He dismissed the explanation with the wave of a big hand. “Not at all. It’s just that, even though I am a medical doctor, I am primarily a researcher here. I get stressed when my services are required to deal with injury or illness.”
By now the meal was in large part over, and the dull drone of multiple conversations drowned out their words so no one else could hear but the two of them. Still, with politics and emotional stability to take into account, he pondered the wisdom of pursuing this any further. Perhaps just one small step.
“I see. Did someone get injured at the drilling site?”
He shook his head. “No. Well, to be accurate, one of the men pinched his finger while attaching a large chain to an even larger sprocket. It is a painful injury, but nothing serious. My concern is that one of them seems to be coming down with a virus of some sort. I’m going to recommend bed rest for him tomorrow and keep an eye on his condition. It is almost certainly not serious, but in these close quarters, things tend to get passed around rather easily.”
“I thought,” Hamlin said, “that germs couldn’t live down here in this cold.”
“Technically, they can’t. This was probably already in his system. Perhaps the shock of being doused with freezing cold water weakened his immune response and the pathogen was able to overwhelm him that way. At any rate, some rest and acetaminophen should take care of it nicely.”
“Very good. Then I shall leave you to your meal. Sorry to interrupt.” He pushed his chair away from the table and took his dirty dishes to the counter.
As this was movie night, Hamlin had some minor prep work to do. He chose an old Clint Eastwood comedy/action movie in which Clint co-starred with an orangutan. As had been the case with most of his presentations, it was a hit with the audience. While he found himself smiling and occasionally chuckling, his peers roared at the funny parts and yelled with gusto during the action scenes. This success always made him feel like a bit of a hero. When it was over, he was sure to get his hand shaken, his back slapped, and other possible rewards if Lena and/or her friend had anything to say about it. No wonder Hollywood held such an addictive attraction to so many.
On this night, he was glad when it ended and the crowd broke up. Once again, the climate and mental fatigue brought on by the concentration he needed to do his work left him tired and ready for some sleep. He slipped away and was soon under the covers. He wondered if his sleeping patterns would be this consistent and successful when he returned home. Here, he had no problem falling and staying asleep. This night was no exception. He snored a little once he had dropped off, but no one was there to document or report on this phenomenon, so he would never know. Later, in the early hours, he dreamt of Deborah.
Sokolov appeared sometime around mid-morning at the lab. He politely inquired about their progress and then suggested that they both work together on some of the larger specimens that had been found in the lake water. He asked if there was any likelihood that a species of krill would be discovered. He was also interested in the specifics of the diet that these newfound creatures had. Hamlin thought the requests seemed a little odd and disjointed, but since they hadn’t had any new samples for several days now, he was happy to fill his agenda by doing some tests. Running out of work would have been disastrous.
“So, Konstantine,” Hamlin said, “how many people are here exactly?”
“Fourteen including you.”
“That seems right. Have I met them all?”
“Certainly. We all live in the same quarters. I suspect if you put your mind to it, you could probably come up with all of their names.”
Francis refocused on a drop of water at low resolution.
“I doubt that. It’s not like trying to remember Smith or Jones, after all. Your names tend to be tedious and intimidating.”
Konstantine looked up from his microscope. “I hadn’t really given it any thought. You don’t have long names in America?”
“We do, of course, but I think the frequency is much lower. We have a lot of family names like Hill, Brown, and Reed. You get the occasional tongue twister, but they tend to be more contemporary in origin. The lengthier names were recently dragged over from Europe somewhere. My theory is that when many of our ancestors came over to the New World originally, they took the opportunity to change and simplify the family name right after getting off the boat. Therefore, Hoffenmeister became Hoff, or eventually some other abbreviated variant thereof. It was like a filtering system for names.”
“Where did your name originate, Doctor?”
“Aha, you shouldn’t have asked. I know the answer. Now you’ll have to listen to my spiel. Hamlin is English, but of French pre-10th century origins, being originally introduced at the Conquest of 1066. How’s that for detail? It is derived from the Norman personal name ‘Hamon,’ itself a variant of the early Germanic word ‘haim,’ meaning home. I’ve done some research, you see. It would seem that the melting pot gets smaller the further back one goes, but so do the chances of successfully finding anything.”
“Impressive. I don’t know my family background beyond the stories my grandmother told me.”
“Hmm. I have some general idea of the origins of the Russian population, but you may not view it as flattering. Perhaps we should venture off into another line of conversation.”
Konstantine looked up. “How can it be that bad?”
“Imagine a boatload of Vikings engaging in what they consider to be free trade of commodities and culture in the St. Petersburg region in perhaps the eighth century. This consists of such concepts as introductory arson, stabbing as a population control method, and the benefits of semen deposits for village women, men, and slower farm animals. Hence, we see the beginning of the gene pool from which your ancestry was drawn.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I’m going to go with a yes, I do believe I am.”
Konstantine laughed. “You were right. Let’s talk about something else.”
“All right. What interests you?”
“I don’t know. You choose.”
Hamlin pondered. “I have no idea what your background is. How about this? What is your favorite album of all time?”
Konstantine didn’t hesitate. “I like ‘Rivers and Bridges’ by Mashina Vremeni.”
That stumped Hamlin. “Really? Is that a person or group?”
“It’s a group.”
“I see.” He really didn’t. “I find it hard, personally, to select only one when there are so many awesome albums, especially from the seventies and eighties. If forced to do so, I would be entirely subjective in my decision making process and say ‘The Wall’ by Pink Floyd.”
Konstantine looked up and frowned. “Why is Floyd pink?”
“He’s not. It’s a group, not a person.”
“I see.” He really didn’t.
Hamlin rolled his neck around to work out some kinks. “This isn’t going anywhere. We need a topic with more common ground. Or…say, what are the chances of us getting a radio for out here? You need to listen to some Pink Floyd. You’d be addicted to it in no time.”
“I don’t think we have one. There are no stations to listen to, after all.”
“That is a stumper,” Francis conceded. “But more concerning is the fact that this entire line of conversation is starting to sound like a first date. Hold on now, I may have thought of something. As a resolution, I have a suggestion. I have Pink Floyd on a memory stick. I currently have in front of me a serviceable computer that accepts memory sticks. I propose that I insert the stick, find the appropriate file, and then we can resume our research while listening to Comfortably Numb et al. What do you say, Konstantine?”