by Dayle, Harry
Six
THE COMMITTEE WAS hastily assembled once again, this time on the bridge of the Spirit of Arcadia. Jake could see the search for the missing fisherman continuing three decks below. The lookouts positioned from the bow outwards scanned the surrounding sea. He knew time was running out fast.
Someone called his name.
“Yes?”
“Jake, we’re ready to begin.”
“Right. Yes, of course. Thank you all for coming. I think it’s best I hand straight over to Jason.” He nodded at the submariner, who got to his feet and addressed those seated around the map table.
“We believe we have picked up another boat on the sonar.”
A collective gasp went up around the bridge. Jason paused, allowing the implications to set in, before continuing.
“The boat in question I estimate to be between fifty and seventy metres in length. It’s hard to tell from this distance. What is clear is that while it’s no cruise ship, neither is it a life raft or lifeboat. It’s something far more substantial.”
Amanda raised her hand and spoke. “Can you tell if there’s anyone on board?”
A murmur went around the table. It was the question every one of them was thinking.
“The boat is too far away for our infrared sensors to give us anything useful. However, given her trajectory and speed, I would say there is little doubt that she is sailing under power. She is not drifting.”
“Do we know where she has come from? How could she have survived?” Lister asked.
“I first spotted her when she entered the Celtic Sea—”
“She came from the east?” Lucya cut in.
“Yes. Perhaps from the direction of Brest.”
“Or the Crozon Peninsula. That’s a coincidence.”
“We don’t believe much in coincidence in the Royal Navy, Miss Levin,” Coote grunted.
“It is indeed possible that the boat came from Crozon,” Jason agreed. “Maybe it’s a sign that the base there has survived. Given her current speed and direction, and our own, I estimate we will lose sonar contact within the next twenty to thirty minutes when she disappears behind Ile de Molène.”
“So why are we still sailing in the wrong direction?” Ella asked. Her shock of pink hair bobbed about her face as she looked around the table, eyes wide and questioning. “We need to turn round, get to the base.”
“Of course we do,” Martin agreed. “If it survived, who knows what we might find?”
Suddenly everyone was talking at once, and nobody was listening. Jake felt his heart sink. He stood and banged on the table. “Alright, let’s bring this to order. Amanda, you wanted to say something?”
“Thank you, Jake. If the base has survived, it will be there tomorrow. Surely we need to go and find this boat, before we lose them?”
“Exactly!” Lucya said, and several others voiced their agreement too.
Jake held up a hand, silencing them all again. “There is another consideration here,” he said, his voice dipping. “Stieg? We haven’t found him yet.”
“Captain Noah,” Coote said. “I think you know as well as I that the fisherman is not going to be found. I’m sorry, old boy, but we’ve gone way beyond the original search area already. We cannot jeopardise the possibility of finding more survivors for the tiny chance that we may find Stieg alive.”
“He is right, Jake,” Grau said softly. “For the record, I agree our priority must be the other survivors.”
“We don’t know there are any survivors,” Ella protested. “And even if there are, they seem to be doing okay by themselves. Why should we interfere?”
“We cannot make those kinds of assumptions,” said Grau. “It has been almost two months since the asteroid. For all we know, there are people aboard at the limit of their food and fuel reserves. We have a moral obligation to offer our assistance.”
“Grau’s right,” Amanda agreed. “And really, what is there to lose? If we find people who decline our assistance, we’ve only made a minor detour. Jason, how long will it add to our sailing time to Crozon if we try and meet up with this boat?”
“No more than twenty-four hours.”
“We have unlimited power, and we are blessed with good food reserves. Twenty-four hours extra on our journey has to be a worthwhile price to pay to potentially save more lives. You must see that?”
Silvia cleared her throat. She had, until then, remained silent. “If I may?” Seven heads turned to look at her. “Finding survivors would be a wonderful thing. Not only would we be saving lives, but think of the boost in morale it would offer to every man, woman, and child in this community. Since the asteroid, all we have seen is death and destruction. Longyearbyen, Faslane, Plymouth, Portsmouth. Everywhere we go it’s the same. Every port of call is like a knife through the heart, a reminder that the world is gone. The more we see, the more convinced we become that we’re alone, the only survivors. But think! If there are others, and so close by, then that means there could be more! There could be pockets of humanity dotted around the world. We don’t just owe it to whoever might be on that boat to go and find them, we owe it to ourselves.”
“The longer we discuss this, the greater the risk of losing sight of our new friends on the sonar. I think it’s time to move this to the vote, don’t you, old boy?”
Jake sank back into his chair. He hated to admit it, but the others were right. Stieg was gone. The possibility of finding others didn’t soften that blow. “Okay. All those in favour of proceeding to the Ile Longue base at Crozon?”
Martin and Ella raised their hands.
“And those in favour of intercepting this boat?”
Coote, Amanda, Grau and Silvia raised their hands. Jake reluctantly raised his own hand too.
“Splendid,” Coote said, beaming. “Jason and I shall return to the Ambush and dive forthwith.”
Jake walked to the helm, his feet dragging. “Chuck, turn us around.”
• • •
After the search was called off, much to Max Mooting’s delight, Grace was hoping to slip away unnoticed. She had had time to think over her conspiracy theory regarding the Morans and their claimed rations. The more she churned it over, the more she was sure that there was foul play involved. Telling Max her ideas was pointless; he would tell her to get a grip, then send her to one of the passenger decks on patrol. She had other ideas.
Unfortunately so did Max. After a brief telephone call with the bridge, he recalled her and the rest of the security team to the theatre. There was to be an important town hall meeting, to which everyone on board was invited. The theatre couldn’t hold everyone, so a strong security presence would be required to prevent trouble from brewing among those left outside.
Even before Grace reached the theatre, the rumours had begun. Whispers in corridors, hushed and excited conversations in doorways. Always the same subject:
“Have you heard? They’ve found more people alive!”
“There’s another ship, just like this one.”
“I heard it’s a warship, and we’re running away from them.”
“Someone I know who’s friends with someone on the bridge said everyone on that ship is dead. Killed by the same virus we all had.”
“I heard it was a ghost ship.”
The theatre wasn’t at capacity. The short notice meant many people couldn’t get there in time. Plenty more didn’t want to attend. Such public gatherings had a habit of being organised to dispense bad news.
The meeting itself started well. Amanda Jackson and Ella Rose from the committee explained what they knew: that another boat had been spotted, that it showed indications of being inhabited, and that they were now on course to intercept it.
Initial reactions had been positive. As Silvia had predicted, a wave of optimism swept quite perceptibly through the cavernous auditorium. The space was filled with chatter at the prospect of finding new people, and what that meant in the wider scheme of things.
The hosts of the meeting
let the chat continue for a while, then as it calmed down, they opened the floor to questions. Transparency was one of the guiding principles of the committee, and everyone in the community had the right to quiz its members on any topic relating to their wellbeing.
Amanda fielded the questions with ease.
“How far is this boat?”
“A bit more than two hundred nautical miles. We’ll rendezvous with it in roughly fifteen hours.”
“How big is it?”
“Between fifty and seventy metres long. That means it’s bigger than most fishing boats, smaller than most ferries. We can’t tell more than that yet.”
“How did they survive?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where are they going?”
“We don’t know.”
“Are you sure there are people on board?”
“No, but there’s a very good chance there are, because the boat is sailing under its own power.”
Then came the more difficult questions.
“What happens when we find them?”
“That’s being discussed. We will probably quarantine them before letting them onto the Spirit of Arcadia and inviting them into the community. We assume their resources are limited.”
“So you’re saying we’ll have to accommodate and feed them?”
“Yes.”
“But we don’t know how long our food is going to last us. Why should we hand out food to these people?”
The question was met with a murmur of agreement.
“We can’t simply leave them to starve. If they need our help, we will provide it. Plus, there’s safety in numbers. They may also have knowledge of other survivors or places that escaped the asteroid. The kind of knowledge that can help all of us.”
The response garnered many nodding heads.
“Why should we give up our hard-earned food stocks to a bunch of foreigners?” A shout from the stalls was met with a smattering of cheers.
“Foreign to who? There are people of almost every nationality on this ship. Besides, they are people, like you and me. If they need our help, we’ll give it. Just like HMS Ambush came to our aid.”
“That’s different. They’re the army, it’s their job.”
“They’re the navy, idiot,” someone else called from the back.
Amanda tried to calm the room, but people had begun to shout over one another, arguing among themselves, trying to make their voices heard.
Grace and the other security officers stepped in then, attempting to calm the situation. There was no time to reflect on the exciting news of other potential survivors; she understood that her afternoon was going to be spent trying to maintain order.
• • •
With the Ambush locked on to their target, guiding the Spirit of Arcadia through their shared navigation link, Jake was free to leave the bridge. He left Lucya in charge; there was another hour before she had to go and fetch Erica from school. Chuck was taking a well-earned break, and McNair was keeping a watchful eye over the helm, as well as maintaining lookout.
Jake was raw from the loss of Stieg. It was unfinished business, and although logic said that the man was gone, probably drowned, it felt unnatural and inhuman to turn his back on him. The decision was out of his hands though, so all he could do was occupy his time and try not to dwell on what had happened. After calling ahead to make sure she was there, he made his way down to Janice Hanson’s morgue on deck one.
There was a strange comfort that came from visiting the cold store room that had been taken over by the retired pathologist. Down in that part of the ship, among the endless pipes and ducts, the rusting metal bulkheads, and the low ceilings, away from the comforts of the public areas, he was reminded of what they had survived so far. Janice’s room had been used as a temporary morgue after the asteroid, a holding pen for the dozens of unidentified bodies charred and burnt by the ash cloud that followed the rock. And then, just weeks later, she had dissected the bodies of the first victims of the terrible mutated virus that had nearly wiped out the entire ship. Down there, in the dingy depths of deck one, the loss of Stieg was put into context.
“Captain.” Janice shook Jake’s hand and opened the door wide, inviting him in. He hadn’t been inside since she had taken over, and he was surprised at the transformation. Where once the place had resembled a giant steel container, now it looked like a low-budget operating theatre. In the centre of the room was an improvised dissection table. Janice explained that the engineers had modified a steel table to her specifications. They had also installed a water supply for a hose attachment, as well as a separate sink. Surrounding the table were free-standing lighting units.
A work area to the side was home to some of the equipment salvaged from the biological warfare lab at Faslane: scales, a microscope, and a digital camera. Surgical tools from the medical stores, complemented by more heavy-duty cutting instruments on permanent loan from the kitchens, completed the inventory.
Jake was relieved to find the dissection table was not in use. In fact, there was no sign of a body anywhere. The room was spotlessly clean, and mercifully odour free.
Janice caught the look on his face. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have brought you in here if I had someone opened up on there,” she said, grinning widely.
“What have you found out?”
She led him to another table he hadn’t seen when he entered. It was at the far end of the room, hidden in the shadows. Janice clicked on a desk lamp, pulled out two chairs, and sat down.
“This morning’s body was in perfect health.”
“Apart from missing a head.”
“Yes, apart from that. As to where he came from, I would guess given his skin colour and height, and the size of his hands and feet, that he was originally from somewhere in Asia. His stomach was empty, but under the circumstances I doubt that knowing what his last meal consisted of would tell us anything.”
“Asia? Could he be Chinese?”
“Yes, that’s a strong possibility.”
“Was he sick? Could he have had the virus?”
“Mr Vardy was kind enough to run a blood sample analysis on his fancy machine up in medical, and it came back clear. I’ve completed a forensic autopsy, and I conclude that decapitation was the cause of death. All the vital organs were functioning perfectly immediately prior. No diseases, no viruses, no visible injuries.”
“I suppose that means we can rule out a mercy killing then? It’s not like someone killed him because he was suffering terribly. It was a him, right?”
“Yes, adult male. I estimate mid-thirties. And no, unless he had a brain injury — which is something I cannot determine for obvious reasons — then there is no cause to believe he was suffering in any way. This was a slaying, pure and simple.”
“Like the others?”
“I think so. Those bodies were in a far more advanced state of decomposition, but not so much that they would have hidden anything serious. From the angle of the cut, and the way the spine was sliced, I believe the same weapon was used in all three cases. I can’t tell you what sort of weapon, not my specialty I’m afraid. But I’d lean more towards a long blade; a sword or sabre, rather than something like an axe.”
Jake sat down, stroking his chin with his left hand.
“Something on your mind, Jake?”
“We’ve picked up a signal. Another ship. We’re headed for it now.”
“Ah, so that’s what the town hall meeting was called for? I wanted to finish up here, which is why I’m not there myself.”
“Yes, that’s what it’s for. And now I’m thinking: someone has apparently murdered three people. Someone not from this ship. Is that someone on that ship? Are we on our way to go and pick up a bunch of savages?”
Seven
THE TOWN HALL meeting was turning ugly. The security team were doing their best to enforce some kind of order, but they were a small group against a lot of people with frayed tempers and strong views.
&n
bsp; Dan Mitchell sat at the end of a row of seats, halfway back in the auditorium. He’d come as soon as the call had been put out announcing the meeting, not wanting to risk missing out on getting important news first hand. In the end there had been plenty of room and he’d regretted having arrived so early. It meant leaving Vicky on her own, and he hated leaving her alone. Especially now.
The announcement had not been what they had been hoping to hear. As he’d waited there, listening to those around him gossip and whisper before the meeting got underway, he’d imagined Captain Noah walking onto the stage and telling them that they’d found land; uncontaminated land. He knew it was unlikely, but that didn’t make it any less desirable. So when the news finally came that yes, there were probably other survivors, but that they were on a boat, Dan’s heart had sunk.
As matters started to get out of hand, he stood discreetly and made for the nearest exit. Under the rationing system, he’d lost a lot of his excess weight — more than most in fact, as he’d been missing out on two-thirds of his meals. Even so, he still had to squeeze his way up the side aisle in the semi-darkness, excusing himself and apologising as he went.
Outside at last, he went straight to the lift and punched the button for deck ten. As the floor beneath him began to rise he quickly jabbed out his finger again, ordering the car to stop at the next deck instead.
Out on deck six he walked the short distance to the Colaeus Restaurant where he entered a six-digit code on the door lock and went through to the preparation area.
Ration service had ended, and there were only a few stragglers left in the restaurant outside. Those who worked night shifts, or who were too old to be allocated to any team, or who were enjoying a rare day off. Behind the scenes in the preparation area too, most had left. A handful of young men and women were busy with the washing up, but Dan wasn’t interested in them. Instead he ducked into the tiny side office, where he was delighted to find Elizabeth Lethbridge. She was sorting out a stack of ration records.
“Hello, Dan,” she said without looking up.
“Hi, Mrs Lethbridge.”
