Ship of Fools - Chapter 33
One With Everything
[Start at the beginning of the novel: Prologue.]
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Welcome back to Ship of Fools, my satire about a science journalist trying to make sense of conspiracy theorists, flat-earthers, moon-landing deniers, New Agers, and more.
Having just received the news that they won’t be skiing to the South Pole, Liz is deflated and Sarge seems oddly disappointed. But Dawa has a suggestion.
SEEING her own disappointment mirrored in Sarge’s face as he absorbed Sven’s decision, Liz tried to tell herself this wasn’t a deal-breaker. Even though getting to the pole would have put an exclamation point on her story, she already had everything she needed for the article, really. Sarge had gotten as far toward admitting there was no edge and no Ice Wall as he was ever going to — which wasn’t very far. He had too much bound up in flat-earth beliefs. His reputation and his income depended on maintaining them. She’d seen how his followers had dragged him over the social media coals for even attempting the expedition. They’d crucify him — perhaps literally, she shuddered to think — if he admitted there was no edge, just a vast continent.
Standing just inside the doorway of the mess tent where Sven had delivered the news, Sarge looked disappointed. That was a surprise; he’d been ready to pack it in and go home when they’d parted ways after the day’s ski tour. What had changed his attitude?
Dawa didn’t seem disappointed at all, continuing to smile in his unflappable way — being in the moment, she supposed, practicing non-attachment. She’d learned quite a bit from their meditation lessons, but she doubted she’d ever have that level of equanimity. Even now she was trying not to feel resentful toward Sven, who was just doing his job. They’d gotten along so well up to now, both in their zipped-together sleeping bags and out, and she didn’t want to ruin it.
He placed a hand on her shoulder now, his blue eyes filled with sympathy. She felt like she could stare into them forever. “I really hope you understand, I’d just be putting you at risk if I let you go.”
“It’s all right,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “And what about you, Sarge? Do you still think the Ice Wall might be out there somewhere?”
Sarge didn’t say anything, and just then another group stepped into the tent, finding their way blocked by Liz’s group. “Here, let’s sit,” Sven said, ushering them over to empty seats at a table.
They all stared at each other for a moment. The tent felt a bit steamy, and Liz unzipped her parka all the way down.
Dawa broke the silence. “The important thing is getting to the pole, and seeing what lies between, correct?”
Sarge nodded.
“And skiing isn’t important. Would it be possible to fly there instead?”
Sven considered. “We do have a trip direct to the pole coming up, but we’ve already sold the extra space on it to a group of scientists with a lot of gear.” He checked his tablet. “The only other chance I can offer is a refueling flight, which stops at a depot midway, and then at the pole itself. You can take it out and fly back with the ski group. It won’t be comfortable, and you’ll have to limit the gear you’re taking. Plus, I’ll have to charge you more for the fuel the plane won’t be able to carry.”
“Wonderful!” Liz said. “When does it leave?”
“Not for a couple of days,” he said with a grin. “You’ll get to the pole a few days ahead of the ski group, so you can explore all you want — maybe find that Ice Wall.” He gave a wink at Liz, while Sarge rolled his eyes again.
“What do you think, Sarge?” Liz asked. “You’ll get to see everything between here and there, and that’s seven hundred miles. It’s like flying across a good chunk of America.”
Sarge looked around at the crowded mess tent, then down at the table, anywhere but at her. “Dawa has convinced me there’s something to see at the South Pole.”
“ ‘South Pole’? First time I’ve heard those words out of your mouth without air quotes.”
“Or whatever place it is you call the South Pole. The Ice Wall could still be beyond it.”
Where did he think he’d find this wall? Beyond the pole, the continent extended another thousand-odd miles, a vast ice sheet punctuated by Vostok Station in one direction and McMurdo Station and the Ross Sea in another, and across the ocean beyond that, New Zealand. “Better get back to the drawing board on that Flat Earth map, Sarge. You’ve got about a thousand miles of continent to add before you get to the edge.”
“You never give up, do you?”
“I’m just disappointed,” she said with a grin. “You promised me an Ice Wall, hostile UN troops, a dome with planets and stars stuck to it, and where are they? And not even one Nazi in a flying saucer. I want my money back.” She gave him a playful slap on the arm, but Sarge just stalked off toward the buffet.
Sven was trying to suppress a grin, but Dawa was frowning, his mouth pursed.
“What?”
He gave her a sad smile. “You remember our conversation about non-attachment?”
“I guess I need more practice. Right now I wish I could practice detachment from my stomach, because I’m starving. Should we get in line?”
After dinner, Sarge and Dawa headed back to their tent and Sven had some work to do, so Liz walked a short distance away from the camp to a little rise above the glacier. The sun had just dipped behind the mountains, the closest it got to “sunset” at this time of year, and the light on the glacier was turning magical.
Even from this short distance, the camp with its dozens of sleeping tents, larger communal tents, operations buildings, outhouses, vehicles, and two prop planes faded into insignificance against the vastness of the landscape. But it was funny, the place didn’t make her afraid for her own existence the way the desert had on that drive to Himmelstein’s last summer, though the two landscapes shared much in common: vastness, harshness, a muted color palette, even aridity. But if anything, she felt larger out here, even when they’d driven miles away from camp in the track van to do their ski training, just the three of them and the instructor in hundreds of square miles. Instead of making her feel insignificant, it was as if her sense of self, or soul, some people might call it, was expanding to fill the space available. What would Dawa say about that? Her too-attached ego was getting too big? Or was this that mystical oneness the Eastern religions were always seeking?
Which made her think of the old joke about the Buddhist’s deli order — “Make me one with everything.” That brought her back to Earth, and she headed back to camp, hoping Sven was done with his work and ready for some recreation.
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Will flying to the South Pole finally convince Sarge there’s no Ice Wall? Or perhaps even that the Earth is round? Maybe I should start a betting pool.
Next up: Chapter 34, “The Space Tourist,” in which Slim investigates the mysterious William “Billy the Kid” Luddington and his connection to a senior member of the Tranquility base’s staff.