The two men had a long and pleasant conversation. Both were feeling good about the end of the semester.
“Why the pile of papers on the desk, Francis? Did your assistants stage a wildcat walk-out?”
“No, not at all. Some of these are my potential doctoral candidates. I want to mark them myself.”
“Oh, very good. I understand. Say, I should get out of your way and let you get some work accomplished. Listen, once this is settled and before you leave the country, why don’t you and Deb come over for a nice barbeque on the back deck? We can drink too much wine and sit in the hot tub until we wrinkle.”
Hamlin laughed. “We’re already wrinkled, you old goat. Why exacerbate the issue?”
“Because we’ll be too drunk to care. Think about it. I’ll call you early next week and set something up.”
“Great. I’ll mention it tonight. Say hello to Carol for me.”
“I will. Good night, Ham. And good luck with your marking.”
“You should be wishing good luck to my students. They need it more than I do.”
And then Hamlin was alone. He looked at the time. He was discouraged to realize that his enthusiasm for marking had completely dissipated. Unfortunately, the work still had to be done. Once he got started, it always seemed to go better. He decided to pick up a cheap bottle of wine, maybe some nice flowers, and surprise Deborah when he went home. Hopefully that would make up for being late.
“I trust you enjoyed the flight, Doctor Hamlin?”
Francis sought after and then shook the pilot’s hand. “Thank you for getting us down in one piece. I think I owe you twenty bucks.”
He looked confused. “Is there a new fee I didn’t know about?”
Hamlin smiled. “It was more like a bribe I made with your co-pilot.”
Now he smiled in understanding. “That’s all right. You can keep your money. It’s our job, and besides that, we do have a vested interest in landing safely.”
The side door opened and the man who entered was wearing the biggest parka that Hamlin had ever seen. It looked less like he was wearing it and more like the coat was in the latter stages of devouring its occupant. A gust of absolutely frigid air preceded him.
“Doctor Francis Hamlin, I presume.”
“Who else? Do you mean to say that you actually get people who show up here accidentally? You must be Doctor Sokolov.”
He bowed slightly. “At your service. I would shake your hand, but these mitts are a chore to remove. You brought lots of warm clothing, I hope.”
Hamlin looked down at his bags. “More than enough for winter in New England.”
Sokolov grinned. He was a small man despite the additional size added by the coat. “New England is not a fair representation of our weather. You will find winter in Antarctica different from anything you have ever experienced before. But, based on your profile, I think we will have some extra things that should fit you nicely should that become necessary. If you are ready for your first taste of winter as we know it, then I will invite you to follow me. If you can’t manage everything, I’ll send someone out for the rest of your things.”
Francis prepared to disembark. “I can manage. Never liked tipping, you see. I’d rather be self-sufficient, so I’ve learned to carry a load.”
He stepped outside and took a deep breath. That was his first mistake.
“Are you all right, Doctor?” Sokolov asked as Hamlin worked out of a coughing fit.
Francis waved him away. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.” His words bore no association to how he felt. The frigid air actually seemed to burn as he breathed it in. His eyes immediately watered up and impaired his vision to a significant extent. His ears already felt frostbitten.
“Then let’s get you inside quickly. This way, Doctor, if you please.”
There was no arguing that suggestion. As his eyes cleared, Francis was surprised at the layout of the camp. “This is it? Or is there more I can’t see from here?” It was dark outside, the gloom broken only by several anemic lights mounted on the outside wall of a handful of dilapidated buildings.
“We have a few outlying buildings, Doctor, but this is the main portion of the camp. Our quarters are in the structure just ahead.”
The decrepit edifice looked like the Saturday morning shelter used by the manager of a garbage dump. “We all live in there?”
“Put your mind at ease, Doctor. There are only fourteen of us here for the winter months. Everyone has their own space. You will not find it crowded.”
The entry door looked suspiciously like it could have been dragged out of a dumpster. Sokolov wasted no time in swinging it open and ushering Francis inside. The first thing he noticed was the heat. The second was a smell that he was sure he had never experienced before and therefore could not immediately categorize. Finally, he became aware of the crowd of people that were forming a wall in front of him. In this room, about the twice the size of his kitchen back home, the entire staff of the station had gathered.
“Welcome, Dr. Hamlin.” This from a burly, bearded man with just a subtle trace of Russian in his accent. Many other voices of welcome blended into a pleasant murmur.
Sokolov raised his hands. “Please, everyone. Let the good doctor step inside. Don’t smother him in his first moments.”
The murmur now subsided to various gentle apologies.
“That’s all right. I’ve never been this popular before,” Francis said as he addressed the group. “I might get to like it.”
“Why don’t you drop your bags here for now, Doctor? I believe we have some excellent vodka opened for this occasion. There has to be some advantage to being on a Russian station, after all. We will escort you to your quarters once you have been properly welcomed in accordance to our customs. You are not, I hope, someone who believes in total abstinence?
Francis grinned at his thought. “That is a character trait which I cannot lay claim to.”
This caused a murmur of general agreement.
“Very well, then. Doctor Sayansky, would you do the honors?”
“My pleasure.” The voice belonged to a tall woman who immediately struck Hamlin as being rather good looking. There were some minor deviations from what was normally considered attractive, Hamlin thought in an abstract manner, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why he thought that. Her sort, dark hair could have used the services of a fine stylist and her current wardrobe was bland and utilitarian. That was more the fault of where she was as opposed to who she was, to be fair. She probably wasn’t going to be on the cover of any fashion magazines, but he could imagine that she had accumulated a number of suitors in her day. Somehow cute was the word that jumped into his mind. She also did a fine job of bartending.
Glasses were quickly filled and passed around. Francis noted that few of them matched, and none would be considered proper drinking vessels in most of the places where he would imbibe. However, the plastic cup with faded flowers on it that was pressed into his hand was doing a fine job of holding the cold, clear liquid.
The large, bearded man raised his glass and the room grew silent.
“Poyekhali!” His voice was deep and booming. The exclamation meant nothing to Hamlin, but the toast was received with smiles and nods of agreement.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Russian. What does that mean?”
Sokolov put his hand on Francis’s shoulder. “Nothing eloquent or full of deep meaning, I’m afraid. Loosely translated, it means ‘let’s get started.’”