by Chris Geater
“Interest, as in on the ground interest?” I asked.
“Yes, precisely, on the ground, active at Davis as we speak.”
Only one person stood out.
The isolation and cold air cleared my head as I processed the input of data over the past week. A bright light shone over the entrance to the Cold Porch, a yellow beacon to contrast with the storm driven white-outs frequently experienced. Overhead stars in unfamiliar patterns illuminated the clear night landscape, still and quiet. A muffled exclamation, the sound of something impacting with a wall or metal shed, female grunt, I became immediately aware. Another grunt, male, as I raced towards the services building. In the dim illumination of the exterior lights two people were tangling on the icy ground, one armed with a long something. I stepped in and grabbed the something, a cold length of iron reinforcing and pulled it from the surprised antagonist. John the mechanic looked up at me as the person beneath him sent an angry right to the side of his neck causing his eyes to lose focus. The iron rod, a life of its own crashed down onto Johns left cranium. He fell forward and rolled as Natalie pushed to free herself. Blood pooled around Johns head, grey on white in the faint light. She kicked him in the side and swore, kicked him again but no response.
“We should kill him,” she suggested philanthropically. So much for the Hippocratic oath.
“You two have something going?” I asked. “Lovers quarrel?”
Natalie swore again only directed it at me.
“This idiot? Are you kidding? He left me a message on my office phone to meet him here, said he wanted to make peace, felt bad about what happened at Ranvic.”
“A bit careless of you, coming out here, he isn't your biggest fan after all.”
“I know that, I was careful but not careful enough.”
“Why were you really meeting him here?” I asked her.
She looked up at me still breathing heavily, John bleeding out, forgotten, “Why are you really here Harry, what are you doing?”
“I'm here saving your life, you’re welcome by the way.”
“No, what are you doing here at Davis?” A slight swelling on the left side of her face, she favoured her left arm as it hung down from her shoulder.
“You need that arm attended to,” I nodded towards the errant arm.
“Who are you Harry?” a grimace as she attempted to move it. “As for this prick.”
“He’s just an angry mechanic, albeit a little broken right now, but just a mechanic.”
“He’s not a mechanic, well he might be but he’s more than that, and you’re definitely not a safety expert.”
“You know a lot of information, for a doctor,” I replied.
She glared at me and shook her head, “We better get him inside.”
I dragged John over the slippery surface and into the cold porch, he began to regain consciousness, groaned as his head bounced over the threshold. Natalie pulled a first aid kit from a locker and I went in search of Steve.
John’s bandaged head lay on a folded pair of overalls, his eyes opening and closing, not quite there. Natalie’s left arm sat in a triangle bandage sling, an impressive red and blue mark on the side of her face stood out on the background of white. Some shock had settled in and she sat on a bench, head forward.
Steve wasn't happy.
He turned to me, eyes blazing, “What the hell is going on Harry?”
Why does everybody blame me, I'm just the knight in rusty armour.
“We need to get this bloke into the sickbay and I think it might be wise to secure him as well,” I informed Steve.
“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Steve shot back.
“John attacked Natalie and I assisted her in preventing any further attack. So lets get him sorted and I’ll give you the run down.”
“I can help, my arms just badly bruised,” Natalie stood, colour returning to her face.
Steve grabbed a couple of helpers from the dining room to assist us and we carried John to the sickbay. Natalie examined his head as he lay on a medical dolly.
"No concussion as far as I can see but only time will tell."
I filled Steve in on the events behind the services building. Peter turned up half way through my testimony and immediately retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his office to secure John’s right wrist to the dolly rail. The man came in handy after all.
Steve turned to Natalie and I, “Office please, now.” He nodded to Roger and Peter to follow.
Once in Steve’s office we both filled in the details while he recorded it on a hand held digital voice recorder. You could see the old policeman in him surfacing as he asked the right questions.
“So briefly, John left a voice mail on your office phone to meet and make peace, he attacked you. Harry heard something and went to investigate and attacked John. Have I missed anything?” Steve asked.
She nodded, “Yeh, that pretty much sums it up.”
I agreed.
“And you think it was his beef with you from the glacier yesterday?” he asked her.
“What happened on the glacier yesterday?” Peter asked.
“Just a disagreement regarding the sample tube,” Steve replied.
“Disagreement? Did he assault you?” he asked Natalie.
Steve laughed, “He tried but came off second best, boy were we surprised.”
Peter turned back to Natalie, “So you assaulted him?”
“Self defence,” she fired back at him. “He tried to physically prevent me from doing my job, I resisted his attack.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” I said to Peter. “This is attempted murder. If you weren’t so busy chasing imaginary arsonists, you could actually do some real police work.”
“As I told you,” Natalie continued. “He leapt out, called me a something or other bitch and hit me twice with the rod. I was in the process of defending myself when Harry turned up.”
“He needs evacuating, can he travel do you think?” Steve asked her.
“In a day or two, sure,” she replied. “Just have to keep an eye out for concussion.”
They both looked at me, no gratitude in their eyes, so unfair.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked her.
“I’ll be fine.”
Roger looked sick.
CHAPTER NINE
Showers at Davis station were limited to three minutes, an unnecessary measure one would think given that Antarctica holds 70% of our planet's fresh water. However it requires surprisingly large amounts of energy to transform ice into water and then heat it to an acceptable shower temperature, prohibitive in this remote location.
The cafe hummed with hungry crew. Teresa, Kathy and another hand bustled around the kitchen, a kaleidoscope of sizzling vittles on the large hotplate, visual and aromatic sensory stimulation as my mouth watered and stomach growled.
An argument was underway between Roger and Kathy over one of the dishes steaming away in the bain-marie labelled ‘Penguin Soup’. He felt it was poor form, disrespectful to the local non-indigenous population of emperor penguins. Kathy told him to lighten up and if it made him feel any better, it was only ten percent penguin. I liked the girl, but I don’t think my custom made omelet was on offer to my good self this morning.
I helped myself to some left over lamb curry sitting in the bain-marie along with a slice of toast. The occupants of the table where I sat immediately bombarded me with questions about the previous evening. Rumours abounded: John was now a serial killer responsible for Diesels death using a strange substance, had sabotaged the pipe we brought back from Ranvic in the same way and all the transport he had worked on was now suspect and unusable. And questions: How did Hobart, the name used when referring to their head office, miss the psychological problems? Don’t they know we are a close knit isolated vulnerable team? Why aren’t they protecting us? We need some Antarctic Police. I settled their nerves with the simple explanation we gave Steve the night before.
Natal
ie sat at a crowded table, her head injury now a full blue bruise but the arm, though still in a sling moved without a flinch. Surrounded by worshipping women, animated faces as the story unfolded, the doctor who kicked the mechanics butt, and not once either. In fairness Natalie didn't look like she was enjoying all the attention.
My plan was to isolate Teresa and see if I could extract some information from him. Too busy at breakfast but Kathy had mentioned that the kitchen went quiet around mid morning prior to the busy build up to lunch.
I killed time in the library educating myself in the art of Antarctic survival. Throw bags, bivvy bags, ice picks, ice screws, navigation where the compass required 67° magnetic variation, unique tools for a unique environment.
I managed to catch Teresa alone as he finished cleaning the kitchen and we engaged in a little chit chat. Apparently his feminine name came about long ago whilst serving in the navy. As with a lot of bureaucracy, a paperwork shuffle and consequent mixup presented his name as Teresa, formally Fraser, to the personnel officer of the ship he was to join. Expecting a female crew member the officer allocated Teresa a bunk in the female mess. When he arrived and reported, the mess happened to be empty so he went about setting up his kit, all the time a growing sense of unease regarding the number of semi nude male posters attached to the bulkhead and what that might mean in terms of his fellow shipmates. Said fellow shipmates returned later in the day as Teresa lay on his bunk, curtain pulled enjoying a little snooze. His male head appearing out one end of the curtain seemed to upset the all-female group in various states of undress and as the expression goes the fan took another bombardment.
“You and Diesel, Michael, got on pretty well, spent a bit of time together?” I began.
He scratched a red spot on the back of his hand, a nervous twitch activated in the left cheek, nerves on display all round now that we were at the brass tacks level.
“Look, you haven’t done anything wrong,” I tried to settle him down. “Nothing will happen and if you like I can keep this conversation confidential.”
“It's not that,” he spoke quickly, eyes darting around the cafe. “I wanted to tell someone what happened. I wasn't myself at the time so I didn't know how to explain it.”
“Why weren’t you yourself?” I asked.
“Me and Diesel had a couple of drinks, his rum, the stuff he made in the still. We only had a couple, it put us on our ears!”
“Must be good stuff,” I commented, wouldn’t mind trying some myself.
He brightened up, “Yeh, it was.”
“Tell me what you remember, doesn't matter if it's a bit jumbled.”
“It's going to sound crazy. After our couple of drinks, we lost our way coming back here from the workshop. There was a bit of a blizzy blowing. I remember I picked up something off the ice, it looked like it was glowing in the dark. I gave it to him, next thing you know there’s a light all around us, I looked at him and it was coming from the middle of his body!” Teresa stared down at the table as he relived the moments, obviously distressed.
He continued, “Just as I looked he burst into flames, screaming, the flames just took over him, his body gave off loud popping sounds.” He looked up at me, tears in his eyes, “He just shrunk and went down into the ice really quickly. I could feel the heat from him burning me. There was nothing left of him, it was only a couple of seconds!”
“What did you do?” I asked gently.
“I didn't know what to do, I crapped meself, I didn't know what to say, who to talk to. I was still pretty drunk. I found my way back and hit the sack. The next day they found him, had to dig him out of the ice. Bugger all left, just a black shrunken thing. Poor bastard.” Tears ran down his face onto the table. A girl walked over from another table and asked him if he was alright.
“I'm fine,” he sniffled. “I'll be okay.” She glared at me and walked off. Like it’s my fault?
He looked back up at me, “It was that thing I picked up wasn't it? The same thing that was in that pipe, it went the same way didn't it?”
“We don’t really know, but we’re trying to find out so that it doesn't happen again.”
“If I’d put it in my pocket it would have been me!” It suddenly occurred to him. “It would have been me they dug out of the ice.” He shivered at the thought.
“What was the thing like that you picked up, can you describe it to me?”
“I can't really remember, it was pretty dark and a fair bit of ice blowing around.”
“How big was it, do you remember if it was heavy or warm?”
“It wasn't very heavy and about the size of a large 50c coin. Don’t know if it was warm cause I had my thick gloves on.”
What our erratic extremophile was doing close by Davis that night is a mystery.
“Harry Crook, safety man extraordinaire,” Natalie began, slight slur of the words from the generous pain killers she self prescribed. We sat on the two office chairs in my room facing each other. “You know your way around iron bars, where did you learn your skills, the local pub?”
“Doctors sure are funny people,” I leaned forward. “John didn't seem to find you so funny, that's a pretty drastic step he took, attacking the station doctor. Are you sure it wasn't a lovers quarrel?”
“I was trying to make the peace, subtly and discreetly.”
“I believe John already met your subtlety and discretion on the Ranvic Glacier just the other day, didn't seem to work tonight though.”
“I had him under control.”
“Listen Dr Walker,” I looked as serious as I could. “You were in trouble, he had already reduced your capabilities thirty percent. John looks like he can take care of himself. You’re lucky I turned up, gave him a little surgery, might not have ended well for you.”
She laughed, I liked her laugh, “Surgery?” She laughed again. “That’s one thing you couldn't be accused of.”
I leant back and she leant forward, a smirk on her face, “What are you really doing here Harry? I’ve met safety types before, bureaucratic, silly obsession with unlikely hazards and risks, that's just not you.”
“I'm a specialist, not really the average safety man, more like an investigator for unusual accidents, mainly fatalities.” The story rolled off my tongue, by the look on her face I don’t think she bought it.
“What do you mean investigator?” she frowned. “Who do you work for if not the AAD?”
“I’m not in a position to elaborate,” I said mysteriously.
“That sound pretty shaky Harry, if there are external departments carrying out investigations here I should know about it.”
“Then lets just say I'm a simple safety man here to keep everybody safe.”
Ambivalence crept across her face but then it softened, “Well, whatever you think you are, thanks for helping tonight, I was in worse shape than I thought. I am grateful.”
Smurf didn't elaborate about our old mutual organisation or ASIS as they are called. Their person on the ground in Antarctica could only be Natalie, she was the only one who fitted the profile. There was a degree of trade craft about her, confidence, coolness in a crisis, far more inquisitive and aware than just a medical professional.
“What do you know about John?” I asked her.
“Not much other than the usual stuff that I receive down here. Fairly normal report, he’s applied a couple of times for a stint in the Antarctic but knocked back, not suitable etc.”
“Why the kung-fu the other day? Which by the way was nicely done.”
“His type piss me off, it was a sort of reflex. Certainly made me popular with the ladies of the station I can tell you. They think I’m some sort of feminist hero, or heroine, bloody pronouns.”
“You know, Doctors aren't really meant to inflict injury or death. You were pretty enthusiastic to carry out both on poor John when he was lying on the ice. I believe some sort of Hippocratic oath applies doesn't it?”
“What do you care Harry? You were more interested in wheth
er my love life included John while he bled to death next to us. Were you jealous? Worried that something was going on between us?” She smirked.
“Ahh, there you go flattering yourself Doctor. Mind you, in hindsight, John probably is your type.”
“And there you go proving you're just a safety moron after all.”
As atmospheres go, this one just got a little chilly.
“Anyway I need to get some rest,” she said standing.
Face going pale, body wobbling, I managed to prevent the descent by grabbing her torso. The momentary feint passed and we found ourselves face to face.
“Is this your standard MO when you invite girls to your room Harry?” she smirked but didn't pull away.
She swayed slightly as I released my grip, her face showed a shadow of disappointment.
“I’ll see you later Harry.” As the door closed behind her the scent of ointment and perfume lingered, a strangely pleasant combination.
Barely five minutes later another knock on my door. Kathy stood there, non-work clothes and makeup, not for me surely?
“Gonna invite a girl in?” She leant against the door frame smiling.
I stood to one side as more eau de toilette followed her into my room.
“I smell perfume Harry, you’re not one of those blokes who lives a life not recommended by the manufacturer are you?” A smirk to indicate her rhetorical nature. “I thought not, you've had company. I have competition?”
“The good Doctor and I have been discussing recent events. As the station safety man it's my job to make sure we are all safe.”
“What, you mean preventing psychos from eliminating members of the team, that sort of thing?”
Slowly moving closer and closer as she talked, I was getting all nervous.
“Yes, precisely, resident psychos are always risky, require special risk management, specific safe work procedures.” Now I was babbling.
She pushed me gently against the closed door preventing escape from her clutches, and the room.
“I heard about your close call, are you okay?” she asked genuinely, her face close, small lines around her eyes and mouth, strangely attractive in a mature sort of way.
