Hannah Ross - The Last Outpost - An Antarctic Dystopia

“What do you mean?!” he nearly shouted, pain and anger mingling in a helpless, terrible frustration. If he were near, if he could take a step closer and hold Brianna, he could stop these words that were bringing his whole world tumbling down.

“I want to sell the house, Scott, and use my share to start a new life elsewhere. Maybe I’m going to leave Madison. I don’t know yet.”

“Brianna, wait. Don’t do anything rash. Let us talk this through, and I’m sure we can…”

“It’s too late, Scott. I want us both to be happy, but it just doesn’t seem we can make this work, not together. My lawyer will email you.”

The connection was cut off, and Brianna’s icon turned to ‘unavailable’. Slowly, Scott set the laptop aside and bowed his head, gripping his hair in frustration. He felt like a complete, hopeless idiot. While he was immersed in the work of running the station, and in fascinating discoveries beyond it, his marriage was crumbling and falling apart without him being any the wiser. The divorce papers might be making their way to him even at this moment.

He tried going back to the office, but it was no good. He couldn’t concentrate on work — words and numbers danced before his eyes, and in his helplessness and confusion he wished he were home, wished he had never gone from home. He longed to call his sister, but restrained himself. Laura had her own troubles to think about, and besides, he knew only too well what she would say. She thought Brianna ought to throw her full support behind his career choices, whatever those might be. But things weren’t always so simple.

He put his stuff in order, locked the office, and made his way to the greenhouse. Jerry was there, replanting some arugula seedlings. “What’s up, Buck?” he said, straightening up. “You look all perturbed.”

Scott pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. “My wife is filing for divorce,” he announced.

Jerry let go of the potting tray and gave a low whistle. “You must be kidding. What happened?”

“She says she can’t put up with an absentee husband,” Scott uttered through gritted teeth.

“Wait right there,” Jerry said, letting go of his plants. “I’ll fix you a drink. You look like you need one badly.”

Jerry dove into the depths of his little refrigerator and extracted a bottle of vodka, and about thirty seconds later, held out a tall glass to Scott. It was filled with a greenish, poisonous-looking brew, but Scott was past caring. He took a gulp of the drink, which was surprisingly refreshing.

“Spiked lime and mint juice,” Jerry explained. “I won’t give you anything stronger right now. After work hours, if you want to, you can get roaring drunk. But first, tell me just what happened.”

Scott shook his head gloomily. “I suppose I should have seen it coming. Brianna wasn’t happy with me going to work here, and she wasn’t happy with me being happy about the position. She wasn’t prepared to change her life, our life, but I… I guess I kind of pushed that feeling to the edges of my brain. Until it was too late,” he took another sip.

“No chance she might come around?”

“You don’t know Brianna. Once she makes up her mind, she goes all the way with it, full steam. And this, I guess, is something she has been struggling with for a while. I suppose I’ll get the divorce papers via New Zealand mail sometime soon,” he concluded bitterly.

“But if you packed your bags and ran home right now… would it help?”

Scott looked him straight in the eye. “I have a contract. I am under obligations. I can’t just up and leave, it would be irresponsible.”

“In other words, you aren’t prepared to give up your position here. Not that I think you ought to,” Jerry hastened to add. “If you go home right now, Lindholm will not rest until he tracks you down and murders you. He won’t suffer his replacement to disgrace him.”

“But it’s more than that, Jerry. It’s not only that I can’t leave. I would hate to leave. I feel like I’m just opening a window into a new world.”

Jerry grinned. “I see how it is. If you were only staying out of duty, it would make you a morally superior being. But Buck, I don’t think it matters to your wife whether you enjoy your job or not. She just wants you home, not in Antarctica.”

“Which is understandable. I just… I wish she had put her foot down more firmly when I was considering the position. If she had said, Buck, it’s either me or that research station at the end of the world, I would have sobered up. Maybe I should never have married in the first place,” Scott finished despondently, downing the rest of his drink.

“Well, someone might be made happy by this, after all,” Jerry noted after a pause.

“What do you mean?” Scott was baffled.

“Zoe,” Jerry explained. “When she hears about this, she’ll be all sympathetic, of course, but I’ll bet deep down inside she’ll be celebrating, and when the time comes…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Scott snapped.

“Alright, alright. That was pretty insensitive of me, I guess. Another drink?”

“No, thanks,” Scott handed back his glass. “McMurdo won’t gain much by me staying here if I spend my work hours getting drunk. I’ll see you later, Jerry.”

For the next weeks, Scott buried himself in work. The preparations for winter went up a notch, and there was not an hour to spare. Nevertheless, Scott made up his mind to journey to the Anai Valley and participate in the Great Darkness Falling feast which marked the end of harvest and hunt season, and the beginning of the long night.

He attempted to get in touch with Brianna a few times more, but she never took his calls. He did receive a short, official email from one George Howey, who presented himself as her lawyer, and notified Scott that the divorce settlement papers are on their way. This made Scott swallow a hard, bitter lump, and write the following email:

Dear Brianna,

I understand that you feel I have put our marriage last on my list of priorities, and though this is far from the truth, I realize that some of my decisions seem to indicate otherwise. I don’t want to accept that our love has come to an end, but it is not in my power to stop you from going your own way if this is really what you want. Still, I’d think that after seven years together, the least I can expect is to hear from you again, in person, and not through Mr. Howey. If you aren’t prepared to face me, at least send a few lines by email in reply to this.

I’m still hoping you will change your mind. I can’t leave before winter, but one word from you, and I will tell my supervisors that I’m terminating my contract come spring, whatever the penalties may be, and going home.

Scott jotted down these few short lines using the email app on his phone, and sat silent and motionless for some minutes after pressing the ‘send’ button. He was startled by a knock on the office door, and guiltily pushed the phone out of sight.

“Come in,” he said, shaking his head like a dog trying to get water out of its ears.

Victor Nash came in. “Morning,” he said. “I came to have a word about the order of plumbing and wiring. I’ve been doing some accounts, and it appears that the budget of the Antarctic Program… is everything alright?” he regarded Scott’s frazzled look with an expression of cold politeness. “Should I come another time?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Scott said. As always when seeing Nash these days, he felt a jolt of unpleasantness, and Tahan’s confession was on his mind. He deemed it unwise to confront his assistant directly, however. “Have we exceeded the budget again?”

“I’m afraid so. A committee will meet to revise the McMurdo budget next July, and it may be hoped we’ll get an addition, but for now, we have to make do.”