Alexis opened the door and entered the bridge. It was entirely empty. Perched at the bow of the ship with glass windows surrounding the walls it allowed a three hundred and sixty degree view of the horizon. All she saw was an empty ocean.
Alexis walked over to some computer screens. A gimballed compass rested next to a small joystick. It was probably the only remains of sailing from another generation and looked ornamental more than for navigational purposes.
She glanced at the compass for a moment. She felt a sudden uneasiness at the sight. The compass arrow spun in a slow and continuous anticlockwise direction. Surreal in its constant movement, the compass appeared like it had been rigged as a gimmick.
Next, she examined the two computer screens beside the joystick. Navigational charts covered the screen. A tentative glance from the least astute bystander showed these two computers and their state of the art global positioning systems were what the pilot really used to navigate the ship.
The sight brought the tiniest bit of relief to her. Although she’d never been on a cruise before, there was no doubt in her mind she could at least work out from the GPS where she was. She scrolled across the touch screen.
It looked dark blue, the sign of deep water, wherever she went. As though the program had become caught up in a loop where each new screen simply mimicked the previous. Frustrated she clicked the image of a single ship — below it, were the word, “Locate Ship.”
Where am I?
A moment later the computer began automatically scrolling through reams of information. When it stopped, the image that remained sent a tingling sensation down the back of her neck, as though her lost relatives of generations past were now warning her.
UNABLE TO LOCATE SATELLITES.
Chapter Four
With his deep blue eyes hidden by the glossy reflection of snow goggles, he stared into the distance. The dry snow reached for miles. Over the ice covered crest and towards the horizon, the Pegasus science station stood hidden; concealed by snow. It was there, he knew it was. He just didn’t know how to reach it.
His first attempts had failed because the strange floating iceberg ended in a thirty-foot chasm which separated it from the mainland continent of Antarctica. After leaving the Maria Helena on a snow mobile, he’d ridden to the very end of the island, and then followed the chasm in a westerly direction. The deep ice calving cut jaggedly inward with tiny faults in the floating landmass’s structure.
Sam Reilly swung the snow mobile inward again. Swore, and then continued in search of another place to cross. It was clear he was going to need more equipment to pass the chasm and reach the trapped scientists in the Pegasus station.
All that would take time. No one had heard from the scientists, whose vessel had become trapped in the ice between the coast and the newly arrived iceberg, for more than ten days. They had previously advised their rescuers they were running low on supplies and were not equipped to survive the harsh winter.
He came around the second jagged fault line and then south again; this time towards the hill. It couldn’t quite be called a mountain, but it was by far the highest point for miles. And it was on the edge of the giant iceberg.
Sam drove the snow mobile towards it, and rode up the base of the slope as far as he dared before the incline became too steep. He stopped about halfway up. Approximately a hundred feet he guessed.
He looked back. The shape of the ice island stretched for miles, and for the first time, he could gain a rough idea of its size and outline. It stretched at least five miles in width and possibly double that in length. Sam watched as the jagged edge of the chasm followed the entire length. He then looked towards where he had come from. About five miles back, the Maria Helena stood still, anchored alone in the bay.
Sam kicked himself for not preparing the Sikorsky Nighthawk better for transport. During the travel into the deep Southern Ocean, the Maria Helena’s helipad became covered in snow, freezing many of the vital parts of the helicopter. The consequence of which was that only a land based rescue party was capable of reaching the ice station. He swore again, as he realized he’d already be back onboard if he’d been able to take the helicopter.
As it was, there was only one snow mobile on board. It could take two or three people at a stretch. He and Tom had played Rock, Scissors, Paper to see who would go and retrieve the scientists. Sam had lost, and Tom had agreed to help Veyron try and get the Sea King back in the air. Sam had left a few hours earlier, loaded with food supplies and medicine. Based on the GPS coordinates given and his current satellite imaging of the area, the Pegasus science station was approximately fifteen miles to the south.
No one had heard from the scientists for a total of ten days now. Matthew, on board the Maria Helena, had tried the VHF radio hoping they might pick up local communications. But all anyone could hear was static.
Sam still held high hopes he would be back within a few hours. Instead, he still couldn’t work out how to reach the research station. He continued to climb the hill in the hope he would spot a safe place to cross the ice rift. Trudging through the deep snow, he continued his ascent to the tallest peak of the floating landmass of ice. As the incline increased the wind scattered snow from the crest which constantly appeared harder to reach.
Each step, he needed to consciously dig his ice boots in, and place the ice pick before making another move. He knew he should have gone back for more help, but his need to know what had happened to the scientists consumed him. With each step, he was certain he was going to make the 200-foot precipice. There he would be able to see the station at least. Then, with a direct line of sight he should definitely be able to communicate with the scientists via his hand held VHF radio.
Sam pulled himself over the last section of solid ice and reached the peak. The coast of Antarctica came into view. He struck his icepick in hard and tethered himself to it for safety. Not far in the distance, perhaps another few miles on the other side of the small ice mountain, he spotted the Pegasus Station.
It was little more than a dome shaped mound of snow, too symmetrical to be anything other than manmade. He adjusted the binoculars to see if he could make contact with any of the scientists. The place looked deserted. A single French flag was the only evidence of human involvement at the camp. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he was certain there should have been more than this.
Above the science station and spread out along the horizon, a timid display of colorful lights took his breath away. An Aurora Australis, the southern version of the Northern Lights filled the dark sky with vivid reefs of green, blue, red and purple.
Sam opened up the antenna for his portable VHF radio and depressed the transmitter button. “Pegasus science station. Does anyone read me?”
The radio made the sound of constant static. The same as when someone accidentally leaves the button for the microphone open, and it picks up every sound. Instead of being able to hear anything comprehensible, it produced a garbled mess of white noise.
He tried again. “Pegasus science station. This is Sam Reilly, from the Maria Helena. Can anyone hear me?”
More static.
He turned to face the Maria Helena. “Maria Helena. This is Sam Reilly. Come in for a radio check, please.”
He received the same, constant garbled response he’d heard before.
Sam tried once more, and then gave up.
The heavy ionization of the spectacular display of lights were probably wreaking havoc on the transmission of radio waves. He lifted the binoculars back to his eyes, and traced a route back from the Pegasus station. When he reached the impassable chasm that split the Antarctic continent and the iceberg, Sam stopped. He studied the chasm. The iceberg ran east to west. From the east, where he’d recently searched, the gap was too large to cross and continued all the way to the ocean. From the west the chasm narrowed until it was no more than a foot or so wide at places.
Using the binoculars, Sam followed it backwards from the western end to the base of the hill he was standing upon. He stopped when he found a single portion of the iceberg where the distance within the gap had narrowed to the point where the top had covered over with ice. There, I can get across there. It would be dangerous, but he should be able to ride the snow mobile over it.
Sam turned around, preparing for the slow journey to the bottom of the hill. Something reflective caught his attention in the distance. He pulled up the binoculars to his eyes and searched the horizon. The Maria Helena rested at anchor, alone in the bay — then behind her, maybe another few miles out, he saw a second vessel. It was covered in yellow paint; probably a cruise ship.
He put the binoculars away. I wonder if they too have responded to the call for help. Sam dismissed the casual thought from his mind as a sudden burst of wind gusted. It was so powerful it nearly knocked him off the hill.
Sam looked at the snow mobile at the base of the hill. It was more than two hundred feet away. Behind it, a localized storm rapidly whipped up the previously clear sky into something dark and evil.
Sam stared at the approaching monstrous wall of ice and snow. Where the hell did you come from!
He started to run.