Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure

by T. L. B. Wood

  Andrews was forced to laugh in reply. Even though he’d been raised with more amenities than most, he was comfortable with all classes of people and lacked a judgmental gene. He might not have been able to visualize his own wife capering about steerage while dancing with unfamiliar men, but he was quietly amused that I had done so. And he didn’t hold it against me.

  “I like him more and more,” Kipp remarked. He’d folded his haunches and was sitting politely, looking up at Andrews. In the background, the orchestra had changed to classical, and my eyelids drifted shut to the sound of Debussy. A couple of crew members walked past, their voices unexpectedly loud, echoing against the wall of the sea as one laughed at something said by the other.

  “Clair de Lune,” Andrews remarked, as he named the music. “I’ve always thought it sounds sad.” After a pause, he added, “It’s lonely here, isn’t it? I mean, being in the midst of the ocean.”

  “Yes, it is,” I replied simply.

  Andrews looked down at Kipp, who brushed the deck with his tail he wagged in response to Andrews’ smile. Leaning forward, the man tickled Kipp’s ears, sighing as he stared at what to him was a big, handsome dog. “Kipp doesn’t have to worry about such.”

  “No, his life is uncomplicated,” I said, trying not to look at Kipp who was growling at me in the back of my head.

  Andrews seemed to visually shake himself out of his somber mood and made his excuses, after I assured him I didn’t need an escort back to my parlor suite. Looking back, many years later, I wondered if on some level Andrews had a premonition of danger ahead that night as we stood together at the railing watching the black water glide with a soft whisper past the metal hull of the Titanic.

  Peter and Elani beat us back to the cabin and were waiting for our arrival so we could share stories. Elani, who missed Kipp when he was out of her view, danced lightly on her paws as she greeted him with a touch of noses. Peter gazed at me in curiosity since I looked mussed, my cheeks still reddened from the cold air above deck.

  “How were things in the smoking lounge?” I asked, sitting on the comfortable settee in the middle of the sitting room. Peter had left the lighting minimal, and I was grateful, needing less stimulation and more quiet in my life at that moment.

  “Good,” he replied, taking a seat across from me. “Littleton was there again, and I managed to return his book. He was a little more conversant, since he allowed himself a liberal dose of brandy.” Peter lifted the lapel of his formal jacket. “Gee, I smell like smoke again.”

  “We’ll hang it out on the promenade deck to air overnight,” I suggested, trying to suppress a yawn.

  “Littleton has a strategy on how he will change identities when he bombs the ship,” Peter went on. “There is a man in second class with the surname of Little. Littleton just plans on claiming he was that man and hope in the confusion there will be such chaos that he will pass, unnoticed. Remember, his plan is to wait until the ship is in sight of the New York harbor before the bomb detonates. The bomb is in his second trunk he brought on board, which is currently in his room. When we get fairly close to New York, he will set up the timer and ask to have the trunk removed to the Orlop Deck below the water line in one of the cargo holds. His reason is that the trunk is to be shipped, and he won’t be taking it with him upon arrival in New York. Littleton thinks that his cachet as a first class passenger will compel the bell boy to help him do something that sounds unnecessary. A little coin in the palm of the bell boy might help, too. He plans on accompanying the trunk to make certain it is placed as near the wall of the hold as possible. His hope is the explosion will cause enough damage to rupture the outer hull. Littleton realizes the ship will probably be able to keep steaming, but the explosion will be a literal blow against the elitist structure that exists.”

  “A symbolic strike at the establishment,” Kipp remarked, resting his head on his large paws. Elani lay close by his side, her eyes closed.

  “How did you get access to all those details?” I asked.

  “He, although trying to converse with me, was mentally rehearsing his plans over and over again.” Peter glanced at me. “I think he is trying to keep his confidence up by talking internally to himself.” Peter darted a look at Elani, who remained still. “To be honest, I was getting tangled up in his thoughts, which were somewhat disorganized. Elani stayed on target and kept everything clear.”

  Elani, with her eyes still closed, thumped her tail on the carpet, in response to the unsolicited accolade.

  From outside our rooms, I heard the murmur of voices and soft laughter as people walked past, heading to their own accommodations. Keeping late hours for both men and women seemed routine aboard the Titanic. I wondered when the poor stewards got any sleep at all. The door to the promenade deck had been left ajar, and initially I was grateful, needing the bracing cool of the night air to help energize me. Peter, after getting my nod, crossed the room to close the door, since the dropping temperature was making the sitting parlor uncomfortable, even for the lupines. Peter loosened the tie at his throat, grimacing slightly as he tugged at it.

  “I don’t care for this formal wear any more than do you,” he said, smiling at me. “And the cigars are getting old. I thought my face was turning green at one point tonight.”

  “It was,” Elani remarked, her jaws opening wide in a maw revealing yawn.

  “Peter, you’re doing a remarkable job,” I said, returning the smile. “I guess I’ll be forced to take back all the bad things I’ve said about you.”

  “Really?” he asked, his face taking on the innocent expression of a child for a moment.

  “Well, most of them,” I replied.

  Chapter 23

  Day four had arrived, and it was Saturday, April 13, the day before the Titanic would confront her fate. The temperature had dropped precipitously, and the Library as well as other common areas was crowded. Only the most intrepid adventurers braved the bracing cold of the ocean air. From the protected view of the windows, the sky was a flawless blue with no clouds to break the perfect canopy, and it looked like any other spring day full of promise. After our breakfast in the parlor, since the promenade deck was a little too chilly for my likes, I decided to wander to the Library, since I thought Kipp could go with me and curl up, unobtrusively, by the door. We planned to meet Peter and Elani at the squash court where he had a game scheduled later that morning with Colonel Gracie. The visual impact of Kipp and Elani had lessened by familiarity, and the people I met in the hallways nodded, smiling at us. From recorded history, Colonel Gracie had not played squash until the morning of the fourteenth, which would be Sunday, but I suppose the little extra exercise he would get from Peter’s challenge didn’t cause any harm.

  The Library was popular that day, due to the chill that forced people away from deck strolling to seek out warmer environments. On the Titanic, the Library was unusual in that it was available to both first and second class passengers. As I entered, I tried to open the door as narrowly as possible for me and Kipp to pass, not wishing to make a splash with our entrance; he immediately dropped to the floor and curled up in a ball to the side of the aperture. The steward who oversaw the room glanced my way, a slight frown creasing his face. I held up my hands in a little prayer gesture, tilting my head in what I hoped was a beguiling appeal. He tried not to smile and merely turned his head towards the stack of books he was sorting. I guess if he didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.

  The room was interesting to me, book lover that I was and still am. I know Kipp enjoyed the use of a Kindle, and the variety of choices available for electronic books was massive, but I harbored a private passion for the feel and even smell of a bound book. I was being nudged into the electronic age dragging my feet. The Library had one wall of windows so that the patrons were treated to an unobstructed view of the harsh isolation that defined our journey. Taking a peek, I observed the far horizon where the sky and water met in a poorly defined line of demarcation between the sultry gray of the Atl
antic and the brilliance of the blue sky. There were glass-cased shelves on one side of the room; the exposed paneling was a rich mahogany that gleamed in the natural light. In fact, all the surfaces on the ship seemed to be immaculate and dirt free, while I couldn’t manage to keep ahead of the dust bunnies that proliferated in my own small house back in North Carolina. White fluted columns were spaced at even intervals, while little nooks made for snug places to read or, perhaps, draft a letter or telegram.

  A man caught my attention, and it took me several seconds to recognize his face from the pictures I’d viewed when studying for the time shift. It was undoubtedly Lawrence Beesley, the school teacher from second class who managed to survive the sinking. I’d read his The Loss of the S.S. Titanic, and the room was captured perfectly by his descriptions, even down to the writing bureaus that were scattered along the walls. Unexpectedly his eyes met mine, and he smiled, nodding as his gaze darted toward Kipp, who was pretending to be asleep. There was an unspoken message that somehow related to his traveling second class and me showing up with a big dog, going where I shouldn’t have gone. His thoughts betrayed his amusement over my breaking a few rules in an age when proper women should be towing the line.

  I moved on towards the book shelves and perused the volumes until I located Collins’ The Moonstone. Smiling, I realized that Littleton had returned the book. Had he finished it, I wondered, or just given up when he became lost in the maze of too many complex characters? I confess, I found myself hopelessly mired in the book’s multiplicity of plots and never had completed my read.

  “Why don’t you read it when we get home?” Kipp asked. His remark was grounding…we would survive this experience, and he would have it no other way.

  “Good idea,” I replied. Too distracted to concentrate on a book, I took a chair near the windows and watched the ripples and motion of the cold, remote Atlantic as we passed. Occasionally, a small white capped wave would make an appearance before being absorbed back into the uniform gray water. Despite the size and power of the ship upon which we traveled, it seemed as if we were a tiny, insignificant speck in the midst of jarring isolation. The Titanic was touted to be a safe mode of travel, but even if I had not known of the future of the ship, I would still have felt vulnerable. My mood, despite my attempts to stay focused, drifted, and it was impossible to not think of what would happen the following evening. Kipp’s query was comforting in its casual certainty—we would get home again.

  “Let’s go down and watch Peter play squash,” Kipp suggested, and it was not an invitation, it was an order. It didn’t take much to recognize his attempts to lure me from my pensive thoughts.

  With the Titanic being as large as she was, it took us more than a few minutes to find the Lower G deck where the squash court was located in the aft section. By the time we settled in the observation gallery where Elani greeted us with a toothy smile, Peter had paid his two shillings to the professional who was on board to provide lessons, and he and Gracie began to warm up. With a cheerful wave at me, Peter twirled his racquet, unable to stop from showing off a little. Gracie, too, lifted his hand in a greeting. Nice man that he was, he’d not forgotten his promise to give me a signed copy of his book, which had been delivered to our parlor suite the previous evening by a fresh faced teenage bell boy. As I’d thanked the youth, I recalled that none of the bell boys survived the sinking. Closing my eyes, I thought of the boy’s family and the loss they’d suffer in less than two days.

  Gracie, obviously, had played before. I’d not thought Peter much of an athlete, so I admit he surprised me by playing hard and rather viciously. Gracie was no slacker, and his pleasant exterior concealed a fiercely competitive nature. In the end, they evened out the scoring, and neither one had a clear victory. I met Peter in the hallway, where he was covered in sweat, his dark hair plastered down to his forehead.

  “Miss Keaton, your brother really put me through my paces!” Gracie exclaimed, slapping Peter on his shoulder. “We’re off now, to the Turkish bath.”

  I had to smile as the two of them tried not to limp as they walked away. They both must have been tired and stiff but were too proud to show it.

  “I’ll take Elani with me,” I called after Peter, who waved in acknowledgement.

  Since it was warm in the Lower G, I decided to brave the open deck. The lupines were panting, and I knew they would benefit from some cool air. Using the elevators, we made a rapid ascent and found our way to the Boat Deck, walking unmolested, since most sensible people had sought comfort over freezing off their behinds on an open deck. Resting my hand on the railing, I glanced down at the lupines, who had their feet planted, braced, against the breeze created by the speed of the Titanic, since she was traveling at over twenty knots. The wind was tunneling into their thick hair, brushing it up from the roots. The fresh, cleansing air with the sharp bite of salt would find its way down to their flesh.

  “I think I’m finally getting the rest of the cigar smoke out of my hair,” Elani remarked, glancing over her shoulder at me. She wagged her plumed tail, waiting, since she knew I had something else on my mind.

  “You and Peter will need to leave the ship before us,” I said. It seemed to be the right time to bring it up, and I needed to depend upon her good judgment to keep Peter’s impulsivity in check.

  “Why?” she asked, turning to face me as she sat. Kipp stared resolutely at an imaginary point on the horizon, his thoughts guarded.

  “Littleton will probably blow the explosives sooner rather than later, once he realizes the Titanic is doomed. All of the witnesses seem to indicate possible explosions after the sinking is well underway, and the tilt of the ship is almost unmanageable. Kipp and I must stay as long as possible to determine what happens.”

  “And you trust you and Kipp but not us,” Elani concluded, her voice quiet.

  “It’s not that, Elani. I know our capabilities–mine and Kipp’s—but I don’t know what will happen with your bond under so much emotional stress. You must trust me on this,” I added.

  “Peter is going to be upset,” she began before Kipp cut her off.

  “And you need to help him see the reason behind this and encourage him to do the correct thing. We can’t have our concentration disturbed by having to take care of you two,” he added savagely, his tone biting and cruel.

  Elani almost winced at his abrasiveness but not quite. She was a tough lupine, despite her appearance. “I see,” she replied. “I’m sure you’re right.” Turning her head, she stared off at the water as she composed her thoughts.

  Glaring at the back of Kipp’s head, I tried to soften his words. “Elani, this will be the greatest challenge I’ve ever taken. The slightest distraction could be disastrous for all of us.”

  She took a deep breath, her fur shimmering in the bright sunlight as her muscles rippled along her sleek sides. “Actually, I do understand, although, Kipp, you didn’t have to be so rough. We are still learning and could make errors, just because we’re young. I certainly don’t want to go down with the ship, but I need you to promise we can stay as long as you think is safe.” She was directing her words at me since Kipp’s tone had stung her.

  “You and Peter have the makings of a great team, Elani. But just as I did when I was younger, you need to grow into this. I wouldn’t have suggested this trip for a young couple, but this is what we were given.” My words drifted off.

  “And you promised Peter’s mother?” Elani asked, her tone light and teasing.

  “And, yes, I did. Oh, yes, I did!”

  I thought Kipp might apologize, but he didn’t, and Elani and I ignored him as we walked along the deck. We met only a few passengers, their red-cheeked, chapped faces almost obscured from view due to being muffled up against the cold. By the time we returned to the parlor suite, I was uncomfortably chilled. Peter had arrived before us and was neatly dressed after his experience in the Turkish bath, his damp hair curling up against the white collar of his shirt. We decided, collectively, to rest i
n our respective rooms in order to prepare for the evening ahead. In retrospect, I believe our stress was increasing incrementally as we gained personal knowledge of the people we met. This was what I’d feared most…we get attached to humans, and it becomes difficult to let go of them to follow their natural destiny. As I stood to go to my room, Elani stopped me.

  “Petra, may I speak with you a moment…alone?” she asked.

  Peter raised his eyebrows but smiled and retreated. Kipp, after huffing through his nostrils, trotted off. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was unsettled after his earlier caustic exchange with Elani. As he left, he departed my mind to give Elani privacy as she spoke with me. Even when grumpy, Kipp maintained his ethics.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” I asked. Elani sat close, her jaw resting on my knees. Outside the room, some people passed, their voices a soft murmur. When she didn’t answer immediately, I added, “Kipp didn’t really mean what he said.” It sounded lame even to me.

  “Yes, he did. And even though his attitude was unpleasant, I realize he was trying to keep us safe.” She glanced up at me. “But this isn’t about Kipp, although he can be a total booger sometimes.”

  I tried not to smile at her use of “booger” which seemed like something a teenager might throw at another one in a fit of agitation.

  “I want what you and Kipp have,” she said. “You have managed to achieve what’s natural for our kind. Kipp is always present to the point you two are almost inseparable. I have to believe it adds to greater trust and more strength as a team.” She grew tired of sitting and lay down, copying Kipp’s Sphinx pose, her head tilted up so that her dark eyes met mine. “And I know there are other things, too, but you don’t talk about them.”

  “Like what?”

  “I just get a feeling there are other skills that we symbionts possess that have been lost with time. Kipp is too effortless with his behavior.” She blinked her eyes at me.