by M. L. Banner
Since they were both asked to check on the radio and TV broadcasts, and Buzz had set up the suite’s master bedroom as their communications center—he said this was because of the ease to connect to outside antennas—they’d been listening and searching for updates as to what was going on in the world outside of their ship.
Listening to radio broadcasts was not necessarily Ted’s forte, nor was watching TV for David. But both wanted to contribute. And it helped Ted gather more data about the parasites’ progression outside of their ship, so that he and Molly could help the acting captain decide on their next steps. And as Jean Pierre explained it, David and he were now considered trusted members of his bridge crew.
“Keep in mind, this ship is given a package of satellite broadcasts from a third-party company that Regal European subscribes to. So it’s entirely possible that there are many broadcasts out there and we just don’t know about them, because only our package has gone down. Buzz will be rigging up a new antenna system for us and he says he’ll be able to hack some of the satellite TV systems out there. But it won’t be for another day or two, since you’ve got him doing so many equally important tasks to get the ship systems back up.”
Jean Pierre nodded to all of this, and then leaned forward. “So what about the radio?”
“Well, that’s another story altogether. I’ve listened to hours of various commercial broadcasts and some ham radio as well.” Ted stretched over his desk and grabbed a yellow pad, with scribbles all over its pages. He sat back in the chair and starting with the first page, he flipped through the pages quickly until he stopped about twenty pages in.
“Okay, best I can gather, reports of parasitic attacks have sprung up on every continent. It’s pretty much the same story everywhere, only different gradations of chaos. The worst are London and Paris, both of which are mostly black now.”
“Black? You mean as in nothing?”
“Correct. No commercial broadcasts whatsoever. Only intermittent shortwave broadcasts from there. Parasitic animals and humans control these two cities, roaming the streets freely.”
Jean Pierre fell back into his chair. “I guess we should count our blessings then.”
Ted had thought the same thing. They were in an environment they could better control. “Correct. Although there are places out in the Western US, including near our home in Arizona, where the Rage disease hasn’t really taken hold. Only sporadic reports of animal attacks. But I expect that to change fairly soon.” Ted tossed the yellow pad back onto the desk. “It’s pretty much a shit-storm everywhere else.”
“So we’re completely on our own,” Jean Pierre stated rhetorically.
“I’m afraid parasitics in control of our towns and cities is the new normal for the world.” Ted examined the man who had assumed command of their ship, and therefore their lives. He appreciated the man’s pragmatic processing of everything. And he felt lucky to be included in their tight circle to help him craft future decisions. And it was nice being one of the few in the know.
Realizing he forgot something, Ted popped forward in the chair. “Sorry, I forgot to mention one other broadcast you should know about.” He snatched the pad back and moved to a page that was marked by a paper-clip.
“Here it is. Every couple of hours, with the last one about an hour ago, there’s a shortwave broadcast in both Spanish and English from L-Ha-D-Core-Vo?” He said it phonetically. “I know I’m saying it wrong.” He turned the pad around so that Jean Pierre could see it written carefully in his block-styled lettering.
“Ilha De Corvo. Yes, it’s the northernmost island in the Azores archipelago.”
“Makes sense. They’re saying that they have fuel for any ship that needs it and that they’ll exchange fuel for any supplies, especially food. But here’s the weird thing.” Ted looked back up to Jean Pierre. “They say they don’t have the Rage disease on their island.”
“Have you spoken to them?”
“No. I didn’t want to presume. And who knows if it’s not just BS.”
Jean Pierre’s radio chirped at him and he answered it in one motion.
“Sir, this is Mr. Agarwal. We have another report of an attack on the sun deck, with a passenger turning parasitic. He’s in the cold room right now, with the other one.”
“Thanks, Mr. Agarwal.” He clipped the radio back onto his belt.
“Damn, that’s three cases in the last thirty-six hours, right?”
Jean Pierre nodded. “That’s actually why I wanted to speak with you. I have some ideas on how we should manage the passengers and crew going forward. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked Dr. Simmons to join us. I need feedback from both of you before I announce new rules to everyone at tonight’s meeting.”
“That sounds good, Captain. It will give us a chance to share our idea about what to do about the parasitics.”
42
Empty
It was a full house, with standing room only ten minutes before the doors closed. Every passenger and all but maybe the dozen or so skeleton crew who had to man the ship’s critical systems were there. The only thing they were told on the intercom or from the door-to-door messages delivered by crew was that the meeting was mandatory. Short of being deathly ill, in the infirmary or one of the parasitic population, literally every person on their ship was required to be at the Tell Tale Theatre at 19:00. Ted was quite sure no one, aside from a few select bridge crew, had any idea how much their lives were about to change.
On stage, a line of seats facing the audience were occupied by their acting captain, Jean Pierre; security director, Wasano; first officer of navigation, Jessica; acting engineering director, Niki; acting medical director, Chloe; and special envoy to the captain, Molly. Ted—he didn’t think he had a title yet—sat at the end, beside Molly. They all remained in their seats, silent, just waiting for the meeting to start.
Ted leaned forward in his chair and stared at his wife. She was hiding in the fold of a giant stage curtain, in a dark corner of the stage. She wore her now normal uniform: running outfit, nose-clip and sunglasses. Her breathing was more rapid than even normal. But with her changes, that could be nothing. It was the tension in her neck, head turning toward each cough or word spoken, and the stiffness in her posture which told him that she was distressed.
It was a complete role reversal. Before all of this, it was he who would have been hyperventilating with such a large crowd only a few steps away. Now it was his wife that couldn’t stand to be around people.
She slid farther into the curtain’s protection, no longer visible to him or anyone else.
Jean Pierre rose from his seat and proceeded to the lectern. Ted’s watch, synchronized with the captain’s, read 19:00.01.
“Good evening. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Jean Pierre Haddock, acting captain of your ship, the Regal European Intrepid.” He paused for a moment and then continued.
“The people behind me are the current members of my wardroom. That means, they speak for me. They, along with several other members of my crew and a few passengers, were the reasons why we are all still here today, alive and having this meeting. When you see them, you should thank them for their selfless commitment and for their sacrifices.”
He didn’t intend to pause for more than a moment before moving directly into the main reasons for their meeting. He needed to get through the part that would be most difficult for most of this audience to hear. And even more difficult for them to accept.
But several of the audience stood up unexpectedly and cheered loudly. Then every one of the nearly five hundred people inside joined in and cheered for their good fortune and the people who got them here. He allowed it, because they probably needed it.
He waited impatiently for the applause to ebb. When it didn’t, after two solid minutes, he raised his hands, palms out, and said, “Thank you… Thank you. Please, hold your applause.”
Finally, they stopped and everyone who had a seat, sat. And other than a few murmurs an
d coughs, it was quiet again.
“I would ask you to hold onto your applause and your comments until the end of our presentation. We have much to cover.
“The purpose of this meeting is to give you an update on what is happening aboard our ship, the status of the world around us, and our plans going forward.
“First, because I know many of you have concerns about the Rage disease, I’ve asked Mr. Ted Williams to speak to you and help you to understand better what it means to each of us on this ship.” Jean Pierre turned to face Ted.
Ted rose and walked up to the lectern, his head still pointed in TJ’s direction. She still wasn’t visible.
Some of the crowd started to mumble questioning comments, obviously not making the connection between the man they knew as TD Bonaventure and the name Ted Williams. A few started to clap.
Jean Pierre, who stood just aside and behind the lectern, took a step forward and leaned into the microphone, “Again, I’d ask you to please hold your comments and applause until after the formal part of this meeting has concluded.”
Ted nodded and mouthed “Thank you” to him, before bellying up to the lectern. He wore the same suit he wore during the formal night and his public toast. His hair was tightly combed and perfectly in place. Gone was his handlebar mustache and the grin he often wore when he spoke in front of people. Even four nights ago, when he was tasked with speaking on behalf of their now deceased captain, at this very same theater, he at least tried to mix some humor into his talk. He was dead serious tonight.
“Thank you,” he said in his normal American voice, no longer pretending to have any sort of a British accent. “As the acting captain said, my actual name is Ted Williams. Many of you may know me by my pen name. But I’m not speaking to you as an author or entertainer, but as a member of the Intrepid crew. With the assistance of Dr. Molly Simmons—our resident parasitologist and other recent addition to this committee—the captain wanted me to explain what has been occurring on-board and outside this ship, as it relates to the Rage disease.”
While speaking, Ted had been addressing four imaginary points of his audience—something he learned from a speech coach when speaking to large groups—so that it appeared as if he was personally addressing each person in the audience, even though he couldn’t see any of their faces. When he glanced to his right and down, he caught a glimpse in his periphery of TJ, still standing just inside the folds of the theater’s curtains. She was visible because she was now trying to see Ted, and she acknowledged his gaze with a small glint of a smile… and tears. He quickly flashed back a slight grin and then returned his serious focus to his audience.
She was so sad.
He took a deep breath, recollected his thoughts to make sure he would cover all of the points Jean Pierre had wanted, and then continued. “We have all experienced the so-called Rage disease firsthand, and the effects of the parasite known as T-Gondii. What you probably don’t know is that everyone who has become symptomatic, and appeared to have gone crazy, was already infected before they boarded this ship. They did not contract this parasite from a bite, or from something they ate on the ship, or even breathing in the air. Again, everyone who was already infected picked up this parasite before they stepped on board. They just didn’t know it.
“The disease transformed most of the infected into what we are calling parasitic; in other words, someone controlled by the parasite. This parasite was benign to most people, before a small bacteria, spread by volcanic clouds all over the world, woke up the parasite and caused so many of our fellow passengers and crew to become parasitic and thus seemingly crazy.”
This is where Ted diverted somewhat from the truth, at Jean Pierre’s insistence. “The good news is that we don’t expect any more flare-ups of the disease. Pretty much everyone who was going to contract the disease and become symptomatic has already… become symptomatic. That is showing signs of the crazy behavior.”
In truth, Molly explained to the captain’s wardroom that they could expect as much as an additional 20% or more of their ship to, at some point in time, become symptomatic. There was just no way for them to tell for sure, without doing a blood test for each person on the ship. And they needed equipment they didn’t have for this. Those who were either slightly symptomatic or who didn’t pass TJ’s smell test were going to be separated from the non-infected. But that would be addressed individually with each person another day.
“I will be happy to answer all of your questions afterwards. So please hold them until then. I return you to the captain. Thank you.”
Ted abruptly turned and walked back to his chair. And before the audience could react and begin to disrupt his delivery of this meeting with their questions that they were supposed to hold for the end, Jean Pierre took over.
“Thank you, Mr. Williams. Again, I would ask you to hold all questions and comments until the end of this talk.
“Next, we have a short, five-minute video presentation.”
Jean Pierre also abruptly turned from the podium and returned to his seat, just as the lights were dimmed on the stage. The curtains drew back, revealing a large rectangular screen that hung just above the heads of each of the wardroom members, all of whom remained almost motionless in their stage seats. They wouldn’t be able to see the video, even if they turned to look at it, because they were too close. Not that any of them needed to see it, as each had previewed it at least once.
A blast of light exploded onto the screen and Ted’s TD Bonaventure voice erupted from the speakers, narrating scenes from a real-life apocalypse they weren’t going to want to hear. Using video clips that Ted, David and Deep had grabbed from previously available satellite broadcasts, TD Bonaventure described a world that had permanently changed in just ten days. All major cities around the world had already fallen or were about to fall to the parasitic animals and people. Normal services were gone: TV and Internet were down, as far as they knew; no planes were flying or trains moving; stores had been emptied, as food and other supplies had stopped being delivered; all communications other than rudimentary radio transmissions were down, including with their head office or any potential ports; and finally, medical services were difficult to find at best because most people were hiding, dead, or had become parasitic.
“For all of these reasons, the crew of the Intrepid have decided to remain at sea indefinitely… Or until we can find a safe place to port.
We will continue to work tirelessly to keep you safe, and to survive, even if our families and friends in the outside world do not.”
Ted’s crude mind kicked in, thinking, We should have played the Rolling Stones’ “You can’t Always Get What you Want” at the end.
The movie stopped, the spotlights were brought back up and the stage curtains slowly closed. Jean Pierre rose once again, just as a member of their security team breezed over to Wasano and whispered into his ear. Jean Pierre watched this, while pretending that it wasn’t distracting, as he stepped up to the lectern.
Already, there was a loud groundswell of conversations which had burst out around the theater. Many in the audience were sobbing from the video.
“Friends.” He held up his hands again to quiet the crowd. “Friends, I know this information is difficult to digest. It was for each of us as well. But it is a fact that the world we presently occupy has completely changed. The good news is that this ship is our safe haven. And until we’ve identified a safe place to port, this will be our home, for a while.”
He knew he should have stopped for a moment or two and let them take a breath. But he thought while they were shell-shocked, it was best if he’d plow through with the rest. They had a lot of time together to process all of this, and it would not happen in one night.
“Because the world around us has changed so much, and so that we can be assured of survival, we all must make changes on this ship. As your acting captain, the one who is in charge of your welfare as long as you’re on board, I am instituting some new rules.”
&nbs
p; He turned because of a loud conversation behind him was taking attention away from him. He glared at his acting security director who was just thanking the guard he was speaking with, and signaled Jean Pierre that he needed to now speak to him. Jean Pierre returned his attention to his audience.
“In a moment, you will each be given a set of rules of conduct, which will help you to understand what will be expected of you during your extended time on board the Intrepid.
“Here are the most important changes… As of today, you are no longer considered guests of this ship; each of you is now a member of my crew. And as a member of my crew, you will at some point be assigned tasks to do. Additionally, because we do not know when or if we will ever get supplies again, our food will be strictly rationed. All the other restaurants will remain closed, and we will all eat out of the same dining room.”
He let this sink in, and then continued more slowly. “There will be no misconduct or breaking of any rules. You will not hoard your food or any other of the ship’s supplies. Anyone who does not wish to abide by my rules, and make no mistake, these are my rules, will be dropped off on one of the islands, with none of the protections you now enjoy.”
Wasano cleared his throat loudly. Jean Pierre cocked his head back and acknowledged that he saw that Wasano was standing and furiously signaling him.
Jean Pierre held one hand out to tell him to wait, and then turned back to his microphone.
“We are now passing out the list of rules and in a moment, we will take questions. Please excuse me.”
Jean Pierre stepped away from the lectern, Wasano meeting him part-way.
Although Wasano tried to speak in hushed tones, the theater became incredibly loud, so Wasano spoke louder than he probably should have to be heard. Everyone on stage heard at least his side of their conversation.
“Our fuel tanks are almost empty,” he told the acting captain.
