Page 9 of Escaping my Dragon

“So, we’re not about to get swallowed into a crevice?”

“Not yet,” was his less than reassuring reply.

The chilly air bit the skin despite the shining sun. Thankfully, we didn’t stand around for long. The captain ushered us into a heated vehicle and off we went. In the front passenger seat, I mentally catalogued my first impression of the South Pole, “stark” being the first word that came to mind. The compacted snow of the runway gave way to drifts of the stuff. Flags intermittently spaced appeared to mark the road, again made of flattened snow. Mountain peaks in the distance proved impressive, and Joslyn had her phone pressed to the window, capturing their majesty even as the footage would likely be unusable.

“Is that where we’re going?” Vernon, in the back passenger seat, pointed to a series of green painted buildings.

“No. That’s Scott Base, a research station run by New Zealand. Up ahead is where you’ll be staying.”

I craned forward for a glimpse and spotted a multitude of buildings, utilitarian in appearance. Not surprising, given the station’s function. I spotted warehouses with a lot full of parked heavy machinery. Someone zipped past us on a snowmobile, leading Vernon to exclaim, “I am totally going to ride one of those while we’re here.”

As we entered the heart of the base, a big blue building drew the eye and turned out to be our destination.

“Welcome to Building 155, where you’ll be staying,” the captain announced, stopping outside its main door.

“Definitely not the Ritz,” Joslyn stated, pointing her camera.

“No, but it holds most of the amenities you’ll need without having to go outside. It’s got your galley, personnel offices, recreation areas, barber, general store, laundry.”

“Sounds like a mini town,” Vernon joked.

“Designed that way because during the dark months, no one wants to spend much time outside.”

The bright blue, two-story building hadn’t been built to be pretty, but at least it had windows. Not that they would help much when the sun didn’t rise. We didn’t see much of the main floor, with the long hallway the captain called Highway 1. Captain Harrison led us straight to our rooms, which left much to be desired. A narrow bed with shelves above it, a tiny desk with a chair, and a wardrobe for my clothes. At least we each had our own space, although, when it came to bathing facilities, we would be sharing. Each floor had a washroom for men and women.

The captain, who’d been the one to show me to my room, noticed my grimace. “As you’re noticing, we practice communal living here. It’s more efficient.”

“And lacking in privacy,” I groused. I rubbed my face before adding, “It’s fine. It won’t be for long.” I hoped. In any case, I had experienced worse. My search for Bigfoot had me living in a tent for weeks.

“If you want food, the galley is currently serving dinner for another half hour. If you miss that, they offer midnight rations ‘til one.”

“I think I’m just going to hit the sack.”

“Fair enough. See you tomorrow.”

“Going to be keeping watch for when I venture forth so you can shadow me?”

“I’ll be informed, yes.”

Meaning someone would be tattling on our movements. I’d let Joslyn figure out who. She had a knack for spotting spies. Then, like that time in Russia, she’d provide a distraction so I could slip my watchdog. Sometimes getting to the truth required me being tricky.

My luggage arrived not long after the captain left, and I thanked the young man with the red nose, but when I offered him a tip, he shook his head. “No need, ma’am. Glad to help.”

Ignoring my tired body, I spent a moment unpacking, quickly running out of storage space. The snow gear ended up piled on the desk so that my other clothes could fit, if crammed, in the wardrobe.

With the basics handled, I hit the bed. More comfortable than expected, and warm, with its thick layers of blankets. The blackout blind thankfully shut out the bright sunlight, and I quickly fell asleep. However, it didn’t prove restful. My dream began with me standing at the base of a white-capped mountain. Wind whipped, peppering my exposed cheeks with ice crystals and turning my breath into a white fog.

This sucked. Why couldn’t I have a nice dream? You know, the kind where you’re skipping happily through a field of flowers—and not dripping from the nose because you’re allergic.

A dream where I’m fighting criminals, maybe with superhuman powers like strength or bopping them from above because I had the ability to fly.

Heck, my dusty pussy would have appreciated a sex dream, the kind that started a flood in my dry Saraha that hadn’t gotten action in years.

Alas, I didn’t get any of those options in my dream. My apparently warped mind chose instead to have me freezing my tits⁠—

“Aaah!” I couldn’t help but scream as the ground beneath my feet suddenly collapsed and I plummeted several meters before landing with a hard thump.

“Ouch.” A dream shouldn’t hurt. Nor should it be this cold. What kind of nightmare had my subconscious decided to embroil me in? The kind that hopefully had a knight ready to rescue.