by Hannah Ross
"If no medicines at all are to be obtained, having a stock past its due date is better than no stock at all," Scott didn't relent. He saw Nash roll his eyes.
"But that's wasting our budget because of some remote possibility of shortages in view. Why should it happen?"
Scott shrugged. "I don't know. We live in turbulent times."
Victor Nash looked triumphant. "I was right, then – you are a doomsday prepper!"
"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the notion, Victor," Lindholm said. "Remember how two years ago there was a shortage of aspirin? We didn't quite run out, but the clinic had to stretch its supplies by giving ibuprofen instead when they could."
Nash pursed his lips. "It's not my decision to make, after all. You're the boss, Anders - or, to be precise, you are the boss now," he looked at Scott.
"Don't give us that crap, Victor," Lindholm said placidly. "No one is dismissing your opinion. Now, if we go over our energy expenditure charts from the past winter..."
The charts, records, logs and order forms took the better part of the morning, and around noon Nash declared that he's going off for lunch and left the office.
"You go ahead too, young man," Lindholm told Scott. "As far as I recall, it's supposed to be turkey pot pie today."
Lindholm looked in no hurry himself, however, so Scott lingered. The Swede opened a thermos, and a small cloud of steam rose up, along with the aroma of black coffee. He poured the coffee into two mugs, adding a generous drop of Aquavit to his. Scott declined the extra drop, and drank his coffee plain and unsugared, with just a pinch of creamer.
"Don't let Nash put you off," Lindholm said. "He's a reasonable fellow, but very conservative. He's used to how things are run, and won't stir from it one inch if he can help it."
Scott nodded. Truth be told, he had forgotten all about Nash as soon as the man had stepped out of the door.
"Actually, I have been thinking about the Anai. I just can't put them out of my mind."
Something in Lindholm's eyes grew softer. "It would have been strange if you could," he remarked. He took out a packet of biscuits, dipped one in his coffee, and offered another to Scott.
"I spent the evening before reading all I could about them. I have never been so fascinated in my life. Their culture, their language, their origin - it is all a great mystery. Any scientist would have given half his life to unlock it."
"It will be done eventually, I believe. But we have to proceed with caution. Over-analyzing the Anai might disrupt the very culture we are so keen on preserving."
"Still," Scott looked down for a moment, and ran a finger along the rim of his coffee cup. "I've been thinking - this deliberate sheltering of the Anai from modern civilization... isn't there something patronizing in it? Shouldn’t they be given options and information and education, and left to decide for themselves?"
Lindholm tilted his head sideways and thought about it for a moment. "If it were to happen," he said, "the outcome would be predictable. The lure of modern civilization is too strong. The Anai would be tempted out of their valley paradise, and in a generation or two their harmonious and peaceful existence would be tainted by satellites, generators, modern clothing, modern food, and the dissatisfied rush that is the unfortunate lot of ninety-nine percent of civilized humans. Think of all the primitive peoples of our country, Buck. The First Nations, the magnificent civilizations of Central America and the Andes - they all collapsed as soon as they confronted the European, so destructive our touch had been. The same happened in Australia, New Zealand, and anywhere you can think of."
"That was different. At that time in history, it was all about squabbles over land, which won't happen here. Nobody would dare to claim the Anai Valley, and they would be protected by the laws of indigenous people, not barbarously destroyed like the First Nations were in America to make room for settlers."
"The result is much the same, though. Even when the trend was reversed, and governments gave grants for the preservation of indigenous culture and language, only the losers and the good-for-nothing turds stayed on the reservations. Even in my native country, the Sami people abandoned reindeer herding, though it was a province reserved specifically for them. They moved to cities, went to universities, earned money and strove to carve out a thicker slice of the pie for themselves."
"Well, that is understandable, isn't it? People are seeking to improve their quality of life."
"But what is quality of life, Buck? The incessant madness of the rat race, where nothing is never enough? The non-stop flow of useless information through dozens of media channels, so that one is never to have a moment of peace? The degenerative diseases of modern countries, originated in over-processed food and sedentary lifestyle? Once a culture is lost, it cannot be regained by artificial means. And such a loss is tragic."
"You are speaking like an anthropologist. I'm speaking on behalf of the individual. If I were born on a reservation, I would want to break out, for wider options, better education, better medical care... say, if an Anai person is sick or injured, and we know of it, and have the means of treating them quickly and efficiently here at the station hospital, can we do that?"
"When you get to know the Anai a little better, you will find out that they have their own traditional medicine, and in many cases it is more effective than ours."
"Yes, but hypothetically? Suppose one needs emergency care? Can they be flown to the hospital here?"
Lindholm averted his eyes. "That would be incompatible with the secrecy clause," he said.
Scott nodded. At that moment, something fell into place, and a silent mutiny rose within him. A lot of what Lindholm said made sense, but this was something he chafed against. At the bottom line, we decide for them. We assume we know what is better for them. And we would deny a human being life-saving medical care, for the sake of secrecy policies and government decisions and, above all, considerations of land and resources that might, theoretically, be disputed if these people came into public view.
Lindolm seemed to be reading his mind. His blue eyes bore into Scott's, calm and penetrating. "I know what you must be thinking. That this is inhuman, unfair. But I did not set the government policy on that matter, and neither can you. You and I have no authority - we are merely acting upon instructions. And ultimately, I do believe the current state of affairs is the best possible for the Anai. They are secure, happy and protected, and no one bothers them. You have seen it, and will be able to see it again. I count on your discretion, though. Don't make your visits to the valley too long or too frequent. You can befriend them, but you can't change their lives."
***
Scott left Lindholm's office deep in thought. He could still make it in time for lunch, but he was not hungry. Instead, he decided to make an Internet call to Brianna.
She seemed very bright and happy to hear from him. "I wondered when you'd call, honey, but I didn't want to call myself and disturb you."
"You wouldn't, don't worry. At worst, I won't answer if I’m asleep or in the office. How are things going on at home?"
"Oh, good, really good. I'm thinking of remodeling the big bathroom - those old tub and sink look terribly old-fashioned, you know."
"How much would that cost?" Scott asked, a little sharper than he intended.
"Don't be such a spendthrift, Scott. The Averys did theirs a month ago, and it looks wonderful, and the price was very reasonable."
Scott relented. Brianna was on her own now, and it made sense to let her have her own way with the house while he was gone. "You'd have to make do with the little bathroom while the workers are at it, though," he pointed out.
"Don't worry, it's quicker than you think. The Averys had their done in three days. But why are we going on about bathrooms? You know, your sister called last night. Asked if I'd heard from you, and wondered if you might make time to call her in the near future."
"Sure, I'll call Laura," Scott said, a little ashamed of his forgetfulness. "I got her last email, but hadn't g
otten around to answering it yet."
"But how is it going for you, honey?"
"I'm fine. Settling in. A lot of routines to learn, you know. But the work is very... very interesting."
"And is it really all about maintenance? Records, ledgers, supply orders and so on?"
Scott paused. He never had secrets from Brianna before and, as uninterested as she usually was in most things connected to science, he knew she would be fascinated by the Anai. He longed to tell her of the magical warm valley, the thrill of discovery, the beautiful and unique people he had met, but he could not. And the words of his last conversation with Lindholm played in his mind over and over. It is beyond your authority. You can't change government policies.
"Mostly," he finally said. "There is also some... research, but it's classified. I can hardly discuss it online."
Brianna's expression was scrutinizing. "You know, Scott," she said, "it almost seems as if you're hiding something. This is very unlike you."
And, try as he might to think of a satisfactory answer, he didn't know what to say.
Chapter 7
A week and a half later, a ship came to bear Anders Lindholm away, to the shores of California, where he could walk with his grandchildren along the beach and sit on the front steps of his house by night, listening to the waves and enjoying a drink and a cigar in perfect peace. There was a look of quiet, heartfelt satisfaction, as well as deep weariness, on the old man's face as he was boarding the ship, suitcase in hand. Nearly all the station personnel gathered at the docks, waving goodbye to Lindholm, and many an eye glistened with a tear. Most of the McMurdo workers could neither remember nor imagine the station without Anders Lindholm.
Scott felt a distinct sense of loss as the ship sailed away. Short as his acquaintance with Lindholm had been, he felt he would miss the mentorship of the old man, and he felt nowhere near ready to step into his shoes.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Jerry Gordon. "Well, big boss," Gordon grinned, "getting cold feet yet?"
"That's kind of unavoidable in this weather, don't you think?"
"Are you kidding me? This is a damn fine day, and we're going to have a fine evening, too. You can't say no to folks without seeming snotty, mind. We're going to the bar after dinner, to drink your good luck in your new job."
Scott had no objections. He was growing fond of Jerry Gordon and of the other guys in his part of the hall in building 155, whom he often met around the vending machines and the laundromat. They were, for the most part, friendly, matter-of-fact, down-to-earth fellows who minded their own business. McMurdo was limited in the number of staff it could support, and time-wasters didn't usually last beyond one season.
It was a pleasant evening. Zoe came as well, and so did her friend, whom Jerry dubbed 'Miss Marshmallow' out of the corner of his mouth, and they all had two or three beers apiece to drink to Scott's success. The company dispersed around 9 PM, however, as it was a workday tomorrow, and many of the people had to be up at 5.
When Scott made his way to the office the next morning, there was a new plaque on the door. It read 'Scott Buckley - General Overseer', and in the top drawer of the desk, he found a surprise left by Anders Lindholm. It was an unopened bottle of Aquavit.
He spent the next days, figuratively speaking, in getting a grip on the reins. Scott answered a great deal of emails, made a great deal of phone calls, took hold of supply stocks, compared prices, and wrote out orders, most of them far more plentiful than Victor Nash suggested. Nash knew better than to object, however, though the word 'budget' passed his lips no less often than twice a day.
Though Scott never stopped thinking about the Anai and their secret valley, they were by necessity pushed to the back of his mind while he figured out the terms of his new position. Some weeks passed before he felt justified to so much as contemplate taking a day off to visit them again.
He knew he could order the helicopter again, but it seemed extravagant and wasteful, and after inquiring of the researchers who had access to the classified information about the Anai Valley, he discovered that a party of three people was actually heading to Camp AN-85 by snowmobile, and was possibly staying overnight. They were not intending to go to the valley itself, but merely to take some soil and plant samples from its edges. Scott immediately signed up to be one of the party, to which nobody had an objection. He gave instructions to Victor Nash, leaving him in charge. Nash looked as if he would have dearly loved to know where Scott was going and why, but he was not the type to ask questions if he could help it.
Snowmobiling to AN-85 took considerably more time than flying by helicopter, and had Scott been making his way alone, he would have felt insecure and vulnerable, crawling like an insect upon the great frozen terrain of rock, ice and snow. The team of scientists whom he had joined, however, were an experienced lot, and made their way to camp with brisk efficiency. Two men remained in charge of the overnight camp, while Scott in the company of Sue Ellis, head of the team, descended the trail leading towards the Anai Valley.
"I understand you mean to go within?" Sue said, not sounding very approving.
"Why, yes. I have the clearance, you know."
"I know you have. But the valley is no tourist site, Mr. Buckley. All our efforts so far have been to leave the Anai untouched, a perfect specimen of a primitive and harmonious culture."
Once again, Scott felt the undercurrent of anger within him stir. Specimen?
"I have my instructions, Ms. Ellis."
"Right. Well, your curiosity is understandable, and if you are going in anyway, I thought you might help us with this," she unzipped one of her pockets and took out two tiny, identical electronic devices.
"What's that?"
"Hidden cameras with direct transmission to the McMurdo Science Center. Solar-powered and very energy-efficient. You could tuck one in, say, between the crevices of an outer stone wall, and another in some little nook within their dwellings, and I'm sure no one would notice. Of course, there's little enough light inside, and it might not be enough even for this camera, and then when the dark season comes there would be no point in keeping the cameras on, but..."
"Ms. Ellis," Scott said with mounting irritation, "have you ever heard of the word privacy?"
She blinked. "It wouldn't hurt anyone, and would give us a splendid opportunity to observe the Anai just as they lead their daily lives, without making any alterations because of visitors. I don't see what there is to object to, Mr. Buckley."
"How would you feel if someone installed a hidden camera in your room?"
"That is neither here nor there. The Anai don't know what a camera is, even if they happen to notice it."
"Of course not. Because, according to our government regulations, they are not allowed access to such information, isn't that so? But you and I, blessed as we are with the knowledge of advanced technology, must know that it is immoral and unacceptable to spy on individuals who pose no threat to society."
Sue Ellis gave an exasperated sigh. "This isn't about threats, but about science. And yes, we do have to act with sensitivity, as the Anai are human. We can't very well implant transmission chips under their skin."
Scott's eyes narrowed. "Though you would love to, wouldn't you? To observe their movements within their natural habitat? I confess, I fail to see why the attitude towards the Anai is so condescending. They didn't strike me by any means as human beings of inferior intelligence."
Sue drew herself up to her full height. "I hope you aren't accusing me of racism or bigotry, Mr. Buckley. One of my grandmothers was African-American, another from Hawaii. That's on my mother's side. My father was half Indian, half Irish. And to top it all off, I am a woman. I have had to overcome many prejudices, and I hope that my professional attitude reflects that."
"I'm afraid," Scott said, "that both you and I are merely cogs in a great machine that makes decisions we have no authority to overrule. But when I have a choice, however little, between the ethical and unethical, my c
ourse is straight. I will not install hidden cameras in innocent people's houses, no matter who they are or where they live. And, with whatever authority I do have as the overseer of McMurdo, I will protect the rights and privacy of the Anai."
With an exasperated sigh, Sue put the cameras back in her pocket. "I know that Lindholm had taken you to see the Anai before he left," she said. "It seems he has done a fine job on you. You speak just like him."
"You flatter me," Scott smiled. There was no more to be said. Sue proceeded to collect some soil samples, while Scott descended into the valley, toward the rich mosses and swaying grasses, and the cozy little houses of stone.
It did not take long for the Anai to notice him, but the curiosity he received this time was just enough to make him self-conscious. People looked and waved at him, and then got back to their usual work. Several men were busy prying boulders out of the ground and hauling them to a cleared site where the foundations of a new house were being laid. A group of riotous little boys were having a competition with their little throw-spears, while nearby, a few girls with baskets were collecting long grass, no doubt to be dried and woven into more baskets, mats and other household items. Upon seeing Scott, they put their heads together, whispered and giggled.
Ri Omrek was near the house he shared with his sister and nephew. He was working at the vegetable patch, where neat rows of greens were poking their heads out of the ground. Once in a while, he tossed scraps of greens to the curious fat domestic fowl across the fence of their run. Upon seeing the visitor, the young man straightened up and smiled.
"Scott!" he said. "You come. Good to see. Sister and I, we speak, wonder when you come again."
Scott approached, and the two men grasped arms. "Good to see you too, Ri Omrek."
"Come inside. Sister is home. Then later, maybe go to river, yes?"
As they were about to enter the house, something collided with Ri Omrek from behind. It was his nephew, laughing, muddy and exuberant. There was mud all over his hands, a smudge on his cheek and nose, and even in his bright golden hair. Laughing, Ri Omrek picked up the little boy and issued a stream of words in the tongue of the Anai.
