Niklas’s stomach. “It suggests that all of this is—”
“…we’ve decided to cut your funding, Niklas.”
Niklas stared at him. “You’ve decided to cut my what?”
“I’m very sorry. But you’ve been here for fifteen years and you haven’t published a single paper. You must have known this day was coming.”
“But. The ice. Just look at this graph.”
“It’s been fifteen years,” repeated Juha. “You were supposed to submit your results the first spring. It would have been fine if it took a little longer, but not fifteen years.”
What else could he show Juha so that he understood? Niklas turned the pages, searching desperately. The density graphs? “Look here—”
“Every time I visit you have an excuse. You’ve found something remarkable you want to investigate. Something so special that you need to delay your submission yet another season. But you never actually present any results.” Juha closed Niklas’s notebook and handed it back to him. “I can’t let you carry on like this. I’m sorry. You can stay the rest of the month, but we’re not renewing your contract for another year.”
“But—”
“Niklas. We already know about the changes over the Lomonosov Ridge. A lot of people are looking at the same thing.”
“But—”
“You would know that. If you were the least bit involved in the scientific community.”
What was going on? Why had Juha not said anything sooner if he was suddenly in such a rush to publish? Or had he? Niklas tried to recall last year’s meeting. What had been said? Had Juha seemed reluctant? Had it been tense? Thoughts and memories spun around in his head. Fragments of conversations flashed up. But how was he supposed to know? And how did Juha think this place would run without him?
“And who do you think will look after this place when I’m gone?” he said. “Did you even think about that? Who will stay the winter? Who will teach the students? Who will do that after you kick me out?”
Juha shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “The situation is this…” he said. “You see… Tom has kindly agreed to take over your duties here at the station. He’s staying the winter. I think he has been around long enough to know how most things work.”
“Tom?”
“And there will be a handover period of two weeks.” Juha looked up from his papers. “Work closely with Tom for th
is time, will you?”
Niklas gathered his papers and pushed his chair back. He’d had enough.
“It’s time for you to come back to Helsinki with me. I’ll see if I can find you a new position there.” Juha sighed. “I’ll talk to Pekka.”
Back to Helsinki? They expected him to come crawling back to Pekka Aho now? Begging him for a job? No thank you.
Niklas stood up, knocking the chair over, and made for the door. He ran into Vlad, waiting patiently outside the lab, and nearly knocked him over as well. Without a word to Vlad, he hurried down the corridor to his room. Outside the door, he found Tom. Waiting?
“So you’ve heard.”
Niklas stared at him. Tom already knew. But of course he did. He had been in on it. Plotting it together with Juha. It must have been in the making for weeks. Maybe even months. Tom knew exactly what the meeting with Juha had been about. They must have talked about him over lunch. Tom had been keeping it a secret, with an inner smug smile.
Without a word, Niklas pressed past Tom and opened the door.
“Just a minute, Nick. Now you’re leaving us, there’s one thing I must ask before you go…” Tom smiled. “…What are you going to do with your… correspondence?”