The Last Outpost

by Hannah Ross

  Ne Riorag said goodbye to Scott on the edge of the village, and he proceeded to the house of Tahan on his own. Tahan was ready for the festivities, dressed in the same gown of saffron-colored fiber she had worn to the winter celebration, and a parka on top of it. Her hair, contrary to its simple fashion of last time, was pulled up in an elaborate construction of braids, with strings of beads interwoven between them.

  "This must have taken you quite a lot of time," Scott said admiringly, nodding at her hair.

  She smiled. "Yes. I don't often have time to arrange my hair this way. But it's not every day that my brother starts his own hearth."

  Egan was there too, ready and excited, with a little drum in hand. Tahan handed Scott a huge skin of the fermented grass brew favored by the Anai. "I didn't have to make food this time," she said. "Manari's family took care of it all. But I left my gifts in their new house – they will see them when they come in."

  They began walking in the direction of the central area, where all celebrations were held. The cooking fires were burning, and oil lamps were lit, and from afar, Scott smelled the staple of Anai feasts – whale steaks, well-roasted and finely seasoned. He felt his mouth begin to water.

  The young man and woman, dressed in their most festive attire, sat side by side upon a high seat made of ivory and piled up with sealskins. Manari was wearing a sleek long parka against the cold, but the skirt of her dress could be seen below – it was a gown of fiber in deep green, embroidered in purple spirals. Her hair was done up in a fashion similar to Tahan’s, with many braids interwoven and coiled around her head, interspersed by strings of beads.

  The area next to the couple was piled up with gifts from their friends and family. There were storage baskets in various sizes, clay pots and cups, cooking utensils made of ivory, stacks of tanned sealskins ready to be made into clothes, ivory figurines of whales, seals and penguins meant to convey the blessing of prosperity to their new home. There was even a thick sealskin mattress, stuffed either with grass fiber or penguin down, and a couple of cushions.

  Tahan, looking a little self-conscious, smoothed down her dress and walked over to the seat of the couple. All eyes were now drawn there, and the hubbub of talk and laughter died down. Only one drum remained, its rhythmic sound akin to a heartbeat.

  "People of the Anai," Tahan said, "today we celebrate a joyful event – the joining of my brother, Ri Omrek, and Re Manari. They will start a new home, a new hearth, and we ask the Spirits that their children may be born strong and healthy, and their family may prosper until the end of time."

  Tahan cast a look behind her, and Ne Riorag came forward, dressed in a long sealskin cloak that nearly brushed the ground. In his hand, he carried a staff made of ivory, and there were two thick lines smeared upon his forehead, one in red and one in black. He raised up his arms and face to the sky, and spoke:

  "O Spirits, before I request your blessing for this union, I will ask the man and woman if they are coming into it of their own free will, and in good faith. Ri Omrek, do you choose Manari for your woman, to protect and treat kindly and lovingly, to rejoice with her and comfort her in her grief, and provide for her and any children you may have, as long as you both live?"

  Ri Omrek, beaming, cast a quick glance at his bride. "This I will do, o elder, I swear," he said.

  Ne Riorag nodded in satisfaction. "And you, Manari," he turned to the young woman, "do you choose Ri Omrek for your man, to treat with love and kindness, to bring him your joys and your sorrows, and keep the hearth warm for him and for any children you may have, as long as you both live?"

  Manari cast down her eyelashes, and her hand squeezed the fingers of her betrothed. "This I swear to, o elder," she said.

  Ne Riorag raised his staff higher. "Then I call the blessing of the Spirits upon your union, and from this moment on you are man and woman of one hearth, one home, one family, and nothing can come between you as long as you both live. I wish you many years of happiness and prosperity."

  There was a round of whooping and clapping, and the drums and flutes broke into action at once. The people of the village swarmed into the circle, to give their congratulations to the new couple. Tahan, though she was the chieftainness and sister of the groom, held back and waited for the crowd to disperse, and in the meantime accepted a cup of the grassy brew Scott poured out for her.

  "I have never seen Omrek so happy," she said. "Our parents would have rejoiced to see him so."

  She looked in the direction of her brother, and her eyes shone with joy, but Scott noticed a wistful tone in her voice. "This must bring on memories," he said quietly.

  She turned to him and nodded. "Yes. I cannot witness a new hearth celebration without recalling the day when I sat in that seat with Daygan. I was so hopeful, so confident... so young."

  "You are still young."

  "Am I...? Yes, I suppose I am. Ne Riorag told me not long ago that it is ungrateful to act as if my life is at an end, when it is might be but just beginning. Harsh words, but they served to shake me awake, and I thanked him."

  "Did he say that on account of... of his son?" Scott couldn't stop himself from asking.

  "Ne Tarveg? Well... Ne Riorag did hint that he wouldn't object at all to receiving me as his daughter. But he is a just man. He knows my heart would not allow me to accept Ne Tarveg, either in the past or now. He may lament it, but he is not resentful."

  "Tahan..." Scott said slowly. "You know where Ne Riorag took me, don't you? There was no time to talk about it earlier, but..."

  Her face grew serious. "Yes. I had seen it too, the great beast frozen in ice."

  "I have never seen anything like it."

  "I wonder..." she bit her lip, "I wonder how many more monsters are frozen in ice like this. Do you think it might... come alive?"

  "No," Scott said quickly, "I don't think so." But he recalled the open gleaming eyes of the beast, so lifelike and vicious, and for a second he wasn't so sure.

  Egan tugged on the hem of his mother's parka. "Mother, let's go to Uncle," he said.

  They looked ahead. The crowd of well-wishers had dispersed. Some people moved to the cooking fires, to fill their plates and bowls with a share of the wedding feast, while others formed dancing circles, moving along and shrinking and widening to the sounds of music.

  "Come," Tahan said, placing a hand on his arm, "let us go and give our congratulations."

  They approached the bride and groom, who were still seated. They were sipping from the same ivory chalice, a beautiful, ancient-looking piece covered with writing and carvings of birds and fish. Ri Omrek bent to whisper something in the ear of his bride, and she blushed and smiled.

  As Scott and Tahan approached, the bride and groom got up, and Omrek grasped Scott's arm, while Tahan pulled Manari into a hug, and kissed her on both cheeks. "It gives me great happiness to receive you as a sister, Manari," she said. She then went on to embrace her brother, who put his arms around her affectionately, and then picked up his little nephew and sat him on his shoulder.

  "Thank you for everything, Tahan. I took a peek in the house earlier. The grass mats are beautiful, and nobody could have arranged the cooking hearth as well as you."

  "And the entrance flap, too," added Manari. "Not a single draft of wind can pass through! It will be a snug house to live in."

  Tahan smiled. "I hope you enjoy your first night there," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  "Tahan," her brother said, "I am a happy man tonight. But I will be made yet happier when I see you in this seat, sharing the blessing of the Spirits with the man of your choosing."

  She gave a slight shake of the head. "Ah, Omrek, who knows what may happen? Let us take joy in what the Spirits let us have tonight."

  "Scott, are men and women joined in a similar way, in your home country?" Omrek asked.

  "Um... not quite," Scott said. He recalled the lavish wedding celebration, planned a year ahead, that he and Brianna had in their time - the glossy bridal catalogs, the e
ndless trips to various photographers, DJs, caterers, cake-makers, decorators, Brianna's delighted agonizing over thousands of wedding dresses – princess style, mermaid style, snow-white, cream, glittery, plain. Thousands of dollars for a dress that would be worn for a few hours, and discarded for a lifetime; an expensive, exaggerated celebration that had nothing in common with the simple rituals of the Anai. "Congratulations, Omrek," Scott said. "I wish you many years of joy."

  "Thank you, friend. But why are you standing there? Go dance. I want you both to dance. Manari and I will join you soon."

  A light rain began to fall again, but nobody paid heed, and the wedding celebrations lasted for hours and hours.

  Chapter 18

  When Scott made it back to McMurdo, he was exhausted. It was morning (though nothing in the dark sky indicated that it was so), and particles of snow began to swarm around him in a threateningly increasing way, pointing to a blizzard just at hand. Some of them felt like hard, offensive particles on the raw and exposed part of his face, the part not protected by goggles and a thick scarf.

  It was breakfast-time, but he wasn't feeling particularly hungry. What he wanted most was to creep quietly to his quarters and sleep for several hours, but his nagging conscience did not permit him to do that. The station was astir as people poured out of building 155, bending their heads against the freezing wind, and dispersed about their business. Several nodded to him as they passed, and said something that might have been 'good morning', but the wind and the scarves and parkas muffled their words.

  Scott directed his steps to the office, where he revived a little over a cup of very strong black coffee and a pre-packaged sandwich he had got from a vending machine. The supplies of the vending machines were getting scarce, and some people were beginning to grumble over the decreased possibility to snack to their heart's content at all hours of the day and night, but overall, Scott preferred the meals at the galley anyway.

  He opened the office laptop and logged in to his email. A single recent message from the headquarters somehow managed to get through the overall server chaos. It contained a few general directions, hopes that McMurdo was holding on reasonably well, and a few links to news reports several days old, which made his heart sink. A series of bombings the Pentagon had not been able to predict or thwart had hit the very heart of America. Tens of thousands of people from coast to coast had lost their lives, hundreds of thousands were driven away from their homes and fled to the countryside. Scott searched in vain for any mention of Madison, but he found out that the state of Wisconsin had experienced its share of the bombings as well. He sent a short, frantic email to his parents and Laura: Please get in touch if you can. I think I'm going to lose my mind with worry.

  Overall, he was not in a very good mood when he heard the knock on his door, and the brisk voice of Victor Nash asking for permission to come in.

  "Any news?" Scott asked with cold politeness, taking another sip of coffee but not offering Nash any.

  "Oh, nothing special. Unless you count the fact that the temperature in the living quarters has dropped to make them barely habitable, that the trickle of water in the showers is lukewarm at best, and that the dinner fare at the galley has been spaghetti with canned meatballs for three days in a row now. But that's business as usual around here these days."

  Scott squinted at him. It was true – the buildings were cold, and he hadn't taken off his parka when he came into the office. "We have less residual glycol for heating these days," he said. "We must conserve energy and supplies. But it's all under control."

  "That's what I told people. I hope you had a pleasant trip, anyway," Nash said with a very nasty smirk.

  Scott put down his coffee cup. He was tired and disoriented after a sleepless night, and had no patience for Nash. "Do you have anything else to say?"

  Nash came closer. "Just that you are bloody irresponsible, Buckley," he said in a quiet, dangerous snarl. "You just took off all alone, in a bloody snowmobile, and buggered off to AN-85? What about the safety regulations? You could have been caught in this goddamn blizzard," Nash indicated the window, which had become a grey and white and black blur because of the snowstorm.

  "I am touched by your concern."

  "In case you are wondering, Buckley, I don't give a damn about you. If you want to get yourself frozen to death, it is fine by me. You have responsibilities, however, though it's easy to forget about them while you're out there having a damn good time eating grilled penguin or whatever it is that the Anai hospitality offers."

  Scott glared at him. The worst of it was, he was not untouched by a twinge of guilt. His head was so full of the Anai, and their mystery, and their music, and Tahan... he had danced with her again last night, and for a moment, almost forgot all about home and the war ravaging the world. None of the other people at McMurdo had the luxury of such an escape.

  "I have work to get on with, Nash, so if you don't mind..."

  "Work. Yes, of course. We all have work to do, don't we? Only it seems ironic to me that we are freezing our backsides off and living off canned beans, while those savages down in the valley are snug and warm, and gorging themselves on meat."

  "You are raving, Nash. The Anai live in primitive conditions and work very hard all summer in order to have food for the winter."

  "You love them just as much as old Lindholm did, don't you?" Nash sneered. "Well, this must be why he chose you to replace him. Well, have a good day, Buckley."

  As soon as Nash stepped out, Scott got up and, in a very bad mood, stomped on to the door of his office and locked it. He then got back to his desk, spent a couple of hours catching up with whatever work remained to be done – which, thankfully, wasn't much, because he wasn't feeling very productive – and went out of the office and in the direction of the galley well before lunch. He picked up a couple of the premade sandwiches and wraps that were always kept for those staff members working irregular hours, and headed for his quarters. He ate, read a bit of an old battered paperback from the station's library without really taking it in, and stretched out on his bed. A couple of hours of sleep would hopefully refresh him and leave him in a fitter condition to attend to his duties.

  When he woke and glanced at the clock, he thought at first it must be upside down. It was just after dinner, and he was sorry to have missed it, because he was feeling quite alert and hungry, and would have liked to eat something more substantial than a sandwich. He stretched, however, and prepared to examine the contents of his little fridge, when he saw something that improved his mood.

  Someone had slid a note under his door. In an untidy scrawl, it said the following: Did you think you could keep your birthday a secret? We know all about it, and have a surprise ready for you. Come over to the greenhouse after dinner tonight. Jerry.

  An involuntary grin spread over Scott's face. His birthday, in fact, had passed a few days ago, but went by largely unnoticed in the turmoil of the world and the general gloom and concern hovering over the station. He didn't think to mention it, and had no idea how Jerry found out about it, but this was very like him. The 'surprise' probably involved a generous libation of some illegally distilled alcohol, consumed to a few jazzy numbers in the greenhouse. This might be just what he needed, however. He wondered how many people would come to the clandestine party and challenge his professional conscience. Holding the event in the greenhouse made perfect sense, however – it was by far the warmest place at McMurdo these days.

  Scott put on his outer clothes and left building 155, directing his steps to the greenhouse. It was unlocked, and the lights were turned off for the night, but he wasn't fooled. Jerry must be in there somewhere, and probably Zoe as well, and maybe a few other people . He stepped in, feeling for the light switch. "Gordon, man, are you in here?" he called, suppressing a smile.

  The next thing he experienced was a strong blow and a feeling of abrupt suffocation. Someone had hit him on the head and pulled a sack over it. He attempted to scream, but a strong hand was cla
sped over his mouth. Then there was another blow, and the world went quite black.

  ***

  Scott woke up, he didn't know how much time later, with a feeling of dizziness, nausea, and utter disorientation. The sack was removed from his face, but he couldn't see much in the dark. He did perceive the outline of a familiar steel-and-plastic working surface, however, all crowded with pots of bushy plants, and concluded that he was still in the greenhouse. He was tied up at the wrists and ankles and pushed into a seldom-cleaned corner. A bit of duct tape kept his mouth firmly shut. He felt bruised and thirsty and stiff from his uncomfortable position on the floor, and his head was sore and aching, but above all, he was furious with himself. Like an idiot, he fell for the simplest lure and walked right into the trap. He would have loved to kick himself as he thought of what Nash might be doing while he was lying here in a useless heap.

  He didn't know how much time passed – it slid by in annoyingly slow dollops, with him unable to do anything but try to assume a position on the hard floor that would be a little more bearable – but all of a sudden, the lights in the greenhouse were flipped on at once, and there was the sound of footsteps, and a frantic voice called out, "Scott? Scott, are you in here?!"

  It was Zoe. He pulled himself together and made as loud a voice as he could – a pathetic muffled mooing sound – while his lips were still glued together. This brought the desired effect, however. The steps hastened forward in his direction, and her voice called out, "over here, Jerry, he's here!"

  "Goddamn it," Gordon swore, approaching and easing him into a sitting position. "Hang on, Buck, this is going to hurt."

  The duct tape was pulled off his mouth, and though his lips seared and burned, and were split in one corner, Scott's rage prevented him from feeling any of it properly at that moment. "Nash," he managed to rasp, while the concerned faces of Jerry and Zoe hovered over him.

  "We thought so," Zoe nodded, holding a bottle of water to his lips. "Here, drink this. Are you badly hurt?"