"I have your test results" Dr. Fletcher said somberly.
Darby looked into the compassionate eyes of the middle-aged marine biologist. A scientist who was also tasked with caring for the medical needs of the tiny research crew of four, he wasn't trained to break bad news, yet, he was the only one available in the antarctic wasteland they were all studying in.
"Is it bad?"
The look of empathy creasing his face with worry lines was making her decidedly ill at ease.
"No. Not at all. In normal circumstances."
The rugged, windburned man gestured out the tiny, frosted over window of their utterly remote location. The craggy features of the man who studied arctic marine life didn't suit his anxious demeanour and Darby, someone who found other people's discomfort unbearable, wanted to console him.
"But..." she encouraged him to continue, her own anxiety rising by the second.
"Well, to be frank, I have very limited supplies of medication, obviously. In a city you could get what you need immediately and this would be easily dealt with, but here..."
"What do I need?"
This was Darby's first expedition to the antarctic and she was among very few woman who had ever been chosen to work on the southern most continent, the thought of having to leave her work behind because of a medical problem felt cruel and unfair.
"You have a deficiency in a lipid called prostaglandin. That lack has been causing your stomach problems."
For weeks, Darby had been having constant bowel issues that made life increasingly difficult.
"What is prostaglandin?"
"Let me show you what I found. Come around here."
Shifting his chair, Fletcher made room for the young astronomer to move beside him and look at the fancy, new, personal computer he had in his tiny, cramped office. The small, TV like monitor sat on and was wired to a small box that was the computer itself. Darby had seen advertisements for such things, the very best technology the new decade of the eighties could offer, but until she'd gotten to the state of the art research facility on the bottom of the globe, she'd never seen one in person.
"Basically, prostaglandins tell your body what to do and when to do it. They are lipids with hormone like properties. The difference is that no glands release them, instead your tissue makes them at the site of damage or infection. So the good news is your body doesn't have any tissue damage going on."
"Okaaaay..."
It had been a few years since Darby had taken a biology course and she was doing her best to follow the doctor, her mind far more conditioned to discussing space and the creation of the solar system. The young scientist- still in her twenties- had been under the misapprehension that she was immortal, so understanding how her body worked hadn't been a priority.
"What I'm saying is, they're important and you don't have enough of them."
"Where can I get more of them?" worried, given his demeanour, she felt anxiety anticipating he was going to tell her back in civilization.
"Watch this!"
The biologist gleefully pressed the keys on the keyboard and showed her a new page on the monitor.
"I just ask for sources of prostaglandin and viola! The computer spits out all known sources previously entered."
The list of ways to increase her prostaglandin appeared one at a time scrolling down the screen.
fatty acids
brain tissue
seminal fluid
Then the list ended.
The pair of them sat for what felt to Darby like an eternity staring at the list. It was a very short list of ways she could ingest more of the chemical, but the lack of it was was making her sick and risking her prestigious career.
"Are there any more coming?
"Umm... no. That looks like the whole list."
They both shuffled awkwardly. Since there were only four people on the base and he was her doctor while working there, Fletcher was well aware that Darby was a vegetarian. Eating fatty meat or brain tissue was against her morals.
But so was drinking her co-worker's semen.
"What are the long term effects of not having enough of this stuff?"
Clearly bargaining with her fate, Darby hoped she would be able to stick out the rest of her six month contract. They were on month two. The doctor typed some more on his keyboard and the screen changed once again.
Prostaglandins deficiency; stomach ulcers, glaucoma.
Glaucoma terrified Darby given how important her sight was to her job of looking through telescopes or scanning the ground for meteorites. Paranoid, she recalled noticing her eyes were not seeing as clearly for several days.
"I'll give you a day to think about this" Fletcher spoke gently, "but if you want to go back home we will have to call a helicopter to come get you. It might take a while, given the weather, so don't wait too long. For your health."
The dilemma was going home a failure or staying and risking illness while compromising her values on one level or another. Not only did Darby not want to eat meat, particularly brain tissue, but she absolutely did not want to consume semen. Well aware of the rampant sexism in her line of work, Darby had sworn to never involve herself romantically with any men from work. Not again anyway.
Perhaps she could acquire the semen in a non-romantic way.
The next day, Dr. Fletcher handed Darby a small vial half full of a milky white fluid when she came to him with her question.
"According to my data, prostaglandins have a short half-life and short duration of action. Meaning they don't remain viable for long."
Anticipating her procrastination, Fletcher had provided her with a personal sample of semen. Having the good grace to look mortified as she took it from him, the older man blushed furiously.
"If you choose to consume that, we can test your blood tomorrow to asses the uptake. See if you are responding to the... erm... medicine."
Feeling ill to her already aching stomach, Darby left the cramped office and took the vial of cum to her quarters, setting it on the desk to stare at for a long time. The thought of throwing away the once in a lifetime opportunity of studying in the Antarctic because she was too squeamish to drink a little sperm enraged Darby and, after a prolonged inner struggle, she quaffed the viscous fluid in a fit of pique at her predicament.
The moment the unique flavour hit her tongue, she was transported back to the last man whose sperm she had swallowed. It had been her former professor and it had been the only way she knew to get him to put her name forward for the very position she was now drinking jism to keep. As the watery spunk slid down her throat, she decided cum was better straight from the source. The ambitious astronomer preferred cum warmer and thicker than the goo she'd just forced down.
Willing that to be the last time she had to do such a thing, acquiescing to the thought that was unlikely, Darby went to work, constantly checking to see if her vision was improving once again.
The next morning, before work, she and Fletcher met once again to test her blood.
"There we go, your numbers are slightly better."
In spite of herself, Darby sighed aloud, revealing how relieved she was. Sharing a knowing look, the doctor shook his head.
"You aren't out of the woods yet. Lets follow up tomorrow and ensure your numbers have stabilized."
