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Avery's thrilled to see the Scott make a successful loop. To hell with the Lexington expedition. He's beginning to take a certain pride, a sense of ownership in what they're doing here. That's a surprise, as he's never really taken anything seriously his whole life. Is this what growing up, becoming a man feels like?
Nah.
Avery takes a smoke in celebration, eyeing Phoebe with a mischievous smile. Classy broad. Keep it gentlemanly. She'll like that.
"So," he asks her, offering one of his dark brown cigarettes. "How'd a dame refined as you end up on a boat with a buncha brash boys?"
You overhear Professor Moore speaking to Arnault, “We must move the base. Within a month, the sea ice on which we now stand will break up and float away; we must be atop the barrier by then. When we leave, in
three months’ time, we shall load directly from the barrier itself, a feat which is currently too dangerous to attempt.”
Alphonso will take time once they arrive at the camp site to properly smoke and cure all the extra meat they got from the seals along with the dog sled and pack as much of the meat up for the trip as possible as to save on the rations and also provide fresh food which is important when travelling. Alphonso will also gather water that is fresh as well for his canteens as well as the barrels that the group has for water and ensuring those are also filled to the brim using just a hint of salt to keep those from freezing up.
That hint of blood lingers on her tongue for a long time and in her mind even longer. You would have loved that. Content to stay out of the way and hope that her skills are not needed anytime soon. Opting instead to aimlessly meander around. Watching the frozen landscape and the strange creatures that live here. Along with the human foreigners, so out of place.
Lost in though and visibly jumping at Avery's question. Offering him a smile in return for the cigarette Letting him light it and taking a bliss filled inhale before answering, "Honestly? I think my boss was tired of seeing me and they came to him wanting another medic. And it was a chance to travel so I refused to let them say no."
At Miskatonic Camp:
Delighted by the emperor penguins, Louis carefully unpacks his dictaphone and gets as near to the creatures as he deems safe, recording several minutes of their squawks on a fresh cylinder before packing the device away again.
At Base Camp:
Louis gratefully takes a piece of seal meat and chews it with a smile, blood smeared across his large block teeth. "Very good!" He looks wistfully at the seals as he eats the meat. "They remind me of home..." he says to no one in particular. He talks with Olaf for a few minutes about seal hunting, something the two apparently have in common, before heading off to double-check the radios while Stanley sees to the plane. We cannot be too careful with our equipment in this place.
The next few days are filled with the sound of aircraft engines. The Enderby takes to the air on the morning of November 16th, followed shortly by the Weddell. The smaller Scott continues to make mapping flights along the Ross Sea shore and mountains of the barrier’s western edge, while the two Boeings begin the methodical process of airlifting the expedition to its new home forty miles away. The airlift is expected to take six days.
Each of the Boeings makes five trips on the 18th, and six on the day after. By the afternoon of November 20th, the expedition’s permanent base camp is well established on the smooth ice of the barrier. More than half of the explorers, including three sled teams, are there; the two tractors and a half-dozen men remain on the sea ice to load the aircraft as they arrive.
The investigators, having positions that do not require hard labor are all at the permanent camp setting up their various homes away from home when disaster strikes!
A great crack opens in the ice not far from the sea camp, running more than a hundred yards inland from the shore with a deep rippling pop. Two hours later, it lengthens further, and two other huge fissures appear, spearing inland from the open sea. One seems aimed directly at the expedition’s camp; the other threatens to cut the remaining supplies off from the safety of the runway!
The sea ice is breaking up early—and the expedition is not prepared. A hurried radio message informs the aircraft and the barrier camp of the trouble. All hands are roused to save the precious equipment and fuel.
Alphonso will gather up all his supplies first if it is not already gathered and then he will fly back to help after all if his things and the extra food is secured.
"Well, doc?" Avery shifts his eyes toward Professor Myers. "This is your show. You want I should stay here or head back and help clean up this mess?"
"Best we stay put and monitor the inland camp, Avery. Too many feet on failing ice only places the sea camp in further jeopardy." Myers' hairs on his neck stood on end. Maybe it was the cold? He sensed that since their arrival the land had been less than welcoming. He hadn't expected such a tumultuous first week. His anxieties were abated slightly as he checked his pocket watch and thought admirably of Abernathy.
All hands are roused to save the precious equipment and fuel! The Investigators elect to stay behind and help unload supplies as they arrive at the main encampment on the ice. The next several hours is a race against time for the Expedition Team, as the cracks in the ice multiply and move inexorably inward toward the camp. Load after load of food, supplies, and gasoline drums are dragged inland and stacked by the runway. With each new trip, the explorers pray harder that this will not be the last. The aëroplanes load, unload, and turn around as fast as they can, but the amount of cargo that remains at risk is huge.
Gabrielle steams westward to help, but she is far away and cannot arrive before the next morning. A new fissure opens up inland of the seaside cache at three o’clock that afternoon, directly in front of one of the racing tractors. On the radio, you hear as the description as the tractor crew must watch in horror as open water yawns before them and the icy surface tips to one side. Thirty drums of fuel and more than a ton of pemmican slide quietly into the water and are gone.
The airlift continues for another three hours, but it is clear that the end is near. The two tractors are attached to short trains of heavy pallets and instructed to head overland toward the barrier along the dogsled trail. All the remaining men at the sea camp are ordered to accompany the tractors—there is no way to take them in the planes.
In the face of rising winds and oncoming storm clouds, the two aircraft make one more trip, and then a second. Shortly after 6 p.m., Larry Longfellow, piloting the Weddell, reports that a fissure has appeared across the runway itself, making it impossible to land. He aborts his flight and returns to the barrier base; the Enderby, preparing for her next flight, does not even leave the ground. The remaining twenty tons of aircraft fuel are abandoned to the sea.
In all, the breaking of the ice costs the expedition 140 drums of aviation fuel—nearly half its supply. It is a bitter blow.
The tractor party struggles all night through lowering temperatures and blowing snow. They arrive, exhausted but safe, shortly before noon the following day. Phoebe assists in ensuring the men do not have frostbite and treats minor exhaustion symptoms.
A roughening sea, and the increasing shelving of ice from the barrier, forces Captain Vredenburgh to give up his rescue plans and withdraw the Gabrielle from shore. November 22nd is blustery, with falling snow and poor visibility. The aircraft are tied securely within their makeshift shelters. There is barely enough room for the entire expedition in the buildings erected so far, and the loss of the extra fuel casts a pall upon the party, but everyone is safe and sound upon the ice. Despite its losses the expedition is at last ready to begin its mission of discovery!
The camp on the barrier is ready for use. After several days of hard labor and desperate good luck, the men and women of the Expedition at last can rest, and not a moment too soon. The weather has turned throughout the region, and thin clouds of dry blown snow make flying impossible. The Antarctic sun’s low amber rays appear and disappear between the clouds, casting the stark whiteness of the barrier ice by turns into vivid relief, long shadows, and impenetrable gray murk.
The Starkweather-Moore Expedition’s base camp is not luxurious. Quarters are cramped. The two wooden huts are barely large enough for everyone to stand in all together. Most of the explorers live in their tents, in depressions sheltered somewhat from the wind, with walls built up out of blocks of ice.
Work continues on the dog kennels, the weather shack, the laboratories and darkroom, and the hangars for the aëroplanes, but they are far from complete. The two functioning Boeings, Weddell and Enderby, and the little Scott are as firmly tied down and well anchored as possible, but the Expedition pilots and Stanley check them often, to be sure they are not damaged by the cold and the wind.
Guides and dog men work with the sleds and their teams, exploring trails and setting flags ever farther from the camp, while the aerial wires for the radio are strung with Louis' assistance and the Pabodie drills are assembled and tested for the first time in the field.
The plan calls for Pulaski, Fiskarson, and Snåbjorn to depart the next morning with three sleds on a cache-laying journey. Their goal is to lay emergency supplies offood and fuel 250 miles away along the flight path to Lake’s Camp and the Miskatonic Mountains. The sleds are prepared; the men sleep in preparation for their coming trip.
Of the scientists, only the meteorologists and Sam Winslow, the glaciologist, have much to do. Their jobs are just beginning. The rest of them, including the Investigators organize their instruments, accustom themselves to the deadly cold, and rest, waiting for the weather to clear.
As night falls on the weary Expedition...
A voice responds, it is Alan "Colt" Huston's voice manning the radio for Louis, "Copy, this is the Starkweather-Moore camp Colt speaking. Repeat, over".
“ Thank the Gods man! The Lexington camp is on fire. Acknowledge".
"Copy. Can you reach anyone at the camp. Over".
Captain Burr speaks again, "Copy. Not yet. We’re trying to raise them. It looks like the huts are burning—and one of my men, Voelker, says he heard gunshots. Can your camp assist? Over”.
"Copy, I will rouse Starkweather immediately!"
The captain snatched at a pair of proffered binoculars, staring across the water at the pulsing orange glow. The sheer walls of the barrier prevented a landing, even to come to the aid of the others, less than two miles away. He watches, helpless, as a thick red fireball blossomed upward and a faint muffled boom rolled across the ice.
Stanley, grim from the demoralizing losses, is looking forward to getting some sleep and hoping that their luck will finally start to turn around one of these days. Then he hears the mayday call on the radio and rushes over to listen to what's going on.
"Gunshots?" Stanley asks, wide-eyed, as Colt turns to get up. All his disappointment at the loss of half of their aviation fuel is suspended for the moment. "Did he say gunshots as well as fire? What could they be shooting at? Polar Bears?"
Avery, weary from the trials of the day, sleeps deeply, dreaming of a more peaceful tomorrow...
Thrilled for a chance to sleep and sleep deeply for the first time in what seems like weeks.
-
Colt jumps as you enter and ask the question Stanley, "Crap you scared me Mr. Chastain!
Can you man the radio in case the Captain tries to contact us again? Unless you want to rouse Starkweather?"
Stanley thinks for a moment. He could possibly build a radio if pressed, but he doesn't really know any of the etiquette or whatever for talking on one.
"That's not a bad idea," Stanley says after a few seconds. "You stay here, I'll go get Starkweather. Hell, he'll probably think this is good news." There's no mirth in the thought, just a weird sort of panic. Would Starkweather even lift a finger to help his rival? What if this had been their camp? Would Lexington? The sheer distance and difficulty of travel feels like a tangible Sword of Damocles at this moment. He starts rushing through the camp to Starkweather's tent, shouting as he goes, not worried about waking anyone else. Who knows how many people might need to be alert to pitch in.
He keeps repeating himself until he has Starkweather's attention to explain what he heard come over Colt's radio.
The entire camp, small in proximity as it is, is awakened by Stanley's announcement.
Starkweather looks up from his desk at Stanley, does the man ever sleep!?, and stands. "So, it's a rescue mission is it? We've no time to lose, assemble your team including Dr. Arnault Mister Chastain, lives are at stake for every moment we dally!"
Avery stumbles along, neither boot tied, still wrapping his layers on over his thermals. "How'd anyone be stupid enough ta start a fire on an ice block surrounded by water? And gun shots? Whadda they think they're doing over there. Buncha amateurs... Christ!" He stumbles out into the evening air, still struggling with his zipper, and trying to get a grip on the situation from their current vantage point.
Alphonso gets rudely awoken from a nap as he warms in his blankets. He jumps up and grabs his shotgun and a lantern and follows the crowd saying
time to make the money gentleman!
Myers wearily rubbed his eyes as he sat upright in his tent. A hot cup of Earl Gray wouldn't hurt, he thought as he listened to the merciless wind beating against the tent and the commotion of voices in the distance.
He layered his breeches and sweaters over his thermals, tugged on his snow boots, and crawled out of the tent to join the other team members who had roused. It was hard to gauge the time here. The sky seemed to hold a constant hue of gray-blue that that could deceive the circadian rhythm. If one didn't follow some sort of schedule exhaustion could readily overtake him.
Myers overheard the cries of fire in the Lexington camp from Stanley. After losing as much fuel as they had it was nauseating to consider further combustion of their remaining supply. And how it God's name did a fire break out. It was a few moments later Myers heard the mention of gunshots. They certainly aren't shooting at each other...? Myers weakly suggested. As far as he knew of the wildlife here none would dare be so brash as to elicit such a reaction from an entire camp. Myers was quickly on edge and eager to gather the group for aide.
Lifting her head and glaring at the sliver of the world the peaks though her tent. Quickly sliding out of her bead to layer up as quickly as possible. Grabbing her medical bag before rushing out into the cold. Silently joining with the group and looking for Stanley.
As you all exit your domiciles the rest of the camp is awake. Men emerge from their tents in disarray, curious and uneasy. Moore sets Lopez and Cole to preparing food and water, while Pulaski and Snåbjorn ready the
sleds. Everyone seems to know that something is wrong, and that something needs to be done. No one knows just what has happened, or why.
Starkweather races up a hill with binoculars to get a better view, if he can.
Inside the meeting hall Colt remains at his post as you all enter. “That was Hopewell, the radioman for Lexington. We are not exactly sure what is going on. Now I am trying to call Tallahassee; perhaps they know more than I.”
A few moments later Colt has MacAuley, Tallahassee’s radioman, on the line. The resulting conversation between the two men reveals that Acacia’s fuel cache and mess hall appear to be ablaze, along with several tents. No one can see much from aboard the ship—the haze shifts and obscures the shore—but men on watch report hearing gunshots, and everyone can see a pall of smoke over the scene. No one answers the radio.
Tallahassee is helpless. Despite clear water at the foot of the barrier it is far too dangerous to come alongside the ice, even to put a party ashore, and there is nowhere for a small boat to land.
Starkweather returns to the hall in time to hear the end of the conversation. He demands the microphone and leans over the radio. “Tallahassee, this is Starkweather. I’m preparing an overland party. It’s only eight miles, so we ought to be there shortly. I’m taking food, fuel, and medical supplies, but we cannot afford to bring a radio, so I’ll fire off two white flares when we arrive. Do you understand? Tell your captain not to worry, we’ll do everything we can.”
Handing the microphone back to Colt, he flashes a delighted grin at the room. Suddenly he is every inch the heroic adventurer. “Come on, you lot. I want you all to come, my top team!” he states pointing to all of you, “get anyone else besides Mrs. Barrett with first aid training as well, to be ready for a little trek in fifteen minutes. We’ve a young lady to rescue!”
Alphonso grabs his lamp and his shotgun as well as his coat and some blankets to protect from the wind as well as extra ammunition and moves to the party not bothering to hide anything this time and looking rather grimly prepared for an accountant.
"Christ, an eight mile hike through snowy darkness into a bonfire the size of the Statue of Liberty. Tell us the bad news."
Glancing at Avery, "It will be really cold and there are angry people with gun."
Turning to run back to her tent to make sure she has everything she will need.
The investigators finalize their preparations and step outside. With quiet competence, Moore has already begun readying the equipment for
the journey. Two sleds, prepared for the cache-deploying journey, are rapidly restocked with emergency and medical supplies as the dog men harness two teams.
Starkweather loudly announces his plans to the assembled camp. Your group as well as anyone else with medical or military experience is heading towards this unknown danger. The smile is gone; now he is deadly serious, and has the air of a soldier going into battle.
The feeling in the entire camp is ominous. No one knows what has happened, but everyone believes that what they find will be grim. What has happened is so unclear the team is bringing well, everything they can.
A brief time later the rescue party departs. Two sleds, laden with supplies and drawn by eleven-dog teams, accompany the little band. For most of the group it is their first trip across the “wild” ice of the Ross Barrier.
The party consists of Starkweather, Sykes, Doctor Greene, Pulaski, Snåbjorn, and all of you. The dogs break the trail most of the way, drawing the sleds after them, with the remainder of the men skiing (or slogging) along behind except Greene who is not an accomplished skier and soon agrees to ride one of the sleds “for the sake of the emergency.”
However, there is not enough room on the sleds for everyone!
Alphonso will attempt to ride rather then ski as well as he is even less an accomplished skier and has no strength or dexterity to boot.
Huffing but not assuming that she is going to get a spot.
Avery lights a cigarette, taking deep, frantic puffs to get his fix in before they depart. Knowing to stay far afield from the oil canisters being loaded on the sleds, lest they end up like the Lexington camp, he watches as the vehicles are quickly loaded to overflowing with supplies and persons.
"Well, f##&. Time to shake a goddamned leg." He swears bloody murder, realizing it's skis for him. And this isn't a swanky lodge in the Rockies with pretty girls and gin, neither.
Alphonso sees Phoebe and will give her the spot for the lady and attempt to ski.
and like that those polar survival classes come in handy as Alphonso looks like an olympic skier slushing through the snow with the greatest of eases, a look of excitement and disbelief on his own face at how well he is doing!
The adrenaline coursing through Stanley makes keeping up with the sleds surprisingly easy. That, and the fact that he happened to have chosen cross-country skiing as an extra-curricular activity while attending Miskatonic University. That was a long time ago, sure, but the habits one ingrains through training never truly leave you, even after years of a more sedentary life as a design engineer.
He tries to steel himself for whatever they might find at the other campsite, visions of the disaster on the pier replaying themselves throughout his head. When he ran into that fire to save people it was without time to think about it first. Hopefully if a similar situation were to come up now, he wouldn't freeze. And, morbidly amusing, hopefully that would not be a literal outcome.
Smiling at Alphonso, "Thank you." I would only look like a fool. Alternating between rechecking her bag and looking around. Running any experiences with severe trauma injuries over and over in her mind. Gun shots, burns, broken bones, lacerations, concussions... The way the smell of burning flesh lingers in the nose for days and how long it takes to get blood off clothing.
Avery and Charles trail behind the main group on their skis.
You believe to the east you see something moving along the ice though it appears to blend in with the wind and the snow.
---
The snow begin to fall as the group continues to race to the camp, though not heavy it is a bit distracting and certainly cold to any part of the skin it touches. Especially considering the way the group has been jolted awake with this crisis!
It takes more than two hours to cover the eight miles between the camps. Starkweather waves his hand as Avery and Charles fall behind, "They will catch up, we must keep going!"
The last half mile is swift—the party follows trails of marker flags set out by Lexington’s own people— but everyone is weary from the trip. At last the other base camp comes into view.
The Lexington Expedition base camp is smaller than Starkweather-Moore’s. A single long wooden hut centers the site, with a short row of tents spreading out to either side like wings or the sides of a V. The generator shack and the radio tower sit in the middle of the V, while the scarred line of the landing strip is to one side.
The air over the site is full of the choking tang of smoke and the dark pall of burning fuel. Pale wisps of steam curl up from the soot-covered snow where the wet climate and diligent work of the cleaning crew have damped the flames. The radio mast has fallen and lies crumpled against the ice. The neat cluster of huts and tents is covered by a thin film of ash, and the pristine whiteness of the snow is marred by gutted remains. One end of the hut is blackened and burned. Where the generator shack once stood, now there is only the cooling aftermath of a bonfire.
By the time the would-be rescuers arrive, the chaos of the first minutes of the disaster has settled into the orderly business of putting the camp back together!
Starkweather is a bit taken aback at how quickly the camp has recovered and he seems well pleased but yet a bit disappointed.
Expedition personnel are everywhere, in various states of calm. Some pull salvageable goods out of still smoldering tents. Others clear wreckage from smashed equipment. A little distance away, two of the Lexington men stand by themselves, contemplating the quietly smoking remains of the radio shed.
The excited sled dogs bark and snarl at the stench of scorched canvas and gasoline as the sleds descend the gentle slope toward the camp. Heads turn at the unexpected sound; one man, Beentje, walks out to meet the party. Others follow at a distance.
“Welcome,” he says, his Danish accent quite pronounced. “We heard you were coming. I’m afraid there’s not so much for you to do. Miss Lexington wants to see you in the cook shack.”
“Ah.” Starkweather replies, a bit taken aback. “Of course, whatever I can do. You knew we were coming?”
“Ja. The ship told us hours ago on the radio. Your camp is worried for you.”
"A moment", states Starkweather. He turns to his "away" team. "Split up and see how the camp is faring. Does anyone wish to come with me to meet with Acacia?"
Mr Starkweather, it seems due to all the calamity that has happened perhaps we should send men back to our camp as a safety precaution as nothing further can be done here. A few of us will stay here with a sled and make sure everything is back in order. May I join you in speaking to Miss Lexington?
"I'll go see what I can do to help get the camp back up and running, especially the electricals," Stanley suggests. While he's talking to people to find out ways he can make himself useful, he'll ask about what happened in a conversational manner. Things look like they've calmed down, but he remembers hearing the sound of gunshots over the radio, and even hours later things seem like they're a little too calmed down.
Avery's cheeks are as red as apples, the stubble on his lip crusted with ice. After hours of skis, he's ready to get indoors. "I'll join ya in the cook shack, too."
Avery and Charles arrive as Starkweather gives his choice to come with him or explore.
He nods to Alphonso, "Good idea, let's send the team back and those of us who remain can hunker down here for the evening".
The rest of the members of your dog sled team warm up for a few minutes before heading back to the Moore/Starkweather camp.
---
You head to where you believe the generator is located and find a soot covered man with smudged glasses putting out the last of the fires. Water from the melting snow has stained water marks into his parka and
frozen thickly on his boots and lower legs. His clothes show every sign of being hurriedly pulled on. He is sullen and curt from exhaustion.
"I don't have time for questions right now!"
---
Beentje leads the group and a somewhat dejected Starkweather to Lexington's tent. As you arrive you can hear cursing from within, "Perhapsz you'd best go in alone for now yes Starkweather?"
He pauses and scowls, "A second my friends then I will make introductions".
He heads into the tent as Beentje smiles the fakest smile any of you have ever seen, it takes only seconds for a soft conversation to degenerate into a screaming match that the walls of the cook shed and tents cannot contain.
“Imbecile woman! I should never have allowed you to . . . ”
“. . . how anyone tolerates your incredible arrogance! You . . .”
“. . . had about all I can take of your posturing!”
“Don’t talk to ME about posturing, you pompous . . .”
The entire camp is moving in slow motion trying to work yet fascinated and distracted by this shouting match between the two strongwilled expedition leaders.
The fight seems to have no end in sight after ten minutes, what do the rest of you do?
---
Alphonso stands outside for long moments and then walks away and will busy himself near by helping in the clean up effort without getting himself wet. He will, however, suggest those injured or wet seek out clean dry clothing and make themselves for the nurses tent where Nurse Phoebe will most certainly be assisting those in need.
Suddenly confronted with irritation, Stanley stammers uselessly for several moments as the man glares at him. "I'm just trying to help," he finally manages to mumble. "I'm an engineer from the other expedition." His stomach starts tying itself in knots as his brain is flooding with all of the different ways he could have, and probably should have, approached this encounter.
"Aw, Christ on a cracker!" Avery grumbles. Frozen near to death, he isn't in the mood to follow protocol just now. He knocks loudly on the door into which Starkweather disappeared. "Avon calling. Look, I hate to interrupt, but in case ya haven't noticed there's all hell breakin' lose out here. Starkweather, sir, what would ya have us do?"
Shaking her head at Starkweather, "I am of more use else where." Looking around and asking when able to so she can find her way to the medical tent.
Heads around this smaller camp than that of Starkweather and runs into a few a young man seemingly more willing than others at the camp have appeared to be, "I'm okay thanks for asking.
Gunshots and wild shouting woke the entire camp". He sighs.
---
As you look for the medical tent, you run into, or he runs into you, a man rushing out, "Please move, I need to get more of my supplies!"
---
"You wanna help?! Go see if Sachs and Hopewell need assistance, I'm busy!" He points in their general direction. After a brief, cold walk you find two men by a generator that is clearly never going to be working again without significant parts.
One has a bandage on his arm still leaking blood. The second is rummaging through a tool bag.
---
Lexington peers out of the tent, she is a beautiful young woman, "Who might you be to question anything!?"
Starkweather grimaces, "He is one of my men not yours young Lady. Avery, head to see whether Acacia's plane is damaged, she'll need to fly out as soon as possible".
The flap to the tent closes and she begins to scream obscenities at Starkweather.
"I am to help."
Alphonso is my name. Tell me more about what happened chap? Alphonso says with a kind touch to the man's arm and a nod looking around as if to survey the mess with a question in his eyes.
Stanley takes a deep breath as he approaches, hoping that this will go better than the last time. He knows this generator is a probably a lost cause, but given the chance to help try to fix it anyway, he might gain some insight into what happened to it in the first place.
"Hello, gentlemen," he says, announcing himself as he gets closer so that he doesn't startle them. "I'm an engineer from the Starkweather expedition, and I'm trying to pitch in to get this camp back into a serviceable condition. You look like you could use some help here." He takes a brief pause, then decides to add, directed at the bandaged one, "and I know we brought some additional medical staff with us, too. Your wound looks like it needs more tending. I can relieve you here while you get that looked at again."
Avery releases the flap, then throws his hands in the air. "Alright! Alright! Yeesh..." He stalks off toward the plane.
He sighs and pushes past you. You can tend to the few wounded men while he is absent.
---
Neither responds to the offers of assistance or medical aid.
Sachs shrugs hopelessly and simply begins to work on the machine perhaps to stave off complete despair. A closer look reveals to you that this thing is nothing more than scrap, even if you in the states, you'de be better off siply replacing than repairing it.
Hopewell though talks. He complains about the dreadful series of mishaps
and the hopelessness of the entire affair, punctuating the high points of his argument by waving a tool in Sachs’ direction who has to silently snatch them out of his hands to continue his work though he does so without complaint.
Hopewell is in a dark mood, and tells Stanley how he witnessed the bizarre death of one of the ship’s crewmen. He and the sailor, Bicks, were on deck drinking from a brandy flask to ward off the chill. They were talking about nothing in particular when Bicks suddenly turned. “He looked at me, then back at the ocean. His eyes kept getting wider. Then he turned those eyes back on me again and I swear they were going to pop out of his head. Then he started screaming.
Not saying anything, just screaming. I grabbed at him but he pushed me off and then jumped over the side. It was the damnedest thing; he screamed all the way down, looking at me.” Hopewell shudders.
“But I didn’t do anything to him, he just started screaming.”
At the conclusion of this recitation he falls silent and is clearly uncomfortable.
---
"Nah. Nah, I don't even know you". He scream cries voice strained and marches off.
You wander around a bit and find another solitary member of the Acacia Expedition, he grins wearily. "I told them this damned thing was doomed from the start what with all the damned problems even in New York. I'm Kyle by the way".
---
You reach the plane and find two large men standing near Lexington’s plane. They are subdued and hostile, shoulders hunched against the rising wind, jacket collars pulled up to their chins. Occasionally they mutter something to each other and then fall silent while they continue their tedious vigil, watching over the plane. At your approach they give you the most unfriendly glares you've ever received your entire life.
Stanley shudders at the telling of the bizarre behavior in Hopewell's story. It's a lot to process, and he stays silent for a few extra moments, struggling to come up with something, anything, to say following that that doesn't seem utterly inappropriate.