Terra Non Firma (Cosmic Horizon Book 1) by Gary Chicoine & Julian Romanes

Author:Gary Chicoine & Julian Romanes [Chicoine, Gary & Romanes, Julian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-05-18T22:00:00+00:00

Returning to Normal

Gaitskell of course came round himself to see the three Antarctic returnees. Kate opened the door to him and led him through to the kitchen. Here sat Caine, Fedorov and Grishnyev, surrounded by the debris of their meal, staring at the walls, the floor, the table, with a fixed intensity, as if to hold themselves in London by concentration alone.

A little while earlier Grishnyev had almost faded out upon opening the fridge to look for more food. He had been confronted with the icebox, and the white crystals and the cool air upon his face had had a disastrous effect. Fedorov had pulled him away from the open door and kicked it shut with averted gaze. Grishnyev's eyes were tight shut and there was light streaming from behind the lids, like the Marine, Wilson, before he had disappeared. They had splashed hot water on his face until the hum of static subsided, his hair no longer stood on end and his eyes dimmed to normal.

When Gaitskell entered he was so matter of fact, so hideously present and careless about his manner, that he actually helped them to stabilise for a little while; he grounded the atmosphere between them with his intrusion of ordinariness.

Caine realised that any attempt to answer Gaitskell's inevitable questions would lead to disaster. The temporary increase in stability granted them by the other man's ordinariness, gave him an idea.

"Is the car outside?" he asked, staring at the table.

"Of course," said Gaitskell.

"Then take us to the Officer's Club. It's urgent."

"Yes!" said Fedorov, grasping the point right away. "Don't ask any questions. Do it!"

Gaitskell hesitated, and then said, "Right then."

They stood up and shuffled out after him.

The car journey seemed to take no time at all. Caine fixed his attention on the back of the driver's head, although he was all too aware of the others beside him in the back seat; the crackle and humming vibration from Grishnyev and a sort of irregular pulse from Fedorov.

When the car stopped they walked carefully across the pavement and dived with gratitude into the shady, smoke-ridden depths of the Club.

Established in an upholstered corner of the leather banquette, furthest from the door with Fedorov and Grishnyev perched on either side and a drink in front of him, Caine began to feel a little safer. He rejoiced in every meaningless guffaw, in the eighteenth century hunting prints on the walls, in the shallow conversations around them, in the smell of whisky on Gaitskell's breath and the stink of stale cigar smoke. He welcomed all this as a diver welcomes his sweaty, odourous, ill-fitting lead boots, without which he would turn upside down and drown.

"Could you please tell me what's been going on?" said Gaitskell. Caine groped for words.

"Try to understand that we have all been in something.."

"Yes?" urged Gaitskell.

But Caine was feeling insecure. He took a large gulp of whisky.

"No one should land in the Antarctic again," said Fedorov earnestly. "They will be lost if they do. It must be closed off.

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