Virus: The Day of Resurrection (42 page)

At the beginning of their sudden, coincidental stranding, the press pool had oddly seemed to become all the more vigorous. The writers grew desperate to learn about the worldwide pandemic and had labored on in fruitless efforts to somehow communicate with the world’s survivors.

There had also been one who had stowed away on a nuclear submarine and attempted to
escape
. After this, as most of them were adjusting to the basic lifestyle of Antarctica, one of them had …

In the space of three years, eighteen of the Antarcticans went mad, and three committed suicide. The suicides included two young reporters and one cook. Out of a population of ten thousand, this was a surprisingly small number.

One other plan that the Supreme Council initiated in the second year had to do with their
descendants
.

Among the personnel at the American, British, Soviet, and Norwegian stations were sixteen women, who were the only women in all of Antarctica. And perhaps, probably, these sixteen women were the last human females alive. Looking ahead, even if it became possible to return to temperate zones someday,
these women
were the last chance for the continued existence of the human race. Most of these sixteen women were not all that young—somewhat problematically, the youngest of them was twenty-six and quite a beauty—but all were still of childbearing age.

This problem had an extremely delicate aspect, in that it affected the sex lives of ten thousand men, and there was no way to proceed except to gradually, cautiously reason with one another. Colonel McCloud and others knew very well that as long as there were no suggestions of sex as a possibility, there was little danger that the men would become violent as a result of deprivation. However, considering the fact that each individual has their own levels of prejudices regarding sex, and further considering the gender gap of nearly ten thousand to sixteen, the situation clearly called for discretion.

As far as this problem went, the opinion of project headquarters was split right down the middle. One side said that the nature of the problem should be spelled out clearly to all Antarcticans, all the women be isolated, and that “volunteers” be sent to the “harem” in an orderly fashion. Furthermore, to assist with the problem, all countries should pool their “dutch wives”—the extremely elaborate ones and the partial ones alike—to be considered the common property of all. The council would also officially tolerate homosexuality, without going so far as to encourage it.

“I am flatly opposed to that!” said Colonel McCloud. “If we did that, the chaos would actually get worse. We wouldn’t just be dealing with acts of lust; we’d be having murders!”

The other opinion was that this problem should be handled as quietly as possible. They argued that a secret committee should be formed, and that the supervision of the women and arrangements for their impregnation be placed under its jurisdiction. Using hidden monitors, the committee would maintain surveillance of the collective Antarctican sexual stress, so that at any time
under cover of secrecy
, they could have that stress “relieved.”

Admiral Conway, however, was the Special Supreme Commander for the Antarctic Circle. This was not because he was an American but was the result of his election from among the members of the Multinational Council of Leaders. Yet again, he adopted a proposal from Professor Borodinov, who was the eldest among Antarctica’s survivors, allying himself with neither faction, but instead choosing a third option.

He explained the situation to everyone, women included. Then he appealed to them, saying that this was not a mere problem of instinct, but an extremely serious problem for every Antarctican—a problem of maintaining the species. The admiral already knew very well that when it came down to it, the best way was to bet on everyone’s reason. He believed that the only way to prevent scandalous incidents was to rely on everyone keeping an eye on one another, being considerate of one another, reinforcing social norms, and following the democratic rules of their groups. The women would continue to work alongside everyone else just as they had up till now. However, from this point forward, they were to be respected all the more and viewed from a standpoint of guardianship—not just as women but as the mothers of the future. Broadly speaking, the methods and the selection of those involved in impregnation would be left up to a select committee organized by doctors. However, those who had tried their utmost to contain themselves but felt it a losing battle were told they should quietly come forward. Based on a thorough inquiry, and in particular
on the feelings of the women who were asked
, such requests would be considered.

“All right, everyone, from this point forward,” the admiral said with great seriousness into the microphone, “when you see a woman, you are not to whistle at her or secretly ask her for a date. Women are to be called either ‘Mom’ or ‘Mother.’ If you think of her as your mother, you shouldn’t get any funny ideas.”

Everyone was smirking.

“Question, Admiral!” said a thickly accented voice from Australia Station. “Can we not request a partner in an orderly, impartial way? It’s ten thousand to sixteen. Our turn would come round once every two years.”

“That’s disrespectful of the women,” the admiral replied. “There are some among the women who have said they would be willing to accept such an arrangement, but from the standpoint of selective impregnation, I want those who can control themselves to do so insofar as they are able.”

“What are we supposed to do if nothing works and we just
can’t
control ourselves? Put in applications to have ourselves straitjacketed?”

Suddenly, the admiral smirked. “If it reaches that point,” he said, pausing just slightly, and then bellowing out in a voice loud enough to be heard all over Antarctica,
“then just go jerk off or something!”

Stations all across Antarctica exploded into laughter.

In this manner, Antarctica gradually adjusted to its new course. There were regional and national groups, and it would take a much longer time for these to gradually merge into a cohesive whole, but even so, little by little, through joint work projects, they were now moving in that direction. Now that they had lost their homelands, they were no longer the people of this or that country. All of them were Antarcticans, the earth’s only human society.

The short summer ended, the sun went round and round, sinking halfway to the horizon, and at last another winter and another summer came. Each time summer came again, Antarctic ice lit by the sun slipped and fell off into the sea, becoming icebergs that drifted away northward. The pack ice also grew loose, and the penguins and the seals returned. At the start of summer, people closely watched the ice that was carried away to the northern sea, and at the end of summer they watched the animals returning to the warmer north. From the dark, cold world of ice, to the distant north.

It was in the autumn of the third year that the first baby was born in Antarctica. It was a chubby baby boy. Men all across Antarctica wore such happy expressions that it looked like someone had been tickling them, and some of the tension was leaving their cheeks. All ten thousand of them felt as if they had become a father for the first time. Among them were those who also pulled out photographs of their own small children who had died along with everyone else two years earlier, staring at them intently, sometimes turning aside toward the walls to sob voicelessly. On the day the child was christened, everyone in Antarctica rested from their labors. Admiral Conway, who had been asked to be the child’s godfather, fidgeted so much that twice he upended the dish of holy water, and when he hesitantly touched the child’s cheeks, his stern expression cracked into a helpless smile.

The boy, named after the Antarctic region itself, was called Antonio.

This child was a new light of hope for his ten thousand fathers. At every opportunity, the men used the pretense of various errands to visit McMurdo base where the hospital was. Even those without any business there hung around outside as close as they could get, getting shooed away, waiting in long lines, and then finally getting a glimpse of little Antonio’s face.

“What a fine boy!” was the typical sentiment. “Look! He’s a really good boy! He looks really strong, and he’s handsome on top of that!”

“That’s the truth!” was the usual excessively articulated response. “You could put Antonio in any baby pageant in the world, and he’d absolutely be in the top class! He’d bring home the gold medal for sure! I guarantee it!”

Then they would turn toward his mother sitting beside him, blink their eyes as if looking into a bright light, and then speak to her in almost reverential voices. “Mother, please take good care of yourself. Please eat plenty so you can feed him plenty. Don’t let Antonio catch cold …”

Most of the things they said were set phrases.

The child was growing up strong and healthy, and at last other mothers began to have children as well. Among these, a baby girl was born, named Pola after the Polar region. Each time there was news of a new birth, all work in Antarctica would stop. This was one thing that even the Supreme Council could do nothing about. When the submarines were away at sea, nearly all communications with them—aside from those about their mission—were about children. The children were all given “Antarctica” as their last names: Antonio Antarctica, Pola Antarctica, Ivan Antarctica, George Antarctica, Thor Antarctica, and Yoshiko Antarctica.

As a pattern settled into place wherein the uproars over children turned into uproars of festival, life in Antarctica was also beginning gradually to be absorbed into steady rhythms. Among the people, scenes of loud weeping and crying out in anguish had already disappeared for the most part. Instead, to the same degree that worries over private matters and feelings of resignation had sunk to the bottom of the everyday, things such as hope and despair had turned into quiet things: intense but helpless homesickness that occasionally ached in the bottoms of their hearts and irreconcilable grief for the dead world had been carved into the hearts of each and every one.

Starting around this time, visible shortages became apparent. The things made by a number of temporary, small-scale production facilities were plain and homely, and produced in quantities far too small to cover the shortages. People silently moved from one level of primitive living to another. Instead of electric lights, they began using candles made from the fat of seals and penguins. A number of smaller stations were abandoned, and their former occupants began living like Eskimos in igloos. Rather than using guns, it became popular to hunt using handmade harpoons and lances.

The determination and preparation to live like this for the long term—pitiful life though it was—was seeping into all of Antarctica. However, the eyes of the people blazed with a burning, bittersweet hope as they gazed out toward the fog-covered horizon of the northern sea.

Someday
. . .

But every year, reports from the two nuclear submarines that went out into the seven seas to conduct research came back with the same answer: “No.” The air near the continents was still polluted with the bizarre cocci and their spores.

Every cubic centimeter of it.