Page 120 of Under Story

“It’s my last continent,” said a venture capitalist, spooning hollandaise over his eggs Benedict.

The other diners nodded in agreement.

“It’s so satisfying, isn’t it?” asked an actress. “To check them off your list?”

It was the first day of the Drake Passage. Laurel and Eli decided to spend it in the library.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of gross, the way they’re talking?” asked Laurel, as they left the dining room with Silas.

“I don’t know,” Eli said. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to see the world.”

The Astralis lurched. Laurel put a hand to the wall. Emerald-green barf bags hung elegantly from the rails.

“Not inherently, no,” she said. “But it sounded like they were collecting Pokémon.”

The library was empty. Laurel sat in a green armchair, and Silas plopped on the floor.

“What’s Pokémon?” he asked.

“Um,” Laurel said, “they’re, like—imaginary creatures, with special powers, that live in a fantasy land? And if you catch them, you win points? People play it where your dad and I grew up.”

Silas’s eyes grew wide. “I want to.”

“You can’t,” said Laurel. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t exist here yet.”

Silas began to cry.

Seriously? Eli mouthed.

Sorry, mouthed Laurel. Her pulse had been irregular all day.

“Take a look at this, buddy,” said Eli, handing Silas a photography book. “Whales.”

Silas sniffed as he opened it. To Laurel, Eli added, “I mean, we’re here, too. I don’t think we have the right to be high-minded. We could have put this money into a climate nonprofit.”

“I know,” Laurel said. “But…” She looked at Silas. “He’s our son.”

There are several teenagers onboard, but only one other child: Harry Cooke’s eleven-year-old daughter. Pippa Cooke has a shelf of brown bangs and an impassive countenance. She brings a book everywhere, even to meals.

“Quite the little explorer, eh?” said an attorney, addressing Pippa while looking at Harry.

A member of the British nobility—Laurel couldn’t remember whether he was an earl or a viscount—joined in. “Lucky girl.”

They sat in the lounge, eating dessert. Pippa didn’t look up from her book and plate of cookies. She seemed to scorn the way they talked to her, as if she hadn’t been an adult long before they were born.

—

When the weather is calm, crew members lead excursions from the ship. They kayak between volcanoes veined with snow and ride to shore in inflatable boats. One island is filled with chinstrap penguins. The passengers are forbidden to disturb them, but the penguins approach on their own, making squeaky noises of inquiry: they’ve never learned to be afraid of human beings.

After two weeks at sea, the captain’s voice crackles over the intercom. The International Date Line, which divides one calendar day from the next, lies ahead. Guests stream to the deck, where cocktail tables tremble with champagne. Everyone crowds in for a group photo. At the pilot’s signal, they count down to the crossing.

The next night, dinner is especially sumptuous: four courses over half as many hours. During dessert, the chief mate announces that they’ll reach McMurdo by Thursday.

Passengers clink glasses, cheering. Laurel’s heart seems not to beat at all. Then it begins to thud, as if in compensation.

After tucking Silas into bed, she pulls Eli into the hall. “I think I’m having palpitations.”

“We’re two days out from McMurdo,” Eli says. “Can you try not to worry about it?”