A Drop in the Ocean

by James Cooke

  A Drop in the Ocean

  By James Cooke

  Chapter 1

  March 13th 2016

  The taxi swung around the last corner far too sharply for Brian’s liking.

  It crashed over the pothole, spoiling an otherwise relaxing midday ride back from the airport.

  He was annoyed, but quickly dismissed the driver's poor driving and paid the fare. It didn’t matter one iota. What mattered was that they had finally arrived back at his home, and he couldn’t have been happier. Not even the dreary sky above Edmonton dampened his joy. Having returned to his cold and empty house in the suburbs, the enormity of the events that occurred over the past few days made everything else seem insignificant in comparison. Brian had an ominous feeling that things were about to get even more complicated in the days and weeks ahead.

  He was relieved to find the house key just where he had left it, squeezed down between the compost and the inside wall of the plant pot of Joanne’s favourite species of catmint.

  ‘Well, here we are. Home sweet home. Come on in,’ Brian said to Lucy.

  As Lucy stepped over the threshold, Brian noticed the curtains of number seventeen across the street twitching. It was old Mrs Beaumont having a good nose at who he had brought home. No doubt she’d be thinking it could only be a young harlot, dressed as she was, in a figure-hugging catsuit that revealed the lithe body of a girl in her twenties. A girl with long, tousled red hair. Shame on Brian, whatever would Mrs Hopper have thought if she were alive today. Brian waved back, grinning dementedly. Mrs Beaumont flicked the curtain back, seemingly embarrassed that she’d been caught out.

  ‘Anyone else wants to have a fucking peek while we’re at it?’ Brian fumed, checking up and down the street for any other signs of unwanted attention.

  The entrance hallway was littered with several weeks’ worth of letters, flyers and other items of junk. Without hesitating, Brian closed the door and kicked the mountain of mail to one side and walked on through to the kitchen. The first thing he wanted to do was find the old photograph. It had been nagging away at the back of his mind since the day he first met Lucy. He was anxious to see it again, to confirm what he had suspected all along. He quickly found the photograph in the top drawer of his writing cabinet, exactly where he thought it was. He stared at it in disbelief, ‘Shit, I knew it.’

  Some of the pieces of his jigsaw were slotting into place, and everything that had happened since crashing his truck a few weeks ago started to make sense. But it wasn’t enough to make him happy.

  ‘What is that Brian?’ Lucy asked.

  Brian glanced at Lucy, smiling knowingly.

  ‘It’s just an old photo of my father and someone I think he must have known at the time it was taken. That was when I was just a boy, I think you know that already, don’t you?’

  Brian handed the photo to Lucy. She viewed it curiously. Because of what she was, Brian found it hard to detect any emotion in Lucy’s face, any giveaway signs that she might be recognising herself, as the young woman stood next to his father.

  ‘That’s you, Lucy, I just know it. C’mon you can’t deny it?’ he asked, in an accusing tone of voice.

  ‘Brian, let me explain,’ Lucy replied.

  ‘Yeah but, don’t you think that it’s a bit odd that you appear to be exactly the same now as you did then, all those years ago; thirty fucking seven to be precise when I was what, seven?’

  Lucy retained her innocent expression, her petite mouth slightly open.

  ‘Yes, she is outwardly the same as me, exactly in fact. But she is not me, Brian.’

  Brian squinted, What the fuck does she mean “outwardly” he thought, frowning.

  He tossed the picture onto the table, walked across the sitting room and slumped into his old leather armchair. He drummed his fingers on the two arms.

  ‘Ah I see, so if it ain’t you, then who the hell is she?’ Brian asked, emphasising the who.

  Lucy came closer and sat in a chair opposite Brian, almost sheepishly.

  Before she could say anything, Brian added, ‘Okay, I vaguely remember my father was involved in some weird shit, but at the time I wouldn’t have understood. I mean fuck me, would any kid that age?’

  This time he tried to be calmer. He leant forward.

  ‘C’mon Lucy, tell me; what’s really going on?’ he asked, slapping the top of his knees.

  He was annoyed that Lucy had an unhappy expression. Her eyes were soulful.

  ‘Do not be angry, Brian, nothing has changed. We must still carry on with our mission. I realise that it has been a very long journey for you to get back home and I am sure you want to see your daughter again as soon as possible.’

  Her succinct reply frustrated Brian, and he slumped back into the chair.

  ‘Oh god. That’s irrelevant Lucy, but yeah, you’re right of course, I do. I ain’t angry or nothing, I’m just confused, I just want answers; wouldn’t you ?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but..’ Lucy said, before being cut off.

  Brain raised his hand, ‘Wait, don’t answer that,’ he replied.

  ‘Yeah, of course, we’ll carry on with our mission or whatever you want to call it. I mean let's face it, what fucking choice do I have, or any of us come to that? Tell me one though, did my father help you or your people, just like I’m trying to do now?’

  Lucy nodded slowly and then reached out, clenching Brian’s hand softly.

  ‘Yes, he did Brian. But there were others too, some of which had ulterior motives.’

  ‘“Others”, “ulterior motives”? Sorry, but what the fuck are you talking about?’

  Brian could have sworn that Lucy tried to smile.

  ‘You have to understand that I was not the first type to visit your planet. There have been several others, each like me,’ Lucy replied.

  Brian frowned, this was a new revelation. Perhaps, at last, the bigger picture was revealing itself.

  ‘What you have to realise Brian, is that your father was a good man, just as you are. He helped to save your planet then, just as you and I are going to do now,’ Lucy said.

  Brian sighed, yeah that’s all very well, but this seems to be going nowhere fast. He’d heard enough for the moment and crashed back into the chair, in exhaustion. It was the one comfort he had missed over the last few days. He closed his eyes, slowly falling asleep. He reflected back on his life. He still remembered his father mysteriously disappearing shortly after his seventh birthday, leaving his mother to raise him.

  All he knew about his father, John Hopper, was that he had worked for the US government in some capacity when they lived in California. His mom had told him that his father had something to do with special military aeroplanes, but that was about as much as she knew. The day after Brian’s seventh birthday, a large posse of police officers and soldiers came to their house, searching for something. But whatever it was they were trying to find, they failed as far as he could remember.

  What had lingered in Brian’s mind all these years about that event, was one man in particular who was, if he remembered correctly, very hostile and discourteous to his mother. He was a military officer, army, navy, he wasn’t sure. While the house search was going on, he did remember him saying, “Your father is a fool boy, and he’ll pay for all of this, mark my words.”

  The man’s name had struck Brian as funny at the time, thinking it sounded like “Tent” or something like that.

  Brian’s mother was understandably shocked and distraught. She had screamed at them to get out of their house. Eventually, they left and never returned. That was a good thing, but sadder than that, neither did they ever see their father and husband, ever again. He’d simply vanished off the face of the earth. It was a very traumatic time for both Bria
n and his mother. She never did find out what happened to her husband, despite searching for the rest of her life. Brian always thought that could have been the time when he first developed mental health problems, but he couldn’t be sure. Having no other choice, they both tried to get on with their lives, and they eventually relocated back to Edmonton, Canada, his mother’s home town.

  Brian’s mother passed away a few years later, at home, from cancer. Before she died, she explained to Brian that his father was an honourable man and that he was involved with some kind of secret government organisation. It had something to do with trying to save people, everyone on Earth in fact, but somehow, things had gone very badly for him. Brian once asked his mother about the woman in the very same photograph. She had told him that all she knew was that it was somebody that he had worked with, but he wasn’t allowed to say any more than that, because of the nature of his job.

  For reasons, he couldn’t quite remember, Brian had kept the photograph, in the hope that one day he might find out who she was. Having partially resolved that facet of the mystery, he still didn’t fully understand Lucy’s role in everything. A cloud still remained over his father’s role in everything. He hoped the answers to that mystery might become clear in the days and weeks ahead, but for now, all he wanted to do now was sleep for a day in his own bed and wait for his daughter to be brought home.

  After the life-changing events of the past few days, he tried to reflect positively on what he and Lucy had achieved. He worried about how bad things could have been, for the entire population of the world, had they not accomplished what they had set out to do. He struggled to get it out of his mind. He could only bask in the short-term success for so long, before the reality of the immense challenges that lay ahead brought him crashing back to the land of reality. He knew deep in his heart that there was still a lot more to do, and the daunting thing was, they didn’t have the luxury of time in which to do it.

  Chapter 2

  September 1979

  Way out past the outlet limits of the solar system, in inter-galactic space, a spaceship from another world had been travelling at just a small fraction below the speed of light for eighteen and a half years from its star system; Tau Ceti. As it closed in on its pre-programmed destination, it automatically decelerated and activated the awakening process for the crew of three, who had been in deep stasis sleep. By the time it had reached Pluto, it had decelerated to half-light speed. Continuing to decelerate, the ships auto-pilot control systems guided the spaceship between the outer planets and moons of the solar system. When eventually earth came into view several hours later, the crew had been fully awakened and were already preparing the cargo for its intended purpose.

  In the South Atlantic Ocean, Captain Emilio Gustav stood at the helm of the MS Berge Vanga en route from Brazil to Japan. Built in Croatia in 1973 and launched a year later, she was at the time, a state-of-the-art ore-bulk-oil carrier of one hundred and fifteen thousand tonnes unladen. She was large in comparison with similar vessels, having a one hundred and sixty-four-foot beam, which gave her a class beating capacity. On September 17th, 1979, she had left Portos de Santos, Brazil, carrying just over two hundred thousand tonnes of iron ore and another thirty thousand tonnes of heavy crude oil on what was to be a five-hundred-day journey to Nagoya, Japan. On day one hundred and seventy, and four thousand six hundred miles later, she had passed the Cape of Good Hope and was making normal, if somewhat slow, progress in the conveyor belt known as the Antarctic Circumpolar Current.

  The conditions in this part of the world’s oceans are acknowledged to be some of the most dangerous to shipping, with strong currents and near-constant storm force winds that blow westward, creating daunting and challenging fifty-foot average wave heights. Being extremely unusual in the business of international shipping, she had been ordered to make an unscheduled stop at Marion Island in the Southern Indian Ocean and drop anchor a half mile off Marion’s east coast, in sight of the RSA Marion Island Scientific Research Station.

  ‘This is highly unusual. I’ve been sailing ships for over twenty years, and in all that time, I have never been instructed to make an unscheduled stop, let alone one at such a godforsaken place as Marion Island,’ Captain Emilio Gustav complained to First Officer Raul Rodriguez. He added, ‘Don’t they realise how dangerous these waters are? Especially in these storm force conditions. Just make sure we don’t get any closer than half a mile Officer Rodriguez. We can’t risk getting too close to the cliff rocks; we wouldn’t stand a chance of avoiding a collision,’ he said, pacing up and down on the bridge.

  Rodriguez stood still next to the helm observing the agitated Captain, with an eagle eye.

  ‘Aye-aye Captain, all personnel have been put on full alert. Captain, may I ask what is the reason for the stop?’ Rodriguez asked, in a curious tone of voice.

  ‘Damned if I know. We’ve been ordered to wait here for someone to contact us from the research station. I’ve been told to expect a delivery of something. Something rather large that we are to load into the ore hold and then it has to be sealed,’ Captain Gustav explained.

  He wanted to make sure Rodriguez was perfectly clear, ‘Nobody is allowed to go near it. Apparently, the Americans will take delivery of it when we reach Guam,’ he said.

  ‘Guam sir? But isn’t that way off route, way out in the Pacific, nowhere near Nagoya?’ Rodriguez replied.

  Captain Gustav pursed his lips.

  ‘Listen to me Rodriguez, those are our orders from the company. I’d advise you not to ask too many questions, let’s just get the job done okay?’ he replied, curtly.

  Rodriguez raised his eyebrows, it was the first time he’d heard the Captain speaking under pressure.

  ‘Aye-aye Captain, I understand,’ Rodriguez replied.

  He refrained from questioning the Captain any further.

  Captain Gustav suddenly stopped pacing and faced his First Officer, ‘Okay Mr Rodriguez, plot a new course south-west to drop anchor at - just a moment I have it here, written down somewhere.’

  Captain Gustav fumbled for a piece of paper in his left pocket, ‘Here we go, ready? 46°52’12’’ south 37°52’73’’ east off the Coast of Marion Island. You got that? Good, I’ll be in my quarters then. Carry on.’

  Two days later, MS Berge Vanga had arrived at the stop off point. Captain Gustav and the crew were greatly relieved to have safely made it through some of the roughest seas they had ever encountered. Thankfully, the coastal waters around Marion were relatively calm and a day or two here came as a welcome break from an otherwise perilous journey. At zero two hundred hours, the ships communications radio barked into life. Radio officer Emmanuel was sat, precariously balanced on two chair legs, hands behind his head with his feet on the desk.

  He suddenly woke from snoring away by a garbled incoming message and quickly snapped to attention to answer it. He fumbled for the microphone.

  ‘This is MS Berge Vanga on 672.8 kilohertz. Please identify yourself, over,’ he said while stifling a yawn.

  A voice replied, ‘Berge Vanga this is the US Air Force, First Lieutenant Trent calling from Marion Island research station. I want to speak with your Captain, urgently, over.’

  Emmanuel nearly fell off his chair.

  ‘Holy mother of god,’ he mumbled to himself.

  Stepping out of the cramped radio room, he shouted down the corridor, ‘Cortez? Cortez, wake up, you lazy bastard.’

  On hearing the shouting, able seaman Phillip Cortez popped his head out of his quarters and rubbing his eyes, he shouted back, ‘Yes-sir, what is it?’

  ‘Wake up man, get dressed quickly. I want you to go and fetch the Captain. Some Yankee Lieutenant is asking to speak with him.’

  Cortez, who was already late for duty, threw on his shirt and trousers and set off towards the Captain’s quarters two decks below. Still feeling groggy from a general lack of sleep, he was now worried that he might also be reprimanded by the Captain for being late on duty.

  �
��Typical, just as I was getting to the best part of the dream of my life, this happens. What the hell is going on at this hour?’ Cortez said.

  He was scared shitless in having to disturb the Captain at two-thirty in the morning and gently knocked three times on the Captain's door. He waited for a moment and then pressed his ear against the door. There was no sound. Assuming the Captain must either be still asleep or possibly not in his cabin at all, he knocked three times again only this time much harder. After a short pause, he saw a dull glow of light under the door, and though the Captain must have switched his lamp on. Here goes, praise be to Mary he’s not too angry he thought. The door opened, and there stood the Captain with an expression of expectancy, for he knew precisely why he was being woken so early, even before Cortez answered.

  ‘What is it Cortez, have they sent for me?’

  It wasn’t exactly what Cortez anticipated. He stood awkwardly, open-mouthed, trying to work out how he might know.

  ‘Yes sir, there’s an American. First Lieutenant Tent, sorry Trent, waiting to speak with you in the Comms Room sir. Officer Emmanuel took the message and is keeping him on the line, sir.’ Cortez explained.

  Captain Gustav eyed Cortez guardedly, something seemed amiss, but he couldn’t figure out what it might be.

  ‘Very well, Cortez. Now get back to your station. Oh, one last thing Cortez, have Mr Rodriguez meet me in the Communications Room.’

  Cortez nodded his head rapidly.

  ‘Aye-aye, sir.’ Cortez saluted the Captain before scurrying off, relieved that the Captain hadn’t appeared to have noticed his bloodshot eyes, the smell of tequila breath and that he was barefoot.

  Emmanuel was already talking to Trent when the Captain arrived.

  ‘Lieutenant Trent, thank you for waiting. Captain Gustav is here now sir.’ Emmanuel said, in his best English accent.

  Captain Gustav nodded to Emmanuel and flicked his hand across his throat; stop talking and switch the microphone off, he gestured. He sat at the desk in front of the radio receiver and glanced at Rodriguez, who had just arrived. He frowned at him.