“The other side of what?”
“The continent.”
“A most improbable suggestion.”
“It only has to be plausible.”
“There is no research to disprove it?”
“Not irrefutably.”
“Then that should suffice.”
“More could than should.”
“But at least it sounds better than an unknown shoeless individual meandering about in the frigid cold.”
“Yes.” Hamlin had drained his glass by now. “Any chance I could get a refill of your excellent cognac?”
“I believe the chances are quite good.”
“I believe,” Hamlin said, “that being under the influence of alcohol may not be a bad idea when presenting this theory to the group.”
Sokolov froze in place. “Doctor, you are a genius.”
“I’d like to agree, but…what?”
“Let’s go out and suggest to the group that the appropriate response to the stressful experiences we have just been through would be to drink large quantities of alcohol and make a party out of it. We’ll congratulate ourselves on our resilience, we’ll toast our fallen comrades, we’ll vow to persevere in our work, and we’ll casually toss in the seal theory once everyone reaches a point of moderate intoxication.”
“Dr. Sokolov, I do believe that after another snifter or two of cognac, that idea will sound very good indeed.”
“Your support is invaluable, Doctor.” He extended the bottle and refilled the glass, and then repeated the action to his own.
“Cheers,” Sokolov said.
“To great ideas,” Hamlin responded, thinking just the opposite was more likely to be true.
The party suggestion was a huge hit. Everyone was feeling the need to relieve some accumulated stress. Sokolov surprised everyone, Hamlin included, when he magically presented an unopened case of Irish whiskey. Any semblance of hesitation or moderation quickly evaporated. It made Francis wonder what else he might have up his sleeve.
Before things got too out of control (or the alternative explanation to the tracks in the snow was presented), Sokolov proposed a toast.
“To our fallen comrades. May their memories sustain and inspire us. May our work be a reflection of their determination and professionalism. And may we do them proud here at the very end of the world. Cheers.”
Everyone drank.
And drank…
CHAPTER TEN
Hamlin figured he was building up a tolerance to the alcohol. He remembered most of the night’s festivities fairly well, and he only felt moderately hung over. He checked his clock and it said seven thirty-eight. How was that possible?
Sokolov had indicated that they could all have the morning off before returning to the normal schedule and duties. After a very brief reflection on the matter, Francis decided to go back to sleep.
He awoke the second time around mid-morning and decided that he better start moving. After a shower and a light breakfast of reconstituted juice, dry toast, and coffee, he felt ready to tackle an afternoon in the lab.
Later, while riding there in the Cat, he couldn’t help but discreetly look for tracks in the snow. He saw none.
Sokolov simply dropped them off. Apparently he had other things to do. Hamlin was the one to open the door and step in first. It seemed like weeks since he had been there, and he found himself actually feeling good about returning to some semblance of normality.
“So,” Konstantine said as they settled in at their respective workstations, “you are cleared to work on the lake samples, yes?”
Hamlin nodded. “Yes. I have a few new, self-imposed restrictions designed for added safety. But other than that, it will be business as usual.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” The frequent grin he tended to sport was back. “You know, we used to use the ice from the core samples in our drinks. I suppose that won’t be happening again.”
Hamlin was ready for a sample. He walked into the storage area and selected one carefully. He would be using more caution going forward.
“I imagine the ice is still pristine. It’s the water down below that causes the issues.”
“Or maybe the alcohol in the drink kills the germs.”
There was something in the statement that stopped Hamlin in his tracks. He had no idea about Pechkin, but Kuvayev didn’t drink. Or at least not much. He remembered because it was a definite oddity down here. But no, that didn’t make sense either. Kuvayev came into direct contact through the bite he had suffered. A lack of alcohol consumption couldn’t have played any role in him getting the disease. Could it?
“Are you okay in there?”
Francis kicked himself back into gear. “All good. Just being more cautious, that’s all.”
“Can we listen to some of your decadent American music? That might lighten up the mood.”
“Absolutely. Glad it’s rubbing off on you.”
Hamlin decided that a proven winner was called for. He found Hotel California on his memory stick. It was just the ticket. Konstantine gave him an immediate thumbs-up. With the background music to soothe them, they both went back to work.
The research was therapy. They both toiled away happily for some time. With the various demands of the work now in the forefront of their minds, even conversation waned to occasional short exchanges. Time passed pleasantly and productively.
Hamlin suddenly looked up from his microscope. He looked around the room, confused.
“What is it?” Konstantine asked.
“I’m not sure. Did you hear something?”
“Not me. I would like some more music, though. It is a little too quiet in here.” The Eagles had finished some time ago.
The hairs were standing up on the back of Hamlin’s neck. He focused all his senses and came up with nothing unusual. Silence fell back over the lab. A subtle creaking sound came from the far wall.
“What’s that?” Hamlin said.
Konstantine swiveled around on his stool as if looking at the wall could provide the answer.
“Probably the wind. I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t pointed it out.”
Francis couldn’t understand what his body was reacting to. He stood, stretched with an artificial casual flair, and then walked over to the only window. With suppressed trepidation, he pressed his face against the glass and strained to see out. It was still complete darkness outside. He saw nothing. It was a relief.
“Turn on the outside light it you want to see,” Konstantine suggested. “But there’s nothing out there anyway. I wouldn’t waste a lot of time.”
Hamlin weighed his options. He walked over and threw the switch to the ‘on’ position.
Seeing what he had done, Konstantine got up, stretched, and then met him at the window.
“What are we looking for?”
Francis didn’t want to be an alarmist. Besides, he really hadn’t experienced anything worth being alarmed about. The low wattage bulb gave a viewable area that was very limited. He couldn’t see anything but snow.
“I don’t know. Nothing probably.”
“Maybe a seal?”
Hamlin grimaced. “Oh, very funny. You liked that, did you?”
Konstantine’s smile said that he did. He opened his mouth and said something in passing, but Hamlin heard nothing. His concentration was elsewhere. From under the floor, up through his foot, he felt three distinctive taps. He literally jumped back away from the window.
“What the fuck!”
Konstantine was uncertain how to respond. “What is it? What’s wrong?”