SSSD - Dr. Julie Gretland

There are a lot of factors to consider: Dr. Signe Nordrum’s warmth and friendliness are magnetic. And her striking physique is fascinating, awakening a part of Alison that she hadn’t been aware of.

But even this limited interaction has shown one thing clearly: Dr. Julie Gretland’s English is much better. It’s definitely advantageous for quality of life to be working with a better English speaker.

Ro is incredibly tense and nervous. Signe’s welcoming bearing is a better match for her, and Alison noticed Ro’s phrasebook.

It seems like a reasonable call to make, and Ro is giving no sign of wanting to take the lead.

She gently nudges Ro toward Signe and steps toward Julie, extending her hand.

“Dr. Gretland. I’m excited to be helping you. My name’s Alison.”

Julie shakes her hand. She’s tired and it’s clear that she’s not one to emote excessively. But there’s a hint of approval, or perhaps relief, on her face.

“Julie. Please. I am glad to meet you.” Her words are brusque, but not artificial. Her mind is on business. She’s not wearing perfume. Her skin is warm and soft.

Niv puts her hand on Alison’s shoulder, and Alison lets go of Julie’s hand.

“We will get you settled. Are you hungry?”

The Outpost has one long corridor that runs from one end to the other with a handful of rooms at either end that have their own hallways. For that reason, Alison gets half the tour just by walking down the hallway to the sleeping quarters with Niv. This place has a normal company of twelve, but at the moment it seems a bit empty.

Alison looks into the Rec Room as she passes it, seeing sofas, a pool table, and a bar. Everything’s as well-used and old-fashioned as the rest of the place. Still, there’s something cozy about it.

Someone is on her hands and knees beside an open toolbox. Her hair is so ruthlessly bleached that it’s almost white. She has a waist as thin as Ro’s but a bust as large as Alison’s, which has got to be fake. She’s young and wearing plenty of eyeshadow. Her skinny jeans and crop top are black, and her pale skin is absolutely covered in elaborate tattoos involving things like thorns and feathers.

Niv pauses. “That is Marit,” she tells Alison. “She fixes things.”

Before Alison can reply, Marit snaps something in Norwegian.

With a patient expression, Niv replies calmly.

Marit mutters something.

Niv puts her hand on Alison’s waist and guides her on.

The sleeping quarters are just as Spartan as everything else. The tiny rooms each contain a narrow bed that might be more accurately described as a cot.

There’s a communal bathroom that smells of chlorine and soap. The tiles were probably white once, but now everything is a sickly, yellowish gray. It’s evident that the space is meticulously cleaned, but that does nothing for old rust stains and corrosion. At least there are enough sinks and stalls that it’s unlikely to ever feel crowded. The shower room has six showerheads but no curtains, and a door that leads to the only thing in this place that might be called a luxury: a sauna.

Alison’s experience with people who are not American is pretty much limited to the girls from overseas who join CCL, which is not a huge number. The Norwegians are nice and thoughtful, but oddly brisk about everything. They aren’t being unwelcoming, it just feels that way a little. And Alison has other questions, like why there’s a military liaison for an Outpost that doesn’t do anything more exciting than write the occasional paper about climate change.

Niv leaves Ro and Alison to get comfortable before dinner.

“Do you want to be wall neighbors or across-the-hall neighbors?” Alison asks. Ro isn’t having a meltdown or anything, but there’s a definite difference in how she experiencing this. To Alison, the situation of being in Antarctica is liberating. Adventurous.

Ro is mainly scared at this moment. She’s intimidated by the Norwegians, and maybe even intimidated by Alison. It’s only decent to make things easy on Ro by giving her a gentle lead to follow if she chooses.

“Um,” Ro says uncertainly.

“Let’s do across the hall.”

“OK.”

“Then I want a piece of that sauna,” Alison confides. The chopper ride and brief walk to get inside were shockingly cold, and the temperature inside the Outpost isn’t even that high. It’s easy to understand why the two scientists wear thick sweaters, and Niv keeps her uniform on. Maybe Marit can dress normally because she’s working all the time.

“Me too,” Ro admits shyly; her teeth have only just now stopped chattering.

Alison puts her things down in her pitiful little room. She has to control a hint of disappointment; she didn’t expect luxury, but she expected better than this.

But it’s survivable. And she hasn’t seen any wedding rings on anyone yet.

Alison smiles, chuckling quietly to herself as she gets her towel and heads back into the sleeping quarters corridor. Ro emerges with her own towel and basket of toiletries.

Alison sees Ro’s moment of hesitation and it’s easy to read: she’s apprehensive about showering together.

“Ro,” Alison tells her, smiling. “It’s Antarctica. Maybe there’s a place to be shy, but this isn’t it.”

Ro smiles. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

Alison heads into the shower and draws up short. The joke is on her. Her face gets hot and her body goes rigid.

A naked woman is here in the room just outside the shower. She has one foot on a bench and is bending over to dry herself off. Her body is slim and athletic. Her blonde hair is short but not quite boyish; the style reminds Alison of pro soccer players. She seems tired and melancholy.

Alison wasn’t expecting this view. The woman looks up and freezes.

“Sorry,” Alison says right away, gesturing apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

“It’s OK,” the woman replies, and her English is at least as good as Julie’s. “You are the Americans.” She shakes her head. “I am sorry. We do not see new faces.” She straightens up, throwing her towel over her shoulder, totally at ease with her nudity. Her bush is curly, generous, and still damp from the shower. Alison’s face is hot. It’s not as though she’s never seen a naked woman, but naked strangers are a new thing. A moment ago she told herself to be cool about showering with Ro. This, she didn’t plan for.

“I’m Alison,” she says, coming to her senses.

“I’m Ro,” Ro squeaks.

“Linda,” the Norwegian replies.

Right. Dr. Linda Dagnall is the third and final scientist. Alison doesn’t know what Linda is working on. Julie does core samples and Signe is the climate change specialist. What does Linda work on?

“Good to meet you,” Linda says. Alison and Ro move out of the way as she walks, still naked, out of the shower.

Alison lets out a long breath when she’s gone.

“OK,” she says, glancing at Ro. “That was more exciting than I was ready for.”

Ro just smiles, blushing. It looks like she enjoyed that view.

“Look at me,” Alison says, hanging up her down and starting to undress. “I’m literally in CCL and it’s the age of internet porn. And I get like that when I see a naked Norwegian.”

Ro giggles.

“Me too,” she admits.

“Must be because we’re freezing to ****.”

“Must be.”

Alison makes an adult decision and stays on task as she bathes. She wishes that she’d played sports in high school so that she could’ve learned proper etiquette for this kind of showering. She plays it safe and keeps her eyes to herself.

Two seconds after she shuts off her water, Ro does the same. Alison hopes that Ro isn’t imprinting on her too much; Alison doesn’t think of herself as the mother bird type.

She wraps a towel around herself and goes to the sauna. “I guess this is a when in Rome thing,” she says to Ro, who has also covered up with a towel.

“I don’t care what kind of thing it is, as long as it’s warm.”

“Right?” Alison has a feeling that Ro will loosen up quickly.

She pulls the door of the sauna open and starts to step through but freezes again. The sudden movement is more than the damp towel wrapped around her chest can take and it slips free. Her towel slides to the floor.

“Oh,” Ro says, right behind her.

“Oh,” Alison echoes.

The sauna is occupied. The woman inside is not wearing a towel. She’s probably twice Alison’s age with rich, honey-gold hair. Her skin is rich and creamy, with no tattoos. Her body is outrageous, and unlike Marit, Alison has no doubt that this woman is all real. In the sauna, her wide hips, massive breasts and soft belly shine with moisture.

The woman lifts the tiny towel over her eyes to look at them. She looks up and down Alison’s body twice before sparing a slightly disdainful glance at Ro.

“Sorry,” Alison says, recovering yet again. She grabs her towel and puts it on, then hesitates. “Can we come in?”

“Yes,” the woman replies languidly. Her accent is thick, but she seems relaxed with English. “You are the Americans.”

“I’m Alison.”

Ro steps up awkwardly beside Alison. “I’m Ro.”

And this is Golda Haugen, the woman in charge of the Outpost. Alison remembers because her photo was on the brochure for this program, but that was just a headshot. It didn’t show off her incredible body. Unlike Linda, Golda is completely shaved and sitting with her legs open. It’s a lot. Alison’s mouth is dry. She keeps her eyes on the older woman’s face, then glances around at the cramped space.

The sauna isn’t very big. There are two benches across from each other. They can’t just stand there.

Ro, holding her towel closed nervously, seats herself across from Golda.

Should Alison sit beside Golda?

Or beside Ro?