| Entry 2 | Mavis Island Base Camp - Arrival 2009 |
Published:
After dinner, 2100
I haven’t had a chance to collect my thoughts since the plane landed a few days ago. As soon as we disembarked that day I saw Professor Lopez hurrying across the airstrip in orange coveralls and University-issued helmet. She was holding a loaded harpoon gun and shouting something about density.
When she got to us she explained that the density in protons over Cape Stanwell was arousing the filbosphere to unprecedented levels. “It’s a churn. Now would be the time,” she told us between breaths, “to get your butts in gear.” I’ll never forget those words.
I’m the most junior researcher on the expedition, but as the only Baryllisman (in training), I’m the default pick for team lead on any kind of filbospheric mission. Their last Baryllisman, a guy named Bart Kelvin, lost his mind one night while monitoring a double-plated delnometer on Mount Beatrice. That’s on one of the Rable Islands, not even half the elevation of Cape Stanwell.
Fortunately the barometric pressure on Cape Stanwell supports a full isorod extension (and that’s straight from Base Camp, so there’s not even a need to install inter-helipods at 30-meter intervals like we trained on). What Bart was dealing with was much more complex from an atomic standpoint.
It’s like this: the problem with calibrating a double-plated delnometer in the field, at elevation, is that in a low barometric system, the bolts holding together the demagnetized tefnus overheat as the energy source comes into contact with organic dizaine molecules. It only takes nine or so molecules before your double-plated delnometer starts actually conducting all the anti-energy that’s being produced into a conical receptor called the blastid.
The leaked report said Bart was laying lupus dragonicus bait on the south face when the blastid filled up. When he returned, the entire machine was glowing gold due to all the anti-energy. He stayed on the summit with the machine all night, but the plactoradiaton poisoning made him actually believe he was a lupus dragonicus, and he started plotting ways to infiltrate their pack to get advanced warning of any hunting expeditions towards the Base Camp on Larropy Bay.
Bart finished his PhD and recovered fully from the plactoradiation poisoning. He’s now enjoying life as a full-time father and homemaker.
My first day on Mavis Island, at elevation above Cape Stanwell, was not nearly that eventful. For starters, as I said, we didn’t need a delnometer, or even daisy-chained inter-helipods. Second, the barometric pressure is high enough on Mavis Island is high enough I could pump my high-polarity carbonalturer at least a thousand times before needing to turn on an anti-energy storage device, much less deploying a device with onboard anti-energy receptor. And third, I always have my Maria Francesca in my heart, propelling me forward. Can’t count that in nanohertz.
I think CJ’s prior trauma was starting to come back. As I started reading filbospheric wave orientation readings to Jacky in the back of the Mitsubishi, his fingers were drumming the steering wheel hard. I think it was an old disco beat, the one you learn CPR to. I tried to keep him focused. “Take the next left slow, the banner readings are high in this storm,” or “can you give me a sitrep on the fanlopic spreads in this rain?” All of this was gibberish of course, but it gave him something to focus his mind on. “You’re the Baryllisman,” he said every time. I don’t think it was sarcastic. I think he was just focusing on what he knew as a way of centering himself.
Jacky was cool the whole time. She has worked with several Baryllismen already in her career, being all-but-dissertation by now. She’ll take the lead on most outings as Deputy Desolomer. Professor Lopez is officially lead Desolomer, of course, but this being Jacky’s last mission before defending, she needs to head the team on certain missions to qualify.
Professor Lopez volunteered to take roof duty, so she was manning the Tertis on top of the Mitsubishi. She lives for this stuff. Before we pulled away from the airstrip she used standard ISO Delsometer hand signals to direct the undergrad assistants to grab our packs and Pelican cases. At least we didn’t have to lug those in by ourselves.
It took us two hours to get to the summit of Cape Stanwell. We had gotten a famous Mavis Island welcome: sideways rain, hail, occasional cloud-to-ground lightning. CJ did great despite his nerves. He’s had loads of vehicle training, way more than me. I don’t even know if I could have handled the Mitsubishi in those conditions with a loaded Tertis on top.
I skimped on vehicle training, to be honest. I didn’t even bother lugging the dapris canisters to the Tertis, if I practiced with one, basically out of laziness. But I made a deal with Professor Lopez when I accepted the assistantship: ever since I got back home, I promised Maria Francesca and myself I’d never pull a 270-jumpout ever again. Won’t even put myself in that situation. It’s someone else’s turn. I’m a Baryllisman, I said. “Well, you’re a Baryllisman in training,” Professor Lopez replied, chuckling, and slapped me on the back. I was in.
On Cape Stanwell, the first thing I noticed were animal tracks. I tipped off the rest of the team, but Professor Lopez said not to worry. They were just from boltus falliver, harmless, and besides, they wouldn’t come out in the storm. Jacky ignored me completely and got to work dismounting the Tertis for recalibration. CJ just said “you’re the Baryllisman” as he checked the Mitsubishi for loose parts.
By midnight the storm was letting up, but we already had the high-polarity carbonalturer humming. Even after the storm, we knew the filbosphere would be elevated, highly elevated even, for hours.
We got so much good stuff that first night. I was logging hundreds of barks per minute. Nothing on the mainland can even come close to this, and most of it’s synthetic anyway. Every five minutes I called out new measurements to Jacky behind the plastic tendrometer. She would then discharge the full canister and pass it to CJ, who took it into the Mitsubishi’s built-in David system.
“The David is full. Lock everything down and let’s get the hell out of here,” Professor Lopez finally said. The storm was over. We didn’t have to yell anymore. It was 0230, and the dull glow of the sun below the horizon was barely visible. CJ exhaled and sat down, his back to the David. “That’ll do, pig,” he chuckled, patting the system over his shoulder.
Jacky was already loading the empty canisters back in the Mitsubishi. Only seven unused canisters. That means we loaded nearly three and a half cases. That’s years of work for her lab techs back at the University. Professor Lopez was right. It was worth getting our butts in gear.
I unfolded all the telerods on my high-polarity carbonalturer and squashed the berrot modules together. I was being a little heavy handed, but I was tired. The rig can handle it anyway.
I hadn’t been put to the test like that since I got home in ‘07. Professor Lopez could see it on my face, I think. She knew to keep me busy. “You’re on the Tetris going back to base camp,” she says. Fine by me. Anything but turtle duty.
I put on my helmet and climbed on top of the Mitsubishi. I’m a comfortable Tertis man. Competent. Let’s put it this way: I wouldn’t fuck with Pierre Delgado when he’s behind a Tertis. As the Mitsubishi rumbled down the trail with lights pointed in every direction, I saw occasional boltus falliver coming out of their burrows to drink the rain that had collected on getris getris leaves. I wasn’t going to mess with them, especially after what Professor Lopez had said on the summit. But I did put the Tertis on whisper mode and bleeped one of the bigger guys on the tail. He looked up curiously, and I touched my helmet with a big, stupid smile on my face. Harmless my ass. They’re all harmless, until they’re not.
Back at Base Camp, someone had roused the undergrads ahead of our arrival and they applauded as we got out of the Mitsubishi. I climbed down off the roof and shook a layer of gertis gertis discharge off my clothing. I’m glad I flew down in my field gear. Chinos and a polo would have gotten pretty frigid up on Cape Stanwell surrounded by gertis gertis during a filbospheric churn.
“Welcome back, Professor Lopez, CJ, Jacky, Pierre,” said one of the more bookish looking undergrads, nodding at each of us as she said our names. I felt like a celebrity, wondering how this undergrad I’d never met knew my name already. I hadn’t even fired the Tertis. Well, not on loud mode.
In the mess, hot tins of bread pudding, egg and cucumber dumplings, and bottom oats were waiting for us. It’s sort of the University’s budget take on traditional Mavisian cuisine. I had three plates before Professor Lopez took us into the conference room to debrief. “You’ll always remember your first filbospheric churn,” she said at the end, and winked before striding out the door.
CJ led me to our shared room. I took the top bunk. Jacky would have her room to herself. I had nothing but good dreams that first night. I was in a field with Maria Francesca, counting her fingers and toes while she whispered old stories from Castonella. She loved those tales, centuries old but she always told them in the first person as though she had the life experiences of a Julia de Degonces or Filip Tutta Dellamarca. “And then I landed on the frallico’s back,” she said, donning the voice of the Castonellan braves of old, “and planted my blade into its neck as a flag.”
And at that moment I woke up. CJ was tapping me on my neck. We didn’t know each other that well yet. He didn’t know where else to prod me.
“You were having a nightmare,” he said. I had been sleeping on my stomach. I hadn’t gone to sleep that way. I rolled over on my back and sat up. I nodded my head. “Thank you, CJ. I’ll take the flag back out myself.”
He nodded courteously, but his expression conveyed confusion. I don’t remember what else I dreamed about, and I woke up well rested. But I’ve had a dull pain in my neck since. Hopefully it’s gone in a week.
Signing off, it’s 2130. Today the music is MGMT.
All glory to the University
Pierre Delgado
I’m feeling rough, I’m feeling raw, I’m in the prime of my life
Let’s make some music, make some money, find some models for wives
I’ll move to Paris, shoot some heroin and fuck with the stars
You man, the island and the cocaine and the elegant cars