"I asked why you're here," Fatima repeated herself. "Are you writing something for your newspaper or what?"
"I wish I knew," Sam said. "I know it sounds crazy, but Purdue wasn't exactly clear about why he wants me here. Said it was 'to chronicle his adventures,' so I'm guessing it's going to be for a memoir or something. Either that or it's the most extreme profile ever done for a local paper… Mind you, for the amount of money he's paying, I'll do pretty much anything he asks!"
"Well, that makes two of us, at least," Fatima sighed. "He's covering pretty much all of this trip and sprung for a serious upgrade to our equipment, so if he wants it to be a history field trip as well as a virology expedition, then that's what it is."
"You don't sound too happy about it," Sam observed.
"Would you be?" Fatima cast a glance around the room. "You two will be ok, and Jefferson knows how to handle himself. Matlock's pretty fit and at least he's done a couple of mountain climbs. And I guess Purdue's bodyguard isn't going to let him get into too much trouble. Even the change of guides shouldn't be too much of an issue. It's the old guy I'm really worried about." She pointed to a man Sam had not spotted before, sitting alone on one of the couches with a glass of whisky in his hand. He looked frail, pensive, and far too old to be taking his first Antarctic trip.
"He does seem like a strange addition to the expedition," Nina agreed. "Did Purdue bring him aboard?"
"Yes," said Fatima, "but that's all I know — I don't even know the guy's name yet. I tried to talk to him just before you guys arrived, but he just sat there staring at his drink and wouldn't say a word to me. It was kind of weird. I guess he's probably just nervous. He'll loosen up during the trip, I bet. Maybe you can get him talking — it'll beat making small talk with your boss, right?"
As Nina made a small noise of disgust, the pieces fell into place for Sam. Of course, he realized. Matlock. The guy with the white hair. He works at the university, that's why I know his face. But he's the guy who turned Nina down and told her the ice station is a fairy tale? Weird.
Then Purdue strolled over, accompanied by a waiter carrying a tray of drinks, and Sam stopped thinking about the strange old man and the presence of Nina's boss. All his energy was required for ignoring Purdue's flirtations with Nina and Fatima — and, of course, for drinking. He took his champagne and stood alone by the window, tuning out the chatter and watching the horizon as the ship plowed on into the strange half-light that passed for night.
Chapter 9
During their first few days aboard the ship, Sam saw very little of the other members of the expedition. The icebreaker may have been excellent for breaking through ice, but its hull was not designed for the choppy seas they encountered. As the ship pitched and heaved on the rolling waves, Sam found his stomach doing the same. He had only lasted a few hours at the drinks gathering on the first night before the seas had become rough and sent him staggering toward his cabin. Since then he had not left it.
"Are you still malingering?" Nina's voice was loud and clear on the other side of the door as she knocked.
Sam shifted on his narrow bed and squinted blearily at his alarm clock. 10:30. Far too early to be awake unless it was for breakfast, drink, or a cigarette, and he knew he would not be able to handle any of the three.
"Yes, I am," he called back. "Go away."
The door swung open and Nina stepped in, looking trim and elegant in a snowsuit. Her pale face was flushed slightly pink with the cold, and the faint smell of a recently-smoked cigarette hung around her. The aroma made Sam's nostrils tingle with longing. It had been two days since his last cigarette. He had been able to stay vertical for long enough to attempt to smoke one in the bathroom in his cabin, but all that had got him was an alarm going off and a crew member lecturing him in Russian and confiscating the packet. The combination of sea sickness and withdrawal was hitting him hard.
"You look like shit," Nina said, eyeing Sam distastefully. "Are you feeling any better? Want me to get someone to bring you some food?"
"No," Sam groaned. "No food. I'll puke."
"Here." Nina pulled a small thermos flask from the deep pocket of her suit, unscrewed the cap and filled it with a pungent amber liquid. "Ginger tea. It'll settle your stomach."
Sam sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled warm and comforting, but after three days of illness he was in no mood to be comforted. "That's not proper tea," he grumbled. "I don't need any herbal nonsense, I just need flat seas. Or preferably land."
The look on Nina's face was less than sympathetic. "Well, tough luck," she said. "We won't reach land for another few days, and Alexandr doesn't think the seas are going to calm down any time soon. So you can either lie here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can give this a try." She pushed the cup into his hand. "Come on, Sam. What's the worst that could happen? You puke it up? But on the other hand, if it makes you feel better, you can come and have a smoke with me. Come on. Drink up. There may be nicotine at the other end of the tunnel."
Sam took a small, grudging sip of the ginger tea. It tasted surprisingly good. He took another. With every mouthful he felt a tiny bit less nauseated. It's psychosomatic, he told himself. Apparently I'm more attached to the old nicotine than I thought. By the time he had finished the contents of the little cup, his stomach had settled sufficiently that he could sit up.
"I'll find you something to wear," Nina said, rifling through the small chest of drawers in the corner. "Not that the filthy long johns don't look great on you, but it's much colder now that we're farther out and you're going to need extra layers." Sam looked down at his makeshift sleepwear. At home he always slept in his boxers, assuming he remembered to get undressed, but attempting to do that here had led to him waking up shivering on his first night. He had dug out the ancient thermal underwear that he had had since his youthful (failed) attempt to walk the West Highland Way. After three days of covering his seasick carcass, the thermals were beginning to reek.
Watching Nina pulling garments from the drawers, Sam felt confused. "Have I got someone else's clothes by mistake?" he asked as she flung one thermal layer after another at him. "I didn't pack any of this. Look at it — most of it's designer stuff, I don't own anything like that!"
"You do now." Nina opened the wardrobe and took out a brand new parka. "Purdue kitted us out, remember?" She saw Sam's blank face and rolled her eyes. "Didn't you read any of the emails he sent us? This was part of the deal. When he said he'd pay for everything, he really meant it. You've got a whole new winter wardrobe here, and we're getting close enough now that you're going to need it. I'll be waiting outside when you're ready. Now get a move on, I'm bored out of my skull."
As soon as Sam was dressed, Nina led him toward the stern where she had found a quiet spot where they could smoke without getting underfoot or into trouble. On the way, she slipped into a supply cupboard that she had found and liberated a packet of saltines and couple of bottles of Coca-Cola. "The other miracle remedies for settling your stomach," she said as she handed a bottle to Sam.
"I thought it was the other way around," Sam said, following her along the narrow corridors. "That you weren't supposed to drink this stuff if you're seasick?"
Nina appeared to consider this for a moment, then twisted the top off her own bottle. "Kill or cure, I suppose," she replied, and took a long swig.
Sam had to admit that the fresh air, the cold, and the cigarette between his lips were doing wonders for his nausea and his state of mind. "So is everyone else laughing at me for being such a big softie?" he asked. "I bet you they're all fine."