|
|
John Carpenter's
 |
|
|
The Early Winter - Chapter 1
It was bad, but not as bad as it might have been for anyone else.
It's not that there weren't some familiar aspects to the environment…
Glaciers were a common sight in Norway. However, with 90% of the
entire planet's ice right under their feet, Antarctica was downright
daunting by comparison to the "homey" glaciers of their northern land.
Antarctica, the whole damn continent, technically qualified as a
desert, and while sunburn and dehydration may have been common health
risks associated with all deserts (this one included), hypothermia,
frostbite and snow blindness usually weren't. A world so alien, by all
rights, should not even exist on Earth. Some areas, bereft of all but
the most microscopic life, were so barren that not even ice dared
tread across the flat expanses of windswept, black rock… but these
areas were the minority, with ice, averaging well over a kilometer in
thickness, reigning supreme over an astounding 97% of the land. Barely
any flora or fauna existed inland… fungus, lichens, other minimalist
organisms eked out a deprived existence under the harshest conditions.
Being accustomed to cold weather was one thing, but the lethal
conditions of Antarctica, especially in late fall, was something else
entirely. It was below freezing as part of the norm, but it was
already March, and the weather was turning for the worse… the
temperatures would soon be plummeting to the wind-chilled -90° Celsius
range typical of the winters here. It also meant that they could kiss
the sun goodbye for a few months while the Antarctic winter immersed
the land in murderous winds and nearly subterranean blackness.
They'd barely settled in, and there wouldn't be much time to get the
outside work done.
It had been a couple years earlier, on the Norwegian Antarctic
Research Expedition that took place in 1978-79, that the anomaly had
first been detected. After much travel, the expedition, comprised of
Norwegians and a scattering of representatives of other northern
European countries, had established a base on a flat inland glacier
near the base of some mountains. The research team had been conducting
all the usual tests… seismic, meteorological, and biologic tests that
compose the majority of Antarctic studies. Nearing the end of their
stay, there was a surprise. Their instruments detected a local
disturbance in the magnetic field. It would've been easy to overlook,
and indeed may have been before, but the newer, more sensitive
instruments that the scientists had at their disposal picked it up,
though there was no explanation for why they hadn't picked it up
earlier in their tests. Certainly not as strong as the Earth's own
South Pole, there was, nonetheless, another significant magnetic force
causing interference in the scientists' expected readings.
The readings, while unusual, didn't cause any undue alarm. Rather,
considerable curiosity. There was postulation as to what could have
been the source. A mountain with a high amount of magnetized iron was
suggested, though they had to wonder how they'd not picked that up
sooner. Another explanation was a gigantic meteorite… A notion which
more than one member of the party entertained with more than a little
speculative excitement. It was possible… Some meteorites had been
known for high levels of iron. With the seismic vaulting that had been
pushing the ice around for all these years, a meteorite that landed
before recorded time could have finally made it to the surface, or at
least near enough the surface to be detected. It didn't even appear to
be too far away. This late in their stay, though, there wasn't much to
be done about it, except report it with the rest of their findings and
hope a subsequent expedition could be assembled to take a closer look.
That subsequent team, comprised of 8 Norwegians, a Swede and a German,
now returned to the ice encrusted camp where the first team had dug in
and uncovered a mystery. The insistence that the readings could have
been a gigantic meteorite, and the popular, though debated, theory
that such a thing could've caused the extinction of the dinosaurs,
caused a stir. Though there may have been another expedition planned
anyway, this one certainly wasn't basing itself 100% on the conjecture
of scientists (reputable though they were). Therefore, the only
necessary members of the original expedition would be Leif Erling, the
Norwegian meteorologist, and Wilhelm Krieger, the German seismologist,
with the rest of the scientists and crew being comprised of next
rotation personnel.
Being that Krieger had proven to be a strong researcher in both
seismology and glaciology, and had discovered the mystery signal to
begin with using a magnetometer, it seemed only appropriate for him to
be on the follow-up expedition. He had no complaints about that per
se, but being an excitable man, had adamantly fought for his entire
team to return. His team. Krieger was a good man, but was notoriously
stubborn, and sometimes assumed (incorrectly) that his way was the
right way, and that it was the natural way that things should be. His
pleas had not been heard. This had exasperated the 40 year old
Krieger, whose subsequent fit was still the talk of the Scientific
Committee on Antarctic Research. Far from all that now, he was
embroiling himself fastidiously with fine-tuning the equipment in his
lab. Fastidious was a good descriptor for this man… He was thin,
dressed clean, shaved and kept his sandy brown hair short, brushed his
teeth after every meal. He was working in a far from a generous amount
of space… The earlier expedition that set up the camp was only eight
men, and they were two more this time around, which meant it was going
to be crowded. He was all moved in, at last, and it was time to start
getting some work done. He was eager to get out and look for the
source of the magnetic pull, but knew that it would be a bit before
they were ready for an excursion. He was certainly happy that the
generator had been running for the last couple days… It had taken that
long to drive the incessant and pervasive cold out of the building. It
was verging on being too warm, but only verging… Not enough to
complain about. Sighing and wiping the brow on his high forehead with
the back of his hand (didn't there used to be hair there?), he put his
glasses back on and walked slowly over to a bare wall to put some
charts up.
On the other side of the room was the meteorologist Erling. With
extensive knowledge of the upper atmosphere and paleoclimatology, he
was a natural choice to return to investigate a potential meteorite
finding. He was also a charismatic man whom people liked a great deal,
though he appeared to be oblivious to his own charm (and possibly
perpetuating it for that reason). At 32 he had more than earned his
marks with his professionalism and demeanor. He was the kind of man
with whom others didn't mind being cooped up with for months. He
thoughtlessly hummed an unknown tune as he unboxed his equipment,
moving quickly. He wasn't especially physically fit, but fit enough.
The Antarctic had a way of melting the kilos off of one's waistline, a
side effect he rather enjoyed. He was less well-groomed than the
German shuffling back and forth on the other side of the room,
sometimes having to push his only slightly too long black bangs out of
his face. He gave a thoughtful scratch to his stubbly chin as he
contemplated where to put the newest piece of gear he'd excavated from
his boxes. After a moment's consideration, he decided it could simply
wait a little bit. He thought frequently of their magnetic anomaly,
but at the moment it could wait in favor of more immediate concerns.
He turned from his cluttered table of instruments headed towards the
nearest door, to unpack some personal items and find out whom he was
bunking with. Sensing eyes on his back, he secretly hoped it wouldn't
be Krieger.
Exiting the science building and entering the smaller administration
building (where the quarters were) was a matter of opening the door
and walking through. Up ahead, he could hear swearing coming from a
room up on his left. Recognizing the voice, he rounded the corner into
the room and saw Henrik Forsell struggling with a heavy piece of radio
equipment. "Let me help you with that," Erling offered, hurrying over
to ease his companion's strain. "Goddamn, it never does get any
lighter," grunted Forsell, as they moved the deceptively heavy gear to
a table. The gear really wasn't that unmanageable, but Forsell was a
short, wispy man, and upper body strength wasn't one of his strong
suits. While it would've been helpful in a general sense, it wasn't a
necessity for someone who spent most of his time sitting at a radio
and looking at tall, blonde women in girly magazines. "Watch your
fingers," Forsell warned, as they placed the metal-cased box on the
nearby table with a resounding thump. To Erling, even with the clutter
of boxes, the radio room seemed unjustifiably huge by comparison to
the room Krieger, Egeland, Lundestad and himself were forced to
co-occupy. He figured, though, that it wouldn't seem so after the rest
of the considerable amount of radio equipment was set up. Erling had
worked with Forsell in the past. He was good at his job, exploited the
perks maybe a little too much, but generally didn't cause trouble. He
reminded Erling of a rat… Not in behavior, but appearance. He was
small and slight of build, had medium length scruffy blonde hair , had
a pointy nose and receding chin, complete with overbite. He was kind
of greasy, and didn't bother with much in the way of personal
appearance. Erling fancied that the girls in Forsell's porno mags were
as close as he usually got to real women on the mainland. "Thanks for
the help," Forsell smiled, forcing Erling's mind back to reality.
"Glad to do it," Erling forced a smile, trying to push thoughts of
Forsell's sex life out of his mind. "I'm gonna go check out who I'm
bunking with, so I'll see you later. Holler if you need more help,"
Forsell acknowledged him with a mumble, already distracted by some
other item still resting snugly in it's box. Turning and leaving the
room, Erling could hear Forsell grappling with the next piece of
equipment, and as he walked down the corridor, felt a little sorry for
him.
The rec room was usually where people went to get away from the
usual business, but for Ulf Bergstrom, it was be best place to go to
conduct it. Aside from his sleeping quarters, which even he had to
share, the rec room was the closest place to get his own work done.
Plus, the men wouldn't be able to get too comfortable (a little too
comfortable) if he made himself a fixture there. Even with only 9
other men to manage, the job of Team Leader could have its demands. He
was Swedish, but fortunately he and the Norwegians, and even the
German, could communicate fairly well in their respective native
languages, similar as they were. Barring that, they all knew enough
English to get by, but it otherwise didn't seem like a necessity to
speak it. All had not gone smoothly in their set up of the camp… They
had left the main South African base of Sanae about 6 weeks ago with
their equipment, and bad weather had delayed their arrival by nearly a
week. They discovered, when they got to the camp, just how badly it
had deteriorated in the 3 years since it was last occupied, and had to
hold off on moving their equipment in until adequate repairs could be
made to make the buildings inhabitable again. He strongly questioned
the previous expedition's choice in constructing wooden buildings on
the ice rather than the half-buried pre-fab buildings and Quonset huts
that constituted the norm, and had a strong sense that these
structures really weren't intended to be returned to. It was a
setback, but renovating the buildings was a moderate organizational
success which Bergstrom took credit for no small part of. He didn't
view himself as a control freak, but he was sure that at least some of
the others did. The thought didn't bother him… At the very least it
would mean that they had a degree of respect for him, and that was the
important thing. It was his job to keep things running smoothly and on
schedule, and he took that job seriously. If that meant he had to be
an asshole, then that was okay by him. This was a good crew, though,
and he doubted it would come to breaking anyone's balls over matters
of administration. Well, at least the scientists, anyway. The support
staff were professionals just as with the rest of them, which was a
necessity to success in an environment such as this. They were,
though, considerably more "rough around the edges" than the men that
were here to dig holes, fly balloons, and look through microscopes. He
was thinking specifically of that mechanic Jans Bolen; chief of
transportation Harald Enger; that unkempt radio operator Henrik
Forsell; and of course Edvard Staalset, the camp cook. Staalset's
presence was particularly irksome to Bergstrom… In actuality, it
wasn't Staalset personally who got under Bergstrom's skin, so much as
the reverence he was given by the other men. He could whip up Swedish,
German, and Norwegian culinary delights quickly, handily, and
deliciously, and the men loved him for that in a way that Bergstrom
wouldn't ever be able to match. A more base part of Bergstrom's mind
regarded Staalset as a threat to his authority, though of course that
was ludicrous. Snorting unamusedly at the thought, Bergstrom's chair
clattered back on the wood floor as he rose from it. Tugging his
trousers up and tucking his shirt back in over his paunch. He grabbed
a comb and dragged thin, grayish hair over his bald spot, pushed his
glasses back up into place, and decided to go see just what Bolen,
Enger, Forsell, and Staalset were up to.
Turning right from the room into the corridor, he plodded past men's
quarters. Bergstrom noticed the meteorologist Erling coming his way.
He was glad to see Erling… He'd never worked with him before, but had
grown to like the man in the short time they'd been out on this
expedition. He was a hard worker. As they met in the corridor, Erling
felt a little short when standing next to Bergstrom… In truth, Erling
was of average height. It was Bergstrom's height, at noticeably over 2
meters tall, that was the deciding factor. "Chief, any idea who I'm
bunking with?" Erling asked with earnest curiousity. "Right now, I've
got you set up with Hoiland in room A5," he said, pointing back the
way he came. "How does that sound?" Shrugging, Erling replied, "Sounds
fine to me, thanks," He smiled brightly, moved past Bergstrom, and
continued down the corridor. Bergstrom watched him go, then turned and
resumed his course to look for the others.
In room A5, Erik Hoiland was unpacking his personal belongings. He was
an older man, but reasonably fit. Being the camp physician, it
would've been setting a poor example to the others had he not been in
good shape himself, and this was something he was conscious of. He
didn't look like one would expect a doctor to look like. With a full,
bushy brown beard and wavy hair parted on the side, his mountain-man
appearance belied his average physical stature. Standing up to get
another of his bags from the corner, it didn't look like his roommate
had done much more than toss a couple bags in the room before heading
off to do whatever. That was okay. At least the bags weren't on his
side of the room. Hoiland knew Erling by reputation only (just as
Erling knew Hoiland), and knew that the man was an excellent
meteorologist, if a somewhat less-than-ideal roommate. He thought it
would be, at the least, an interesting experiment. As the camp
physician, his duties were fairly routine, and though there could be
some satisfaction from routine duties, it could get boring, too. He'd
minored in psychology, and enjoyed applying those skills. Of course,
all the men on the expedition had been rigorously tested for
psychological stability, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't need
someone to talk to on occasion. That is when Hoiland enjoyed his job
the most. He was a single man, unlike some of the others here, and
having spent a good portion of his 38 years being alone, he enjoyed
the interaction and camaraderie that could be found in a camp such as
this. He considered for a moment how he rather liked the isolation.
Erling's brisk entrance to the room shook Hoiland from his momentary
reverie.
"Hello, Hoiland," Erling smiled and extended a hand.
"Hi, uh… I'm sorry, I forgot your name. It's Leif…" stammered the
doctor.
"…Erling," the other man replied shaking Hoiland's hand vigorously,
unoffended by the doctor's misstep.
Trying to sound comfortable, Hoiland asked, "Didn't you, uh, discover
the meteorite that brought us here?"
"Well, it's only a suspected meteorite," Looking off to the side, he
added, "…and Wilhelm Krieger discovered it. Don't let him hear you mix
it up," Erling added with a sly smile.
"Ah," said the doctor, smiling. He'd worked with Krieger before, and
knew the score there. Doing his best to move the cozy chit-chat along,
he added, gesturing, "I don't have much stuff here, I'll do my best to
not get it in your way." He sat down on his bunk and turned back to
unpacking, and taking the hint, Erling moved over towards his own bunk
and started going through his own bags.
Hoiland looked up as two more men peeked into the room.
"Olav!" he called out.
The older of them, a frail looking balding man with obvious joy on his
face, entered the room to meet his friend. Hoiland rose from his bunk
to meet him, shaking his hand and placing his other hand on the man's
shoulder affectively.
"You next door?" asked Hoiland, indicating to the wall to his right.
"Yes, we're in A4," replied Olav. "Bunking with Erling?" he asked,
gesturing to Hoiland's own roommate.
Erling, who had been watching interestedly, rose to shake the older
man's hand. "Nice to see you again," said Erling. He knew of Olav
Lundestad's work as a biologist, but didn't know him well personally.
The other man entered the room then, acknowledging Hoiland and Erling
with a smile and a handshake each. "Gustav Egeland, physicist," he
said, introducing himself, though they'd already met. The two men
interrupted each other in their greeting of Egeland, with Hoiland
adding, "You're too well-known to go around introducing yourself like
a nobody," and smiling, added, "Take care of that old fool you're
rooming with," nodding towards his beaming friend Lundestad.
Smiling, Lundestad led Egeland out of the room and entered the room
adjacent to Hoiland and Erling. Egeland was well aware of the fact
that he was already known to the other men… Not just because they'd
already been around each other for weeks while traveling and getting
the buildings renovated, but because he was aware that his work was
prominent. He was trying to affect an air of humility when introducing
himself, but it was an act. He knew he was hot stuff, but at least had
sense enough to not be obvious in reminding others that he was. He
felt ambivalent towards the other men, only retaining their names out
of the sheer necessity of doing so. He was not happy about having to
share a room with Lundestad, but would have felt the same about
sharing a room with anyone. In fact, Egeland was not happy about being
here at all… It was a sense of necessity, rounding out his career and
creating new opportunities for himself, that motivated the man. Also,
for the amount of work, the cash flow was more than comparable to
other assignments. He didn't care for the company of others, and one
would think that at the ass-end of the world, you wouldn't have to
deal with people much. In retrospect, he shouldn't have been surprised
at just how close a proximity he'd have to have with others. Being
cooped up in a tiny camp with nine other men was bad enough, let alone
the company of smiley windbags who felt it necessary to act like
friends. The wheezing old biologist unpacking his bags on the other
side of the room was already getting on his nerves with attempted
chit-chat and joviality. It was going to be a long, long winter.
Lundestad had no idea at all that he was the object of such contempt
by his roommate. He'd lived a lot of years, and spent most of that
time optimistically accepting people at face value. It had been his
good luck that most of the people he encountered were worthy of that
trust, with few exceptions. He wrote off those who weren't as just
being of a different mindset. It takes all kinds, he justified to
himself. He had a beloved wife at home, whose framed picture he placed
near his bunk (to Egeland's silent disgust), and though he missed her,
there were things he looked forward to when he was on assignment. He
enjoyed travel and people. He hoped to be able to like Egeland… It was
so much easier for the time to pass by when you were able to get along
with your roommate, and as far as he knew, this was Egeland's first
time on the ice. At least 15 years his senior and not new to
Antarctica, Lundestad would help the younger man if he could, if
Egeland would let him. No pressure… Just a sunny attitude and
comforting presence to make Egeland feel welcome and not so far away
from everything else. That's what a person needs to keep sane down
here, he thought to himself. That, and keeping busy with his work.
Lundestad was looking forward to his studies and tests with the zeal
of a man who loves his work. Whether it was Antarctica or anywhere
else, there was a job to do… Things were so unusual and fascinatingly
bizarre down on this continent that he very nearly couldn't get enough
of it, and was glad to be assigned to the job once again.
Still in the admin building, Bergstrom approached the radio room on
his right. He didn't hear any sound coming from it, and felt heat
build up under his collar. Now standing square in the doorway, he
looked at the gaggle of packed and unpacked boxes of radio equipment
laying silently about, with Forsell nowhere to be found. He grit his
teeth and navigated through the clutter to the door on the left.
Perhaps on the other side of that door, in the science building, there
would be more progress. He opened the door and entered the laboratory.
He could see that Hoiland, Lundestad, and Egeland had staked out their
territory, and while things weren't 100% in order, they looked good.
Smiling to himself, he took another door to his left and entered
another lab… this one being Krieger and Erling's room. On the right
side of the room, Krieger was setting up his tidy workspace. Krieger
looked up long enough to acknowledge him and say "hello", and was
right back to work. Now that, Bergstrom thought, is a man to be
admired. He could see that Erling's equipment was at least somewhat
set up on his left, though apparently his progress was slower than
Krieger's. He continued through the lab, passing by the oblivious
Krieger, and walked through the doorway leading to the kitchen.
Edvard Staalset, in his early 20s, was the youngest member of the
team. Despite the notion others might have about the lowly camp cook,
he was actually quite bright, and an overall genuine person. He
enjoyed his work, too. Cooking for 3 nationalities was a challenge he
looked forward to, and satisfying their respectively finicky tastes
was a personal accomplishment for the man. He had been hard at work
since they got the buildings inhabitable, because he knew that if
there's one thing that helps make the environment livable, it's decent
food. The freeze-dried stuff they brought for the trip wasn't going to
last long, and he wanted to see to it that the men had something to
look forward to… especially after such an arduous time getting things
underway. It gladdened him that they seemed so appreciative of him,
and it drove him to do even better for them. He supposed that was why
he didn't mind this assignment so far… Here, his otherwise
unexceptional culinary skills would seem like gourmet dining every
day. Dinner was cooking… For himself and the other Norwegians, laks
and geitost were the dishes tonight. For the resident Swede, poached
fish and potatoes. For their German companion, it was going to be
dumplings and sausages. Moving slowly from one fragrant pot to
another, it was clear from looking at the man that Staalset enjoyed
sampling the goods along the way to completion. Not big enough to be
obese, he certainly didn't convey an aire of concern regarding
physical fitness. Dr. Hoiland would be on him about that. His round,
ruddy face drew into a smirk at the notion. He grabbed a handtowel and
dabbed beads of sweat off of his forehead, cheeks and chin, turned and
noticed the camp chief watching him.
"Hello, chief Bergstrom," Staalset said, nodding his head towards the
big man. "How do fish and spuds sound tonight?"
"Sounds like fish and spuds," murmured Bergstrom, not in any mood to
play jovial with the cook.
Staalset started a bit, and cast Bergstrom a slightly hurt look as he
turned back to his cooking. He sensed that Bergstrom didn't care for
him (for whatever reason), but this time was even more snipey than
usual. He could hear Bergstrom's heavy footsteps behind him, working
his way over to the other door. Staalset was relieved that he was
leaving.
Bergstrom inhaled deeply through his nose as he crossed the room,
absorbing the delicate smells. Good cooking, that was for sure, but
damned if he'd acknowledge it. As he reached for the door leading out
of the room, he couldn't help but wonder what genius designed a
science building with a kitchen, kennel, and garage in it. Hesitating
for one last subtle sniff, he resigned himself to the notion that they
just had to make do with whatever space they had, because it wasn't
going to get any better. Leaving the kitchen, a blast of cool air
whooshed past Bergstrom before he closed the door behind himself.
Staalset said nothing, of course, but the breeze felt rather nice in
contrast to the hot pots he was working over.
Bergstrom was now standing atop the stairs in a rather poorly lit,
poorly insulated high ceilinged room with a giant snow tractor in it.
It smelled like motor oil and wet fur. He could hear the wind whipping
about outside, and had a good idea of where Bolen and Enger would be--
outside, tying down the helicopter lines. He wasn't an accomplished
pilot like Enger, but he could take the stick if the situation
demanded it. That, and being the team leader, necessitated his
knowledge of how such things were handled when the weather got bad. He
descended the short staircase and turned to his left to go check out
the condition of the kennel. He undid the big latch and opened the
door. It was dim, but to his right he could see the fenced-in dogs
perk up at his entrance, probably eager for a visit (more likely for
some food). 6 beautiful Siberian huskies wagging their tails
expectantly. Bergstrom wasn't a big fan of the dogs, but they had
their use when it came to light excursions. A blast of flat out
bone-chilling wind pricked his back, and he turned to see Bolen and
Enger coming in on the other side of the tractor.
Suppressing a shiver, Bergstrom headed over to meet the men. Frosted
beards and black, slitted snow goggles peered out of the hooded blue
parkas of both men as they closed the door, slapping the snow off
their arms and bodies.
"How goes it?" inquired Bergstrom, still suppressing shivers, and
dispensing with any pretense of familiarity.
"Nasty wind out," volunteered Harald Enger, "Had to tie down the
chopper."
"I wasn't able to finish the engine maintenance, chief," offered Jans
Bolen. "The weather got too bad too fast. I'll have to finish it when
it clears up,"
Bergstrom looked perturbed, but kept a civil tongue. Addressing the
mechanic Bolen, he said, "Well, get to it just as soon as it does
clear up, okay?" Looking at Enger also, he continued, "We have work to
get done, and we'll need that chopper in top shape to do it."
Not waiting for acknowledgment of the command, Bergstrom turned to
work his way back around the tractor and into the warmer, better
smelling kitchen and rooms that lie beyond. Enger and Bolen cast
glances at each other as he went, tugging back their parka hoods and
pulling their goggles free from their faces.
"You know," began Bolen, "I wonder if we're the only guys in this
whole camp he picks on."
"Naw, I've seen him get real rude with Forsell and Staalset, too. I
think he has some sort of elitist thing going on with the scientists,
even though he's no scientist himself," answered Enger, heading toward
the kennel. "I'm gonna check on the dogs," he said over his shoulder
as he went. "Maybe you should get a look under the hood of the
tractor, before he comes back and crawls up your ass about that too,"
he said, smiling as he unlatched the door and disappeared into the
kennel.
Bolen smiled at Enger's back, stomped his feet to knock the snow and
ice loose, and walked around to the cab of the tractor. He leaned in
and pulled the release for the hood. This was an irritating job and he
didn't care for being reminded of his duties by an uppity Swede. The
harshness of the environment meant that he was adjusting the chopper,
tractor, and miscellaneous other mechanical devices to the cold on a
near-constant basis. The constancy of his duty helped alleviate the
boredom a little bit, but not a great deal. He liked some of the men,
such as Enger… That guy was fun to work with. He didn't have much use
for the scientists, nor they he, he figured, other than his keeping
the necessary mechanics in good working order.
Raising the hood and propping it up, his beard dripped thawing ice
into the engine compartment of the tractor. Bolen was a strong, hardy
man-- a necessity of his job, especially in this environment. He'd
been on the ice before, and had proven himself worthy off the job.
Being on the ice for an extended stay could be a curse for those who
had a short attention span… Bolen certainly fell into that department.
He enjoyed the change, but once you committed to it, you were there
for the duration. By the time he left the ice, he knew he'd be dying
to be anywhere else, but then, by comparison, anywhere else would then
be wonderful, for at least a little while. There wasn't anything at
all he particularly liked about being there, but it did give him a
good excuse not to shave. He knew that before too long, many of the
other team members, scientists or not, would be growing beards to help
keep the piercing ice and wind off their faces. He loved his beard,
but kept his hair no longer than medium length. It didn't do to have a
shaggy mess hanging in your face when working on one of these motors,
nor having it pulled in by some dangerous moving part. That was a
matter of preference for some, but a matter of practicality for Bolen.
He walked over and grabbed one of the hefty tool kits off a low shelf,
and lugged it over to the tractor. Switching from his big oversized
outdoor gloves to a pair of thinner wool ones, he began deftly
tinkering with the spark plug wires. Over the clinking of his tools,
he could hear the huskies barking excitedly, and Enger egging them on.
The dogs weren't Harald Enger's only responsibility, but it was the
one he enjoyed best. He could pilot a chopper with the best of them,
and drive that tractor all day, but if he had a choice he'd rather be
out with his sled dogs. There was something primal and simple about it
that struck a chord within the man. He joyfully patted them as they
leaped and yiped enthusiastically. Antarctica wasn't the worst place
in the world for Enger to be stuck. Though the larger cities of Norway
might have "old world charm" that tourists could appreciate, they were
just cramped and busy to Enger, and he didn't care for them. He'd take
work wherever he could get it, if there was no other choice, but if he
had an offer up in the mountains, or even up in the Arctic Circle,
he'd take it over a comparable job closer to civilization. It wasn't
necessarily people that he disliked… Some people, such as their
resident team leader, obviously had attitude problems that he couldn't
account for. "City folk", always in some hurry or another and tied up
with keeping modern, were the most irksome. Enger was an outdoorsman
at heart, and thoroughly believed that everyone could benefit from
taking two weeks off and camping in the mountains. He had a some-time
girlfriend back home whom he liked to go on his excursions with, but
they weren't especially committed, being more friends than lovers
(this did not, however, get in the way of their libidos when
circumstances allowed). With that pleasant thought putting a smile on
his face, he grabbed a shovel and started cleaning up the kennel,
depositing used hay and the dogs' waste into a large pail for disposal
later. He placed it outside the kennel, and then grabbing an armload
of hay, spread it about inside. The smell could've been abominable,
but the cold kept it at bay. The dogs are lucky they have such a thick
coat, Enger absently thought to himself as he attended to his work,
the wind whipping about on the other side of the wall.
Chapter 2
Return to the Fan Fiction
Index
|
|
