A/N: For those that have watched the film, Fuchs is not here for a reason. You'll see in the future.
Chapter Two
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How am I going to last four months in this place? Thundering typhoons, I'm about to go bonkers after four hours with these ectoplasms!
"Wait, so you're not from France?" The assistant mechanic, Palmer, asked Tintin for the fortieth time. I could hear the kid that greeted us, Nauls, rollerblading just outside the recreation room.
I groaned. Tintin, ever so patient, nodded and repeated once again, "Oh no, I'm from Belgium! To be exact, the Dutch speaking part! (Although, I'll have to admit that French was my first language…) When I was a young reporter I used to live in Brussels, but now I live in the countryside with the captain and the professor."
"Belgian?" He let out a "heh." "So do you know how to make, like, Belgian waffles?"
"Of course! They're actually really simple to make!"
Palmer grinned. Something was up. "Well, how about you make us some?"
Nauls stopped skating right outside the door. "Can you, Tintin? That would be awesome!"
The other Americans, who were all watching a tape on the television, began agreeing enthusiastically.
Tintin replied, "Sure!"
One of the Americans watching television, who just happened to be the overseer of the entire base, barked, "Nauls! These men are part of our team, and are our guests as well! They are not our personal chefs, you are! If we're having waffles for dinner, you will make them! Got that?"
The cook's nose wrinkled. "Yes, Garry."
I placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Tintin! Don't you realize that they were making fun of you?"
"Yes, but we're not going to be with them forever. As soon as we leave, we'll never see them again. Let's just play around with them until they become more… 'accepting.'"
"Accepting? If these wingless midges begin outright bullying you, I'm intervening. No ands, ifs, or buts. Got it?"
Tintin sighed. "Yes, I understand… Well, uh, want to go watch some television with the rest of the crew, Captain?"
I agreed, but only because there was nothing else to do. Palmer studied radio maps and Nauls resumed skating as we left them.
Most, but not all, of the remaining crew were crowded around the couch. There was Garry, Macready the helicopter pilot, the head mechanic Childs (and the only other black member of the crew—everyone else save for the oldest men were hairy brunettes), the sole medical doctor Copper, and the dog handler, Clark.
The others, all scientists and doctors, left after the initial meeting. This included good ol' Cuthbert, who was working in tandem with Norris the geologist, Blair the biologist, and Bennings the meteorologist to investigate why the ozone layer was thinning out over the Antarctic Circle. What I would've given to see those men react to Cuthbert's responses! I'm sure that it would have been much more entertaining than that cheesy game show we were all watching in the recreation room.
"Name a sport that ends with "ball," the game host asked.
Instead of me and maybe Garry, everyone spouted out responses that eventually muddled into word mush:
"Basketball! Baseball! Football! Volleyball!"
"Hand ball!" Tintin cried.
Everyone else, including me, stared at him.
"Hand ball? Last time I checked, that wasn't a real sport," Childs replied.
"Oh yes it is!" Tintin snapped back, somehow managing to not sound completely like a whining four year old.
The contestant yelled, "Uh… Hand ball!"
"Okay, let's see if you're right," Childs said. "This is our first time watching this particular tape."
"Survey says…"
The scoreboard revealed that five people replied with such an answer.
"…I rest my case."
We continued watching the remaining four episodes of Family Feud recorded on the video cassette before it cut to a blue screen. By then I was ready to pull the hair atop my scalp off from boredom. Not even the occasional flub made that show entertaining to me!
"Would anyone else want to watch The Price is Right with me now?" Clark asked.
"No, I would not like to, nor do I want to watch any other game show!" I immediately replied. If it wasn't for my aching back, I would've jumped right up like there was no tomorrow. As I grabbed my aching buttocks, I began to step towards the door.
"Well, we have non-game show tapes," Clark said, "Like The Brady Bunch and a few episodes of Joanie Loves Chachi."
I growled, both out of distaste and from my aching body. "No, I would rather like to take a nap, thank you very much."
"Have someone go out with you then," Garry said. "We practice the buddy system here and we strictly enforce it."
"I'll go with him," Tintin said. "I feel like I need a nap as well."
He grunted as he rose up and stood beside me.
"Do you need any help, Captain?"
"Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'm capable of moving on my own."
Compared to the compound, which while warm was not sauna hot, meeting with Antarctica's chill head-on once again made me shiver again. I found myself the urge to walk soon after. Our boots crunched against the snow under our soles as we slowly progressed step by step. All we heard was our breaths and the light (and I use that term loosely) wind beating against us.
Then, we heard something else.
"Do you hear that?"
"Yes, lad, I do. 'Sounds like a… helicopter, don't you think?"
"Yeah…"
Tintin and I turned our heads in every direction our middle aged necks would permit us. After much frantic looking, we finally noticed a little black object on the snow, running towards the outpost.
Tintin looked up and pointed.
"Look, Captain…"
I looked up as well. Whatever that thing in the distance was, a helicopter was following it. But why?
