So much for the vodka, he though regretfully. In fact, Hamlin was feeling sleep overtake him even in the short time that he had been sitting there.
“I agree. I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning then.”
“Good night, Francis. Sleep tight.”
Oh, I’ll be tight all right, Hamlin thought to himself. By morning, I probably won’t be able to move. He shuffled off toward his room. This day had been long enough.
He woke several times during the night because of the pain in his side. When he finally crawled out of bed, he was surprised to see what time it was. He had slept in and nobody had bothered to wake him. This deviation of the normal schedule was puzzling. Perhaps it was a reward in recognition of what happened the previous night.
The dining hall still contained most of the crew. Only three seemed to be eating; the rest were sitting around in small groups, talking quietly. Most of them looked up when he entered the room. The majority didn’t maintain eye contact for long.
Konstantine waved him over to where he was sitting with one of the drilling crew. Thankful, Hamlin wasted no time getting to the indicated chair. Somehow sitting down made him feel assimilated into the group. The other Russian remained when he sat down—an improvement over last night’s experience with Lena.
“Good morning, Konstantine. A bit of a sober atmosphere, I would say. Why isn’t anybody following the schedule?”
Konstantine for once maintained a perfectly serious expression.
“Pechkin died during the night.” He spoke in a whisper.
“What! Oh no.” A million questions and scenarios started swirling around in his head.
“Apparently he passed in the early hours. Sokolov went in to check on him and he was gone.”
Francis could do nothing but stare for a moment. Finally, he collected his thoughts to a degree.
“What now? Has this ever happened here before?”
Konstantine shook his head. “There have been many deaths in Antarctica, but not at this station.”
Hamlin pondered the implications.
“So, there is some sort of protocol for this?”
“I’m sure there is. Don’t ask me for details, though. All I know now is that we have the morning off.”
Sokolov entered the room and most conversations immediately ceased. He started to walk toward the table where Hamlin was seated.
Hamlin cursed silently. If the crew was having second thoughts about how trustworthy he was, this would only make things worse. Sure enough, Sokolov went directly to him.
“Doctor Hamlin. Were you able to get any sleep?”
“Yes, of course. Some, at any rate.”
“Very good. Certainly you’ve heard about the tragic passing of our colleague during the night. I was wondering if we could have a word. In private. Could you come with me, please?”
It was the worst-case scenario as far as relationships with the crew was concerned. Persona non grata for the next three months. They would have him pegged as a traitor or stoolie or teacher’s pet…or something like that.
“Of course.” What else could he say? He pushed his chair away from the table.
“Follow me, please.”
As he pushed the chair back under the table, he made brief eye contact with Lena. The pleasant expression he was accustomed to had been replaced with a very somber one. He hoped it was due to the circumstances, not a growing distrust that she had of him. That was when he realized that everyone else in the room had the same expression.
Hamlin found himself in Sokolov’s room for the first time. It was quite a bit larger than his own. There were a significant number of books, binders, and folders on the shelves. A conglomeration of radio and computer equipment sat on a counter in the corner. A huge desk was the centerpiece of the space. The remainder of the room was nondescript.
“Doctor Hamlin, I’m afraid things have not gone well during the night. I need your help. Difficult decisions have to be made and immediately acted upon.”
“Yes, I understand that, at least in theory. But why me? Every time you center me out in this crisis, the rest of the crew suspects me of some sort of conspiracy or perhaps at least collaboration in a plot against them. I don’t even know you. I have no interest in your agenda, if in fact you have one. Why can’t you pick one of your own countrymen to help you? If you keep this up, no one will be willing to speak to me again for the next three months.”
Sokolov’s expression didn’t change. “My dear doctor, I am sorry for your personal dislike for confrontation. However, I have more serious matters to resolve. If you don’t help me, we may not have three months in which to be uncomfortable with our relationships. I ask you because you don’t loathe me or harbor the desire to see me fail. It is another advantage to having one brand new, neutral crew member at the station.”
“I suppose you need someone to help with preparing Pechkin.”
Sokolov hesitated before answering.
“Yes. But it is worse than you know.”
“He’s dead, right?” Hamlin said. “How could it get any worse?”
“Doctor Kuvayev is running a fever as we speak.”
Francis was stunned. “What!”
Sokolov nodded perceptively.
“Is it…the virus?”
“I have no way of knowing for certain. I think we have to assume that it is, circumstances being what they are. The good news is that I have given him some medication and it seems to be in check right now. He doesn’t feel that bad, and he is perfectly calm and cognitive. But he is terrified. And frankly, so am I. If we had trouble controlling Pechkin, a rather slightly built man, how would we manage Kuvayev, who is a large, powerful individual? Again, I’m afraid some difficult decisions must be made. And quite frankly, the crew will not like them.”
Hamlin felt a cold chill creeping up his spine.
“What are you talking about? What do you propose we do?”
“First of all, Dr. Kuvayev needs to be immediately restrained.”
“You intend to strap him down like we did with Pechkin?”
“Precisely. I spoke to him about it and he is in full agreement. We need to do it now before his condition worsens. You see, we are not completely certain how fast Pechkin declined. It is not outside the realm of possibility that this condition takes hold very quickly. But as I said, the doctor is popular and well respected. The crew will bristle at the idea of him being restrained while he is, for all intents and purposes, outwardly healthy. We will look very bad as we walk through the dining hall toward his room with the straps in our hands.”
Hamlin could imagine it.
“I think as long as he is in agreement, the staff will go along with it.”
“How will they know? We must keep him in isolation as much as possible. We don’t know if this is the same virus, but if it is, then he has contracted it quite quickly and easily.”
“Airborne transmission?”
Sokolov shrugged. “He was also bitten, if you recall.”
“Oh my God. You’re right.” Hamlin cogitated briefly. “Look, there’s an eight hundred pound gorilla in the room we need to address.”
Sokolov understood the premise but not the specific implication of the analogy. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the origin of this contagion, whatever it is. Kuvayev originally speculated that it may have already been present in Pechkin before it manifested itself. Based on the unique and severe manner in which it presented itself, I have strong doubts about that analysis.”
Sokolov didn’t look happy about the direction the conversation had taken. “What then, may I ask, is your theory, Doctor? Keep in mind, of course, that you have no medical training.”