by Dave Brown
#
Anne stared at him. He hoped she'd understand that it was going to happen no matter what, that any attempt to stop it was futile. If that were true, he'd only be guilty of lying to them and not negligent genocide.
“So what happened? I mean, how did... they... get loose? Or start up or whatever?”
He shrugged. “I don't think any of us will ever know for certain, but I've got a pretty good idea. Political problems in nations we used for cheap labor led to a market collapse. From there it was human error. The world is a complex system, incredibly complex, and we trust some very dangerous tasks to human beings, inherently unstable creatures. Some lab worker in one of those government bunkers lost a small fortune in stocks, maybe his inheritance.” He took a sip of his water and suddenly felt very tired. “The amount would probably make the average billionaire laugh, but to this poor guy it was the house he wanted to buy the next year, vanished because some idiot revolutionary picked that day to storm the palace, or whatever. The lab worker got distracted, pushed a wrong button, flipped a wrong switch. Whatever this thing is escaped and spread like a disease. You know the rest. That's why it was inevitable. There was no way to find that guy, no way to prevent the market crash that tripped him up. The political triggers were decades in the making. The groundwork for them was laid down before you and I left grade school.”
She looked at him fiercely. “You lied to us.”
“Did I?” He looked out at the sea. “You got what I promised: the chance to test yourselves, to prove what you could do given only your skills and talents. If I lied about anything it was the money, and the deals with your schools, which basically amounts to money anyway. If I'd told any of you the truth you'd laugh me off. I'd be drifting around the Pacific in a houseboat, living on seaweed and fish. Alone.”
“If you had shown me the data, I'd have followed you.” But he could see that even as she said it she wasn't sure it was true.
“I couldn't risk it. I needed incentives that the people I'd chosen couldn't pass up. I had to make sure certain skills and ideals survived.” His lack of sleep was starting to overcome him, and he was out of things to say. If she didn't understand, he had nothing else to convince her.
Anne must have seen some of this in his face. “You saved all our lives, Errol. Nobody's going to forget that. I'm not going to tell anyone. They don't really need to know. But I think they deserve to know, so I hope someday you’ll tell the rest of them.” She stood and walked to the window. “We'll be in sight of the Philippines in a couple days. I'm kind of excited.”
“What's there to be excited about? We can't land.”
She turned her head, surveying the ocean all around. “Just a change of scenery, is all.”
Chapter 3
Patty peered through the binoculars, her heart racing. To her right, Errol stared through his own set. “What the hell is it?”
Her voice betrayed her excitement. “I don't know, but I know it wasn't here the last time we came by.”
Errol rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously.”
The shape was distant, and hard to make out against the much larger shape of the islands. It was probably a ship. She just didn't know what kind. Apparently neither did Errol. “Get Jones up here.”
Before she could use the intercom, the ex-Navy man hurried onto the bridge, bearing a long spy-glass. “This should help.” He raised it to his face, twisted a ring near the eye-piece. Even when excited, his soft-edged Texas drawl made him sound well at ease. “Well, I'll be damned. Long live the queen!”
“What does that mean?” Errol said, confused.
“Royal Navy aircraft carrier. One of three they had in service. I'm lookin' for her number,” he paused, adjusting the focus. “R06. That would be Her Majesty's Ship Illustrious, if I'm not mistaken.”
Patty peered through her binoculars. Now that she knew what it was it was hard to miss it. The long flat deck with a tower in the middle. There was a funny rise at the bow, almost like a ramp.
“What else do you know about it?” Errol asked.
“I thought she was under refit at the time, but I lost track of military news when I ended my tour and went back to school. It's possible she went back on active duty just before the end.” He studied the ship some more before continuing. “England had three, I think I said that. They were light carriers by American standards, half the size of Enterprise I think, but still a big ship. Bigger'n us, I'm sure. Crew compliment of at least six hundred. They used them for...” but then he stopped.
Patty hadn't taken her eyes away, elated by the idea of somebody else floating around out here, somebody new! Not one of the same twenty-eight faces she saw day in and day out. The last time they came across another craft had been two months earlier, and it had appeared to be empty. They didn't dare go aboard without signs of life first. That night, the lonely yacht diminishing behind them, she had almost jumped off the bridge's port-side catwalk into the ocean.
Somehow she'd held on, kept doing her job, and now here was another chance. Maybe this time they'd find someone, start a chain reaction that would end with a house, a yard, a normal life. But with Jones's pause her spirits dropped, because she was just beginning to see what he saw: greasy black smoke rising from the deck. “No, we have to find someone,” she murmured, unheard by the two men beside her.
#
At the beginning of the Folly project, as they all came to call it, Patty had been working on her master's degree researching alternative power sources. Errol Stimsky had invited her to join the project as lead electrical engineer, working up ways to supply power for the ship.
Under normal circumstances at sea, most ships got electricity from the spinning of the engines. It was simple physics to convert motion into electricity using a magnet and some coiled wire. The chief design parameter of the Folly project, however, was self-sufficiency. They had to assume they wouldn't have gasoline to power the Folly's single engine.
Motion was still the best answer, just not motion generated by burning fuel. At several places throughout the ship, Patty installed cylindrical wind tunnels that channeled airflow over turbine rotors. There was an exercise room with treadmills and bikes, and each one was connected to the electrical system to generate power. In addition to the kinetic systems, she installed solar panels on two of the four hatch covers, providing strong current when the weather was clear, and a little on all but the cloudiest days.
The system was working well, but after the collapse came Patty harbored a secret fear that it wouldn't hold out. They had enough spare solar panels to replace a quarter of the total capacity. If one of the generators ever blew out, they'd have to make new coils for it, and they didn't have much spare wire. As an engineer, Patty was a firm believer in Murphy's Law: what can go wrong, will go wrong.
#
“Can you see any activity on the deck?” Errol asked.
Jones leaned in. “No. I could go up top and look again but we're pretty far away. Should we run the engine?”
Fuel was precious. It took a great deal of effort to turn their vegetable waste into diesel, so they used it sparingly. “Go upstairs first. If you can see people on deck we'll run the engine, try to help. If not we'll just let the drift take us in, put out the sails if we have to correct and get closer.”
Patty reached the bottom of the ladder first. “I'm going to go with him, have a look at the big windmills.”
Errol nodded. Patty climbed up and stood between the two large wind tubes mounted on either side of the Folly's tower. Jones emerged and stood beside her, raising his looking glass again.
“I can see the flames now. Looks like it’s isolated on the bow. Can't tell what's burnin' but there are other craft on deck, looks mostly like choppers.”
“Do you see anyone?”
He was silent for a moment, then dropped the glass and shook his head. “Empty. No activity at all besides the fire. If they were fully crewed they'd have somebody out there puttin' 'er out.” He glanced at
her. “Any chance of usin' the big radio?”
The antenna had been torn off the summer before in a nasty squall. It took two solar panels with it as it bounced off the nearest hatch cover and into the sea. “Well, we could probably put something together. We wouldn't be able to call San Francisco, but we could probably reach them, we've got line of sight.”
Jones nodded. They descended to the bridge again.
“Anything?” Errol was still looking out the window.
“I can't see any activity. Somethin' must have crashed onto the bow, that's what's burnin', and they'd put that out if they had a crew. They've got a well-stocked deck, plenty of hueys. Didn't see any planes.”
Patty put a hand on Errol's shoulder. “I think Pablo and I could rig up a short-range antenna inside an hour, we could try and hail them.”
Errol looked troubled. “What if they've had some kind of mutiny? That could explain why the fire's not being handled, they're too busy killing each other. I'm not so sure I want them to know we're here, especially if they're pissed off and armed. Just one of those helicopters could chew us to pieces; am I right, Jones?”
“Yeah.” Though he didn't sound happy to admit it. “They're bound to be carryin' some torpedoes on one or two of 'em. If they wanted us dead, they could do it.” He thought for a minute. “Look, unless we turn around and run the engine, they're gonna know we're here, radio or not. If we can see them, you can bet they can see us.”
Errol nodded. The Folly still sported the red paint she'd had when he bought her. It wasn't as bright as the day she was painted, but she would still stand out against the blue Philippine waters. He turned back to look at the carrier. “Get your antenna ready, and fire up the radio, but do not transmit yet,” he said, stressing the last four words. “We'll listen, see if they're calling for help.”
As Patty hurried off the bridge she heard him add, “Or making threats.”
Chapter 4
Static hissed out of the speaker above Errol's head. “Anything yet?” Patty called from above him.
“Nothing. Are you sure you can do this?”
“Patience, capitán,” said Pablo. “Just a little patience.”
Errol scowled at the ship growing larger in the window. They were drifting toward it, slowly but surely, on the ocean current. His nerves were tight, cold anxiety growing in his chest. If they were hostile, his whole crew could be in jeopardy.
The speaker came to life, tentatively. Half-heard words, just syllables, swam in and out of the static. “Starting to get a signal here.”
And just as he said it, the static disappeared, leaving only a slightly nasal voice with a British accent coming clearly through. “... read me? This is HMS Illustrious calling unidentified vessel to my east, do you read me?” Behind the hail came a muffled rise in the background noise. It was a thudding sound, like the man on the other end had slammed his fist into a table.
Errol simply listened, unsure what to do next. The voice paused briefly, then went on, sounding slightly heated. “Look, I know you're there, and I know you're fiddling with an antenna. I can see people on top of the bloody bridge.” There was a pause. That soft rise in the background noise came again before the voice continued, “Yes, hello, now stop bloody waving at me and pick up the microphone.”
Errol yelled up at his eager crew, “Stop waving!” He grabbed the microphone out of its cradle and stared at it. “Are we ready to transmit?”
“Sky's the limit, capitán.”
Errol hesitated, then pressed down the button on the mike. “This is research vessel Errol's Folly. We read you, Illustrious.”
“Ah, bloody marvelous, you read me. Thank you very much.” Barely concealed sarcasm. “I could really use your help, Errol's Folly, any chance of you puttering over here?”
Errol stared at the speaker, then answered, gaining confidence, “Illustrious, we read your call for help. Please inform of us your situation.”
The light hiss of dead air drifted toward him, and he wondered briefly if the man on the other end had turned off the set. His mind treated him to nightmare images of choppers lifting off the Illustrious's deck, swinging their deadly weapons toward his ship. Then the voice returned, sounding tired and a little sad. “The crew is infected. I'm clean, I assure you, but I'm locked in here and I haven't got any food. They're right outside the door.” Errol suddenly realized what the odd noise on the line was: the dead clawing and banging away, trying to get in.
“If you're locked in there, Illustrious, how are we supposed to get you out?” A problem, something Errol could get his mind around. Unfortunately the voice on the other end had already solved it.
“I've kicked out a starboard-side window here, looks straight down at the water. I've braided together about thirty meters of signal wire with a small weight on the end so I can throw it down to you. You tie some good stout rope to it, I haul it back up, secure the line, and shimmy down. Simple.” The sound of the infected crew came through the speaker again.
It sounded simple enough. Errol was still suspicious. “How do we know you're clean?”
“Well, mate, I heard them coming. They aren't exactly stealthy buggers, are they? So I bolted the door long before they reached the top of the stairs. Besides, I've got a sidearm here. If I were infected, I'd consider it a great personal dishonor not to shoot myself promptly.”
#
They ran the engine long enough to get alongside the aircraft carrier and come to a stop. The vessel dwarfed them, just as Jones had said it would. He and Errol stood on the main deck, watching as the British sailor hauled up a length of rope.
“As soon as he shakes the rope, secure our end and then step back. I don't want him to see you with your weapon until he's firmly on the deck, but once he's there you cover him fast.”
Jones nodded, adjusting the strap that held the harpoon gun across his back. Errol was taking no chances. The end of the rope disappeared inside the window of the carrier and a moment later the sailor leaned out, shaking it. Jones quickly tied their side off, creating a taut line for the stranger to scramble down.
The man's progress was surprisingly quick, but to his credit Jones was ready at just the right time. The sailor looked up after brushing his uniform off and saw the sharpened point of the harpoon pointing right at him. “Now just one damned minute!”
Errol spoke up, firm but not loud. “Strip, all the way.”
The newcomer crossed his arms. “I hardly know you, love, what would me parents think?”
“I'm responsible for twenty-eight lives on this ship, not including my own. If you have so much as a scratch on you, I can't afford to have you on board.”
The man softened. “I can understand that.” He began to disrobe without another word. When finished he turned slowly without being asked, raised and lowered his arms, turning them as well. He showed the bottom of each foot and the skin underneath his jaw line. Clearly he had done this before. Finally he faced them again, arms crossed. “I'm clean, do you believe it?”
Errol nodded and waved Jones off. “I'm Errol Stimsky, this is Cloydon Jones.”
“Just Jones is fine by me,” Jones added.
“Well then, I'm Chief Petty Officer Reginald T. Stoneham, signalman first class, and I'd be grateful for a bite to eat.”
Errol extended his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
#
When planning the Folly, Errol had never really thought about privacy beyond each individual’s living quarters. Where other vessels had a ward room or offices, the Folly had hydroponics bays and desalination plants. The only place not crammed with equipment or hosting a crew member and still the right kind of space for a private conversation was the bridge. As Reginald T. Stoneham stood looking out at his previous home, Errol closed and secured the door.
“Someone should be up with some food. I know this may seem a little odd, but once the rest of the crew gets a hold of you it'll be a while before you get anything like privacy again.”
“I think I
have your meaning, sir. Been a while since you’ve seen any new faces?”
“Four years.” Stoneham looked surprised, but didn’t press the matter, so Errol continued. “Also, I’d like a chance to hear everything from you first.”
“How my crew became infected, then?”
Errol shook his head. “Your whole story, if you don’t mind.”
Stoneham nodded, reluctantly. “Yes, I knew we’d be coming to that. I guess it’s better that I have a chance to practice telling it with you before you throw me to the wolves.” He put on a wan smile.
Errol looked at his feet for a moment. As terrible as he was at understanding other people, he had a sense that he and Stoneham were on the edge of something. Handled improperly, it could become a big problem on a small ship.
“Look, I don’t know what’s happened to you personally, but I know what’s happened to us all. I know whatever has gone on in both the last four days and the last four years hasn’t been easy.” He struggled to find the words. “All we have now is each other, and that means we have to trust each other. We do, implicitly. If you’re going to be part of this crew, you’ll need to be part of that trust. I’m pressing you because very soon you’ll have a couple dozen people clamoring for every detail they can get, and before that happens I want you to trust at least one of us.”
Stoneham nodded, straightening a little, some of the wariness gone from his pose. “I think I understand you, sir. Trust is important on any ship. I’m glad you’re willing to offer me yours so freely.” He turned and looked at HMS Illustrious, large and imposing in the window. “To put it bluntly, then, you’ve had it bloody lucky out here.”
