Noah's Ark: Survivors (15 page)

“Now, listen here, young man—” Max started.

“Don’t ‘young man’ me, you patronising old tosser.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Jake held up his hands and stepped between the two men, who were getting dangerously close. “Let’s keep this civil. Max, you probably should have brought this up at the meeting, but I understand your reasons for preferring not to. Melvin, you did leave before Max, you took the chance that something would happen without you being here. So let’s all calm down here, okay?”

“I’ll calm down when I get passengers as part of the security team.” Melvin banged his fist on the table.

“The problem with that idea is Pelagios Line is liable for this ship and its passengers. Having employees take responsibility for security is one thing; we have insurance if anything goes wrong. We can’t start handing out that kind of responsibility to passengers, especially with no training.”

“Come on, Mr Noah, you know as well as I do that your insurance means shit now. And as for training, your crew aren’t trained security agents.”

“Actually, the sailors joining my team are all ex-army or navy. They’ve all got a level of expertise in dealing with difficult situations,” Max said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, there you go then. I know at least one passenger who’s ex-army. He’ll be as well trained as any of your lot.”

Jake said nothing for a moment, lost in thought.

“Jake, you can’t seriously be considering this?” Max looked shocked.

“We’ve already got a non-crew member on the bridge,” Jake said, and began pacing around the table. “There is a certain logic to including non-crew in your team. Arguably it’s more important than having Melvin up here. Passengers in the security team would be more visible. It would show we’re being inclusive.”

“Passengers? How many are we talking here?” Max asked.

“I want one per deck, minimum,” Melvin said.

“No way!” Max shouted. “We only have one sailor per deck.”

“Perfect, so that will even things out nicely.” Melvin grinned triumphantly.

“No,” Jake said. “You can have one passenger on the security team. You nominate someone and Max interviews them.”

Melvin started to protest, but Jake cut him off.

“It’s Max’s team, he decides. That’s final.”

“And when we strike land and see that the company is finished, that you’re not employed by anyone? That we’re no longer crew and passengers, we’re all just survivors?”

“Then we can take another look at the situation,” Jake said.

Melvin considered the offer. He walked over to the main console, picked up the handset, and pressed the PA button.

“Stacey Martel to the bridge.”

Jake and Max looked at each other, surprised.

“You’re nominating Stacey for the job?” Jake asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Stacey’s a nice girl, but you’ve seen the size of her, the only way she could keep the peace is if she sat on someone. I called her up here to keep an eye on you two while I go and find my guy. Make sure you don’t plot anything else without me knowing.”

“Hey, listen,” Jake said suddenly. “You hear that?”

“What?” Max jumped, looking around on high alert, terrified that there was some kind of threat and he had missed it.

“Exactly! It’s gone quiet. The engines…the engines are running smoothly.”

• • •

Lucya stepped back from the bench and admired her handiwork. She was in a store room down in the bowels of the ship, not far from the engine room. Three of the four walls were lined with metal shelving, the sort often found in warehouses. Every shelf was filled with grey plastic crates bearing the Pelagios Line logo. They were labelled with descriptions such as “flares” and “life jackets”. There were several holes where crates should have been. These missing boxes were lying open on the bench in the middle of the room, next to Lucya’s creation. Their labels read “beacon spares”, “TX equipment”, “batteries”, and “silicone”.

The vibrations from the huge engines starting up had made this delicate operation much more difficult than it should have been. Lucya would have preferred to wait for things to settle down, but she would be missed on the bridge, and she didn’t want to bother Jake with what she was doing. There was no point getting his hopes up, it was probably never going to be useful anyway.

She closed up all but one of the crates and put them back on the shelves, then cleared away a soldering iron, solder, and various lengths of wire and some unused connectors. All that remained was a bright orange buoy, a little larger than a football. A flap had been cut into the side. She peered through it and looked at the modified search-and-rescue transmitter now installed inside. A flashing green LED told her it was working. She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper that had been sealed inside a plastic bag, and placed it inside the buoy with the electronics. Finally she closed the flap, took the silicone gun, and squeezed the trigger, forcing out a long, thin trail of sticky substance with which she sealed the plastic.
 

Lucya put the silicone gun back in its crate, and then lowered the crate under the bench. She slid it into place alongside the four other buoys she had already prepared but not yet sealed.

A speaker in the corridor outside crackled into life.

“All bridge officers report to the bridge, all bridge officers to the bridge.”

“Perfect timing,” Lucya said to herself in Russian. She grabbed the ring at the top of now closed buoy, lifted it from the table, and left the room.

Thirty

“S
TACEY
,
THIS
IS
Dave Whitehall, he’s our navigation officer. He reports to Lucya, and will be helping make sure we stay on course. And over there is Pedro Sol. He’s our lookout and, because we have a reduced bridge crew, is also our helmsman. He steers the ship and makes sure we don’t hit anything. Today, I’ll be getting us underway and then Pedro will take over,” Jake said.

“It doesn’t seem like a lot of people to drive such a big ship. Why is the bridge so large if there are so few people?”

“That’s mainly because it has to span the width of the vessel so that we have a good visual lookout all around. Nowadays the computers do the driving, as you call it. We’re really just here to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

Stacey nodded. “So Pedro won’t be driving for long, the computer will take over? Like an autopilot on a plane?”

“Actually, no, not today. The computers use GPS, but it seems from our readings that the asteroid took out some of the GPS satellites. If it had hit just a few we’d be okay, but we’re not able to get a proper fix on our position so we can’t risk it, except for the most basic stuff. We’ll get underway manually, and once we’re on the right heading, the computer will keep us pointing in the right direction. When it comes to knowing when to change heading, and by how much, we’re going to do this the old-fashioned way. Dead reckoning, some celestial navigation, and once we get closer to land, we can use the radar to help out. That is if Lucya and Dave can remember how to use that antique equipment they’ve got out over there.” He pointed to the map table upon which were sat charts, compasses, a sextant, and a pile of navigation books. ”

“Hey, this was state of the art once!” Lucya called back.

The phone nearest Jake rang. He picked it up.

“Bridge.”

“Anchors are up, sir,” came the voice on the other end of the line.

“Thank you.” He replaced the handset.

“Well then,” Jake drew a deep breath, “let’s get this ship turned round and get out of here.”

He stepped up to a control console near the middle of the bridge, flipped some switches, and took hold of a small joystick. As first officer, he rarely got to pilot the ship anymore, and he felt a thrill as, with the deft movement of fingers, he sensed the vibration of the engines powering up, and the gigantic bulk of the vessel start to move under his control. Turning around a ship of this size was not a rapid operation, and Stacey’s excitement at seeing how the bridge operated soon turned to boredom as the slow pace of the manoeuvres became clear. She retired to a chair near a window and settled in, hoping Melvin would be back soon so that she could go and do something more interesting.

• • •

“So, this is your guy? Older than I was expecting,” Max said, looking the man in front of him up and down. He was in his mid-fifties, had an unusually red face, and was just the wrong side of average weight. What Max’s ex-wife would have called “comfortably rounded”.

“Flynn is ex-army. I know most of your men are ex-navy types, but I think Flynn is just what you’re looking for.” Melvin was trying to sell it, and wasn’t entirely sure why. Flynn had been helpful in getting him onto the bridge, his planning had been meticulous, and his instincts spot on. Even so, Melvin didn’t feel he owed him anything. Yet there was something compelling about the guy. He had the sort of personality that made you feel like you’d known him forever, that he was looking out for you, that you could trust him. Melvin thought that was a good trait, and wished he shared some of that charisma and instant likability; it would be useful when it came to elections, when he would need to beat Jake in being the people’s choice to run the ship.

“And is he able to speak for himself?” Max raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, Mr Mooting, sir,” Flynn said.

“No need to call me sir; not yet, at least. So, what’s your background? What makes you think you’d be useful on my security team?”

“I was in the United States Army for eighteen years. Led fifty men into battle on three separate campaigns, only lost two men in all.”

“Why did you quit? And how?”

“Honourable discharge. I felt I had done my duty by my country. It was time for me to move on and put my time into my own projects”

“What sort of projects? What do you do now? Apart from cruising the Arctic, I mean.”

“Personal…” he paused, unsure how much he should say, “…building projects.”

“Ah, home renovation? Yeah, I can understand why you’d need time for that. Do you keep yourself in shape, Mr Bakeman? Do you think you can keep up with my guys?”

“Absolutely. I run at least three miles a day. I’ve been in the gym every day we’ve been on the ship, until yesterday of course.”

“I see,” Max said. He was starting to think that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Having an outsider on the team might help keep his own men honest. “And tell me, how do you see the role of security officer?”

“First and foremost, to keep the peace. To offer protection and reassurance to everyone on the ship.”

“Protection from what?”

“Mainly from themselves.”

That did it; Max was impressed. “Well, Mr Bakeman, it looks like you got yourself a new job. Welcome aboard, metaphorically speaking.” He shook Flynn’s hand enthusiastically.

Flynn smiled at Melvin, giving him a quick wink when he was sure Max wasn’t looking.

• • •

Progress was painfully slow. Although the
Spirit of Arcadia
was now facing away from the icebergs and heading south, a quick look behind through a rear-facing window showed just how far they had not come.

Melvin returned to the bridge. Stacey tried to introduce him to Dave and Pedro, but she’d already forgotten their names so she simply said that they were involved in “the driving”. With her task out of the way she disappeared quickly, hoping to be first in the queue for the lunchtime service.

Melvin toured the bridge as if he were invigilating an exam. Hands clasped behind his back, taking large, quiet strides, he made his way up and down in front of each row of consoles, peering over. He paid particular attention to the map table, and asked a number of questions of Dave. Lucya was all too happy to let her subordinate do the talking. As far as she was concerned the less time she spent around Melvin, the better.

Silvia appeared at lunchtime. With the help of one of her staff she brought up trays of food for the crew. Claude and his team had managed to whip up salt cod and potatoes cooked in milk. It was rich and delicious but, like breakfast, the serving could have been bigger. The bridge crew ate mostly in silence, everyone too involved in their jobs to talk about anything else. Lucya and Dave worked away at calculations, constantly updating their assumed position on the chart. Pedro had taken the helm and was steering a steady course through a flat calm sea. Jake oversaw the operation, checking in with each post regularly. This was his day job and he felt at ease here. Although he was working, it was a true rest from the responsibilities of captain. He longed for things to go back to how they were before. The job wasn’t so bad, he told himself. One last cruise and he would have been free to go to Africa. Now though, even once he was done being temporary captain, he realised he was probably going to be required on the bridge indefinitely, given he was the best qualified and most experienced officer of the watch on board.

A ringing telephone broke his train of thought. He answered it casually.

“Bridge.”

“Jake? Martin. We may have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Lucya and Melvin both looked up. Jake cursed to himself. He knew he should have spoken more quietly.

“Fuel. We’re keeping an eye on it, and the rate of consumption is higher than we anticipated.”

“By much?”

“Not a lot, but over twelve hours or so it’s going to make a difference.”

“Are we talking never going anywhere else ever again difference, or won’t be able to keep as many lights on difference?”

We’re probably going to have reserves for one less full day’s cruising than we thought.” Martin couldn’t hide the disappointment from his voice, and there was something else there too. Shame, Jake realised. He was ashamed they’d got the calculations wrong.

“Okay, keep an eye on it and keep me appraised.” He hung up the phone and saw all eyes were on him. “Nothing to worry about, just Martin being extra cautious.” The bad news could wait until later. He had a feeling there was going to be more of it when they saw land.

Another phone rang. Lucya answered it, spoke a few words, and hung up. “That was Claude, they finished serving lunch half an hour ago. The restaurants have emptied everyone out, sent them back to their cabins and closed up.”