Electing to do it herself, Carla had just started to stand when the intercom crackled. She eased back into her seat.
“Hello, everyone. Deb Connors here. As you are no doubt already aware, we’ve been having some issues with the station’s main and backup heating systems. We’re currently working on the problem with the engineering team. Please stay calm. If you find the low temperature distressing, all non-GA and DA staff should feel free to take temporary leave to go back to your berths or the galley. ”
Carla looked around the room, watching faces. Stating the problem had made it worse rather than better and what had previously been a shadow of apprehension was now transformed into definite concern for some, fear for others.
“Jack Hanratty or I will update you every half hour until we resolve the problem. In the meantime, please carry on with your regular duties. We hope to have the problem diagnosed soon and —”
Like a candle being snuffed, Deb’s voice stopped at the same time the lights went out, plunging them into darkness. Someone in the galley gasped, followed by a dozen low, moaned exclamations. Carla reached across the table and found Anne’s hand, cold and bony, likewise fumbling for hers. Dim footlights—battery-powered emergency illumination meant to come online only when the main circuit was broken—flickered to life, giving off a weak, muddy light that barely lit an area a foot off the floor.
“Easy, everyone. Take it easy,” a voice boomed nearby, making her jump. A cone of light appeared out of the dark, highlighting the face of Pete Ozment, the cook. He held a fat-headed, industrial-sized flashlight. “It’s just the lights. We’ll be okay. Everybody just stay seated. I’m sure they’ll get the generators going in a minute.”
Just like they got the heat turned back on? Carla thought, but she wanted Pete to be right. Still holding tight to Anne’s hand, she snaked her other out toward Colin’s.
“Colin,” she hissed. “Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“Give me your hand, you stupid man.”
She could almost see his shrug in the dark and then she felt his rough, dry fingers wrap around hers. He had calluses on the palm of his hand.
Pete panned his flashlight around the room, then trained the beam on the galley door. “Everyone stay put. I’m going to see if I can round up any stragglers and lead them back here.”
“So we can all freak out in one spot instead of separately?” Anne asked sotto voce . They watched the comforting glow from his light bounce and fade as he turned down the corridor.
Each small group began murmuring amongst themselves in the dark; the collective conversations became, in some ways, a comforting chatter. No one made it to Antarctica, and certainly not to Shackleton, without being resourceful, smart, and well balanced. Most of the people Carla had met, from the kitchen workers to the head of the neutrino program, had diverse skills and broad experiences. This wasn’t a group to panic or to wait on a problem that could be fixed with ingenuity.
But as each minute built on the last, the room seemed to get colder and darker. Ozment didn’t return and there were occasional flickers of fluorescent green dials as people checked their watches. The chatter died as there was less and less to talk about that didn’t directly address being stranded in the dark.
“Twenty minutes since the juice went out,” someone called.
Thanks for nothing , Carla thought. But it was better to know than to guess. She leaned forward. “Anne? Guys? How long are we going to sit here and freeze?”
“As long as it takes to get the electricity on.” Colin, obdurate and blunt as a river rock.
“I don’t remember anyone making Pete Ozment station manager,” Anne said. “It’s nice he tried to keep everyone calm, but he’s not doing anyone any favors by being gone for so long.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Carla said. “If the station is in real trouble, I’d rather get ahead of it than be a team player and freeze to death. We’ve all got cold weather gear in our rooms. I’d feel better about sitting tight in the pitch black if I’m ready for what’s coming.”
“Don’t you think it would be better to stick together?” Tim asked.
“For Christ’s sake, the station is two long halls connected by stairwells,” Anne snapped. “My house has a more complicated floor plan. We could make it to our berths, get suited up, grab some flashlights, and be back here before Pete is.”
“Go then,” Tim said, his voice wounded.
“Colin?” Carla asked.
“I’ll stay.”
“Suit yourself.”
The sound of rustling preceded Anne’s hand pulling Carla to her feet. They continued to hold hands as they navigated their way around the tables. Carla stubbed her toe on a table leg and cursed.