The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  Beside each table setting was an envelope adorned with each survivor’s name. A pen lay atop each envelope.

  “I’m sure you’re famished,” said Raeni. “But before we begin, I have a small task for each of you. Next to your dinnerware is an envelope. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Inside is a brief questionnaire. All I ask is that you please fill them out while you dine.”

  “What do you need to know?” Miller asked.

  “Nothing intrusive. Simple, basic quality-of-life inquiries. These questions are not invasive, I assure you. The questionnaire merely acts as a guideline for where best to place you in your new assignments.”

  “Jobs?” Damon was the only one who openly scoffed at the idea of work.

  Even Radzinski, who was a habitual contrarian, busily filled out his own paperwork as he greedily devoured a greasy chicken leg with his off hand.

  “Everyone must earn their keep aboard Haven,” Raeni answered sharply but soothingly. “The meal before you didn’t prepare itself, nor did the supplies to cook it magically appear in our kitchen. But these are all things that Naomi will discuss in further detail.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate your hospitality.” Miller went over his paperwork before touching a single portion of food.

  “The pleasure is all mine, young man,” Raeni said with a smile and a slight bow of her head. “Before I leave you, I’d like to once again welcome you all to Haven, and please, make yourselves at home. If you have any questions, my majordomo Naomi will be along shortly to discuss the answers to your questionnaires. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  Only Damon and Lancaster ignored their paperwork—opting instead to fill their bellies before seeing to their host’s task, as menial as it was. That act in and of itself checked a box on their evaluation. The vast majority of the group, though, dove right into the questionnaire. The inquiries ran the gamut from work history and schooling to allergies and hobbies, what sports you liked, and if you had children prior to the crisis or if you planned on having children of your own someday.

  As Raeni left the dining room, a heavy-set Hawaiian man entered. He was strumming a ukulele and he was dressed in a floral shirt and loose cargo shorts and a straw hat. His smile was infectious as he strummed along and sang. None of the survivors were familiar with the tune, but the melody was pleasing, nonetheless. He circled the room a few times, offering his soothing tunes as a backdrop for the experience.

  “They call me Sweet Lips,” he said while setting his instrument down on an adjacent table. “I’m Haven’s head chef. Everything before you was prepared personally by myself and my team just prior to your release from de-cons.”

  “It’s all delicious, thank you.” Miller attempted to rise and greet the man, but Sweet Lips wouldn’t have it.

  “First, you eat.”

  “Head chef? Hot meals? Where am I?” Vanessa could hardly contain her glee.

  “This may be the end of the world, but we take our jobs very seriously,” Sweet Lips said. “If you die tomorrow, it won’t be from hunger. I can guarantee that.”

  “Comforting.” Radzinski chuckled, not once taking his eyes off of his plate.

  “Every morning we start in the kitchen with a—” Sweet Lips was interrupted.

  “I can’t do this. Where is Aiko?” Jeremiah stood. “Here we are, having a meal and listening to music, and I have no clue as to the whereabouts of my fiancé.”

  “Easy, man. Easy. We’ll find her.” Sweet Lips was accommodating, and he had a look of genuine concern on his face regarding Jeremiah’s trepidation. He walked the distraught medic over to the exit. “Hey, one of you guys want to help this man out over here?” he asked the excursion crew from across the room.

  Genevieve was already wiping her mouth and standing before the man finished. Ahole continued eating, unfazed. The others at the excursion crew’s table were taking note of the situation in case intervention was needed.

  “I’ll take him,” she said. “This way, Jeremiah. Follow me.”

  Miller stood. “Wait up, Jerry. I’m coming.”

  “I’ll be fine, Miller. Stay here with the others. I’ll find you if I need you.”

  Sweet Lips returned to the table. “Don’t sweat it. Your buddy will be fine. Genevieve’s going to take him to the infirmary to find Aiko. It is Aiko, correct? We’ve got a great doctor here on the ship. I’m sure she’s just giving your friend a tour of the place,” Sweet Lips said as he reached for his instrument. “Ah, here comes Naomi now. Gentlemen, ladies, I will see you all soon. Please enjoy the rest of your meal. And don’t let Naomi scare you. She just looks like a bitch.”

  “That will be all, Sweet Lips, thank you.” Naomi was all business. She wore a similar black business suit as the women who accompanied Raeni, only hers was a pantsuit and impeccable at that. Everything she wore was just that much nicer than that of her counterparts. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. The style accentuated her strong, dark features. She spoke in a stern, no-nonsense British accent.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sweet Lips smiled and tipped his hat to the survivors before disappearing through the double doors.

  Naomi collected the questionnaires without so much as a glance in anyone’s direction.

  “What if we weren’t done filling them out?” Damon asked.

  “Not my problem.” She held out her hand. “Give it over.”

  “Ma’am, I’m afraid I just didn’t have the time to adequately see to your inquiries. Not yet, at least.” Lancaster fumbled with his envelope. “Perhaps I can take these with me.”

  “If you couldn’t be bothered to fill out a few simple questions in the midst of a free meal and a safe roof over your head, then that is an answer in and of itself, is it not?” Naomi snatched the blank pages from his hand.

  “He meant no disrespect, ma’am,” Miller offered as he handed her his own envelope and the envelopes of those nearest to him at the table.

  “I don’t care what he means, Captain. I have a job to perform, and soon, so will all of you,” Naomi coldly offered. “I’ll return momentarily with some of my people to discuss where the lot of you will be reporting in the morning.” Naomi left again.

  Miller looked around the table to assess what his companions thought of the questionnaire. “I assume we all had the same questions?”

  “It asked a lot about our vocations and if we had any specialized training.” Sam leaned back in his chair. His belly was full, and he was contemplating what their next move should be.

  “The part about any major illnesses or surgeries stuck out to me,” Vanessa added.

  “What we specialize in and how we think we can best be of use to the communities aboard Haven,” said Isaac, “Pretty standard stuff.”

  “Communities, as in plural?” Lillian asked. “What’s that mean?”

  “Yeah, I noticed that, too.” Miller focused on the excursion team eating alone across the room. “Whatever we’re assuming about this ship and what little we’ve seen so far is probably just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “It said something about the ship only being at a quarter capacity, but even so, they’d prefer it if we shared rooms,” Markus said.

  Nisha was melancholic. “I was glad to see that part.” She was still distraught, even after the meal and being exposed to the bright sun and the possibility of what Haven could offer. “I wrote that I would like to share a room with Sam.” Nisha’s eyes were unsure. “If that’s not okay, I… I should have asked you first, Sam. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “No, no, it’s fine, darling. It’s fine. I’m happy to have you. Truth be told, I was sure this old buzzard was going to be sleeping alone for the rest of his days,” Sam offered. He was sure to hold eye contact with Nisha to assuage any fears she might have possessed about him simply humoring her.

  “I’ll sleep with you,” Damon commented under his breath. The remark didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Yeah, I’m sure she’d love that,” Marisol sh
ot back with an eye roll. She didn’t like Damon, plain and simple. Her disdain was obvious whenever they were in the same room together.

  “Oh, fuck you, pig.” Damon pushed his plate to the center of the table. “You might have that old prick Lancaster living on eggshells, but I’m not afraid of you. You’re not a cop anymore. Come at me and see what happens.”

  “No thanks, Damon. You prove my point every day. You’re nothing but a piece of street trash. As a matter of fact, you and Donald Lancaster are cut from the same cloth, just from two different generations. The only thing that separates you is fifty years. I know shit when I see it.”

  “Alright, that’s enough, both of you,” Miller interceded before things escalated further. “These people have been kind enough to let us in. They don’t need to see this shit.”

  “There you go again, thinking you speak for the group,” Radzinski added, but before he could prod Miller further, Naomi reentered the dining room, brandishing a clipboard full of copious notes. A cadre of similarly dressed assistants was in tow.

  “Although it pains me to break up this insightful conversation, my staff and I have places to be. As do you,” she began.

  Naomi’s team shuffled around the table, each pulling members of the group aside to discuss living arrangements and work assignments.

  “Now, let me ask you a question, lady. I’ve been curious about this,” Radzinski asked with a slight smirk, the nearest anyone in the group had seen of a smile from the man since they were back on the island. “What would have happened if we had jumped Todd and his men on our way up here?”

  “You wouldn’t have been the first,” Naomi said, clearly not intimidated by the question. “We have contingencies in place for such an occurrence.” She made a mark on one of her papers. “In any event, the act would have altered your evaluation.”

  “Evaluation?” Vanessa asked.

  “Absolutely.” Naomi seemed almost taken aback by the question and Vanessa’s apparent lack of understanding. “We’ve been evaluating you from the moment you set foot aboard our ship.”

  Raeni reappeared, this time with two guards in tow.

  “The captain would like to meet with Miller and Radzinski personally,” she said. “Naomi, if you don’t mind.”

  Naomi waved them away. “They’re all yours, ma’am.”

  “Well, this ought to be fun.” Radzinski stood from the table but not before swiping another chicken leg for the trip.

  The excursion team was filing out of the dining room as Raeni gathered Miller and Radzinski.

  Ahole inserted himself into the conversation. “The captain already wants to see Miller? This guy just got out of de-cons, Raeni. That’s a first.” He turned to Miller. “Word of advice, mate: don’t disappoint the old man.”

  Naomi’s assistants quickly finished their notetaking and exchanged brief words with the Pepperbush survivors. Every member of the group was left a keycard. One by one, the assistants filed out of the dining room, each handing Naomi a slip of paper as they passed.

  “Thank you, ladies, that will be all.” Naomi returned her attention to the group. “Those women who you just spoke with briefly are members of the acclimation society. They work tirelessly behind the scenes, making sure new guests have smooth transitions to life aboard Haven. You’ll notice they left keys on the table. Those are your stateroom keys. Do not lose them. We have a finite supply. You’ll find your living quarters on deck seven. If you decide for any reason that you no longer wish to live with your current roommate, please switch rooms with each other at your leisure. But be sure to let one of my staff know so that we can make the appropriate changes to your file. Additional rooms are currently unavailable, so make do with what you have.”

  “I thought the ship was only at a quarter capacity,” Vanessa noted. “Shouldn’t there be more rooms to spare if we wanted to spread out?”

  “More rooms? Yes. More rooms for you? No. You’ll have to earn expansion privileges. In the meantime, make do with what you were given. Just because I have something in abundance does not entitle you to it. I trust that answer was sufficient?” Naomi asked, expecting no response. None was given. “Moving on, then. What follows will be your work assignments: their location and who you are to report to. If there are no further questions…” Naomi wasn’t asking; she was telling them that there would be no more questions. She continued. “Samantha and Nisha, you are to report to Paula on deck two. You’re in housekeeping.”

  The two women shared a bewildered look. What was it about the two of them that suggested they were best suited to folding sheets and doing laundry?

  “Vanessa and Lillian will see Trix on deck nine. She operates an excellent drinking establishment, but our ship seems to be in short supply of competent bartenders.”

  The pair were thrilled about the prospect of returning to a job they were all too familiar with.

  “Damon and Mr. Lancaster, you are to report to Sweet Lips in the kitchen on deck three at 5:00 a.m. sharp. Do not be late. If my tea and biscuits are not prepared when I wake, I’ll have the both of you thrown in the brig.” She didn’t appear to be joking.

  Neither man seemed at all pleased with his placement. Marisol could hardly hide her pleasure.

  “Markus and Sam, you’ll be joining Krysler down in de-cons, located on deck two stowage.”

  Markus leaned over to Sam and whispered, “Odd choice.”

  “Agreed,” Sam replied.

  “And finally, Isaac and Marisol, you’ll have the luxurious task of reporting to Ames on deck two for janitorial and ship-wide maintenance. Ames runs mechanical, but janitorial, as it happens, is currently under mechanical purview. A clean ship is, of course, a happy ship.”

  “Naomi, you can’t be serious.” Marisol was irate but doing her best to keep her temper in check. “We’re both police officers for Christ’s sake. I think we can be of better use elsewhere.”

  “I apologize, love, but your accolades aren’t the only factor in determining your placement. The ship’s needs come first, and what we are currently sorely lacking is janitors. I’m sure you understand.”

  With that, Naomi lowered her clipboard to her side. “Please feel free to explore the ship at your leisure, though try to stay on decks seven through ten. The decks above that are off limits. Below as well, aside from the first three working decks, that is.” Naomi paused. She chose her next words carefully. “Decks four through six cater to a more… specific taste. If you have any further questions, you can find my staff roaming the halls or just ask around. You’ll find the people who live aboard Haven friendly, mostly. Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes your orientation. I do hope you enjoy your stay.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wheelhouse

  Miller, Radzinski, and Raeni approached the wheelhouse. Just outside, flanking the doors, two armed guards stood at attention. Both were dressed in a form of riot gear and were covered head to toe in armor that concealed any discernible features.

  “The captain would like to see these men,” said Raeni.

  “They’re expecting you,” one of the guards replied.

  A buzzing sound followed by an electronic lock unlatching was Raeni’s cue to enter.

  Cortez greeted them on the other side of the door. “Ma’am.”

  “Cortez. It delights me to see you made it back in one piece.”

  In the wheelhouse, two more guards stood just inside the door, a mirrored reflection of their counterparts on the outside. Computer displays and monitors were manned throughout the room, giving data vital to the safe operation of the ship. A radar tech affixed to his station rarely took his gaze from his screen. Two other men with binoculars scanned the horizon in all directions, constantly sweeping back and forth. On the starboard side of the room, Vadim, an older Russian man in a worn gray suit, argued with another man over the placement of his daughter on Cortez’s team. The second—a dark-skinned man named Arnold—was short, slightly overweight, and balding. He wore khaki pants and a lo
ose short-sleeved button-up shirt.

  “This is an outrage!” Vadim exclaimed. “The captain is right there. Why can’t I speak with him?”

  “As I’ve already told you, Vadim, numerous times, the captain has a meeting. He can’t see you now. Be appreciative that I even buzzed you in.”

  “I want my daughter off of that ridiculous team. She’s a diplomat’s child. She has no business running around with Cortez and his trash, putting her life in harm’s way like some common soldier.”

  “I’ll take your concerns to Captain Kayembe at my earliest convenience.”

  Cortez chimed in. “It’s nice to see you, too, Vadim.”

  The Russian turned his anger to the team leader. “And you, you filthy peasant. My daughter will not be going on any more excursions or whatever the hell you want to call your pointless escapades.”

  “Petrova is perfectly safe with us, sir. She’s a vital part of my team. We all work in lockstep. We have each other’s backs, and without her, I can’t do my job. And if I can’t do my job, people don’t eat.”

  “Nonsense. There’s plenty of food aboard this ship, and the fishery brings in tons of food daily. If you’d stop bringing home strays, the food stores would be plenty.” He said with a disdainful eye toward Miller.

  “Well, perhaps we can talk about this another time, Vadim. I have business with the captain.” Cortez motioned to the other man. “Arnold.”

  “It’s time to go, Vadim.” Arnold took the Russian by the arm in an attempt to escort him to the door.

  “Unhand me, lout. I want my daughter off your team, Cortez. Do you hear me?” Vadim chided on his way out the door.

  Cortez ignored him, as he was used to doing. Prior to the crisis, Vadim was a high-ranking diplomat in the intelligence community. His daughter Petrova worked alongside him as a translator and as a go-between. Usually she would keep the peace in meetings when his temper got the best of him. In the old world, that sort of notoriety bought him a free pass to enforce his will on those he deemed beneath him. He wasn’t used to making requests. The idea that Cortez—a lowly Mexican Army officer—could willfully deny him anything infuriated the man.