Surviving Antarctica (3 page)

“But since you’ve chosen to apply, you must all be fearless.” The Secretary smiled. One of the Secretary’s many aides handed her a slip of paper. “Excuse me,” she said to the kids. She began speaking to the aide.

Billy strained to listen. He overheard the words “special meeting” before her voice dropped to a whisper.

The Secretary had called Polly fearless. Actually, she was terrified. Polly and Mama had never dreamed she would be selected for the contest. When she was chosen, they both had wanted her to back out, but the recruiter who had phoned with the news had said, “It’s illegal to withdraw from a government-sponsored contest.”

“I didn’t know,” her mother had pleaded.

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse.” The man hung up.

The Secretary turned her attention back to the kids. “Of course, in the original
Survivor
shows the television host traveled with the contestants. But in
Historical Survivor
you travel alone.” She smiled again. “In fact, except for the camera crew, throughout your adventure you will be completely alone.”

The Secretary acts as if she’s describing a beach vacation, Polly thought.

Several men and women in white coats entered the room and stood against the wall.

Why are those people staring at me? Andrew wondered.

“You’ll spend a few days here in D.C.,” the Secretary continued. “The doctors need to perform some harmless tests to make sure you’re fit to go. Then the
Terra Nova
, your compucraft—which has the same name but otherwise is completely unlike the leaky whaling ship that Scott used—will sail, with all five of you on it, for Antarctica.”

Robert held up his hand.

The five doctors stepped toward the kids.

“We’ll have plenty of time for questions later. But first I need you to go with these nice physicians to start your tests. They won’t hurt you.” The Secretary smiled. “I promise.”

Stephen Michael, the newest member of the day shift, sat in the auditorium with the other employees. He still couldn’t get over his good fortune. He was working on television production at the Department of Entertainment, or DOE, learning a lot and receiving a good salary.

Of course, the job had some drawbacks, and one of them was the Department head.

Dolly Jabasco, or Hot Sauce (his coworkers’ nickname for the redheaded Secretary of Entertainment), had called a special meeting of the day shift. In her excitement she was practically hopping up and down on the stage.

“As I was saying …” Hot Sauce giggled. “It’s so thrilling that I’m having trouble talking.” She took a deep breath. “Our new series will feature kids.”

Kids! How terrible, Steve thought. But Chad Atkins, his dad’s friend, who had gotten him this job, had warned him not to let his thoughts appear on the screen of his face. He worked to keep his expression even.

Besides, Steve comforted himself, this series had to be different from the
D-Day Historical Survivor
that Steve had been forced to watch for teleschool. Two men had died in that simulation. In the
Alamo Historical Survivor
series that
Steve had just finished editing, a whole slew of men had been killed. Men desperate for money and opportunity might be allowed to make dangerous choices, but the Secretary would have to protect kids.

“Some of you have heard about the original expedition to the South Pole led by Captain Robert F. Scott.” Hot Sauce scanned the audience as she spoke.

Steve hadn’t, and because the Secretary was the only college graduate in the room, he doubted whether anybody else had, either. After Steve had lost his chance for an education three years ago, he had pressed his dad’s old photographic equipment into service, moved to D.C., and scraped by as a freelance photographer. A few months ago, while photographing a wedding, he had run into Chad Atkins, his father’s boyhood friend, who had offered to get him a job at the DOE. His chance meeting with Chad was the only lucky break that he had gotten in a long time.

“So no one in this whole auditorium has heard of this famous explorer?” the Secretary asked.

Steve hated the way Hot Sauce lorded her education over them.

“Well,” the Secretary began, “in 1912, the
Robert F. Scott expedition attempted to be the first to reach the South Pole. But they were beaten by a Norwegian, and the five men all died.” She paused to let this fact sink in. “Now we are going to have five kids reenact Scott’s expedition on
Antarctic Historical Survivor
!”

Mechanically, Steve clapped along with the rest of the crowd. As he looked around at the eager faces of his coworkers, he noticed that some of them were cheering. A few truly seemed to love the
Historical Survivor
series. He had overheard them talking about watching it on their off-hours. Steve had lived without friends or family for a long time, but on his weekends he still had better things to do than watch people suffer on television.

“The kids will have much of the same food and equipment that Scott had. But since they’re kids, the Department is going to give them a number of breaks.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Without a doubt, the Secretary would make sure that the kids had a hair-raising adventure, but as he had suspected, it sounded as if
Antarctic Historical Survivor
would be a safer, kinder
Survivor
series. A “good”
Survivor
series. A
Survivor
for kids.

“Our job is to convince everyone in America to watch our shows. We have carefully screened
each contestant. To increase viewer interest, each of the five kids will have a special gift. You can bet the audience will be guessing.

“Of course, our series will include lessons and exams about the Scott expedition.” Hot Sauce stared at the audience. “Any questions?”

The woman in front of Steve raised her hand. “Will the camera crew travel to location, or will we use the corneal implants?”

“We will rely completely on corneal implants,” the Secretary said confidently.

On Steve’s first day of work, Blair Provenzano, the day-shift manager, had solemnly explained the classified science of corneal implants. Because members of the camera crew had gotten shot (in
Civil War
and
D-Day Survivor),
had been gored (in
Hemingway Bull Run Historical Survivor
), and had died of hypothermia (in
Donner Party Historical Survivor
), government scientists had figured out a way to implant tiny digital camcorders in the corneas of the contestants. As long as a contestant had his eyes open, the camcorder recorded and transmitted to headquarters a movie, complete with sound, of the contestant’s experiences. The digicameras had been used on the just-completed
Alamo Historical Survivor
without the audience catching on. The penalty for disclosing
the Department’s biggest secret was having to go on
Court TV
. Of course, Steve would keep the corneal implants secret. No one in America wanted to go on
Court TV
.

Hot Sauce smirked. Steve could tell that she was getting ready to tell one of her little jokes.

“We don’t want to kill any more of you,” she said, laughing.

A man in the audience raised his hand. “But since there’s only ice and snow in Antarctica, won’t the kids wonder where the camera crew is?”

What? Steve was shocked. Blair Provenzano had explained that the Secretary had plans to reveal the secret of the corneal implants in a dramatic way in a future game. For now, Hot Sauce preferred the viewers to believe that live cameramen faced some of the same risks as the contestants. That the Secretary was notoriously secretive was well known. But Steve had assumed that the Secretary had informed the contestants about the implants. That seemed only right and fair.

“That’s one reason that we decided to use kids,” the Secretary said. “The kids believed me when I told them that a hidden camera crew would be there. Adults might get suspicious.”

“Kids aren’t stupid,” Steve muttered. Then
he quickly looked at Toby Kyle, who was sitting next to him, to see if Toby had noticed his outburst. Toby was chewing gum and staring at the Secretary as if she were the most interesting person alive. But Steve chided himself anyway. He had to be very, very careful to keep his temper under control. Everything he said was recorded. He didn’t want to lose the best job he’d ever had or get his father’s friend into any trouble.

“Ever since the government got into the entertainment biz …” Hot Sauce said.

Here comes the speech, Steve thought. In the three months that he had worked for the Department, he had already heard it many times.

“… we’ve cut the crime, murder, and assault rates and eliminated war. We’ve saved our taxpayers billions of dollars by getting rid of the public schools. We teach history through
Survivor,
English through
Tele-Novelas
, and math through
Dialing for Dollars
.

“Together we have built the finest edu-entertainment program in the world. And now, with our kid contestants, we are going to make edu-entertainment history.”

Listening to the Secretary conclude her speech, Steve had a horrifying thought. If the
Secretary—a prominent member of the government—was so low that she lied to the contestants, could she be trusted to keep the kids safe?

The sad thing was that no one would care. These contestants were probably street kids who lived in one of those tent cities that seemed to be springing up everywhere these days. They were kids who didn’t have much to lose. They were kids whom hardly anybody cared about.

Without the ability to make his own living with his dad’s photographic equipment, Steve would have been one of those kids.

He quickly changed the channel of his mind so that he wouldn’t have to consider the life of poverty he had narrowly escaped. He had almost been forced to play a real-life
Survivor
—a game with no rules, no fans, no prize money, and worst of all, no hope.

I have a job. A hut in Shanty Town. One hundred and fifty dollars in the bank, he reassured himself. Everything will be fine.

AT EXACTLY FOUR
fifty-nine
P.M.,
Steve removed from his front tooth the microphone cover that recorded all his conversations and dropped it in the outbox. He put his cup of urine, with his name and the date written on it in bold black letters, on the conveyor belt to the lab. He slipped off his outer boots, designed to make loud footfalls so cameramen like himself couldn’t sneak around without being heard. He put his camera in locker 908, pressed his thumb on the fingerprint detector, and turned to walk out the door.

A heavy hand clapped his shoulder. “Stephen.” It was Blair Provenzano. Blair was an
older man with a twitchy mustache and lifeless eyes.

Steve’s heart was pounding. He prayed that he wasn’t going to be fired for muttering about the Secretary. His dad had always told him that his temper would get him in trouble one day. He promised himself that he’d keep his mouth closed from now on. “Yes, sir,” he said slowly.

Blair bent toward him and whispered, “You’ve been transferred to the night shift.”

“The night shift!”Although Chad Atkins was head of the night shift, Steve was aware that it had a reputation for being a strange team. Toby Kyle claimed that only losers worked at night. Steve examined Blair’s eyes for a clue.

“Congratulations!” Blair said unconvincingly.

Steve tried to smile. “When do I start?”

“Take your usual weekend break and report at six
P.M.
Monday.”

“Do I need the same gear?” Steve motioned to the piles of surveillance devices that the day-shift cameramen were expected to wear.

“Chad Atkins, your new manager, will tell you all about it. Good luck,” Blair said before he turned away.

His mind racing, Steve stepped on the exit pad. The night shift and Chad Atkins were both mysterious.

Steve’s dad and Chad Atkins had grown up together in the little town of Norwich, New York. When Chad Atkins had moved to the big city, he had told Steve’s father, “If you ever need anything, let me know; I’ll be there for you.” Chad and Steve’s father had kept in touch by e-mail, but they hadn’t seen each other for many years. At the wedding a few months ago, when Steve had introduced himself, Chad had immediately guessed that Steve was the son of his friend. After learning about the death of Steve’s family, Chad had offered to help Steve get a job.

Steve had asked Chad then, “Will I be able to work with you?”

“Only if you’re a night-shift man,” Chad had answered vaguely.

What exactly did that mean? Steve had wondered. But he hadn’t pressed Chad, and when the offer of the day-shift job came, he had gladly accepted it.

The exit pad registered Steve’s weight and shoe size, and the door opened.

Steve sniffed. Ever since the Nuclear Accident, the residents of Washington, D.C., swore that their air had flavors. Today’s, Steve decided, was burning trash.

A little after six o’clock Monday evening, Steve followed Chad’s flashlight and voice down the halls of the Department of Entertainment. The gray-walled corridors, which during the day were only dreary, became spooky at night.

“Night shift has front-line responsibility for viewing the contestants’ lives,” Chad explained. “Since the kids’ team watch is set on studio time, usually we’ll all be on the same schedule. We’ll watch their evenings in real time, but we also have the responsibility of viewing the daily footage and cutting it by two thirds. Of course, if the action gets tense, the day shift broadcasts live. But under normal circumstances, the day shift creates the three-hour episodes from our product. Because our hours are so long—during production we work from six
P.M.
to six
A.M.
with no weekend breaks—when we finish the series, we’ll have a month off. Now, any questions?”

Walking down the gloomy hallway, Steve stumbled over his feet. He asked the first question that popped into his mind. “Are you trying to save electricity?”

“Yes,” Chad said. “We try to keep our budget low to avoid notice.”