Surviving Antarctica (14 page)

“We have only a week’s worth of food!” Robert snapped.

“Didn’t they teach you math on that reservation?” Billy chided.

“They’ll be ready tomorrow,” Grace said. That morning she had seen droppings that could only be from a large animal, such as a seal. If there were animals in Antarctica, Grace could bring her family back here. She’d learn
dogsledding; she had to.

“Robert,” Polly said slowly, “we’re all tired. Why we don’t talk about this over dinner?”

“Billy, what time is it?” Robert asked.

Billy glanced at his watch. “Five o’clock.” It was later than he thought. Having the sun always in the sky was confusing. But then he felt annoyed when he remembered that all the watch told him was the time in D.C. He had no idea what time it was here. He hated imprecision.

“Okay. Let’s get the dogs and the ponies in.”

“The dogs should sleep in the hut, not on the ship,” Grace said. “It will get them used to the cold.” It did not amaze her that she knew these things; she was only surprised that on her first day she had driven a dog team so badly.

“What about the ponies? They won’t fit in the hut with the dogs,” Andrew said.

“We can stake the ponies next to the hut,” Polly suggested.

“Andrew!” Robert called. “Take care of the ponies.” He turned to Billy. “You check on Shipchef.”

Billy nodded.

Grace cracked the whip over the dogs’ heads and the ground became alive. As if they were one twelve-headed animal, the dogs raced
toward the hut, pulling the sled effortlessly. She glanced over her shoulder, but Robert hadn’t noticed. Her grandfather had, though. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him smiling at her.

Billy pushed the big black
DINNER
button on Shipchef.

A bell rang. Then a note slipped out of the slot where they usually collected food. “No dinner tonight.”

Billy sighed. The next stage of the trip must have officially begun. He went to the hold to get a box of pemmican. The box was heavy, and it stank. He dropped it on the floor of the mess hall, then pulled five tin plates out of the dishwasher and put them on the table. He filled five tin tumblers with water and put them on the table, too. Then he took out his knife and hacked off a big piece of pemmican. Chunks of it crumbled in his hand. He sniffed it. Disgusting.

The five of them sat around the table, staring at their dinner plates covered with cold brown pemmican.

Although Polly was hungry, the pemmican was unappetizing.

“What did you say that Scott and his men did with this stuff?” Billy asked.

“When they could, they cooked it with melted snow, threw in whatever else they had, and called it ‘hoosh,’” Polly said.

“We could try it mixed with hot water,” Robert said. Like oatmeal, he thought.

On many days Scott’s crew had no hot water because they didn’t have enough fuel to heat snow. The hardships that Scott and his men had experienced seemed unreal to Polly, but she felt that she was getting ready to walk in their boots. Each day she would have to give up something more. Each hour would become harder and harder to endure. These thoughts made her wish that she could see her mom one more time. Then she remembered that in some mysterious way she couldn’t figure out, her mom was probably watching her.

Polly sighed.

To set an example, Robert took a bite of pemmican and followed it quickly with a swig of water. “Come on, guys, eat.”

Grace popped a big piece of pemmican into her mouth and slowly chewed.

“We are alone in Antarctica,” Polly said. Her voice sounded full of despair even to herself, and she wished that she had kept quiet.

Robert shook his head disapprovingly.

To calm herself, Polly took a bite of the stuff on her plate. It was dry and gravelly. Hard to believe that until she got back home—if she ever got to go home again—she would eat this stuff constantly. Scott and his men had eaten it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner almost every day on their polar journey.

There had been days when Polly had eaten chips for all her meals. Maybe after she got used to it, pemmican three times a day wouldn’t be bad. But of course chips came in different flavors.

“I guess you’re right that there aren’t any cameramen outside, but there have to be cameras. Where are they?” Billy said. This was an urgent question. He needed to figure out the safest place to eat his junk food once they left the ship.

“Maybe they’re not taping this one,” Andrew said. “Remember, a few years ago they tried to get people to listen to the radio. This could be a radio broadcast.”

“That radio show was a flop,” Polly said. Even though she had no idea where the cameras were, she was convinced that they were being filmed.

Andrew took a big bite of his pemmican.
“Not bad,” he remarked. His mouth was full, and crumbs tumbled out of it. “Tastes like beef-flavored chips.”

“So smile,” Billy said. “For the camera.” He faked eating a bite of pemmican and vowed to toss the rest.

No one smiled. All Polly could hear was the sound of the kids chewing their pemmican. She thought of her mother and what she would be having for dinner if she was at home. Her mother worked at a private-school cafeteria and often snuck food home in her apron. Sometimes Polly was lucky enough to have fried chicken and real mashed potatoes.

Billy stood and, with his back turned to the others, dumped his untouched pemmican into the open box. The bandage was loose on his hand, and in a way he was sorry to notice that his wound wasn’t infected. “So what are we going to do about the dogs?”

“What do you mean?” Polly said.

“Well, they’re dangerous. They nearly sliced my hand off.” Billy held up his bandaged hand. “And if they’re going to slow us down, shouldn’t we ditch them? Take the two snowcycles and the ponies?”

“What happens when the snowcycles stop?” Polly asked.

“They’re in great shape,” Robert said. “I made a few adjustments to the motors.”

“It’s warmer now than it was when Scott was here,” Billy reminded Polly.

“Our adventure is supposed to be a simulation of Scott’s,” Polly said. She wished that just one of them had bothered to read the Scott books. “These motors will die, and then we’ll have to walk just like Scott did and pull those heavy loads ourselves.”

“Modern mechanics designed those motors,” Robert said calmly. “They aren’t 1911 engines. Trust me, those DOE guys built a simple version of a snowmobile.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Polly said.

“Polly,” Robert said, “you don’t have street smarts. The Secretary is counting on us to ignore the snowcycles because motor sledges didn’t work for Scott and to use dogs because they’re tried-and-true. But we’re smarter than she is.”

“You said it,” Polly said. “Tried-and-true. The dogs are tried-and-true. You keep repeating that there is no margin for error here. What if we leave the dogs and take the snowcycles, and the snowcycles stop? The dogs are our backup.”

“Look at it this way,” Robert said. “I bet the snowcycles can average six miles an hour.
We’re only one hundred fifty miles from the Pole. If three of us rode on the cycles and two of us rode the ponies, we could make the Pole in four or five days, easy. Speed is safest. We can get to the Pole fast, before a blizzard hits.”

“Yeah, those dogs can’t keep up with the cycles or ponies,” Billy said.

Grace stifled a laugh.

“If the cycles are supposed to work the whole time, don’t you think it’s odd that the first depot is fifty miles away and the rest are twenty-five miles apart?” Polly asked.

“What do you mean?” Robert said.

“It’s as if the Secretary is expecting us to make better time at the beginning.”

Polly had a point. “The Secretary may want the motors to fail,” Robert added. “But I’m telling you, I can fix them.”

“Scott’s diary is a great gift. Are we just going to repeat his mistakes, or are we going to learn from them?”

Grace nodded.

Polly concentrated on Andrew. She stared hard at him. “Remember, we agreed. One person, one vote.”

Andrew shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Polly expected him to side with her. He was sure of it.

“Two of us think that we ought to use the dogs and two of us think that we ought to press on without them. What do you think, Andrew?” Billy said.

Andrew was glad that pemmican didn’t taste bad. He was glad that no one had yelled at him today. He was glad that he had found a place to tie up the ponies next to the shelter of the ship. He shrugged.

“This is where you could come in, Steve.” Chad paused. “If you wanted to.” Chad turned to look at Steve.

Steve felt his stomach contract. He was afraid he didn’t have the guts to be the Voice. To change the subject, he asked Chad, “Do you think the kids ought to stick with the dogs?”

“No question about it. Robert may be right. Mechanics are so lazy these days that they probably didn’t follow the Scott specs, and the kids may have better engines than the primitive ones that Scott used. But I know the Secretary, and she intended those snowcycles to be a hunk of junk. So I wouldn’t trust them.”

“The Voice makes the decision, then?” Steve asked fearfully.

“The Voice can consult with anyone he wants, but he makes the decision.”

Steve knew that if he got caught, he alone would lose his career and be punished. That was fair. He didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble. But he reminded himself that he had never met these kids. The risk that he was considering taking was enormous. If he got caught, he could become another Pearl.

Besides that, he worried about accepting responsibility for the lives of these kids. What if his advice was wrong? He wasn’t that old himself. “If,” Steve hesitated, “the dogs don’t perform, they might delay the kids a few days, and they could starve.”

Chad nodded. “That’s the way it is. All sorts of things can happen when you stop being just a viewer.”

“Let’s take the vote in the morning,” Polly was saying on the screen. “Everyone’s tired.”

Steve glanced at his watch. Since the kids had gotten up so early, they were going to bed at eight
P.M.
If they kept to this schedule, the night shift would miss much of their daytime activities—a development that Steve would hate.

Robert was grunting his assent.

The kids got up from the table and trudged off to their cabins. Steve watched Andrew from Grace’s camera. His shoulders were hunched.
He walked like a boy much older than fourteen. He walked the way Steve had in that first month after his family had died. He walked like a defeated man.

Chad met Steve’s eyes, reached under the instrument panel for Andrew’s screen, and pulled out the long, snaky mike.

Steve stared at the gleaming metal. His face was hot and his palms wet. He dreaded disappointing Chad, but what else could he do?

Steve heard Andrew sigh as he fell onto his bunk.

“The perfect time to talk to contestants is when they’re in bed,” Chad said.

Steve procrastinated a little while longer. “Why?”

“So you’ll sound more like an angel,” Chad said. “Or God.”

Steve understood that it would be safer if Andrew heard a heavenly figure talk to him. That way, if Andrew ever did tell anyone about his conversation with the night shift, they would think that Andrew had had a religious experience. But the thought that he would need to seem holy was another reason Steve didn’t want to talk to Andrew.

Andrew’s eyes were closed. Already his breathing had become deeper.

“If you don’t act soon, he’s going to fall asleep,” Chad said.

Steve began his difficult confession. “Chad, I don’t …”

A loud boom interrupted him, and then Steve and Chad heard the hum of the ship’s motor.

“What? I thought Shipcaptain was turned off,” Steve said.

“Calamity number one happens tonight.”

“Before they even get off the ship?” Steve asked, his gut wrenching.

“Yep.”

“How many calamities are there?”

“Six.”

“Why so many calamities?”

“A version of all of them happened to Scott.”

This was unfair. The Secretary planned to make the kids’ impossible task even harder. Steve stared at Andrew’s dark screen as he fingered the long-range mike’s
ON/OFF
switch. “Why can’t we prevent this one?” he pleaded. “Instead of talking to Andrew about the dogs, why can’t we tell him to go stop the motor? Or go do whatever he needs to?”

“He can’t stop the motor because Shipcaptain won’t let him, and do you really want him out on the ice floes in the dark?” He patted
Steve on the back. “Besides, if you stopped all six calamities from happening, the Secretary would get suspicious—”

Steve interrupted him. “Scott was a grown man who chose to be in Antarctica. These are five kids with no experience or preparation.”

“We all know that the Secretary thinks calamities make for better entertainment.”

Chad had the nerve to smile at Steve. Steve thought of the Superpox epidemic that had devastated his hometown and killed his parents. “For the people who have to live through them, calamities aren’t entertainment,” he answered grimly.

“You and I know that …” Chad said.

Steve finished Chad’s sentence for him: “… but the Secretary doesn’t.” Angry, he reached for the mike. It felt cold and hard, like his own growing determination.
One. Two. Three.
He pushed the switch to
ON.
He felt as if he were jumping through the glass screen into the television as he forced himself to say, “Hello, Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t respond. Maybe the long-range mike didn’t work.

Chad nodded encouragingly at him.

“Andrew?” Steve repeated.

“Yes?” Steve heard a small, scared voice
answer back. “Is that you, Dad?”

“No,” Steve said. His heart broke as he felt Andrew’s loneliness. “It’s not your dad. It’s”—he paused—“a friend.” Steve couldn’t pretend to be God. It just didn’t feel right. He looked over at Chad to see his reaction.

“It’s your call,” Chad whispered.

“A friend?” Andrew answered in a bewildered voice.

“Yes. I know you’re exhausted.”

“How do you know?”

“But before you fall asleep, I want to tell you that tomorrow you should vote with the girls.”