Hannah Ross - The Last Outpost - An Antarctic Dystopia

“These fish, they are very good,” he said.

“Easy to catch,” said Ri Omrek. “I can teach. I show Anders how to catch with spear — remember, Anders?”

Lindholm nodded. “Easy enough even for an old geezer like me.”

“I’d love to learn,” Scott said, hardly aware of his own words. He felt as if he had somehow stepped into a scientist’s paradise. The valley of the Anai could surely provide learning material for a lifetime.

“This, I fear, is the last time for me to sit and eat one of your stews, Ki Tahan,” Lindholm said, setting his spoon down regretfully. “A ship will soon come to take me home. I came today to say goodbye.”

It took a moment for the impact of his words to sink in. Ki Tahan and her brother exchanged a concerned glance. The little boy, oblivious, set his empty bowl aside, climbed upon his mother’s bed and reached for his ivory-carved toys.

“You… going away, Anders?” Ki Tahan frowned. “To your home land beyond the Great Sea?”

He nodded.

“This is sad. You are friend, and will be missed. But… you going away, never come back?”

“I don’t think so,” Lindholm said gently.

“But what of your village here, across the Frozen Bay?”

“Scott here will take my place. He is a good man, will be a friend to you,” Lindholm said.

Ri Omrek looked at Scott as if attempting to read his face. “He is good man, I am sure,” he said, “but… it is still sad you go away, Anders. I am happy you go to see your home, still. You miss home, yes?”

“Yes,” Lindholm said, “my children are there. I am old, and home is calling more strongly than ever before.”

Ki Tahan laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “We never forget you,” she said.

Sitting upon the comfortable stool in this strange and beautiful little dwelling, Scott was hardly aware of the passage of time, but Lindholm, checking his watch, brought him back to reality and pointed out that the pilot will be expecting them soon. It was time to say goodbye to Ki Tahan and Ri Omrek who, with many good wishes and kind words, walked with them to the edge of the valley. Ri Omrek then surprised old Lindholm by embracing him, and Ki Tahan took off an ivory pendant hanging on a leather strap from her neck and gave it to the old man. The pendant was beautifully carved in the form of a seal, lifelike and made in intricate detail.

“Ki Tahan, this is too much,” Lindholm feebly protested.

“Not much. My father make this. I want you to have it, to remember me by.”

In a gesture of affection, she grasped the old man’s arm. Lindholm blinked rather rapidly, took the pendant, put it into one of his pockets, and zipped it up. “Farewell, my friends,” he said. “I am grateful for having known you.”

In silence, Scott and Lindholm ascended the steep trail. When they were about halfway up, Lindholm stopped, turned around, and laid a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “This is why I brought you here today,” he said. “So you could see the Anai. Saying goodbye to them is the most painful part about leaving Antarctica. I am more than fascinated with them, I have grown to love them… and I’m sure you will, too. Watch over them, and make sure no greedy person oversteps their boundaries and disrupts their peace. I will make sure you know whom to inform if something like that happens.”

Scott frowned. “You sound as if you are speaking from experience.”

Lindholm chose to ignore this comment. “Above all, remember — this is top secret information. You are not to divulge it to anyone. It is in the agreement you had signed.”

“Who else at McMurdo knows about them?”

“A special team of researchers — I will give you the list of names when we get back and can sit undisturbed in my office for a while. Stanley and another pilot. And Victor Nash,” Lindholm added as an afterthought. Scott wasn’t sure whether he imagined this, but he thought he heard a note of faint disapproval in Lindholm’s voice.

“I understand.”

“As the overseer, you will get access to the classified library section that contains all the research done on the Anai. You will find some very interesting reading there, I am sure. Oh, and you will have clearance to return to the valley when you choose, but try not to make your visits too frequent or conspicuous — you don’t want to draw undue attention to Camp AN-85. And now,” Lindholm checked his watch again, “let’s hurry so that we can get back to McMurdo in good time.”

Scott was astonished at how familiar and mundane McMurdo station seemed when they stepped off the chopper. Though he had only arrived the day before, and though he had yet to memorize all the paths to the various buildings, along with the numbers and functions of the latter, it all seemed commonplace, threadbare compared to the Anai valley. McMurdo and Madison, Wisconsin, though far apart, were on the same planet. The Anai belonged to quite another.

“Well, Buck,” Lindholm turned to him as soon as they were down upon the ground again, “now it’s time for everyday grind. Tomorrow morning I expect you at my — that is, soon to be your — office, and Victor and I will start briefing you on all the practical aspects of your job. And now, good evening to you. I suggest you take your dinner at the galley and make an early night of it. As for me, I’m going to grab a couple of sandwiches from the vending machine and spend the rest of the evening doing some more packing.”

Neither of them mentioned another word about the Anai, but there was a new sense of comradeship and understanding in the nods of the two men as they both went their separate ways.

It was 6 PM by now, and the galley was packed with diners. Scott picked up his tray and was hovering by the serving stations when he heard a voice behind his back.

“I don’t recommend the Thai Shrimp Curry. Just a hint: I have no idea what they put in it, but it doesn’t have much to do with shrimps.”

It was Jerry Gordon. Scott smiled, thanked him, and settled for plain but safe chicken with roast potatoes and salad. The two sat together at one of the small round tables, and Jerry pulled out a napkin. “A beer,” he said wistfully and confidentially. “A nice cold beer with dinner would slip down so nicely, and it wouldn’t hurt anyone. But no, a guy has to go to that crummy little bar for a drink, or bring a six-pack to his own room.”

“I’m not a big drinker,” Scott confessed.

“Neither am I. I mean, none of us can compare to Lindholm and his Aquavit — we all know he takes a nip about once an hour on the job, right? Not that anyone can complain about how Old Lindholm runs the show. He’s tough as a hardwood board, and taking his place will be quite a challenge, Aquavit or no. Anyway, I’m just talking about decompressing. Relaxing, you know?”

The two noticed Zoe, who passed by carrying her dinner tray, accompanied by a dumpy little woman with thick round glasses. Zoe waved and Scott waved back, and he was mildly surprised when Jerry ducked his head, as if searching for a fallen fork, until the two ladies had passed.

“That’s Heather Milton,” Jerry explained when the women were out of earshot. “She’s a nurse at the hospital. She has tried to make advances at me a little while ago, but I’m not that desperate yet.”

“She isn’t that bad-looking,” Scott observed.

“It’s not that. You can’t get too picky here, and not everyone gets a nice-looking girl like Zoe. But Heather, she’s a chatterbox. An hour in her company, and you can’t stop your ears from buzzing. So… tell me — you went out in the chopper with Lindholm today?”

Scott nodded, and hurriedly took another bite of chicken to give himself an excuse to chew rather than talk.