This is where he switched to telling his audience where they were now and where they would soon be going. And as regards their current position… well, the Sea Sprite was currently some way to the west of Torgersen Island, which was, as he explained, one of the larger islands to the west of the Antarctic Peninsula and well south of Cierva Cove – which was where Captain José had planned his next foraging visit. He had wanted to get as far away from Deception Island as quickly as possible, he admitted, and he had therefore intentionally overshot his next scheduled port of call. Now, however, now that he and his ‘advisers’ were so sure that the spore menace was no longer a real threat, he intended to backtrack, far enough to make that foraging visit as originally planned. And that meant that the Sea Sprite would soon be on the move – north – until such time as it could turn east towards the peninsula proper, where it would then moor for the night in readiness for an early, next-day appointment with Cierva Cove’s Argentinian research station. This establishment was, according to Stuart’s information, one of the more substantial Argentinian stations and, in all probability, it would be stocked with a very attractive amount of provisions. It was not to be missed. Even if it meant taking the Sea Sprite and all those aboard it towards rather than away from the giant pall of peril that still shrouded the world.
It was like a rainbow of moods, thought Alex. At the beginning of the meeting, the mood in the lounge had been one of sombre reflection shot through with acute distress. Then, when Captain José had moved on to the remote likelihood of an imminent threat, the mood had changed to one of at least partial relief with maybe a soupçon of cautious elation. Following on from that, when the good captain had set out where they were and why they were there, the mood had moved on to one of enthralment. And now that he had announced that the Sea Sprite was to sail north, the mood had plunged into one of alarm and consternation. Could their sensible captain really be suggesting that they do the exact opposite of what everybody had signed up for: an uninterrupted voyage to the south, and as far south as the Sea Sprite could sensibly go?
It wasn’t long before someone in the auditorium was giving voice to this new mood, and he did this by suggesting in a pretty blunt way that the prospect of getting closer to a deadly spectre of spores filled him with dread, and that he probably wasn’t alone in this view. He wasn’t. This was immediately apparent from the wave of concurring voices around the lounge. It looked to Alex as though Captain José might have a genuine mutiny on his hands.
However, José was clearly prepared for this reaction, just as he was clearly the ship’s leader and no longer simply its captain. He very gently but very firmly made the point that he and those he relied upon for advice had weighed up all the risks, and had concluded that whatever risk was entailed in looping back to Cierva Cove was minor compared to the risk of heading further south without anything like enough provisions. And furthermore, by visiting the station at Cierva Cove, he would also be able to take the Sea Sprite to Paradise Bay, where there would be both shelter and the likelihood of finding even more provisions. If all those on board really wanted to sit out the dangers back in South America and the rest of the world, then, as he made very clear, they would need more provisions than were currently on this ship, and they would therefore need to accept his decision. Whether they liked it or not. He didn’t remind them explicitly of his unchallengeable power as the ship’s master, but this was implicit in all that he said. And ultimately, the potential mutiny fizzled out. Many were clearly still very concerned at this turn of events, but they would be able to do nothing about it, other than hope that the captain really had made the right decision. Just as they’d have to hope that this whole remarkable project was worth anything at all…
This was Patrick’s third point: the possible futility of this voyage to nowhere. And now the captain, without any sort of prompting from his audience, was about to address this point. Very directly. And he started with a challenge. It was a brave move, because it could so easily have gone wrong. Especially as it needed only one voice to inflict what could possibly have been terminal damage. Nevertheless, his challenge was not only unequivocal but it was delivered in a distinctly uncompromising tone.
‘Now, on a slightly different matter,’ he started, ‘is there anyone in this room who thinks that what we’re doing at the moment – and I mean our seeking refuge in this very cold corner of the world – that this might amount to no more than just a waste of time? That it would be better and less painful for us all if we just called it a day and let events overtake us? Simply give in gracefully and then curl up and die?’
Nobody responded. Probably because nobody dared to respond. Which, no doubt, was what José had intended. So, drawing breath, he then embarked on what was almost an admonishment.
‘OK. That’s good. That’s really good. Because I have to tell you that I did have my suspicions that there were certain people on this ship who were beginning to think that what we are doing is futile. That we’re just deferring the inevitable and there is just no point in our carrying on. However, what I am hearing now – from your silence – is that, despite a number of understandable reservations, you are all firmly committed to a successful outcome to our endeavour. And that you all have confidence in its ultimate purpose. Which is for us to outlive those bloody spores!’
He now sounded quite angry, but he turned down the dial just a little before carrying on.
‘You know, it doesn’t matter that ultimately we may not be able to provide a future for our species. Although, of course, we may…’
Here, he paused and attempted to glare at every individual in the lounge.
‘After all – and please forgive me for being so forthright – I do accept that we hardly constitute an ideal “breeding colony”. And it might be quite a call to reboot the human race through just our own efforts. Or indeed even with the help of a handful of younger people who might still be alive in any of the research stations in Antarctica. Quite frankly, the likelihood of Homo sapiens becoming extinct within just a few years is still very high.
‘But none of that really matters. We don’t owe anything to our species – particularly taking account of what it has done – but we do owe a lot to ourselves. We have survived this long, and it would be criminal if we didn’t try to survive for a great deal longer. And I don’t mean just until we get back to Ushuaia, but I mean until we all start dropping off our perches through natural causes. We are a collection of living beings, and it is nothing less than our duty to stay that way for as long as possible. Which, my friends, should not by any means be that difficult.
‘If, as promised by Stuart, these GM spores really are sterile and represent no more than a transient threat, and one that will have disappeared completely by the time we emerge from Antarctica – and if, as is likely, there will be more food and other resources in and around Ushuaia than we could possibly need for months if not years – then we can all look forward to flying the flag for humanity for a very long time yet. And may I just say that if you don’t think you owe this to yourselves, then I hope you will think that you owe it to your children, to your grandchildren, to all those other relatives and friends whom you’ve lost – and to all those other souls who’ve been cut down in their billions. In fact, it’s difficult to argue that, if to no one else, we owe a duty to survive and to live on to Mike and all those who met their end in Deception Island. It would be an insult to their memory to do other than come out of all this very much alive – with lots of life still to live. Even if we turn out to be the finale, the final act in the story of foolish mankind…’
Nobody said a word. Complete silence filled the room. Quite clearly everyone had been taken by surprise – and impressed by – Captain José’s words. Here was a Panamanian captain who had not only taken on the mantle of leader but who had also been able to deliver a truly potent address – in his second language. Alex was certainly both surprised and impressed, and of the firm opinion t
hat even Patrick might now be thinking that there was all the purpose in the world in seeing this bizarre excursion through to its end, and then making every effort to carry on after its conclusion. That it was nothing less than his duty – and the duty of all on this ship – not to give up. Ever. Even if it meant living in a society made up largely of ageing geriatrics – in a foreign land and with little to remind them of their former lives.
Debbie and Elaine had clearly listened to the captain’s words as closely as Alex had. Because they were now discussing the possibility that José might have been a tad pessimistic in his assessment of the breeding credentials of the Sea Sprite’s residual humans. It was now more than eight hours since he’d delivered that assessment, and Debbie and Elaine were sitting with their three usual companions at the dinner table, talking about reproduction in general and the impregnation of women by men in their eighties in particular. It was as they were deliberating this specific – as declared non-participating observers, and by reference to the success of a couple of well-known octogenarian rock stars – that Roy decided to join the debate.
He first agreed with them that there might well be a number of men on the Sea Sprite who were up to the job. And he then pointed out that most of the Filipino crew would certainly be able to step up to the plate even if most of the male passengers might be barely able to rise from their seats. However, the bigger problem, he suggested, was the paucity of suitable recipients for the vigour of all or any of those capable males. There might be as many as a dozen women of childbearing age on the ship, he conceded, or maybe even more. But he questioned whether any of them would submit themselves to becoming baby production units. And even if they did, and thereby produced a new (mostly Filipino) generation of children, would these children really be able to cope with the task of pairing off themselves, when they’d already be having to cope with the daunting demands of simply surviving in a devastated world?
As interesting as it was, this exchange finally began to run out of steam. So, Alex decided to bring it to a definitive conclusion by bringing up a completely new topic. He did this by asking all those around the table to name those elements of humanity that they were gratified no longer existed. In other words, whose death might legitimately be celebrated? This was a good move. Because the regeneration theme was immediately abandoned, and instead Roy leapt into the task of providing a whole battery of proposals in answer to Alex’s novel question.
He started with all those monsters who used to harvest bile from caged bears, and then reeled off a whole list of other monsters who made it their job to abuse all sorts of other animals in every way imaginable. Elaine then chipped in with even more animal abusers, before Debbie reminded the company that there were many other monsters who routinely abused their fellow men – or, more often, women and girls. And so it went on, a feeding frenzy of sorts in which all those around the table made quite sure that their favourite fiends, ogres and monsters were included on the long roll of dishonour. All, that is, other than Derek. He appeared to be holding back, and it wasn’t until Elaine suggested that he must have a few candidates himself that he finally spoke. When he did, he quickly introduced a rather different flavour to their hall of shame.
‘Well, if you have no objection, I would very much like to include all those useless tossers who used to become political activists in a vain attempt to convince us all that they weren’t just useless tossers. And all those vacuous idiots who used to populate the pages of weekend colour mags, and especially that cadre of tired and tiresome so-called feature writers whose faces would appear in every bloody issue. They were just so upsetting. Then I think there should also be room for all those insufferable practitioners of “wokeness”, and all those equally insufferable “virtue signallers”. And the selfie brigade. And all those billions of idiots who seemed to celebrate their ignorance. And human rights lawyers. And immigration lawyers. And all those dreadful celebs. Hell, I could go on and on. There were just so many…’
And here he smiled broadly.
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I do find it really uplifting that none of those asswipes and dickheads are still with us; that they’ve all been done away with. Which, one cannot deny, is quite a significant silver lining to the near-total extinction of mankind.’
The other four at the table had now joined him in smiling broadly. And this was because Derek had clearly succeeded in softening what had developed into a rather callous indictment of so many of their departed brethren – by indicting no more monsters, but instead just a bunch of people who were incredibly and irritatingly tiresome.
It proved a very good way to end the day: a balanced mix of levity and catharsis. Not a bad idea when most of what one had to chew on was just concern, uncertainty, trepidation and rather too much doubt.
And in the morning, there might even be a slice of unleavened dread…
twenty-eight
As it transpired, the first thing that Alex and Debbie encountered in the morning was the sight of a new island. The Sea Sprite was again stationary, and from their cabin window they could see what looked like a giant castellated fortress buttressed with slopes of snow. Reaching into a leaden sky, this massive Antarctic stronghold sat in a grey-blue sea, and this sea was peppered with countless chunks of ice. Some of these chunks were little more than scraps of ice, soon to form part of the sea itself. Others were enormous, true icebergs that dwarfed the Sea Sprite and that would probably still be around centuries into the future. The largest of these were like huge floating slabs of fractured polystyrene, flat-topped and big enough to host a small town. Others were not quite so large, but taken together they had the appearance of a flotilla of strangely shaped spaceships; an armada of frozen spacecraft forever marooned on the surface of a watery planet, and destined never to take to the skies again. It was a breathtaking vista, and one that held Alex and Debbie’s attention for quite some time.
It also made Alex wonder where they were, and before he and Debbie reported for breakfast, he insisted that they made a detour to the stern of the Eriksson Deck in order to see what was lying to the port of the Sea Sprite. This they did, and there they saw that their ship was sandwiched between that fortified island and the Antarctic Peninsula. It was their first view ever of the Antarctic continent proper, and it was yet another breathtaking experience. Here was a vast expanse of white; a seemingly endless vista of huge white cliffs, but cliffs that were made of just snow and ice. And it was its scale as much as its pristine beauty that robbed one of one’s breath. No wonder, thought Alex, that thousands before him had been so impressed and so captivated by this place. It was somewhere very special, and not the sort of place where anything as mean and sordid as a burglary should take place. Even if the premises to be burgled were an unmanned research station and not someone’s private residence. These were Alex’s thoughts as he accompanied his wife to breakfast, and he still had these thoughts when he and Debbie were back in their cabin and the Sea Sprite had embarked on its passage south; its passage down the west coast of the peninsula towards its morning’s destination and the planned scene of the crime: Cierva Cove.
They had now passed more slabs of broken polystyrene and more alien spacecraft, some of them providing a perch for groups of diminutive penguins; penguins that looked no bigger than tiny dots on the huge white slopes of these enormous icebergs. And in this giant landscape, even the whales looked small. A number of these had been encountered as well: a couple of fin whales in the distance and maybe a dozen or more humpbacks closer to the ship. They were unavoidably enchanting, even if one could see only their great black backs breaking the surface of the sea, or occasionally a wonderful arching fluke. Or even a single white flipper, looking more like a long, serrated bone than the living flesh of a living beast. Together, all these sights were almost enough to distract Alex and Debbie from what was immediately in store. But not quite. And when the tannoy system interrupted their viewing, their interest in these wonders evapo
rated immediately, to be replaced by a focus on what was now required. And by at least a sliver of genuine dread…
It was going to be a replay of the tactics employed in Deception Island, with a few necessary tweaks and with hopefully an entirely different outcome. The necessary tweaks took account of the availability of only seven zodiacs and, of course, the absence of the ‘elite nine’. This meant that, with two zodiacs held in reserve, just five would be employed in the raid, with two of these spearheading the assault. And these two leading zodiacs would have as their captains Stuart and Gill; while in one of the following trio would be Roy and in another Alex. This he had discovered only as the zodiac-numbered armbands had been handed out in the main lounge prior to his descending to the ship’s landing stage. It appeared that the captain had decided not only that Stuart’s and Gill’s capabilities could no longer be ignored, but also that a last-minute allocation of duties to ‘those who also serve’ would inject some spontaneous enthusiasm and some fresh adrenaline into the operation. However, Alex wasn’t convinced. He just felt rather overwhelmed by this unexpected responsibility – and by an increased sense of dread.
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