by Hannah Ross
Lindolm looked aside. He seemed slightly abashed. "This is hardly the time," he finally said. "But... we will discuss it at some other opportunity. Very soon, I assure you. For now, just make yourself comfortable and get used to the place. It is your home now." His hand on Scott's arm, he directed the new overseer towards the door in a friendly but firm manner. "Good luck, Mr. Buckley. See you at dinner."
Scott walked out of Lindholm's office, pulling his suitcase-on-wheels and hauling his backpack. Following the signs and arrows that were visible all over the station, he soon found its way to the communications center, where a young woman was frowning into a computer screen.
"Er... hello," he said. "I am Scott Buckley, just arrived, and I was wondering if you might explain how I get to my quarters."
The woman tore her eyes away from the screen and looked at him with interest. She had sparkling grey-green eyes and very smooth dark hair that just touched the middle of her earlobe, in a style that looked like a helmet. Her name tag read 'Zoe Marchini'.
"Ah, so you are Mr. Buckley - welcome! Sure, we have been expecting you. Getting to your quarters is pretty straightforward, you just... hang on, wait just a sec. I'll show you the way myself."
She got up and approached him with the springy step of someone who worked out every day. Her handshake was similarly sprightly. "Zoe," she introduced herself. "I work here at communications, and in winter, when things are dull, I do some other odds and ends. Well, come along - that way. Is this all you have arrived with? A suitcase and a backpack?"
"I like to travel lightly," Scott said, "and I figured that whatever I might really need later on can be ordered by mail from New Zealand."
"You are quite right. No need whatsoever to overstuff your room with things you might not need, especially since the quarters are a bit cramped. In the summer months, nearly everyone has to budge up and make space for a roommate... you, however, are privileged, and will have your quarters all to yourself. Not that it's a luxury suite in any case. Turn left, Mr. Buckley - the living quarters are that way."
She led him past the common area of the station, with the little shop and gym and club and library, and veered in the direction of plain-looking two-story buildings, each much the same as the next.
"You can call me Buck. Or, at the very least, Scott. Mr. Buckley has too much of an official ring, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to handle that."
Zoe smiled. "I understand. I expected you to be... I don't know, older? You have some big shoes to step into. Have you met Anders Lindholm already?"
"I have. He seems very... impressive."
"He's been running the station since before I was born. It's hard to believe he's actually leaving."
"Was he easy to get along with?"
"You could say that. Anders has his... quirks, and he's nearly omniscient. It's like he knows everything that happens at McMurdo at every given moment, and that's not to be taken for granted, if you keep in mind that this place houses over a thousand people over the summer, and about two hundred and fifty during the winter. He's laid back, Anders, and doesn't see himself as the big boss who's supposed to tell people what to do. He just expects everyone to get on with their job and do it well. You slack off, you are irresponsible, you find yourself out pretty soon, without even much of a warning. Anders just shoots a letter to the U.S. Antarctic Program headquarters, and they tend to listen to what he says, you know? Well, here you go - Building 155."
Scott found himself in front of a large building painted blue. "Almost everything you might need is on the ground floor - the galley, that is, the dining hall, the ATM, the common rooms, etc. The quarters are on the second floor. Do you need help with that suitcase?"
Zoe looked quite fit enough to handle the large suitcase, while he was huffing and puffing, but still he declined help with a shake of the head, and they mounted the stairs to a long corridor which reminded Scott of his student dorm days. Many doors, some of them open, led off to the personnel quarters, and Scott heard snatches of conversation, laughter and music. A couple of people passed down the corridor, greeted Zoe, and shot Scott a curious look.
"Some people are off duty, as you can see," Zoe said. "You’ll have time to properly introduce yourself later. Well, here you go - these are your quarters, and here's your access card and your key, in case the card gets stuck.”
The quarters were very neat and tidy, and Scott guessed someone had probably put them in order in anticipation of his arrival. There was a single bed with an iron bestead, a two-door closet, a desk and a chair, a two-seat couch, a small TV. A little nook housed a kitchenette, complete with a small refrigerator, a sink, a two-burner electric stove and a couple of shelves for utensils. A single door led off the main sleeping and living area, presumably to the bathroom. With a sigh of relief, Scott let go of his suitcase and dumped his backpack upon the bed.
"This is nice," Zoe said enthusiastically, looking around. "I don't think I've ever been to the high-level staff quarters before. It's twice as big as the quarters I share with my roommate, and you even have your own place to fix a bite to eat. But... is anything the matter? You look disappointed."
In fact, Scott was looking around and trying to imagine how on earth he might convince Brianna to quit their nice roomy house in Wisconsin and move to Antarctica to share this little dorm apartment with him. It seemed nearly impossible.
"No, no, this is perfect," he hastened to assure Zoe. "In fact, this is a lot warmer than I expected," he shrugged off his parka and took off his gloves.
"Glycol heating system. Pretty efficient," she said. "But really, did you expect anything more... lavish?"
"Not really," Scott said. "I'm just wondering where my wife is going to sleep if she makes up her mind to join me."
"Ah, that one's easy. See that metal handle under your bed? You pull it, and a twin bed springs out." Then, in quite a disconnected manner, she shook her head with a rueful look. "This is just my luck," she said half-laughingly. "Any time a semi-decent-looking guy comes to McMurdo, it turns out he's already hitched."
Scott raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, semi-decent?"
Zoe chose not to elaborate. "Well, I really must run. I'll leave you to unpack," she patted his shoulder in a friendly manner. "You can get lunch in about an hour down at the galley - or, if you're too hungry to wait, you can pick up a sandwich at the vending machine in the corridor down below."
"Thanks," said Scott, "see you later... hang on, Zoe," he suddenly remembered something important. "I need to make a call home. How do I go about that? My cell phone isn't working."
"No, not for calls - there's no coverage. But you can connect to the internet through your phone or your laptop – apply to access the local network, and I'll connect you in a minute. Or you can go to the computer room downstairs. But you must keep the time difference in mind," Zoe glanced at her watch. "It's ten o'clock in the morning here, and we're... I don't know, nineteen, twenty hours ahead of most of the US?"
Scott made a quick calculation. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon in Madison - a pretty good time to make an Internet video call to Brianna. "I think I'll be in good time if I call now."
"Great. I'll connect you as soon as I get back to my desk. The internet can be a bit patchy here, though. There are days, especially in winter, when all we can reasonably manage are emails. So... see you at lunch?"
"I guess so. I'm curious to see the dining hall. The food is pretty good, I've heard."
"They only told you that to get you to sign the contract," Zoe said with a twinkle in her eye. "No, seriously, it's OK. Sometimes there's a little lack of variety, and menus get predictable, but once in a while the cooks throw a punch. Well, I'm off. Best of luck, Buck."
Once he was left alone, Scott pulled out an energy bar out of his backpack and munched on it while he waited for Zoe to get back to her desk. He imagined there would be enough time to unpack later. After a few minutes, he took out his laptop and attempted to connect to the Wi-Fi. Aft
er a process of about thirty seconds or so, he read the message, 'ACCESS GRANTED', and was online.
After so many days at sea, he lost track of the routines back home, and didn't remember whether Brianna is supposed to be still at work. He knew his call would register in an alert on her cell phone, however, and in a moment he was rewarded by an established video connection and, for the first time in weeks, he saw his wife's face.
Brianna looked as neat and well-groomed as ever, and he noticed that she had gotten brighter highlights. She wore very little makeup, very tastefully done, and had on her cashmere sweater with the pearl buttons. She smiled widely, the dimple in her left cheek, the one he so adored, clearly visible. "Honey!" she exclaimed. "This is a surprise! Have you arrived already?"
"Yes, I'm here at McMurdo. Safe and sound, as you can see. Are you back from work?"
"Just got home, or I would have missed your call. How are things over there? Are they treating you decently?"
"I've only just arrived, so haven't got a hold on things yet, but it all looks very promising. The station seems well-arranged, and I got a nice room all to myself, with a bathroom and everything."
Brianna laughed. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"
"Considering everything, yes. Things are pretty crowded here during the summer. But there's enough room for me... and for you, Brianna, if you decide to take the leap."
A shadow flitted over her face. "I don't know, Scott. I have to think about it."
He decided to let the matter drop for the time being. "The area looks magnificent – majestic views. I look forward to doing some hiking, as soon as I have time, of course."
"Be careful when going in the snow and ice."
"Of course. In fact, they won't let me off the station before I complete a short safety course. It's all down in the rules."
There was a blip in the connection, and Brianna's image froze for a few seconds. "Scott, I seem to be losing you," she said.
"The connectivity here can be patchy, I was told," he said. She attempted to say something else, but her words were lost.
"It's no good," he finally heard her. "Try to call me later, honey, OK? Call whenever you can, don't mind the time difference. I miss you terribly."
"I miss you too," he said. "I love you," he added softly, but the connection was already shut off.
Chapter 4
Scott checked the time. It was now past eleven, and his stomach hinted that an early lunch might be the very thing. He got out of his quarters, turned around to lock the door, stepped back, and collided with someone.
"Hey, watch it!" a voice exclaimed, but with no great annoyance.
"Sorry," Scott said. He faced a man about his age, or a little younger, with ruffled red hair and a ginger beard that would no doubt go magnificently with the orange outdoor parka worn by the staff. Scott received such a uniform himself as part of his welcome package, and was told he can put his private gear aside. The bright orange clothes stood out well against the snow and made it possible to notice people from afar. Such practical considerations trumped fashion around here any day.
"No prob," the man said, sizing him up curiously. "Hey, aren't you the new big supervisor?"
"I wouldn't put it that way. I'm supposed to be the overseer and general logistics manager."
"Never mind – you're him? I mean, that's you – the guy who's supposed to replace Lindholm?"
"Yes, that's me. Scott Buckley."
"Jerry Gordon," The two men shook hands. "Good luck - you're sure going to have quite a bit of headache until the end of the summer season. Old Lindholm always hated the summer months. No wonder he's keen to leave. You were heading down for lunch?"
Scott nodded. "Are those laundromats I see down the hall?"
"Yes, a handy place to do all your washing. I take it you haven't seen much of the place yet?" Jerry asked as they began walking in the direction of the stairs.
"Hardly anything. I have only just arrived. Zoe from the communications center showed me the way to the living quarters."
"Ah, Zoe Marchini," Jerry's face assumed a dreamy expression. "She's a nice gal... won't go out with me, though, no matter how many times I've asked her. You'd think she might have given me a chance – there's not much choice around here, after all – but no, she's a picky one. Do you have a girl back home?"
"I'm married. My wife might join me here later."
"Good for you. It's better to already have someone when you come here, because you'll have a tough time finding a lady friend later."
Scott laughed. "I can imagine. Anyway, what do you do?"
"Me? I'm the most important man at McMurdo," Jerry said proudly and, seeing Scott's puzzled expression, chuckled and added, "I'm in charge of the greenhouse."
"The greenhouse? Ah, yes, I did hear that…"
"We have fresh fruits and vegetables shipped from New Zealand during the summer,” Jerry spoke across him, “but in winter we're pretty much stuck with whatever will keep - which, as you can imagine, makes the freshies kind of scarce in the menu. So growing our own is a nice supplement, and it's therapeutic for people - when they want some warmth and greenery, they can come over and lend a hand. You are welcome to visit too."
They came to the doors of the mess hall, more commonly known as the galley. As he walked in, Scott was enveloped by the smells of food and the clinking of many knives and forks.
"Pork chops and lamb stew today," Jerry gave a swift diagnosis as they approached the self-serving station. "About the best this kitchen gives out, I think. And roast potatoes, too – man, it's like they've planned a welcome meal just for you."
The two loaded their trays and headed off to a remote table in the corner, but Jerry was hailed by some of his friends. "Ah, that's Will Mahoney, the electric technician," he said. "I need to have a word with him about the greenhouse lights. See you later, man, feel free to drop by - my room is just across yours."
Scott sat down to a table alone, which suited him just fine, but he scarcely had time to break apart his roll and start buttering it when Zoe joined him, setting down her tray. "Glad you found your way alright," she commented, pouring water into her glass.
"The mess hall is kind of hard to miss. Besides, Jerry Gordon showed me the way."
Zoe rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Ah, yes, you're rooming just near Gordon," she said. "You'll be seeing a lot of the fellow - he's like a wart plaster, honestly."
"He seems alright. The food is pretty good," Scott commented, tasting his lamb stew. He couldn't help stealing a curious look at Zoe's plate, the contents of which were scarcely recognizable.
"Quinoa salad with steamed vegetables," she said, noticing his glance, "and tofu cubes roast with peppers. I'm vegan," she explained. "Luckily, there's always a vegetarian dish around here. It isn't terribly varied, but it's alright." She picked up her fork and began to eat. "Did you manage to talk to your wife?" she asked between mouthfuls.
"Oh, yes - a little, until there was a burp in the connectivity. It seems things are fine at home... but I still feel a little guilty about leaving her alone," he confessed.
Zoe shrugged, evidently with very little sympathy. "If I had a man, I wouldn't let him go to the end of the world alone," she said. "I would come after him. Good men are a rare commodity these days."
"There's Jerry," Scott ventured, and Zoe nearly snorted water out of her nostrils. He laughed quietly and speared a roast potato. His eyes strayed across the vast hall, where many dozens of people were eating – some in large groups, some in small groups, some alone. One of the loners, Scott observed, was Victor Nash, who sat hunched over his plate, consuming his lunch with machine-like efficiency. Zoe noticed where he was looking.
"Have you met Nash already?" she asked.
"Just for a moment, in Lindholm's office."
"I would be careful around him, if I were you."
Scott looked up from his plate. "Why?"
Zoe shrugged. "No particular reason. Nobody has a bad word to say abou
t Victor Nash. He's a good worker, polite, stays away from any mess. But he's very, very quiet – keeps mostly to himself, and doesn't talk much. Everyone knows he wanted your position really, really bad, though."
This made Scott uneasy. The last thing he wanted was to start off at McMurdo with rivalry and jealousy between himself and the person he was supposed to be working most closely with. He surreptitiously observed Nash again - the dark hair, the glasses, the impassive lines of his face - and dropped his gaze to his pork chops. He reached for the mustard.
"Do you know why Nash wasn't asked to step in after Lindholm's retirement?" he asked in a would-be casual voice.
Zoe shook his head. "I never stick my nose in those administrative decisions," she said, "but I somehow got the impression that Lindholm didn't think him a good fit. It's just a hunch. Nash sure knows the way the station is supposed to run, and he's pretty reliable... but when it comes to the human element - you'll see it when you take Lindholm's place. It's not all about filling order forms and balancing budget sheets. People approach Lindholm about all sorts of personal matters. One guy was supposed to bring his wife over, like you plan to do, but couldn't get medical clearance for her, and started a full-blown war with the Antarctic Program headquarters. Another got terribly homesick during the winter, and kept clogging up the internet stream with video files of his toddlers that his wife was sending him from home. Anders Lindholm knows how to sort these things out, but I couldn't imagine Nash doing that, not in a million years."
"I'm not sure I'm very good at sorting personal stuff out," Scott confessed.
"Oh, you'll do fine. You'll take some time to settle in, of course - but most people around here are really helpful, and won't make your life difficult on purpose. Otherwise they just don't last at McMurdo. Well, I had better go back to work – good luck again." And, with an encouraging nod, Zoe stood and picked up her tray.
"Wait, aren't you going to get some dessert? I see they've brought in something that looks like a chocolate soufflé. It seems pretty good, at least from here."
