Back down the halls raced Dr. Claireborne. He had no clue what might await him back in the room, how his team might possibly have messed up a simple hypothermia victim. Such things were so commonplace anymore, how anyone could have botched it up was nearly inconceivable.
He burst into the room. “What the hell happened?”
The team was just putting away the defibrillator and breathing sighs of relief. Maxwell had been near, but slunk away at the approach of the doctor. “We don’t know, sir,” said Ms. Hallie Natterson, his assistant. “One moment, she was fine. The next, her eyes opened wide and she babbled nonsense. Then she went into cardiac arrest. It didn’t take us long to bring her back, but it’s still cause for concern.”
“I’ll say it is,” Dr. Claireborne said, striding over to the patient. “Why does a stage two hypothermia patient go into cardiac arrest? She’s not experiencing any other signs of a stage three.”
“We don’t know, sir,” Ms. Hallie said. “She’s stabilized now, though we’re keeping a closer eye on her.”
Dr. Claireborne nodded as he leaned over the patient. “You said she was babbling nonsense. Was there anything coherent?”
“Yes, but nothing sensical. She just yelled ‘Mother’s milk. Black and white. Mother’s milk. Black and white.’”
“Odd. Hallucination, perhaps? Could explain the cardiac arrest.”
“How?” Ms. Hallie asked. “No one has a hallucination so unsettling it almost kills them.”
“In the three years I’ve been here, Ms. Hallie, it’s happened that many times,” Dr. Claireborne said. “This is a different place down here. The mind does strange things to patients. Keep her under careful observation. If you see anything similar about to happen, notify me immediately.”
“Yes, Dr. Claireborne,” Ms. Hallie replied. “Where will we find you?”
“Somewhere on the station,” he replied as he turned back towards the door. “If I’m not there, don’t bother. I’m probably dead. There’s nowhere else that I could be.”
*
Outside, the sky was somewhat clear. Far over the continent clouds were building. There might be a storm later, if the katabatic winds held up. Dr. Claireborne pulled his parka closer around himself and walked down the ice road towards the living quarters. It was time for some much needed sleep. He had been about to do that when the call from the Cetus Initiative had come in. Now that their business had been taken care of, and the patient was being treated, he was free for some shut eye.
The loud roar of an engine sounded behind him. Dr. Claireborne turned to see what was causing it. John Hocker came to a stop beside the doctor, his snowmobile idling beneath him. The big mechanic was grinning.
“Hello, Mr. Doctor,” he said to Claireborne.
“John,” the doctor replied. “What brings you out this fine evening?”
“The bar,” Mr. Hocker replied. “Scott and Barnes are already down there. I had some things to do in the garage, so I told them I’d catch up to them later.” He said ‘garage’ with his typical Canadian accent. Dr. Claireborne smiled, but not because he found it particularly funny. It was more because the big Canuck’s way of talking reminded him of home, though Vancouver Island was very far away from Greenbriar, Colorado.
“You could join us if you want,” Mr. Hocker continued.
Dr. Claireborne held up his hand and shook his head. “Sorry John. New patient’s in. One of those activists that harasses the Japanese fleet. Fell into the water and caught hypothermia. She’s almost died at least once. I need to be sober in case I go on call.”
Mr. Hocker nodded. “Fair enough reason, Doctor. You’re a good enough drinking buddy anyways, so I’ll let you slide tonight.” He grinned, and Dr. Claireborne chuckled to reassure him.
“Could you at least give me a ride back to the dorms? I need to catch up on some sleep.”
Mr. Hocker leaned his head back and laughed. “Don’t we all? Hop on, fancypants. I can hear the bed a’calling your name.”
Dr. Claireborne got on the snowmobile behind Mr. Hocker. The mechanic gunned the motor and the machine took off down the ice road. The chill air whistled in their ears, but they didn’t mind. It was a sound that one grew accustomed to hearing in this place, as one might not notice birds calling or crickets chirping in more settled locales.
The ride did not take long; McMurdo Station was not a big place. They arrived at the dorms in almost no time at all. Dr. Claireborne got off and brushed a few errant patches of snow from his arms. Mr. Hocker simply waved as he sped off again towards the bar. The doctor waved after him. While he didn’t tolerate John much outside of the bar, within it’s bounds the two of them were the best of friends. As a result, they tended to look out for each other occasionally, when reality was at hand.
Dr. Claireborne entered the living quarters. They were as unspectacular as the medical center, bland walls that could have been as old as the station itself. Though they were not remarkable, they were well insulated. The doctor gratefully rid himself of his parka now. In all the clothing, he sometimes felt suffocated.
There was a banging noise going on somewhere in the living quarters. Dr. Claireborne simply hurried to his room, ascending the stairs with noisy thuds. He had a bed that was calling his name, a mattress that promised to hold him up, blankets that would wrap around him and warm him as he slept. Sweet siren songs of sonambulance, one and all, and he was ready to answer them.
He opened the door to his room. Scott Donovan, the cook’s assistant, was already asleep in his own bunk, one arm over his head, the other down the front of his pants. Ordinarily, Dr. Claireborne would take some time to annoy Scott as the latter tried to sleep. At the moment though, his own sleep was far more important than interrupting Scott’s. He simply took off his boots and collapsed on the bed. In no time at all, his eyelids lowered slowly and he let unconsciousness overwhelm him.
