Icy Discipline 1

I had revisited my choice of making a career in the field of experimental physics many times in my life. 

Admittedly, looking back, picking a career due to sheer passion was not the smartest decision I had ever made. I studied for the master's degree and the doctorate passionately, only to realize, most of the time, a Ph.D. was not about pushing the boundaries of science.  

At least, not as much as it was about the endless paperwork, low pay, archaic promotion structure, bullheaded professors and flighty students, and an unending pressure to create derivative scientific papers to raise the numbers of the school. 

Yet, as I carefully put on several layers of frustratingly thick polyester layers over the woolen body sock I was wearing before completing the set with a huge windbreaker polka, none of those annoyances mattered. 

I was in Antarctica because of a rare opportunity to actually conduct some scientific experiment, an extended study about neutrinos and their possible impact on the standard model and the string theory — two cornerstones of modern physics. 

So, I was quick to accept the offer when a chance to join the expedition of four to Antarctica, two from Europe, one from Asia, and one from America. 

Of course, there was a reason that a junior like me actually received the opportunity. 

We needed to live in Antarctica, in a small science outpost, for six whole months. 

An excellent opportunity to bring my career to the next stage, but it certainly undersold the weight of the isolation. Especially since it was already a month since I arrived, and I was alone. 

The participant from Asia was yet to arrive due to some bureaucratic problems, and the candidate changed completely. 

One of the participants from Europe canceled at the last minute due to a litany of reasons, and while the other participant arrived, he had to leave two weeks ago due to health problems. 

Who thought sending sixty-five years old to such a trip was a good idea, I would never know. 

Which meant that, for the last two weeks, I was busy setting the equipment that was initially measured as work for four people, and, considering the number of devices that needed to be set around the snow to collect the necessary signals, it was back-breaking work. 

I was lucky that since I was a master’s student, I developed the habit of spending my free time in the twenty-four-hour gym of the college. 

Mostly due to boredom, as the most junior member of the lab, I was only able to use the equipment after midnight. After setting the equipment, there was nothing but waiting while the machine generated the necessary results, leaving me nothing to do. 

I started going to the gym, the physical exercise helping me to stay awake — and I had to admit, not looking like a cardboard figure as I wore a t-shirt helped, even if my schedule was far too busy to ever leverage the benefits of such aspects.

Which was a pity.  

As I lifted another box that held a cutting-edge scientific tool that was supposed to require four people to lift — well four scientists — I was rather glad for my pointless hobby even though I never benefited from the more fun aspects of it. 

But, before I could put on the next box, my walkie-talkie made a sharp sound, loud enough to hurt my ears. I tensed as I recognized the sharp nature of the sound, one that only happened once before, waking me up to help my fellow scientist during the emergency.  

It was the emergency channel. 

“Harden, can you hear me, over,” said the voice from the other side, one that I recognized as the coordinator of the mission — the same unwelcome voice that had informed me about all the delays with the rest of the team visiting and other problems. 

“I can hear you. Is there a change in storm prediction, over,” I said, tense. As, while that annoying voice hardly ever delivered good news, it usually didn’t bother to use the emergency channel. 

My first expectation was that he called me about canceling the expedition I was about to leave due to the storm being near, which was not something I would accept unless there was a big change in the storm prediction. 

The control center already tried to deny that based on their concerns due to the upcoming storm, which was expected to last several days, with the possibility of expanding into two weeks, afraid that it would have malfunctioned. 

I did my best to override their concerns for that exact reason. It was the last device I needed to set before I started the calibration phase — which could be done from indoors, requiring only a computer. 

Missing this window meant that I would sit inside for two weeks without doing anything.

“No change in prediction, but there are two tourists lost near you, with their snowmobile stuck, and with the upcoming storm, they are too far away from their ship for help to arrive in time. Over.” 

“You got to be kidding me,” I growled, not even bothering to use the proper walkie-talkie speech pattern. “Why there are tourists here in the first place, and what kind of moron allowed them to leave for an unsupervised trip.” 

“We don’t know anything except the fact that these two are some kind of VIPs, over.” 

“And there’s no one else to help, right? Over,” I answered even as I grabbed the large box that held the last piece of equipment and carried it back to the storage unit. 

“No, you’re the only one that’s near enough to help, over,” the answer arrived even as I put the box in the storage unit, and grabbed a second emergency first aid kit just in case. 

“Excellent, so much for experimentation,” I growled, then my gaze widened in shock. “And I’m guessing they have to stay here with me, over,” I added.

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s impossible to send help until the storm passes and the air control is convinced there would be no relapse. Then, they will arrange a plane to take them. I have sent their location tracker to you, over.” 

Just like that, I started missing being alone, without even losing it. The isolation was bad, but not as bad as babysitting two random tourists in a scientific outpost, preventing them from ruining equipment that came with a price tag of several million. 

Which, considering their apparent recklessness, enough to make them lost in the middle of Antarctica despite all the precautions their ship was supposed to take, was going to be difficult. 

And the VIP tag they had been referred to hardly addressed those concerns even as I drove the snowmobile toward their location tracker. 

“How the hell they managed to get so far away from the shore? Over,” I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity. 

“They met with a small blizzard, panicked, and tried to return to their ship, but accidentally drove the wrong direction until they ran out of gas, over,” the explanation arrived with a sigh. 

I matched that with a sigh of my own. “I would like to put it to record that I don’t accept any responsibility for the damages they will leave around the place, over,” I answered. 

“Don’t worry, their company is responsible for any damage, over,” the response came. 

I said nothing, just driving forward, busy hating two idiotic tourists who decided that a trip in Antarctica wouldn’t be fun without a snowmobile trip, and the rest of the organization stupid enough to let them do so. 

“Why the frozen hell are there even tourists that deep in Antarctica,” I murmured even as I slowed down for a moment, clearing the snow from my dark goggles, cursing my luck heatedly as I did so. 

As I drove, a blizzard started. It wasn’t the storm itself. By the local standards, it was nothing more than a light drizzle, but considering it reduced the field of vision to less than fifty feet with ease, it was not entirely shocking for a couple of tourists to panic. 

Antarctica was hardly the most welcoming place. 

With the GPS assistance, it didn’t take long for me to arrive at my destination, the snowy opening that was holding two VIPs hugging each other, trembling. 

Understandable, as even a glance was enough to show that their clothing wasn’t as thick as it was supposed to be, and it was slowly getting to them despite their garish colored overcoats — one bright pink, the other one a blinding green — which helped them to pop out among the piles of snow. 

Of course, they were under-dressed by Antarctica standards, meaning the number of layers they were wearing didn’t make them look like an obese manatee, enough to make me an assumption about their gender. 

Though, still not enough to make me confident about my guess, not before I heard one of them cheering. “Thank god, someone to help,” a voice cried enthusiastically, clearly female. 

“Get on before the storm hits,” I said as I gestured to the back of the snowmobile.

“What about ours, are we going to—“ started the other, but I was quick to interrupt. 

“Yes, we’re going to abandon it. A storm is coming, we need to move.” 

“But—“ she started, but I was quick to cut off, hoping to push them to act. I was still hoping that, maybe, just maybe, I could still return and set the last machine before the storm arrived. 

“The storm is coming. Either come with me, and use your amazing abilities to fix the snowmobile. Either way, I’m leaving in five seconds,” I shouted, raising my hand, folding my thumb to denote the count, which was all I could do with the mittens I was wearing on my hand. 

It was enough to make them dash forward and abandon the snowmobile. “I have picked up the two, over,” I said, informing the base about my success before I started driving back. 

More than once, they tried to ask me something, but the engine of the snowmobile helped to drown their voice as I drove at full speed. My annoyance reached a spectacular degree once I checked the device buried in the control panel that informed me of the latest status of the weather, only to realize the storm was already close. 

Not enough to make my desperate hurry justified, but certainly ruin my hopes of setting up the last device. 

I continued to drive at the maximum speed, hoping the speed would be enough to make me ignore my annoyance, and even after we arrived, I wasn’t in the mood to speak. Instead, I stopped the engine and started to walk inside. 

“What’s this place?” asked one of them as she walked behind me. “Is this some kind of pit stop for us to rest before we go back to the ship?” 

Her question clearly indicated that they were not informed about the decision of their ship to leave them behind. I reached for my walkie-talkie and pressed the speech button. “We arrived at our destination, over,” I said. 

“Excellent news, I’m informing their company, over,” arrived at the response, and while we did so, I led them inside, where I used to deal with them. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” one of them cried as she followed me, her voice annoyingly high. “I asked you a question, how long are we going to stay here?” 

“Explain the situation, over,” I said before passing them the walkie-talkie, then pointed a small storage unit. “You can use that to put your clothes there,” I said before I moved deeper to the base, leaving them back. 

I was already annoyed enough without dealing with the necessity to explain the situation to them. 

The shocked cries that reached my ear despite the walls thick enough to isolate the Antarctic cold, triggering my annoyance enough to reach the next level, suggested that it was the correct decision.