by Douglas Falk
The days went by, and the group kept taking turns on the sled. After just two weeks, they had reached the last stretch of the Transantarctic Mountains, and they were now just days away from Amundsen-Scott. They had been sparse with the food and water rations, in case of emergency. When they encamped by the side of the main road this night, they went to sleep with the promise given by Jacques Seydoux that their destination would be reached within just three days. John was in the middle of deploying his tent when William came over.
“Almost there,” he murmured. “This was a rite of passage for the history books. Jesus.”
He dropped the handle of the sled and kneeled to the ground, breathing heavily.
“Okay, I might have over-exaggerated the part where I promised that the sled would be light. It was a bitch to pull it today. How could it possibly feel heavier when it weighs lighter? I mean, we’ve almost used up all the wood and a large chunk of the food and water supply already.”
John shrugged. “Might be because we are on a much higher elevation than when we started. By the coast, we were only a couple of feet above the ground, after all.”
“Might be,” said William and kept exhaling loudly. He stretched out on his back and closed his eyes.
“The sled…hmm. William, we are going to need the sled. After we reach the South Pole—”
“The ceremonial South Pole, John. It’s not a real South Pole.”
“Whatever. Amundsen-Scott, thereabouts. We are going to need this sled, and we are going to have to take it all if we are to push even further like we have been planning to do for months now. Do you hear me? We are going to have to take their stuff.”
William opened his eyes slowly and yanked himself off the ground. “You want us to steal the sled with all the resources for their home journey?”
“Yes…maybe. Perhaps. If need be. I’m just saying, we need it more than they do. They could stay put at Amundsen-Scott when we get there, or they could walk to Vostok Base a couple of miles east. I’ve studied the map as carefully as you have, so I know what’s around. But I doubt that would even be necessary, as the people at Amundsen-Scott will take good care of them, I’m sure. What kind of person are you anyway if you won’t extend a helping hand to the fellow man trapped at the southernmost extremity of the world?”
William had a confused look on his face. “I didn’t expect such a callous proposition from you, John. I hear what you are saying, but doing something like that will only be on the table if things are absolutely dire at Amundsen-Scott. We’ll wait and see how the mood is when we get there and how we are received. Be careful, John. They are not to be underestimated…well, Seydoux isn’t. How would we pull it off without him noticing?”
John shrugged. “I don’t know. But if we are serious about this, we’ve got to do whatever is necessary, right? We’ve come this far, and when dealing with something this big, like lifting the veil off the greatest deception ever known to Man, the end might justify the means. We need to be armed to the teeth when we depart from there; we are heading into the literal unknown. There is no telling if we are ever going to run into some natural resources further down the road, other than the vague hints given by Admiral Byrd like sixty years ago. It’s a huge gamble, and we don’t know if there’ll be water or animals to hunt. Probably not…so we have to be pragmatic about this. We thought about persuading the team to push on even further, but that was before we met them in person. Do you really think that Seydoux is going to let us hijack his expedition and delay his long-expected payment from your father? That is all the vile man cares about. Cashing in. We are doing this, or not. No half-measures.”
William swept his fur coat around him and looked around in the empty, white wilderness. “Yes, we are doing this no matter what. But I’d like to avoid following through on your idea if I can. I’d rather not betray anyone who’s followed us this far. Whatever their motives may be, they deserve better than being left alone. I don’t like the idea of us scurrying away like thieves in the night. But let us talk about this later, when we are certain that nobody can hear us. I’m scared of them overhearing us talk about this here. Sound can be heard further away down you think out here. I’m heading back to my tent.”
He left him there and walked slowly towards his own tent, wading through the snow.
How did I get so cold all out of a sudden? How can I even suggest something like that?
He saw Nathan and Jamie talking to one another from fifty-sixty feet away outside of her tent and immediately felt ashamed.
I can’t let my obsession of getting to the truth of the matter wash over me. The quest for knowledge shouldn’t have to collide with my moral values. For if I do forsake my values, this mission is meaningless.
When the group woke up next day, the tents had all snowed in. A thick layer of snow covered every one of the tents, and they had to shovel it through with their bare hands to escape it. John dug through several feet of snow until he managed to crawl out.
I’m not going to die being entombed in the middle of Antarctica. We are not done yet.
He opened a bottle of water and quenched his thirst. He then opened a new bag of pemmican and ate generously to get going for the day. As he was eating, Seydoux approached from nowhere and gave him a pat on the shoulder with his rugged, bear-like arms.
“Two days left, copain. We’ll make it.”
Despite the return of the headwind and the heavy snowfall, they managed to keep a steady pace under Seydoux’s leadership. They walked and walked, with an unchanging landscape all around them. A white, frozen tundra spread out in all directions.
In case I make it out of here alive, I vow to move to the Bahamas and live out the rest of my days there in peace and solace. I also vow to eliminate everything snow-related in my life, apart from the ice cubes in my cocktail glass at some hip bar by the Nassau beach.
Two days later, the snow still fell from the skies, and the temperature had dropped to way below twenty degrees Celsius.
Might even be minus thirty. Or minus thirty-five?
He reached for his phone with shaky fingers and tried to refresh the weather application, which had stayed frozen at the same temperature and location as to when they arrived at the Antarctic shoreline.
Oh, right. Zero coverage. Global Positioning System doesn’t work here. Maybe because we’re not on a globe? Or those pesky satellites above are just having an off day. Maybe they’re as burned out and exhausted as we are here on the ground.
He pressed frenetically on the refresh icon, but it wouldn’t budge. He raised it above his head, but he was still offline.
I guess this is a harbinger of some sorts. We are really, really close now.
On the eve of April the 12th, twenty-nine days after they abandoned Savannah and commenced their southbound journey, Jacques Seydoux finally caught sight of something he had been waiting for a very long time. It was the Canadian’s turn to pull the sled, and he powered through the snows like an enraged bear. His scalp was all frostbitten and his beard entirely covered in snow, making him look like Father Time himself. The headwind kept hammering the group and the sled screeched in the wind. It was so hazy and snowy that they could barely see ten feet in front of them…but all of a sudden, they saw something far away. A faint light glimmering in the white inferno. An electrical light!
Through the snowstorm they marched, and silhouettes of a manmade structure began to crystallise through the fog. A large rectangular concrete building lit up by bright lights all around it. They could see small windows lining up on the front side of the building, and on the roof of it flew a banner. The flag whisked around so rapidly that they could not recognise the flag until they were but a couple of feet away. John squinted and finally, he could see it. It was the Star-Spangled Banner, the flag of the United States of America. Just beneath the flag on the front side of the façade, there was a large, majestic emblem with some words imprinted below.
United States Antarctic Program—National Science Fou
ndation.
Jacques Seydoux wiped the snow off his beard and marched resolutely towards the main entrance gate, with John and the rest following just behind him.
We are here.
17
Amundsen-Scott Base, named after the renowned polar explorers Robert Falcon Scott and Roald Amundsen, officially holds the title of being the most southernmost outpost on Earth. Situated by a glacier at an elevation of 9,200 feet, it houses roughly fifty scientists on a permanent, year-round basis. Built in 1956 by the Navy Seabees, the American Navy construction department, the facility had been manned ever since its inception.
“Finally!” John cried out loud. “Finally, I look upon a site built by a fellow man again. I never knew I would long so much for a concrete building filled to the brim with strangers of unknown origin, but I did. Civilisation…or close to it, in any case. I can’t believe we actually made it this far!”
“Me neither,” whispered William as they all stood waiting by the gate. “But remember, our journey has just begun. And we should not spend much time here at all; there is no time to waste.”
Nathan Barnaby had the honour of mending the sled that day. He put it down right next to the gate and took long, deep breaths of air.
“Did you know that Scott’s whole expedition team froze to death up here? The race between Scott and Amundsen was about as intense as the space race between the Yanks and the Ruskies. Who would reach the South Pole first? That was the big hooplah in the early 1900s. Amundsen won, of course. And he managed to shepherd his entire crew to safety afterward…no casualties. Scott’s companions were not so lucky.”
“Could we hold off with the history trivia till we’ve actually been welcomed and greeted inside, Mr. Barnaby? I don’t know how you lot feel, but my whole body is about to shut down soon. I am frozen to the core, and we need to rest,” said Jamie.
“Speaking of trivia, I wonder how this base is heated, especially now when the Southern winter is looming for real, just weeks away. In June, it’s supposed to be minus eighty degrees Celsius here at Amundsen-Scott from what I have read,” asked William.
“Jet fuel, copain. They have three massive generators nearby, making the facility self-sustaining.”
William was confused. “How would you know?”
“Because I am a professional, copain. And as a pro, I do the research before I venture to whatever uncharted place I am going to at that given time. I have a job I was hired to do, and I am carrying it out. Now, let’s get ourselves on the right side of this joint.”
Seydoux rang the doorbell. No reply. They waited a whole minute, and then he rang again. And again. Finally, a voice boomed out of the speaker system by the gate.
“Who are you? Announce yourselves.”
“My name is Jacques Seydoux, and I am shivering in the cold here together with my four brave companions. I work for Lockheed Martin, and I come on behalf of them. We are expected,” he announced.
A long pause occurred when time seemed to stand still. The voice on the other end said nothing, but faint, indistinguishable murmurs could be heard from the speakers.
Will they not let us in? Are we going to freeze and starve here by the doorstep?
The quintet began to worry now for real.
“What do we do if they won’t let us in?” asked Jamie out loud.
Seydoux put his hand on her shoulder. “Relax, cheri. They are expecting us, and we will be taken care of. I have faith. We are a posse not to be taken lightly.”
His prophecy came true only seconds later, when a loud clicking noise echoed from inside and the thick steel gate swung up automatically. Warm air blew through the gate, and John felt about as excited about the impending warm welcome as if he was about to jump into a jacuzzi. As the warm air poured through the hallway and enticed them all with the promise of a stay most welcome, they wasted no time and came barging in. They rushed into the entry hall but halted almost immediately. A tall woman dressed in all black stood right in front of them, with a stern look on her face. She had a brooch pinned on the chest of her suit, a logotype depicting a geographical area that John immediately recognised.
Antarctica, as seen from above.
The pin needle did indeed depict the landmass of Antarctica and was the official logotype of the National Science Foundation, depicting the features of Antarctica with a red snowflake in the middle, highlighting the South Pole.
“Welcome!” she spoke. “Strangers in the night…a most unusual occurrence for us permanent residents here at Amundsen-Scott. Of course, you fine folks are no strangers to us! I was merely exaggerating. You are most expected. I was only lamenting the fact that during all my time here, this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of greeting outsiders into our abode. My name is Paige Coulson, and I will guide you to your rooms. Follow me, please.”
A warm bed and roof over my head for the night…truly, I am blessed. This is the kingdom of heaven for now.
Warm air poured through the ventilation shafts and breezed through the weary group as they followed Ms. Coulson through the dark catacombs.
“Why’s it so dark in here? I mean, you do have electricity, right?” asked John.
“Oh,” said Paige and kept walking onwards without looking at him. “Because it’s in the middle of the night, and almost everyone in this building is sound asleep. There’s just me right now who’s up and awake. Me and the security staff are awake as far as I know. You lot arrived in the hour of the wolf, gentlemen. We turn the light off by midnight.”
“Do you have liquor at the rooms? Whiskey, bourbon, cognac? I need a nightcap. We’ve deserved it…gosh,” asked William out loud and yawned. Paige did not reply. She led them onwards, and the sound of her high heels scraping the floor echoed through the hallway.
They were ushered in through a long, opaquely lit corridor. The walls were tapestried with blue and yellow checkers, with framed photographs hanging from them. About five feet apart, the line of pictures seemed to stretch endlessly. John stopped walking in order to have a look at the photographs and lagged behind from the group as a result. They were lit by tiny spotlights hanging from above, and they all seemed to be rather old. Black and white photographs from the 1920s and onwards ornamented the walls, all depicting human activity in the Antarctic.
They are in chronological order. I wonder if…?
He slowly walked through the photographs. The 1930s came and went, then the 1940s, and then…
There he is. The man, the myth, the legend.
John froze as he had gotten to one of the 1950s pictures and squinted. He heard the footsteps of the group slowly fade out.
They haven’t even noticed that I didn’t follow.
The framed picture that caught his full attention depicted none other than Admiral Richard Byrd—a photo taken from McMurdo Station. In the photo, a huge marble bust had been erected by the base. A proud man with his head tilted upwards, in a posture that vibrated virility and the utmost confidence. He read the text engraved under the bust:
Richard Evelyn Byrd. Rear Admiral United States Navy. October 25, 1888–March 11, 1957.
The renowned admiral. What on Earth did he find on that day when he went further South than any man in history ever had? Oh, if he was alive today. The questions I’d like to shower him with…yeah. Time to get back into line now, though. I’m not missing out on that warm bed for the world.
John yanked himself out his nosy state of mind and ran forward through the dim corridors. He suddenly faced a large, green door. He opened the door and saw the corridors splitting into two directions, left and right. He decided to go for the left, hurrying along the dead-silent corridor with only a fleeting hunch as his guide. His instincts were proven true as he soon enough saw the slow-moving group up ahead, with Coulson’s high heels ever echoing through the catacombs. He approached them from behind as if he had never left and arbitrarily threw out a safe question to ask.
“How many of you are there here, exactly?”
&nbs
p; Coulson turned around and addressed him.
“Forty-nine. Like I said before, most of them are fast asleep right now in their quarters. Things will become livelier in the morning. I see you are sceptical! But I do not jest. These halls will be quite bustling at six o’clock, when breakfast is served. Oh, yes. About thirty scientists and fifteen souls from the staff. With staff I include the cooks, cleaners, so on, so forth. Three security guys. And myself, of course!”
“With all due respect to the scientists and their scholarly work…” groaned William and yawned once again. “The most interesting part of your tale was that little tidbit about the breakfast. When does—”
“Five. Five o’clock, when the Sun comes up this time of year,” she said and smiled in his direction.
“Ah.”
Dried fruit, pemmican, and canned food. I’ve become so accustomed to that daily menu that I can’t even recall how a hot meal would taste like. But I can’t wait to find out. I’m literally salivating.
“I have a question,” asked John. “How are the goods in this facility brought here? I mean, you guys would for obvious reasons be entirely reliant upon outside help, especially during the Antarctic winter, when you are cut off entirely. Those summer shipments they deliver you better be rock solid, or else…”
“You are correct. The goods are all shipped to this facility during the summer months, and they are to last for the whole year. Needless to say, it is of paramount importance that the deliveries are on schedule and that the products they send us are wholesome. During our winter, which spans from June to December, nothing is delivered. Not even a grain of sand, mind you. We are in a state of lockdown, and all employees are prohibited from leaving the building.”
“Not even for a stroll?” asked Jamie.
“Not even for a stroll. Not when your afternoon stroll could mean the end of you. During our winter, your body will be in mortal hazard when exposed for only a minute or less.”
