“It is not illegal to kill at the pole. There are no laws in Antarctica prohibiting it.”
John Benson shook his head as he stared down at the unprepossessing collection of articles on the steel morgue table. And this is how human life invariably ends. Benson glanced over at the doctor. “Vitaly, are you sure this is all?” The burly Russian shrugged and answered in heavily-accented but practiced English. “Is probable. Was very, very bad storm.” He chuckled, his beard spreading the sound through his whole face. “Still is bad storm. Which is why you are stuck here with us, asking questions about this man, stupid enough to wander around outside.” Vitaly shook his head and his voice took an almost mournful tone. “They come here, touristi… Not even knowing anything about weather, in their expensive polarfleeces.” He clapped John on the shoulder. “Come. Now is the time for honored Antarctic tradition.” John stood, cracking his back. “What, we commit his remains to the sea?” Vitaly laughed, then, a deep belly laugh that shook the surgical instruments in their cases. “Wahahaha, no no.” His face cracked into a gigantic smile full of improbably white teeth. “No, we get PISSED drunk, and stay so for next twelve hours. Is good fun!” Shaking his head, John followed Vitaly out of the impromptu morgue, leaving behind the slowly thawing mortal remains of someone who the researches insisted was a careless tourist, but John knew was an accomplished, retired SAS Combat Magician. As he walked the halls of the base, John Benson’s thoughts were dark. There’s seomthing rotten at the South Pole, and these guys are devoted to hiding it, even if it means killing someone that 99% of humanity would much rather just left have his way. He snorted. And I’m supposed to figure this mystery out? Yeah, right. Fat chance.
I feel a story coming on!
(Inspired by http://everything2.com/title/Things+nobody+tells+you+about+the+South+Pole)
