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them, one by one," Molotov summarized with relish. "It is very funny. They fight back with guns and flame throwers. Boom! Boom! Yet this"-he held up a butter knife- "is as wicked as it gets at real Pole." He laughed. "Everywhere else in life your body is taken over, by bosses, by advertisers, by government, by nagging wife. Here, no."
    "Yet you watch it anyway."
    "It is, what you call it…" He made a squeezing motion on his arm with his fingers.
    "Inoculation," Nancy Hodge said.
    "Yes! Yes! Inoculation against the fear. The scare of being left here, for the winter. You know? The veterans know all the lines by heart. You will see. It is lots of fun."
    But Lewis was so weary he felt in danger of falling into his plate of food. The thought of enduring a movie appalled him. After embarrassing himself twice with dull responses that made him sound like a half-wit, he finally excused himself to bed.
    The others nodded without surprise. It took time.
    "If you wake up and you are the last one left," Molotov called after him, "don't be surprised. Then you know the outer space being, the creature- it is you."

CHAPTER THREE
    Lewis's sleep was ragged, his body periodically jerking awake as he gasped for breath. Each time it did so he'd have to roll out of bed to urinate, ridding himself of bloat. By morning his soup can was full and his breathing was easier. He felt his body beginning to adjust, his red blood cells multiplying, but when he went to the galley all he wanted for breakfast was toast and coffee. The maintenance worker sitting next to him looked at his plate with disbelief.
    "You'll starve on that bird feed." The man shoved more food into his mouth, talking as he chewed. "George Geller, G.A. I'm serious, you gotta eat more."
    Geller was consuming a four-egg ham and cheese omelet, hash browns, two steaks, a bowl of cereal, and three tumblers of orange juice. The gluttony renewed Lewis's nausea.
    "How can you hold all that?"
    "This? Hell, I still lose weight in the cold. You better have more than that, man. The Pole devours calories. You eat against it."
    Lewis put aside the last of his toast. "Not today."
    Geller shrugged. "You'll see."
    "I'm just not hungry."
    "You will be."
    Geller attacked his meal with a steady industry, like a steam shovel excavating a foundation. Lewis was half hypnotized by it. "You came here for the food, then."
    The maintenance man broke his pace enough to smile. "Pulaski ain't that good. I came here to get away from it all. So did everybody."
    "The urban stress of turn-of-the-millennium life?"
    Geller speared a piece of steak. "The Minnesota stress of a fucked-up marriage, nowhere job, and pressing debt. Same problems as the guys who went with Columbus."
    "I've got a Visa balance, too."
    "My creditors are a little heavier than that, man." He chewed. "Truth be told, this is the Betty Ford Clinic for me. Cold turkey from the track and cards. I had an affair with Lady Luck and the bitch dumped me, so these loan sharks who looked like the missing link came calling and said highly disturbing things about accumulating interest. Down here they can't reach me. I'll make enough this winter to start over."
    Lewis nodded. "You're here for the money."
    "Fuckin' A." Geller nodded. "Everybody needs money."
    "Is the money good down here? For you guys?"
    He shrugged. "Same as a beaker. A long work week and no expenses. The wage scale's no better than back home but it's like forced savings: There's nothing to buy. I might even save enough to not go back. Keep my money for myself and chill out on some tropical island. Buy a boat. Who knows?"
    Indeed. The Pole offered possibility.
    Cameron came into the galley and stood over them, assessing. His air of authority had come back but there was also a hesitant uncertainty to it, Lewis thought, the betraying experimentation of someone new to command, never quite sure how the others would react, still caring what they thought. Cameron was in his late twenties, younger than