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~CHAPTER ONE~

NORWEGIAN OUTPOST. ANTARCTICA, 1982.

Winter had not come yet, and would not come for another month. Yet it was still freezing. Russell sat, bored, sketching a picture of a penguin. He had not yet seen a penguin out in the South Pole, but if he did, he would know what kind it was. After all, animals were his area of expertise. He couldn't draw for the life of him, but he had to do something. He wasn't necessary a people person, so being lonely wasn't a problem.

He looked at his half-drawn penguin, which looked more like a sea lion to him. He ripped the page from his notebook, crumpled it up, and tossed it at the trash can full of other unfortunate penguin drawings.

As he scratched the whiskers on his chin, Russell muttered, "Fuckin' shit."

"You should watch your language," said a voice with a Norwegian accent. A small man with a balding head, thick glasses over his eyes, and a rosary around his neck sat in the chair directly across Russell. The man finished with, "The Lord does not appreciate it."

"Was I talking to you, Berg?" Russell replied, annoyed. "If I wanted a sermon, I'd have stayed home, and attended my family's congregation." He held out his bottle of whiskey and said, "Whiskey?"

The purist translator waved his hand and shook his head. Russell shrugged and poured himself another glass. "How's Larsen?"

"Finally out," answered Berg, "you should really keep that bottle away from him, especially after tonight."

Russell thought about how an hour prior, Larsen was drunk as a skunk and hollering curses in Norwegian, even getting physically aggressive. His drunken rage reached its peak when Larsen nearly beat Cooper unconscious with his own cane. Everyone was too shocked to react immediately, because until he learned of there being alcohol in the outpost, he seemed nothing more than an outspoken scientist.

"Smith and Eriksen patch up Cooper good?" Russell asked.

"Oh yes," replied Berg, "but you know how those three are. Cooper's telling war stories to them, even though he's told them two times already, Eriksen suggesting letting Cooper dying—I'm not sure if he's joking—and Smith wouldn't even walk thru a dark corridor to get medical supplies."

"How about Olsen?" asked Russell, rolling his eyes about Smith.

"Still cleaning up the mess." Berg informed him. "I tried to get him to take a break, but he insists that cleanliness is next to godliness."

It was obvious to Russell that Berg was certain Olsen was paranoid. Ever since they've been stationed there, Olsen has continued to complain about a strange residue he has been finding seemingly everywhere. However, he has reportedly cleaned it before anyone else has, leaving most of the others to come to the conclusion that the cabin fever is setting in on Olsen.

"Pedersen still jerking off in the lab?"

Berg rolled his eyes. "He's working."

Russell asked, "What's he doing ing there? He's been stuck in the lab with that block of ice for four days."

Berg shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Strand doing okay?" asked Russell, with concern. Although he needed Berg to translate, so far Strand was the person who Russell liked the most—or, more accurately, hated the least.

"Went to bed before his meds wear off." Berg explained. Strand was a good pilot, but he changed emotions like a snake peeled layers.

Berg and Russell went on with this back-and-forth for about an hour. Berg told Russell about how much he couldn't stand the smell of the marijuana Dahl smoked, and how unfocused Lehto can be unless it comes to the computers. Russell commented on Karlsson, and how stunning she looked. Berg and Russell could tell that a majority of the men wanted to sleep with her, but she clearly had no interest in them.

Russell was content with talking to Berg. The place was so boring, and between himself, Berg, Cooper, and Smith, they were the only people that spoke English. That really drove Russell crazy. With so little to do, talking to Berg was something. Russell sighed. Winter couldn't come soon enough.

Berg put the tape of the team finding the spaceship into the screen in front of the two. Russell and Berg watched as they planted thermal charges and used up their flamethrowers. They watched as Russell, Smith, Lehto, and Strand carried the block of ice out of the spaceship.

"What do you think's in that ice?" Russell asked Berg, pointing at the screen.

Berg had his forefinger and thumb on his chin. "Your guess is good as mine. Alien, who knows?" He replied.

"Whatever it is," said Russell, "Pedersen is way too interested in it. We should really check in on him. Make sure he didn't die of starvation or something."

"Good thinking, Russell," Berg responded. He turned off the television and stood up. He said, "In fact, let's do that now."

"You do that, Berg." Russell said, also getting out of his chair. He continued with, "I have to feed Buddy, my husky."

The two went their separate ways, unaware of what was in store.