Who would have thought that little old you would end up as a pilot for The British Antarctic Survey? You pack and you sing. This is exactly what you've always wanted. Then your mobile rings; it's not a text but an actual voice call. Probably your mother, right?
[[Answer the phone]]
[[Let it ring]]
It's your new boss. 'I'm sorry but the new chasm in the Brunt Ice Shelf means Halley VI is being closed for winter.'
Your heartbeat putters but you stay calm. 'How disappointing.'
'It's unprecedented but the situation's too hazardous.' Her voice is firm and slightly irritating.
'I've already handed my notice in.'
'There is one job. Have you heard of the photographer Colin Falconer?'
''Fraid not.'
'He's going to take some aerial shots of the chasm and we need someone who can fly low and steady. Are you interested?'
'Definitely.'
'Hang on! The Research Centre's already been evacuated so you'll have to make a round trip without landing. If the weather changes, there's a definite risk. Do you still want to do it?'
[['Yes. Count me in.']]
[[It sounds unwise and I don't have the flying experience.]]
That cosmic ring tone is going to drive you mad. I guess it must be important, huh?
On the day of the flight, you arrive early at the airport and you hang around in the lobby. Is there something you should be doing?
[[Listen to an argument at the check-in desk?]]
[[Get hold of the latest weather forecast?]]
[[Look at a tableau of Scott's Antarctic Expedition? It's kind of spooky.]]
You'd better start doing an application to get your old humdrum, boring job back unless you change your mind ...
Jeez, that guy's a jerk. One of those jokers who thinks the louder their voice is, the more they matter but it's not how you say it, mate, it's what you say. Get it?
People aren't really your thing but flying is and look, your ID hangs proudly outside your jacket.
Someone's creeping up behind you.
[[Turn to see who it is]]
[[Get hold of the latest weather forecast?]]
Today's weather forecast's a beast. Storms are unpredictable creatures and global warming adds an edge but the modern world makes everything so easy for us. Someone's calling your name.
[[Turn to see who it is]]
[[Look at a tableau of Scott's Antarctic Expedition? It's kind of spooky.]]
You stare at a new tableau of Scott and his men pulling a wooden sledge. It's more stupid than spooky because not only are the models plastic mannequins but one of them waves a flag like racing to the South Pole was all Terra Nova was about. Huh!
A shiver trickles down your spine. Where did that thought come from? You know zilch about explorers, then or now.
[[Reach out and touch the flag.]]
[[Get hold of the latest weather forecast?]]
[[Listen to an argument at the check-in desk?]]
It's Fretwell, your flight engineer. 'We can't go out in this.'
'Why not?' you ask.
'It's too risky!' For a flight engineer, he's a real home bird.
'Look outside. It's a blue sky and d'you know what? They over predict to cover their backs.'
'I'll miss the game.'
'Watch it when we get back. Press of a button, Frets, and you can see it unfold live whenever you want.'
I turn to see who is calling my name. Oh no. Not him. Please tell me that jerk isn't my passenger.
[[Look at a tableau of Scott's Antarctic Expedition? It's kind of spooky.]]
It almost seems to have a life of it's own. You jump back and shove your hand deep in your pocket. It's ridiculous to recoil from a plastic tableau. Isn't it? A tingle makes you push your shoulders back.
You wish you'd never touched the damn thing.
But what good did regrets ever do anyone? It's time to load and board the plane.
[[You become filled with fear]]
[[Load and board the plane]]
You fix Falconer's mainframe camera into place on a rigid tripod over the hatch.
'Be careful,' Falconer says, for the umpteenth time and he wipes his forehead with his handkerchief. You expected him to be a bit more outdoorsy. This bloke's like Hercule Poirot without the walking stick. A world-renowned photographer? Really?
He turns to Fretwell, 'Ready for take-off, captain.'
Your order is clear. 'Falconer, you're up front. Next to me.'
The look on his face is priceless: surprise, embarrassment and alarm.
[[You say, 'Take your seats. Captain's orders.']]
[[Do you have a problem with a female pilot?']]
Take-off's a synch. Blue, blue skies, baby, that's what it's all about.
The sun throws patches of light onto a white landscape. Bare rocky outcrops darken mountain peaks but otherwise it's snow and ice all the way. Not a trace of human destruction and when you look down, you imagine Scott and his team setting out to conquer this huge expanse, to make their dream come true.
You sniff. A strong waft of sweat. Huh, maybe Falconer's nervous.
'Bloody stupid, not using dogs.'
Ugh? Where did that thought come from?
Sun's making you dizzy. Lakes are everywhere and the rocks and the mountains are reflected in every pool.
A worry nudges: if the sky were solid cloud, you'd have trouble deciding where the land ended and the sky began.
[[Sit up tall to clear your head.]]
[[Decide you're not feeling one hundred percent and must return to the airport.]]
Every pilot knows the Antarctic's tricky but the aircraft's flying well and there's nothing to stop you enjoying today's flight over this amazing continent.
[[Fly onwards.]]
[[Decide to do a three-sixty.]]
As you turn the plane, the waft of sweat becomes overpowering. Your shoulders are being pinned back against your seat by some imaginary force and suddenly you can't breathe.
Colour zig-zags before your eyes. Neon dots. Darkness.
By your side, Falconer sticks his SLR through a hole in the cockpit window. The unpressurised cockpit is one benefit of flying an Otter. Anyway, he's snapping away, happy as a pig rolling in truffles.
The plane feels heavy, sluggish and unresponsive.
[[Enjoy the sunshine.]]
[[Monitor your instruments.]]
This plane is spinning like a top! The cloud thickens and land and sky merge into one. You come out of the spin and head into some pale sky between two mountains.
Aaaaaaaagh! You heading down, down, down and straight into the frozen waters of a lost lake.
Cold. Black.
Monitor your gyrocompass, fuel gauge, engine temperature, artificial horizon and air speed. Level's are normal but the plane feels odd.
Over and over and over again, you check.
Clouds are reflected in the lakes too: soft veils for the jagged ice blocks that dot the water surface and like the ice blocks, we too float in time.
Ouch! These reflections are disorientating ...
[[Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Delight in the sensations->Decide to do a three-sixty.]]
[[Shake yourself out of this daze]]
The sun is warm on your skin. You feel powerful and invincible but the plane is dragging. Suddenly, the artificial horizon gauge goes into crazy.
[[Spin baby spin->Decide to do a three-sixty.]]
Your destination is unmissable. A cobalt seam splits the ice and the blue intensifies with depth. To achieve a sharp focus, the camera lens needs to be parallel with land; Falconer signals that now's the time for you to angle the plane.
After a mile or two, a light turbulence begins and your arms ache with the effort of keeping the Otter steady. The chasm is as long as a marathon and, at this rate, you'll feel like you've run one by the time you reach the far end.
You say,
[['This is a breeze.']]
[['Can't do it any more.']]
Falconer heads aft to set things up. Fretwell crouches down to open the hatch but he struggles with a bolt. This has never happened before; it's checked daily.
Over the intercom, you advise, 'Grease it.'
He sprays WD40 and now, the hatch slides open.
The camera's in action and you're in business. Beneath us, the crack slices on with an unstoppable energy and the inky line blots and makes patterns in the ice.
'We need to be lower,' shouts Falconer. 'This is the shot of a lifetime.'
The man's obsessed.
[[Is he crazy?]]
[[Some amazing shots might help my reputation.]]
'Enough! Get out the back and set up the mainframe.'
[[I lose my temper]]
[['Can't do it any more.'<-'Move it!']]
You cannot move. Your feet are frozen to the spot. You try to put the flag back but your hand sticks in your pocket.
With horror, you realise you've become one of the mannequins. You are a part of the most bizarre tabeau ever. A twentieth century pilot frozen solid at the side of Scott and his men. If only you could lie down on the sledge but no! You must stay here for ever.
You scream! 'We're risking our lives for you to get these shots!'
You scream and scream.
Trouble is once the screaming starts, you can't stop and in the meantime, you've taken your eye off what's going on outside. Clouds make this impossible. The radio turns to mush and the plane plummets down, down,
down.
Darkness.
What kind of fool would fly low in these weather conditions? The cloud's thickening and I decide to radio base that we are returning home.
This pilot is not going to take any more risks.
During our descent, the airspeed indicator needle wobbles: a strong indication of the Pitot tube icing over.
[[You decide to hang low for a little longer.]]
[[You head back up.->Is he crazy?]]
It's all hunky-dory then Falconer whoops and hollers. You glance back to see what's up with this jerk. His eyes are wild and he's dancing aound like he's hearing music. What's his problem?
Frets lurches forward like he's been pushed but Falconer was nowhere near him.
Frets slips on the grease and trips through the hatch. He hangs for a moment then drops. His scream pierces through you but soon, there's just aircraft noise. Out of your window, you watch him plummet: a tiny rag doll then a silhouette outlined above the cobalt blue crack. He disappears into the chasm.
[[My first thought is for Fret's widow.]]
[[My first thought is to report the accident.->I must report the accident]]
[[My first thought is for Falconer's safety.]]
She's only recently had a baby. This is tragic.
[[I must report the accident]]
'Shut the hatch!' you yell.
Falconer ignores you and crawls back to the chair at your side. He fumbles with his belt then drops it unfastened. 'Bloody hell. Bloody hell.'
'You didn't help him.'
He slumps back in his chair, lips clamped tight. 'There was something else back there with us.'
Your mouth is dry with shock. You should fly down and locate Fret's body.
[[I fly down to locate Fret's body.]]
[[I must report the accident]]
The chasm is so close you could reach out and dangle your hand but something grips your wrist. The hand is cold and the skin is uneven and scarred. The fish smell is strong and you almost pass out. You cannot see Fret anywhere and flying so low has caused mayhem with the controls.
[[I lose control.]]
[[I climb back up and once level, report the accident.->I must report the accident]]
The radio's gone static. It's not a mush, more a laughter that fades and surges.
[[Set course for home]].
We fall into the blue,
Deep blue,
Blue blue,
My blue,
Darkness.
You climb to seven thousand feet. Soon, the weather is a real concern: clouds have formed below and the sky above is a complicated map of air current and weather systems. Worse still, the navigation aids won't switch on. You're back to blind flying just how they did it between the wars.
On the starboard side, a hole opens in the sark clouds. If you go through there's a risk, you may have no way out.
[[Try the radio again]]
[[Go through the hole in the clouds]]
The voice is faint. 'Victor Two Seven this is Bravo-Charlie, receiving you strength two. Blizzard's heading straight at you, suggest you make a five mile turn to starboard.'
A numb fear creeps through your limbs and makes your fingers sting. Brain stalls. Icy in here. You feel responsible but none of this is your fault. Breathe in to calm your nerves. You must keep control but there's a tingling sensation of warm air on your neck and in your ear.
Fish-breath.
[['Leave us alone,' you shout.]]
You tilt the stick and head starboard into the hole. Grey cloud enevelops the plane and with visibility nil, you are assailed by a pungent smell.
Your throat closes. Asparagus pee. Ugh!
[[Your hand slips from the stick.]]
Your world is becoming unhinged. Who are you shouting at? Stick to reality and in this spot, to any half-decent pilot, one thing is evident: there is only one flying choice.
[[Go through the hole in the clouds]]
The nose slants too far. The plane hits turbulence and Falconer jerks upright. Your hands are white-knuckled around the stick and your breathing levels out.
Your voice scrapes against the chill air. ‘Tighten your seat belt.’
‘Wait.’ Falconer leans forward to grab his camera from its harness against the glass.
It's a struggle to maintain direction. You make it through the clouds but a sudden burst of light is painfully bright. Glaring. Another jolt of turbulence and Falconer crashes forward, whacking his head. Blood darkens his grey hair, the camera drops onto the floor and he slumps back into his chair.
‘Falconer?’
He groans, eyes blinking. Unseeing.
‘Put your seat belt on.’
‘I can’t,’ he whines.
‘Do it. Now.’
‘He won’t let me.’ With a yelp, Falconer reaches towards me.
[[Help Falconer put his seat belt on.]]
[['Come on then! Help me!' Your scream slices the thin air.]]
You lean over to help him but he grabs you, hugs you and clings like a drowning infant. The stick slips from your hand.
'Let me go!' You push against him.
But fear has made him strong.
[[Summon all your strength]]
[[Stop fighting and hope if you stay still, he will regain sense]]
Falconer slithers to the deck. His face grazes and buffets down the metal controls. A red light illuminates on your control panel. One engine’s too hot. You forgot to switch on the Pitot heat and de-ice and over-revved it.
We need to land.
And soon.
The smell of sweat and damp grows stronger and makes you want to retch. A second light illuminates and that’s when the whistling starts, low and melodious. Horribly familiar but you can’t place the tune.
The cold can do strange things to people; you must be imagining it!
[[Still, you want to take your hands off the stick and cover your ears.]]
[[You rise to this test.]]
The relief is instant. You can't hear the music any more. the trouble is you've taken your hand off the stick and the plane goes in to a spin. Crash and burn.
There’s fear in you now but if Scott and his men could tramp on with dwindling rations and basic equipment, then you can rise to this test.
‘Not so easy now. This is no cheat,’ you say, and then wonder who you're talking to. Ha! Can you name that tune?
[[I'll give it a go->The Blue Danube, that’s it!]]
[[No I hate classical music.]]
Ha! The Blue Danube, that’s it, but now I’ve sussed the tune, the whistling halts. I force myself to look around but there’s nobody there.
Outside, I can’t see a thing. Cloud has stolen all horizons. It’s a whiteout and my throat tightens.
‘Breathe and count,’ I tell myself, switching radio channels to Distress. I shout our location but there’s no response.
A laugh, not over the airwaves but in the plane. Hollow and forced, it’s an ugly laugh like there’s no joke left.
[[You cover your ears.->Still, you want to take your hands off the stick and cover your ears.]]
[[You radio for help again.]]
You hate it so much, you cover your ears.
[[Still, you want to take your hands off the stick and cover your ears.]]
‘This is Victor Two Seven calling on distress.’ You plead into the radio. ‘Is anyone receiving?’
The calm voice of the ground operator makes you want to sob. ‘Victor Two Seven this is Bravo-Charlie, you are ten miles from Halley VI. Vector 208 degrees.’
[[Focus all your attention on landing the plane.]]
[[Decide the only way to do this is in style.->Decide to do a three-sixty.]]
Won't it?
Help
will
come,
wo
You stumble along the pods, and then, the orange capsule looms out of the snow, just how they promised at your training. A light winks in the window. Your eyes are playing tricks. Nothing’s certain here. Everything must be switched off. You're imagining things but it helps you feel less alone.
The door of the communal pod is stiff with ice.
[[Push it open.]]
[[Turn away.->Something lurks inside.]]
Tug hat on. Snap goggles into place. Ouch! Cheek stings. Fingers swollen with cold. Sore. Can’t fasten coat. Quick. Pull on gloves. Ha! Done it! Ha!
Outside, the wind’s dropped. No birdsong. No penguins. No natural sound. Nothing but a slight buzzing and the creak of your clothing. Even through your goggles, the snow is blinding and the silence is eerie but this is what you wanted: a perfect white silence. You stand swaying in this vast emptiness and your connection to the planet has never been stronger. It was a storm, that’s all.
This place is yours. You claim it as your own.
The blue futuristic pods are outlined faintly through the overcast sky. You tramp forwards. The snow is soft and the ground gives underfoot. A shadow flickers and there’s a definite movement. Someone’s here. One of the scientists has sneaked back to camp.
[[You call out. 'Hey there!’]]
[[You run. This is no friendly scientist.]]
The figure’s faceless, suited up but they can help you. You run fast towards them. Slap! Bang! You go down. When you look up, they’ve gone. Nobody there. You're scared and you're cold and you're wet. Can’t bear this. Haze, it’s all hazy.
[[Stand up and find shelter in Halley. ->Shelter in Halley until weather clears.]]
[[Stretch out on the snow.]]
Cold. Unbearable cold. Snow lands on you as if you're not there.
This is the beginning of the end.
Blaze of light
turns to
dark.
The door swings open. You climb into the stark interior. Of course, there’s no light on in here. Must find a way to start the generator before sun drops. In winter, each day lasts a few measly hours but you can’t go back out there. Not yet. Stamp your feet and snow falls from your boots.
On the bench is a jar of table salt, enamel plates with blackened rims and a rusted tin of oatmeal. This is all wrong. Halley is a high-tech pod, state-of-the-art, not this timber antiquity. Music starts. A man sings a music hall song, fuzzy and jaunty, ‘Yip I Addy I Ay.’
On a makeshift table, a record spins on a gramophone.
[[Dance.]]
[[Take a couple of steps in to see what's what.]]
[[Go back outside.]]
A blue pod might be better. One minute, it's in front of you but the next it's gone. The snow plays games with your eyes: the light, the bright, the white.
It hurts.
[[Lie down.->Stretch out on the snow.]]
'Yip I Addy I Ay,' he sings and you dance until you're warm through.
Crazy huh? Something odd's going on.
[[You'd better take a look,->Take a couple of steps in to see what's what.]]
[[Dance some more->Dance.]]
A couple of ponderous steps takes you past a wooden bunk. A sniff of sweat.
You can’t see a radio and there’s no light switches either but a small candle stub is set on a saucer.
Your hiccup could be mistaken for a laugh. A tang of asparagus pee is hard to ignore but you concentrate on finding something ordinary. On the bunk, a rudimentary sleeping bag reeks of damp and sweat. The now familiar smell makes you want to
[[reach out and touch the fur.]]
[[recoil. The smell and the feel of it makes you run.->Go back outside.]]
There's definitely some kind of supernatural presence in the orange pod: it's like you've gone back in time or to some strange otherworld.
You'll be safe out here.
[[See the outline of the plane and hurry, hurry towards it.->Stay on the plane. Help will come eventually.]]
[[There must be somewhere safe.->Something lurks inside.]]
[[This is ridiculous. Go back in and claim that pod as your own.->Take a couple of steps in to see what's what.]]
The fur is stiff with ice. Cold. Wet. Frozen solid but you want to clamber in.
[[Resist the urge.]]
[[Clamber in.]]
Some clutter messes up the workbench. A scrap of paper. Blank, nothing to it.
[[Turn it over.]]
[[You are scared.]]
You clamber in to the sleeping bag. Frozen hard. Your body heat makes it thaw and drip.
wet through.
cold
drip-drop-drip
cold.
[[Find the energy somehow to climb out.->Resist the urge.]]
[[Hope it will become warm.]]
Hope is a funny thing.
You fall asleep and your dreams are cosy but you won't be waking up.
I turn the piece of paper over and on it, a drawing of a flag, blowing in the wind. A flag in the middle of nothing. Pencil, I think.
The music scratches to an end. A laugh drifts up to the roof but it’s not soft. Not any more. This laugh has an edge.
[['Who are you?']]
[[Laugh, laugh and laugh some more.]]
You remember this morning and how excited you were. And the stupid tableau; that was when all of this started.
'Help me,' you plead. 'I'll share this place. We can both have it. There's enough here for all of us.'
[[Turn the piece of paper over->Turn it over.]]
You ask. ‘What do you want?’
There’s no answer and you have to get out. Now. No choice. Go.
The door slams behind you and flurries blizzard in imperfect silence.
Maybe baby, may be some time.
[[As you lie down, a voice murmurs.]]
[[You can't do this any more.->Stretch out on the snow.]]
"I am just going outside and may be some time."
[[The earth looks inviting, a white bed, cosy, warm, peaceful->Stretch out on the snow.]]
[[Is this guy for real?->Laugh, laugh and laugh some more.]]
I keep the plane at sixty degrees but the ache deadens first my arms then my shoulders. There's a very strange tickling sensation down my spine and a strong smell of fish.
[[I yell at Falconer.]]
[['Can't do it any more.']]
You shove Falconer away.
It is you who does that, isn't it?
Isn't it?
[[Try not to panic->The ghost shoves Falconer away from you.]]
[[Panic]]
He doesn't. Panic and shock stop him thinking clearly and he is fighting you, fighting anything.
Too late, he catches your eye and a flicker of sense, of logic shows his fear in all its awfulness.
The plane spins out of control.
Crash and burn.
You never feel how cold the ice is.
Come on now. You can do this.
Deep breaths.
[[Get us home.->The ghost shoves Falconer away from you.]]
Touchdown. Fuck! That was hairy.
Falconer’s head injury’s bad. Worse than bad.
We’ve landed. Well, makes no odds to him now but you must take care of yourself. Think what to do next.
[[Stay on the plane. Help will come eventually.]]
[[Shelter in Halley until weather clears.]]
[[Have a wander round and explore.]]
Through the blinding snow, run.
Legs heavy.
Clumsy.
[[See the outline of the plane and hurry, hurry towards it.->Stay on the plane. Help will come eventually.]]
[[Run along the pods. You must be able to get in here somewhere. ->Shelter in Halley until weather clears.]]]]
[[Help! Somebody please.->Stretch out on the snow.]]
Sometimes, all you can do is laugh.
What harm can this ghost do you anyway?
That's all he is, right? There's enough tinned fish for both of you.
Hang on in there, help is coming.
[[Find a way to make the radio in the plane work]]
[[Eat tinned fish.]]
Maybe you should have checked the use-by date ... ?
Now you can't stop puking. Nobody here to help.
Your temperature rises. Who's that holding your hand?
Bright light baby baby.
Darkness.
A plane is on it's way. Looks like you've done it, Captain. You are going home!
Something shoves him but you don't know what. Fear, horror and relief twist together.
[[Keep flying->The ghost shoves Falconer away from you.]]
Falconer sweats a bit. 'Of course not,' he says. 'I wouldn't want you to think I'm misogynistic.'
'Then you'll need to take your seat up front at my side and we'll make sure we get the best aerial shots of Brunt Ice Shelf the world has ever seen.'
With a huff and a wriggle of his shoulders, he stalks to the front of the plane.
[[You say, 'Take your seats. Captain's orders.']]