It was late and the galley was nearly empty, populated by support staff and the few scientists who had to work as part of a twenty-four-hour shift. Most sat alone, staring at the TV with its endlessly scrolling weather report, out a window, or down at their tray. From time to time, one would give a little start as if remembering why they were there, and mechanically lift a fork or a water glass to their mouth. The wind pushed against the outer walls, but was ignored as nothing more than background noise.
Cass had made a point to sit down with Jeremy and Sam, two of the fuelies, in an effort to combat the lethargy that seemed to be grabbing hold of everyone at the station. The conversation was painfully stilted, but with the three of them working at it, they made it through a handful of topics before running out of steam. Still, it was a victory of sorts, and they beamed at each other for having beat T3, if only for one meal. Cass looked around at others not so lucky: those who seemingly sat for hours looking out a window; Elise, who still had her hand wrapped around a glass, though she’d emptied it thirty minutes earlier; even Taylor, his face set in a scowl, gazed unblinkingly into some middle distance.
The fuelies pushed back from the table, excusing themselves just as a neat, trim figure approached, a tray in his hands. Jun nodded at them as they passed, smiled at Cass, and sat down.
“It is nice to see you,” Jun said as he methodically lifted each plastic bowl from his tray and placed them on the table in an array around his plate. He wore the same white short-sleeved shirt she’d originally seen him in and the same—or identical—too-blue department store jeans. She couldn’t see them now, but she was sure he had on the battered Keds as well; they’d become a running, mean-spirited joke around the station.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Jun,” Cass said mechanically, though beyond the greeting she found herself tongue-tied, having talked herself out of trying to keep up the conversation with Jeremy and Sam.
“Are you having a good day?”
“I am,” she said. “How about you?”
“I’m okay,” he said, then looked down at a bowl of salad. He pushed the contents around with his fork as though the actual food was somewhere underneath.
Cass cast around for something to say, latched onto an easy topic. “How’s your work out at COBRA?”
“It’s good, thank you for asking,” Jun said, brightening. “It’s lonely sometimes, but I’ve gotten used to it.”
Cass swirled the last inch of coffee in her cup. “I don’t know how you guys do it, spending all that time alone monitoring the equipment.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he said. “I take my books, some music. There’s lots of time to think. I pretend I can hear the stars talk.”
“Oh?”
As though a dam had burst, he began talking fast, building up speed as the words tumbled out. “Whales communicate through their songs and dolphins through ultrasonic clicks, but not many people think they are actually talking to us. It’s a form of information delivery, but not necessarily speech. What if we thought of distant suns as communicating in a similar way? Radio astronomy is an accepted subfield of the science, but it’s passive observation. What if we could interpret the language of a star like we do a whale’s song or a gorilla’s sign language or a human’s speech?”
After months at the South Pole, the theory didn’t sound nearly as batty as it might’ve in a previous life. “Have you mentioned this to the other people on your team?”
“Oh, no.” Jun’s face registered shock at the suggestion. “They’d think I was crazy.”
Cass smiled. You’re kidding. “Maybe when this is all over, you could test the idea back at home.”
“I don’t think so. They are not much more open-minded than my colleagues here.”
“Where is home, again?”
“Pasadena.” The answer came easily enough, but Jun’s face fell as he said it. “Caltech.”
“Not a good place?”
“Oh, no. It is a very good school. Many opportunities for research, grants, post-docs.”
Cass nodded hesitantly. There was something there, but most Polies weren’t fond of prying. Either someone offered personal information or they didn’t. Jun tore open a sugar packet and stirred it into a glass of iced tea, focusing on it like it would talk to him like his stars. Cass watched him.
“My wife is in Pasadena,” he said finally. “It is very hard to have her so far away.”
Cass nodded again. The rattle of metal pans and utensils being washed filtered to them distantly from the kitchen.
“What does she do?”
“She is a physician’s assistant at a local practice.” He said it as if reading from a script.
“The two of you sound very successful,” Cass said awkwardly.
He looked up and smiled briefly. “Thank you.”
“No kids?”
Jun’s face fell again. “No.”
Idiot , Cass chided herself. “Well, I’m sure it’s hard on her to be away from you, too, Jun.”
He nodded, but not like he was agreeing. He pushed his salad around more, then said to it, “She was not happy that I came to Shackleton. But it is very rare to be invited. This will be very good for my career.”