The Cold Beneath Read online

  She made herself at home in a small wooden chair by the door, sitting in silence a full minute before she announced, “I wanted to speak to you about something else.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “What is that?”

  “Us.”

  I stopped my writing and turned to face her. “Us? Is there an ‘us’ anymore?”

  She smiled, and my world exploded with beauty. “There could be. If you wanted such a thing.”

  Of course I wanted such a thing, but how could I trust her after so much abhorrence had festered between us? Closing my eyes, I turned away again. “Geraldine, even now I cannot lie to you. I have lain awake many a night dreaming that you would return to me. And my love. But so much has passed. I don’t know if there can be an ‘us.’ Now or ever.”

  “I understand,” she whispered. Rising from the chair to leave, she added, “As a widow, I’m secondhand goods. All used up. No longer your virginal bride.”

  I was out of my seat and holding her in my arms within a single heartbeat. How could I be so callous as to let her imagine such things? “No, never. I never thought that. Not for a single moment. You are as beautiful and gracious as always.”

  Her breath was warm on my neck as she said, “Thank you, Pip.”

  My heart stirred at the sound of her pet name for me. I had waited so long for this moment, to feel her in my arms again, to hear her call me Pip. I almost didn’t know what to say or how to act. But it all flooded back to me in a torrent of passion. Everything.

  I held her at arm’s length, and said, “My beautiful Gere-bear.”

  She sniffled. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

  “How could I?”

  Geraldine made to hug me again, but I held her away.

  “Speaking of remembering things,” I said. “I have something for you.”

  While she watched with wide-eyed wonder, I fetched the token of my old affections from my baggage. Holding my breath, unsure what her reaction would be, I held aloft the chain-bound cog she returned to me years before. A small gasp told me she recognized it at once.

  “Pip,” she said softly. “You still have it? After all these years?”

  “Yes. And I want you to have it. Again. If you will.”

  “Oh, Pip. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes. Say you’ll wear it again for me. Like you used to.”

  Another smile brightened my mood as she nodded. “All right. I’ll wear it. For you.”

  She allowed me to once again situate it about her delicate neck. As I clasped it into place, she gave a soft, delicate sigh. The sound sent shivers through my very being. She turned to face me as I took a step back to admire her. Before I knew what was happening, she was on her toes, pressing her lips to mine in the sweetest kiss God had ever conceived. The taste of her mouth was pure honey in the rock. Angels would weep for the chance to rejoice in such beauty. After a century of sharing this passion, we pulled away and stared at one another. There was an undeniable look of longing in her eyes such as I had never seen during our innocent years of courting. She clutched me to her in a tight embrace as her hands wandered to places I had waited so long for her to touch. Harsh as it was, she was correct in her own assessment. She was no longer a virginal bride.

  Her experienced body was hungry for attention, and I responded in kind.

  I am not ashamed of the love we made that night. It was sweet and gentle and much needed for the pair of us. I will not relate the details, though I could fill a second journal with the glorious sensations her affections brought to me after so many years of abstinence. History might edit the knowledge of our coupling in the face of common decency, but I only share the deed to illustrate that we still had some shred of humanity left. That despite all that has passed, regardless of the monsters our crew became, underneath it all, we were and still are human.

  Frail and fragile and oh so very human.

  Once more through the omniscient eyes of retrospect, I see that she was manipulating me just as she had Lightbridge. In giving herself to me that night, she assured my obedience to her, and obedient I was. Overnight I turned from the sole dissenter in the True North plot to its largest supporter. I couldn’t help enough. With the enthusiasm of the newly converted, I threw myself into preparations. Whether it was packing or plotting, I wanted to assure the success of the party more than anyone left aboard the Fancy. I even found myself wishing I could join them on their fantastic journey.

  Such is the folly of man and what makes the ‘weaker sex’ so often the stronger one.

  Late the next afternoon, Lightbridge and his party set out. Their travel plans were tight: a trek to the North, plant the party flag, then return. Based on our coordinates and the final deck observations, the estimated time was a week total. A few days there, a few days back. It seemed unbelievable that we were that close to our goal. Despite the manipulation and after some reflection on the matter, I still believe Geraldine was correct in some ways. It was a shame to let such an opportunity go to waste. Of all of the deeds that came to pass, I am pleased Lightbridge was able to seek his heart’s desire. As I am glad to have held mine, if but for a single night.

  Five men accompanied them, bringing their party to seven and mine to thirteen, though six of those were down with injuries. I bid my farewells to my rekindled love, hugging and kissing in such a passionate way that none could mistake our renewed vows. Lightbridge congratulated me on making peace with my past before he set his mind to the future. I and my men stood on the ruined bridge and watched as Geraldine and Lightbridge led his men to glory. My heart swelled at the sight as pride filled my once-doubtful soul. It felt good to be a part of the team now, rather than bucking every turn with fear and worry.

  True, the new worry for my Geraldine’s safety could not be denied. But I trusted Lightbridge and his very capable men. They would take her to True North and return her to me. No complications. No disasters. It was one of the few things on the trip that worked out just as planned.

  I should back up a bit to explain that an interesting discovery came to light during the preparations for both excursions. The head of the kitchen was the first to point it out, though I had suspected the very same thing for weeks as we crept along the Arctic Circle. The North Pole was not as cold as we assumed it would be, or rather, we were not feeling the effects as we had expected. Most of the sensitive instruments were destroyed either by the explosion or the jolting touchdown, but at least one thermometer remained, and what it reported was unbelievable.

  The outdoor temperature was a constant five degrees Celsius below zero, yet to the crew it felt no colder than a chilly winter’s day back home. When we measured the crew’s body temperatures, the whole of the truth came to light. With the lack of heating and the intrusion of cold upon the broken seals of the ship, we all maintained an average temperature of seventy degrees, much lower than a human body should have been able to survive. Geraldine confessed that our core temperatures had been dropping steadily since we left Kentucky. It didn’t take a leap of logic to realize it was all because of the woman’s concoction.

  The injections.

  Whatever mix she had chanced upon shifted our core operating temperature low enough to help us adapt to the extreme cold. In short, the injections kept us from freezing to death. The only one who seemed unaffected by the brew was the doctor herself. She admitted that it could be the fault of her sex, that the mixture might have been enhanced by testosterone or some other male characteristic. She spent most of the time before the accidents in fluffy coats and furry muffs, and since her wardrobe met its doom, she sported double and triple pairs of donated shirts and pants in an effort to keep warm. At the time I felt very sorry for her. It must have been a wretched thing to be so cold while everyone else seemed almost comforted by the deep chill.

  By sheer chance, the very same injections keeping us alive were stored in the kitchen cooling unit and thus had avoided the fate of the other medicines and equipment. This meant there were plenty
of doses left to keep our core temperatures low enough to ensure our survival. And we were grateful for it.

  Grateful because we had no idea what it meant in the grand scope of things.

  ****

  back to toc

  ****

  Seventeen

  The First Uprising

  I should explain that I never, in all of my time aboard the Fancy, expected to gain a position of authority. When I signed on, I assumed I would act as an auxiliary staff member and nothing more. Granted, I had spent the last few weeks becoming familiar with the workings of the ship and even doing the odd job here and there when needed. But most of that was out of boredom, not ambition. I was, and still am at heart, a timid scientist, not a bold sailor. There has never been a time when the idea of rank or clout excited me. I just wanted to be left alone, not left in charge.

  Yet the position was thrust upon me. There was a quiet dissent among the men under me as to my experience in such matters, not to mention my lack of interest in the arrangement. Lightbridge asked me in private to take on the remaining men, not because he didn’t trust those left aboard, but because he felt my impartiality to the remaining crew would prove a needed asset in a leader. You see, despite the supposed ‘inevitable rescue’ he continued to tout, behind closed doors he voiced his worry that the crew would face many hardships before such a thing came to pass.

  Running out of food, for example.

  While we were well enough stocked for the journey planned, the extended stay called for a tight rationing of supplies. As a result, the larder and cooling unit were kept under lock, and the key given to the one in charge. The kitchen staff paired with Geraldine to draw up a reasonable schedule designed to keep the men as fit as feasible while stretching the food as long as possible. A schedule that I was honor-bound to follow. It was by no means glorious work, but I took it on as a favor to Lightbridge, under the assumption that my main duty as acting captain was to supervise the rationing schedule and nothing more.

  To my credit, no amount of training could have prepared me for what occurred.

  “What are your orders, sir?” was the initial question of my acting first mate.

  “I don’t really know,” I confessed. I was in no shape or position to order anyone around. I didn’t even know who I was talking to. As casually as I could manage, I shifted my glance to his badge to read the single word etched upon his silver nameplate. “What do you recommend, Shipman?” Shipman was the only name by which I knew him. I never bothered to ask the man his first name.

  He gave a tired sigh that suggested he dealt with this sort of thing all the time before he said, “In light of recent events, I suggest you implement a few days of R and R before plunging the men back into a routine.”

  “Excellent idea. Do just that, if you don’t mind. But encourage the men to stick as close to the Regimen as permitted. Especially the vitamins. After all, it has worked for us so far. Let them know I will be glad to provide the injections at their leisure.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  And with that I went from Mr. Syntax to ‘sir.’ Such a thing would have gone to a lesser man’s head. But considering the circumstances, I had neither time nor energy for such trivial things. Besides, I knew how the men really felt about me being in charge and was under no misapprehensions that I was anything more than a temporary solution to a terrible problem. Even so, they treated me with good humor, jesting a bit about my new position while still showing me the respect that accompanied the post. To demonstrate to the men that I had no intention of regarding them any differently than Lightbridge had, I did something very wild and Lightbridge-like.

  In the second day of my charge, I organized a snowball battle.

  I must admit it was at my first mate’s suggestion, and what a suggestion it was! It not only kept the crew occupied, but in good spirits as well as good health. Thanks to our lower body temperatures, we were able to move about the subzero tundra as though it were just a snowy backyard and not a polar cap. This freedom of movement kept the men from going stir crazy within the tight confines of the now-quiet ship. At first I refused to participate, but was coaxed into it by more than one lewd comment directed at my honor. Shipman claimed three of the able-bodied men for his side while I took the other three.

  I doubted my chances for success because my team seemed to be composed of the oldest of the crew. But they turned out to be the most technically minded as well as the most cutthroat! With little effort, we built a phenomenal fort out of snow and wreckage, and within hours had a store of hundreds of snowballs ready for deployment. They created a slingshot missile launcher, using long icicles as ammunition. They even packed each snowball with a center of hardened ice, guaranteeing twice the damage. As I said, they were a pack of cutthroats at heart, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

  That night was spent in goodhearted mock rivalry, with each team tossing about as much slander and trash talk as possible during the evening meal. I worried more than once that it would devolve into blows, but each time the air grew tense with taunts and teasing, the men would collapse into gales of laughter, proving the primitive chest-beating was all for show.

  That night, at our meager meal, Herron plunked his tray beside mine, took the bench space next to me, and asked, “What’s your deal, anyway?”

  “My deal?” I asked. The fellow was from the opposing team, and I assumed he was sent to sew dissent among my ranks. “I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

  “You sign on right before we leave. You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t make friends, much less enemies. Who are you?”

  I shrugged. “No one special.”

  “You got that right!” came the cry of Shipman from across the makeshift mess hall, much to the hollering agreement of his men. As I suspected, the whole thing was a setup to make me look weak in the eyes of my fellow team members. Two could play such a game.

  “Why?” I asked, trying to turn the tables. “Who are you?”

  The young man seemed surprised by the question. It took him a moment to formulate his answer. “Nobody.” He paused to give a broad smile before he added, “‘Til now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I was nobody ‘til Lightbridge found me. But when we get back, I’m gonna be somebody.” He paused to wave at the group of men around us. “We’re all gonna be somebody! Ain’t we?”

  The men shouted in assent again, and I smiled with them, swept up by the cheery mood after so much despair. After they quieted down, I asked another question. “What of your families?”

  “What about ‘em?” Herron asked.

  “Certainly someone back home thinks you’re somebody already?”

  The entire group of men broke into guffaws at that. The room swelled with laughter as each one chuckled at some private shared joke.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “You really don’t know anything about us, do you?” Herron asked between laughs. “Family? You have no idea.”

  I fell quiet at that. In my heart, I made a promise that I would prove him wrong. I would get to know the men. In my defense, I did not intentionally break that vow. I just never got the chance to act upon it. Before I could inquire further, the young man clarified the root of the shared humor.

  “None of us have families.”

  I stared at him for a moment, then looked about the mess hall at the chuckling men. I remembered this very same kitchen hand standing before us only a few nights ago, reminding the crew that Morrow had no family waiting at home. “What do you mean none of you?”

  Shipman cleared his throat, commanding Herron’s silence.

  “Get back to stuffing your faces,” the first mate commanded. With that, the men returned to eating, and the discussion seemed over.

  I was left curious, to say the least.

  The first mate slipped from his seat and joined me at my table. He then took over the discussion by explaining, in a very low voice, “You’ll have to forgive the men.
They see you as something of an enigma.”

  “I should say the same of them,” I said. “What were they laughing about?”

  Shipman grinned, but it was a piteous sort of smile. “The idea of families.”

  “Why is that amusing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Lightbridge staffed his ship with a crew of orphans and widows. None of us has more than a friend waiting for him at home, while most of the men have no home to speak of.”

  The idea was sickening. I found myself picturing Lightbridge as a ghoul, picking and choosing men with no one at home to miss them, and no one the wiser to their absence should they never return. “But why?”

  “The trip was a risky one. I dare say, on some level, he must have expected to fail. Or at least experience some difficulty. If we all die here, who will mourn us?”

  “How morbid …”

  “Really?” asked Shipman. He was genuinely surprised at my reaction. “I think it was very noble of him to seek men who would not be missed. No families to shatter. No hearts to break. Not to mention the fact that he gave some of these young lads real purpose. A reason to live, as it were.”

  “But still—”

  “And just who do you have waiting for you?”

  He smiled as I went red at his question. My embarrassment was answer enough. He was correct; I had no one waiting for me. Not at home, at least.

  It was then that I understood. In a calculated move, Lightbridge not only hired the best and the brightest, he had also employed the loneliest and the most forlorn. Six months was a long time to spend among strangers whose hearts and minds were miles away with lovers or families. But not these men. The crew acted like a family because they had no one else. It was underhanded and devious, but it was also clever and kind. I was once again left in awe of Lightbridge’s brilliance.