| Entry 7 | Mavis Island — Base Camp |
Published:
My research trip to Instrument Station 030 was an overwhelming success. I’ve returned to Base Camp with five full canisters of malopitic sediment. The haul should set me up with lab work for the next month, at least, minus future research trips around the island.
The end of the electrical storm coincided with the end of the filbospheric downdraft. The interior of the hut at the field station was of course unharmed, as the reinforced tecolyte panels and reinforcement beams in the interior are designed to prevent any harm to the researcher taking refuge inside the hut. And the baryllic exhaust fan assembly was entirely undamaged, as the filbo bulge it emits is powerful enough to instantly cut through any size chunk of hail like a warm knife through butter.
When I pushed the door open first thing today, however, I was again in awe at the power of nature. The morning sky was a magnificent shade of turquoise with crimson streaks like paintbrush strokes where lightning had screeched through filbospheric rays. The air smelled like cinnamon and there was a perceptible but indescribable mist kissing my skin like invisible sea foam.
The Mitsubishi two-door was knocked back a couple dozen feet, and sat stuck in the mud near the crest of the steep hill leading from the Instrument Station. A long, comet-shaped scar in the mud drew a bold line from where the field vehicle now lay, perpendicular, to where it had began in the driveway in front of the hut and baryllic exhaust fan. The vehicle itself didn’t seem damaged, but the passenger side of it, which had faced all the excitement from the large piece of hail that was now completely melted, sat under a meter-tall bank of mud like a brown snowdrift.
I wiped my brow with a bandana, unrolled my small dry bag to retrieve a University-issued Blackberry, and called the only saved number. “Yeah, Professor Lopez?” I listened. “I’ve been through worse.” I listened. “No, I can’t drive it.” I listened. “It’s turtle soup here.” I listened. “I can wait.” I listened. “No problem.” I listened. “You too.” I hung up.
It would be noon by the time they could get a vehicle with a cinch through the wrecked trails. That was fine by me. I had plenty of rations and oil lamp fuel. But I decided to explore on foot. There wasn’t any use trying to analyze the canisters of malopitic sediment, as Instrument Station 030 had entered a post-storm reboot cycle that would have rendered any sample exposed to a non-horomitic panel useless.