‘I’ll try the bacon and eggs.’
‘I’ll have sausages,’ Anne decided, removing two boxes. ‘I’ll boil some water.’
Simon bumped into Joan as he headed back to his tent.
‘What’s this rat’s nest?’ she jeered, pointing at the sagging aerial.
‘My “rats’ nest” is your only link with civilization,’ he retorted. ‘Be careful how you insult it!’
By the time the water was boiling, everyone was up. They all hovered around the two stoves set up in the middle of the circle.
‘Let’s see what we’ve got here.’ Viola ripped open her meal box and tipped out the contents. ‘One chocolate bar. One packet of instant coffee. One packet of orange crystals. Crackers—I’ll keep those for later. Plastic cutlery, napkin, cream and sugar packets. And this.’ She held up a slim foil package about eight inches by five. ‘This is bacon and eggs?’ She eyed it doubtfully but dropped it into the pot of water to heat.
While the eight foil pouches simmered in the water, the others sipped coffee or hot chocolate.
Jeff turned to Simon. ‘What’s your job in real life? Obviously you’re no scientist.’
‘I’m a policeman.’
Several heads jerked up.
‘Sylvester didn’t tell me that,’ Eric accused.
‘That’s where I learned how to operate a radio.’
‘Hell! Here I am, trying to get away from the Establishment, and who comes along but a damned cop!’ Joan shook her head in disgust.
‘I’m on holiday,’ Simon protested.
‘Once a cop, always a cop.’
‘Policemen aren’t needed up here,’ Wally mumbled. ‘Should stay where you belong.’
‘Breakfast must be ready by now,’ Viola interrupted, shooting Simon a pleading glance.
Simon’s lips thinned but instead of retorting he gingerly gripped the corner of his package and lifted it out of the hot water. He slit the top of the envelope and squeezed up the contents. His bacon and eggs emerged as a rectangular pressed grey mass with unidentifiable bits of brown embedded in it. He sniffed cautiously and nibbled a corner. He wrinkled his nose.
‘Well?’ Eric demanded.
‘Tastes like cardboard with a chemical aftershock.’
‘It can’t be that bad.’
They all reached for their pouches. Anne’s sausages were a suspicious reddish grey and laden with nitrates. Viola’s mushroom omelette resembled the bacon and eggs but had grey bits instead of brown.
‘We can’t live on this!’ Eric exploded. ‘No wonder the army used us as guinea pigs—there’d be a mutiny if they gave this stuff to their own men!’
‘They’re poisoning us with chemicals.’ Joan spat her mouthful back into the pouch.
‘Maybe the other meals are better …’ Anne ventured. Tony glared at her and her voice trailed off.
In the end, they ate chocolate bars and instant beverages for breakfast and didn’t linger over the meal.
They shoved all the combustible garbage, the boxes, paper packets, and napkins into one carton, and the foil and plastic into another. What they couldn’t burn, they’d take with them when they left.
As the others bustled in and out of the storage tent in search of stray equipment, Simon tried to raise the Cornwallis Island army camp on the radio.
‘This is Victor Echo 8735. Come in, Viking,’ Simon intoned.
‘Thinks he’s Lorne Greene,’ Jeff commented under his breath as he squeezed by the communications centre.
Loud static crackled in Simon’s earphones. ‘This is Victor Echo 8735,’ he repeated again and again, fine-tuning the frequency knob and fiddling with the other controls.
At last he removed the earphones and turned off the set. While he re-examined his antenna, Jeff stood to one side, pointedly examining his watch.
Simon went over to him. ‘Go on ahead, Jeff. I won’t be long once I’ve got the radio tent to myself. I’ll catch up.’
‘I doubt it. I travel fast.’
‘I won’t be long behind you,’ Simon said. ‘Surely you can start your sampling series without me.’
‘Certainly I can. You’re not conducting the survey, you’re carrying the specimens.’
‘I promise I’ll be there to lug your stuff around, Dr Jost,’ Simon responded through gritted teeth.
‘Do you know where the cliffs are, Hollingford?’
‘I have a topographical map. If you mark the spot, I’ll find it.’
‘OK, but I can’t say you’re off to a good start,’ Jeff commented, turning on his heel.
‘Don’t take any notice of the old fraud, Simon,’ Viola advised him with a friendly slap on the shoulder. ‘He talks that way to God. I’m heading north as well, though not with Mister Personality. Don’t scare my musk oxen!’
‘It’s more likely to be the other way round,’ Simon laughed.
An hour later Simon sat back on his heels, mission accomplished. He was free to haul rocks for the next twelve hours if he hurried after Jeff. But instead, he drew a small sketchbook from his pack and began a line drawing of a burst of fragile yellow flowers pushing up from a tuft of leaves in the gravelly terrain. The Almighty Jeff could wait.
A half-mile upstream, Anne Colautti marked off a tiny pond for the installation of a conductivity meter and a temperature probe. But her mind wasn’t really on the job at hand and this distressed her. Until recently her work could always take her out of herself, erasing any non-scientific problems from her mind, but not any more. Instead of taking careful notes describing why she’d chosen this site as representative of an ice-wedge polygon locale, she was sitting on the cold earth, hands tucked into her parka sleeves, on the verge of tears. At least she was alone.
Pull yourself together, woman. Anne hauled her hip waders out of her bulging pack and struggled into them. As usual, she hadn’t been able to find a pair small enough to fit and, even with layers of socks, her feet were lost in the boots. She hitched the straps over her shoulders, knotted them a few times to take up the slack, and then fastened them in front.
Now encased in unyielding rubber, she moved awkwardly and almost fell as she slid into the pool. ‘Damn.’ A gurgle and a slurp were followed by a rush of bubbles breaking the surface as her boots sank to the ankles in the ooze at the bottom. She leaned over to get her probes from the bank and then started forward. But the suction of the bottom marl held tightly and, when she lifted her foot, the boot stayed behind. Its rubber leg tripped her up and, fighting for balance all the way, she fell with a splash.
‘Damn! DAMN! DAMN!’ Her voice shrilled with an edge of hysteria, and as it echoed she caught the note. ‘Dear God. I’m losing control!’ Anne bit her lip hard. ‘Relax. Breathe. Be calm.’
She was sitting neck deep in frigid water. Her full boots weighed her down and her jacket floated up around her ears. But the shock of cold helped her focus and she soon wiggled out of the boots and stood up. She stripped off her sodden jacket, hurling it to the bank in a dripping arc. The probes followed. She felt around in the now murky water for the boots until her hand closed on the knotted straps. But the pond bottom didn’t release the boots without a struggle and her feet were again ankle deep before the boots pulled free with a rude burp. She swam the three strokes to shore, hauling the offending footwear behind and clambered up exhausted and shivering