Ice Station Wolfenstein

Chapter 10

The expedition party had been divided into groups of three for the trip, because each vehicle had space for one pilot and three passengers. Apparently the groups had been decided in advance by Alexandr, who was traveling with Nina and Fatima. Dave Purdue, accompanied as always by Blomstein, was sharing his transport with the mysterious white-haired old man, leaving Sam to travel with Jefferson Daniels and Professor Matlock.

Sam shot Nina a despairing glance as he climbed into the hovercraft. Nina tried to give him a sympathetic look in response, but all she could manage was a smirk as she tried not to laugh at the thought of Sam stuck between Daniels and Matlock for the duration of the ride. She could not imagine that he would enjoy their conversation.

Alexandr climbed into the front seat, next to the pilot. Apparently they knew each other from previous expeditions, and they settled down and started chatting in Russian. Nina scrambled into the back, then Fatima followed her in and the door slid shut behind them and locked with a clunk.

"I'm glad you're in with me," Fatima said, buckling her safety belt. "I thought for sure that you'd be sharing with Purdue. What's the deal with him, anyway? I mean, I know he's trying to impress you and all, but… is it working? Do you like him?"

Nina sighed. "Ugh, it's a hell of a way to get what I want, isn't it? I know it seems really sleazy, but he's not all that bad. He's always been upfront about the fact that he wants to get me into bed, but he's been equally clear that he doesn't expect sex in exchange for funding this trip. He's always been disarmingly straightforward — I never told you about the first time I met him, did I?"

"You mentioned him, I remember. Wasn't it at some college thing?"

"That's right. It was last year's benefactors' ball. You know what I think of those. Anyway, I got chatting to him for a while and he was getting all excited about some kind of microscopic medical camera he'd been working on. I thought he was just another boring rich guy, albeit a slightly younger model than the rest. You know what it's like, usually they just ramble at you for a while and eye you up, but they never have the nerve to say or do anything. Well, he did. I had just about zoned out when he told me he had a suite at the Balmoral and wanted to know whether I would be interested in joining him there, since I seemed to be, and I quote, 'the perfect encapsulation of intellectual and erotic fascination.' No, seriously, that's exactly what he said! Stop laughing!"

Fatima could not help herself. She shoved her gloved hand against her mouth and tried to stifle the giggles, but her eyes were screwed shut and her shoulders were shaking. Nina smiled. She had fond memories of these giggle fits. Fatima felt everything very deeply, and when something amused her, it kept her entertained for ages. Hours, sometimes.

She remembered a particularly fraught time during finals fortnight when she and Fatima had been revising into the early hours. Having reached a point where even black coffee wasn't keeping them alert any more, they had each taken a handful of caffeine pills. Far from aiding their revision, the intense caffeine hit had sent both of them spinning off into such a wired, jittery state that neither of them had got any further work done. They had, however, spent the rest of the night laughing hysterically at a number of inconsequential things, while chain-smoking in an attempt to calm themselves again.

At length, Fatima's hilarity subsided and she let out a long sigh and settled back into her seat. "I needed that," she said. "I'm getting too old for all this expedition stuff, Nina."

"Bollocks. You're thirty-five."

"Yeah, but you know what I mean. I feel too old. I've done seven trips out here in the past nine years, and I've overwintered twice. That's a lot of time to spend in the Antarctic. I'm beginning to think that maybe it's time for me to hang up my cleats and maybe spend a whole year in one place. I think I'd like to work in a lab that's not in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere I could finish work at the end of the day, get in my car and pick up a pizza on the way home, you know? And I could make plans to hang out with my friends in Starbucks instead of on Skype. Wouldn't that be amazing?"

"I suppose," said Nina, picking at the skin around her fingernails. "Although I've got the opposite problem. I kind of envy you being out here, getting to do work that you actually care about. You're actually making a difference to your field. People take you seriously. I'm still spinning my wheels. Honestly, if I have to write one more stupid fucking conference paper on some bullshit topic that no one actually cares about but everyone writes about because it's fashionable… I will break something. Or someone.

"I don't mind teaching, but my schedule's so heavy most of the time that it doesn't leave a lot of room for writing anything that's important to me. I can hardly even remember the last time I got to do some proper, in-depth research rather than just rehashing part of my doctoral thesis and smearing it with a thick layer of whatever bullshit theoretical stuff happens to be popular at the time." She tipped her head back and stared at the roof of the hovercraft, watching the black canvas shudder as the vehicle whirred along. "It sucks. I'm actually considering getting out of academia altogether."

"What?" Fatima stared incredulously at Nina. "You can't be serious, Nina. You're good! You know you are! And you've come so far."

Nina laughed. "Have I? I don't know. Remember when we used to talk about how our lives were going to be, and you were going to be off unlocking the secrets of the permafrost and I was going to be writing books that would change the way the world thought about the past? God, I sometimes wonder what happened to those girls. I barely recognize myself these days."

"Everyone feels that way, Nina," Fatima said.

"Do they? Do you?" Nina shook her head. "I don't see why you would. You're actually doing the stuff you said you'd do. You get funding, you publish work that actually makes a meaningful contribution to your field… While I, apparently, can't even scrape together one lousy field trip unless some billionaire decides he's got the hots for me and bankrolls the whole thing. I just feel so… I don't know. Undermined, I suppose. I mean, I should be elated, right? We're here! We're in Antarctica!"

She gestured expansively at the whiteness beyond the narrow windows. "This is just the kind of research trip we all dream of, isn't it? The places we'd never have got to go if we'd had different jobs. This is supposed to be the payoff for all the hard work, the crap pay, and the constant neck pain from living behind a laptop screen. Our reward is that we get to make new discoveries and breakthroughs, right? And that when we do, we know it's because we worked so hard and earned the right to be there. Well, that's not how I feel just now. Right at this moment, I feel as if the only reason I'm here is because I've got nice tits, which makes me feel like a huge failure professionally."

"Hey now," Fatima chided. "Don't you talk like that! So you're finding that life isn't working out exactly the way you thought it would when you were young and naïve, so what? Mine isn't either. I was going to be Miss independent, remember? I was going to overwinter every winter because I could deal with the isolation and I didn't need other people in my life. Now look at me! All I want is to get to a point where I can settle down, stabilize my life, marry Evan, and live a happy, boring life. It's just what people do, Nina. There's nothing wrong with it." She glanced out of the window and caught sight of a familiar handful of buildings on the horizon. "Now lighten up — we're nearly at Novo, and if you're going to stay all whiny I'm going to switch places with Purdue. Ever had sex in a hovercraft?"

"No!"

"Me neither. It probably wouldn't be that great. My first boyfriend's car had a bigger back seat than this. But, you know, you and Purdue could find out what it's like. Totally out of academic interest, right? What was it again? A perfect combination of the erotic and the intellectual? You see? He didn't buy you into this trip just because he's hot for you — he's into your intelligence as well!"

Nina pulled a face as they slowed down and the buzzing of the hovercraft diminished. "Well, that makes it all better," she said. "Thanks, F. You're a real help!"

There are telephones in this building here—" Alexandr gestured at one of the handful of tiny prefabricated structures behind him—"and you may use them while we refuel if you wish. I believe Mr. Purdue has supplied a phone card in each of your packs, and this will be the last opportunity to telephone home before we reach Neumayer, where there is not yet a terrestrial phone connection. The satellite phone is not ideal for chit-chat calls, it is for emergencies only."

Roughly half of the little group shuffled off toward the phones. Fatima disappeared to speak to some of the Novo team members whom she knew already, taking Nina along to introduce her. Purdue collared Alexandr and demanded to be shown the hovercrafts at once, as impatient as a schoolboy. Jefferson Daniels and Professor Matlock, who both had wives and children back home, took the opportunity to seek out the phones, as did the elderly gentleman. For want of anything else to do, Sam tagged along behind them. With every step he took in the thick, fleece-lined boots and unfamiliar cleats, he cursed his decision to join the expedition.

When his turn on the phone arrived, he rang DCI Patrick Smith. There was no one else to call apart from his sister, and he had spoken to her on Christmas Day, just before leaving for the airport. She had been disappointed not to have her brother spend Christmas with her, but he could hear the relief in her voice when he told her that he was joining an expedition to research something he couldn't really talk about. That, she had said, sounded like the old Sam Cleave. A return to form. The first signs of Sam getting over what had happened that day in that warehouse.

Sam was glad that she had taken some comfort in what she had heard rather than worrying about his safety in such hostile terrain, but he had nothing further to say to her at present and he lived in dread of her tendency to put the toddler on the phone. "Uncle Sam" had little to say that he thought would be a suitable topic of conversation for a two year old. He had little to say to Paddy either, but at least he could check how Bruichladdich was doing.

"Aye, he's fine," Paddy's voice was distant over the crackly phone line. "Bruich's just fine. Thinks he's on his holidays. I come home after work and get a big ginger lump sat in my lap while I have my tea, and he gets a bit of whatever I'm having. It's a good system."

"That's good," Sam said with a smile. He knew that Smith would spoil the cat rotten before his return. "Thanks for looking after him. I'll probably be out of contact until we get back to Novo, so don't worry if you don't hear from me — I'm not planning to die out here and stick you with the big ginger lummox indefinitely. Scratch him behind the ears from me. I'll be back when I'm back, and in the meantime, Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Sam," said Paddy. "Hope you're having a good time out there. Stay safe."

Sam stepped out of the rickety booth and braced himself for another crunchy, slippery trip across the ice to rejoin the group by the hovercrafts. As he took his first steps he noticed the old man in the next booth, with the phone pressed to his ear and a blank expression on his face. Sam paused for a moment. The man did not appear to be engaged in a conversation. He did not look as if he was listening to someone on the other end of the phone. He simply looked as if he was not present.

Should I knock on the door? Sam wondered. See if there's anything I can do? He tried to watch surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye, but it was difficult to be subtle in such an empty place. There was nothing he could pretend to read or be preoccupied by, no reason he could think of for continuing to stand there. Maybe that's just what he's like, Sam thought. Maybe he's talking to someone who just likes to ramble on and he's not really listening. Maybe that's the kind of relationship he's got with his wife, or his kids, or something. Or maybe he's just pretending to be using the phone so that people won't think he's lonely. Kind of like what I was doing, I suppose… except without Paddy as a convenient cover. He wouldn't thank me for pointing that out. I should probably leave him be. I've been here long enough that if he wasn't ok, if he needed any help, he'd have said by now.

Sam turned away from the old man in the booth, left the ramshackle building, and picked his way across the ice toward the three waiting hovercrafts.

"And then I told Ran that you can't let these little things get you down, you just have to go for it," Jefferson Daniels was in full flow as the hovercraft sped over the ice, sweeping away the kilometers beneath its thick cushions. "I mean, yeah, of course his family is going to worry about a man his age setting out on that sort of expedition, but they were worried the first time he climbed Kilimanjaro and he was fine. If we all let ourselves be held back by our families, nobody would ever achieve anything!"

Sam leaned his head against the cold windowpane and stared out at the endless ice. He had expected there to be lots of snow in Antarctica, but all he had seen so far was ice — vast, dense sheets of it, all the way to the horizon where it met a slate-grey sky. A little way off he could see one of the other hovercraft buzzing along. He wished he was aboard it, rather than trapped in this confined space with Jefferson Daniels and Frank Matlock.

"That's why I told Paige that we can't stand in Henley's way," Jefferson droned on. "She's sixteen now, and if she's ready to compete we have to let her."

"Quite," Matlock chimed in. "Remind me though, what's her sport again? Skiing, was it?"

"Snowboarding. She was real close to the halfpipe speed record last summer, but then she broke her collarbone and now Paige is worried and thinks we shouldn't let her train any more. But I said to her that the girl's a natural, and if we take that away from her we'll just be mean old mom and dad, and what will it do to her competitive spirit? She's a great kid, and she gets that you have to work hard and push yourself to get ahead. Undermining that right now would be the worst thing we could do."

"Well, indeed. How is Paige, by the way? You must give her my love. I can hardly believe that it's been a year since I saw her last. The memory of her excellent New Year's Eve dinner lives on." Professor Matlock drew a deep sigh. "I think we can say with certainty that this year's celebration will not compare. What's happening here?"

Sam turned his head to look out of the window on the other side of the hovercraft. Following Matlock's line of vision, he saw that one of the other vehicles, the one which had been farthest ahead, was rapidly slowing down. "Looks like they have a problem," Jefferson said, as their own transport began to decelerate.

They came to a halt a short distance away. Partly curious and partly just bored of his companions, Sam wanted to climb out and find out what was going on, but the passenger door did not open. Only the pilot got out, returning some minutes later with Alexandr

"We have what you might call a minor issue," Alexandr announced, pushing his ski goggles up onto his forehead as he climbed into the cramped vehicle. "And we have what you might call a major one. The hovercraft in which Mr. Purdue is traveling is experiencing some slight difficulty with one of its air cushions. This is nothing that I cannot repair, but for that I would require time. This, unfortunately, we do not have. The Neumayer Station has alerted us that we are in the path of a storm, so we must make camp and wait it out before we continue our journey. Gentlemen, if you would be so good as to step outside, we shall erect the Space Station. With any luck, we shall be at Neumayer this time tomorrow." Abruptly, with no time for questions or responses, Alexandr ducked out of the passenger door and set off toward the remaining hovercraft.

Sam, Jefferson, and Matlock glanced at one another. "Best do as he says," Jefferson said. "Last thing we need is to get caught in a storm with no shelter. Antarctic weather gets pretty vicious." For want of a better idea, Sam obediently followed the other two out onto the ice, where Jefferson made a beeline for an orange duffel bag lying on the ground nearby. Sam wondered what was so important about it, but it quickly became clear as Jefferson tugged it open and began to take out canvas and an assortment of poles.

"That's the Space Station?" Sam was incredulous. "How is that going to keep us safe from a snow storm?" He lifted the canvas and rubbed it between his gloved fingers. "I've been to a T in the Park festival in sturdier tents than this."

"I doubt it," Matlock scowled. "Didn't you do any research before coming on this trip, Mr. Cleave? Ah, forgive me, that's a silly question to ask of a journalist."

Jefferson handed Sam a pole. "Here. Link this up with the other ones of the same color. You're looking at the last word in expedition technology, son. These tubes are reinforced scandium. You could drop an avalanche on this sucker and we'd all be safe inside. It's coated with titanium oxide, too, so you're safe from radiation down here where the ozone layer's at its thinnest. Trust me, if we're not going to make it to Neumayer today, there's nowhere I'd rather be than in a Space Station."

Not even the pub? Sam thought. All he needs to do is grin into the camera and let the light flash off his teeth and he'd be the perfect commercial for whoever makes these tents. With clumsy hands he fitted the poles together while Jefferson and Matlock laid out the canvas and prepared the guy ropes. Within a few minutes they had been joined by Alexandr, Nina, and Fatima, and between the six of them they made short work of getting the tent up.

Sam had to concede that it looked a lot more impressive once it was up. The strange apricot color was a little incongruous with the white surroundings, but it was comforting to see something so obviously built by humans in the vast expanse of nothingness. As the wind began to pick up around them, the little group filed gratefully into the tent. It was spacious inside, with more than enough room in the semi-sphere to accommodate everyone's sleeping bags, and although Sam did not relish the prospect of sharing a communal sleeping space with so many near-strangers, he was glad of their body heat as the air temperature inside began to creep upward.

Alexandr had just set up the little Jetboil stove and began to heat some water when Purdue, Blomstein, and the old man arrived. It made sense to Sam that the old man had waited in the hovercraft while the tent was erected, but he thought it was a bit rich that both Purdue and his bodyguard had not come over and helped. Still, any animosity was quickly dispelled by the prospect of food — he was beginning to realize how quickly he was burning off calories in the Antarctic, and it felt like a long time since the PowerBar he had snacked on at the start of the hovercraft journey. He never would have imagined that rehydrated macaroni and cheese could smell so appealing, but as soon as the boiling water hit the sachet of dried food, his mouth began to water and he gripped his spork tightly in anticipation. Alexandr passed the sachets around, followed by steaming metal mugs of tea, and for a while the tent was silent apart from the sounds of titanium cutlery scraping silicon dishes.

"Well, that might not be the fanciest New Year's Eve dinner I've ever had," Nina commented as she drained the last of her tea, "but it was certainly the most welcome."

"You get used to the high-fat, freeze-dried stuff pretty quickly," said Fatima. "It's when you get home and have to go back to a normal diet that the trouble begins. The first time I came here I prepared by drinking pints of extra thick cream to get my weight up, then when I got back to British Columbia, I didn't have an excuse to down four thousand calories a day anymore."

Sam thought back to the diet he had been on for the past few weeks, prior to their departure. He had received a delivery the day after he had agreed to join the expedition — Purdue's doing, of course — full of high-fat, high-calorie foods, a diet sheet and a note reminding him that the harsh conditions they would face would require him to bulk up. Although he was a wretched cook and disinclined to eat anything other than cereal at home, Sam had a policy of never turning down free food. He had devoured everything Purdue sent with a will, but his metabolism was still swift and he had not managed to gain more than few pounds by the time they set off.

He had also been instructed to lay off the whisky, but that was never going to happen. A period of few weeks was nowhere near enough for Sam Cleave to quit smoking or drinking. He had made the decision that he would just have to take his chances. Of course, when he had done that he had imagined the Antarctic to be more or less like Scotland but with more snow. Here in this frozen wilderness, where the snow did not lie in fluffy drifts but whistled like bullets around the outside of the tent, he began to wish that he had had more time and inclination to prepare. Looking around the group, he wondered whether any of them — with the exception of the seasoned Antarctic explorers — were anywhere near tough enough to be making this crazy trip.