The Aftermath

by Samuel C. Florman

  "Begging your pardon, Captain," McIntosh replied, "but I've been sailing the Seven Seas for a lot of years, and I know a Malay when I see one. I could have sworn we were in Malaysia, or Borneo, or Java, except that those places are a few thousand miles away. Anyhow, just as I'm trying to figure out how these villains could have gotten to the coast of Africa, the woman speaks up and says, loud as you please, that she is Queen Ranavolana. I know I've got the name right, because I asked her twice and later wrote it down. Although I never heard such a name, and as far as I'm concerned it doesn't make any sense. So she says she's this queen, and it's then I noticed that the boat's name, painted in black, was the King Radama. Also, that's no king I ever heard of.

  "Now here's the queerest part of all. The moment she started to talk, I knew she was an American! I also knew she wasn't a sailor. You can tell by the way a person moves and by the terms they use whether they're boat people or not, and believe me—she's a landlubber. But she talked like she owned the ocean. Like I said, she says she's Queen Ranavolana, and for good measure she is related in some way to Captain Kidd. Crazier and crazier, and I have to say that I didn't like the way she waved her gun around. After telling us we were in waters that belonged to her, and that we had no right to be there, she ordered my men to transfer our catch of fish onto her boat. I was happy to find that this is what she wanted, and told the men to do what she asked—and in a hurry.

  " 'I'm letting you off easy this time,' she said, 'but you'd better tell your people that I'm out here and that this is my territory. I may drop by your home base one of these days, just to see what you're up to. And if you're collecting any goodies, you'd better be ready to turn them over to me and my crew.'

  "I assured her that we were just poor folk trying to survive after the disaster, and that we didn't have anything worth her trouble. Some of my men tried to make conversation with members of her crew, but they were a pretty surly bunch, and when they did say something it was in a lingo so strange that even Victor Lupupa here"—pointing to one of his Inlander crewmen—"couldn't understand a word. And Victor is familiar with practically all the South African languages."

  "So what do you make of it, Harry?" Captain Nordstrom asked calmly and directly.

  "That woman is an American, I'm quite sure of it," McIntosh answered. "And she hasn't spent much time at sea. I can't begin to guess who she is or what she's doing here. She's off her rocker, that's for sure—possibly as a result of the floods and fires. She may think she's a pirate, but she's just play-acting. She doesn't look like the real thing from where I stand. Of course, that doesn't mean she isn't dangerous, far from it. What I really can't figure out, though, is where those damned Malays came from, or Polynesians, or Indonesians, or whatever the hell they are. They sure aren't South Africans. And they aren't Arabs or North Africans, either."

  "Can you folks shed any light on this?" asked the captain, turning to the Frosts.

  "I think we can," said Richard with a wry smile. "Mr. McIntosh may have been all over the world, but he obviously has never been to Madagascar. It's that big island to the east, just two hundred fifty miles away, as Captain Nordstrom said. But even though it's just a stone's throw away geographically, it's light-years away in racial, cultural, and historical terms. Most of the residents of that island are what we call Malayo-Indonesians or Austronesians, and yes indeed, they came originally from Indonesia. Actually, if you go far enough back, we believe their forebears came from the South China coast around 3500 B.C., migrated through Taiwan and the Philippines, and arrived in Indonesia and the Malaysian peninsula about two thousand years later. Presumably they traveled those vast distances in double-outrigger sailing canoes. Eventually, they continued to expand to the east, occupying much of what we call Polynesia; and then, much later, some of them turned around and traveled to the southwest, arriving in Madagascar about A.D. 500. The language spoken today on Madagascar is very similar to the language spoken on Borneo, over four thousand miles away across the open Indian Ocean."

  "A scientist friend of ours," Deborah Frost interjected, "whose specialty is prehistoric migrations, has said that this circumstance strikes him as—and I think I can quote him exactly—'the most astonishing fact of human geography in the entire world.' Of course," she continued, "you do see black African features among some of the population of Madagascar. These two shores being so close to each other, it could hardly be otherwise. But I believe that most of these darker people lived in the coastal lowlands, where they would have succumbed to' the tsunamis. If your pirates looked like Malaysians, you're neither dreaming nor confused. Obviously, they come from Madagascar."

  "Let's not forget," Richard said, "that Jane Warner's calculated safety zone includes the southern portion of Madagascar as well as our small slice of Africa. It stands to reason that there are survivors on that island, and maybe more than a few. It's a big island, you know, almost a thousand miles long. Of course, if just the southern tip was spared, those folks could be very hard up for food, since that part of the island is famous for its so-called spiny forest, lots of fascinating cactuslike trees, but not great for agriculture. And if they're desperate, that could explain the pirate crew. Otherwise, that part of the story doesn't ring true. The inhabitants of Madagascar, I would say, are as pleasant and easygoing a people as you'll find anywhere in the world."

  "What's all that stuff about King Radama and Queen What's-her-name?" asked Dr. Hardy. "Does that make any sense?"

  "Oh yes, it does indeed," Deborah said. "It's all part of the island's history, which is as extraordinary as its prehistoric origins. Richard told you that the native population arrived on the island around A.D. 500. The ruins of Arab settlements have been found dating from about 1200, and the Portuguese first stopped by for a visit in 1500. During the following couple of hundred years, although there were occasional attempts to establish European settlements, they were frustrated by disease and hostile natives. So a civilization developed in relative isolation, a historical backwater, largely ignored by Westerners. A number of separate tribes evolved, but by the end of the eighteenth century, most of these were united under one ruler.

  "This king—whose name I don't remember, and you don't want to know since it has about twenty letters—had a son and successor called King Radama I. There you are with the name of your pirate ship. Radama extended his rule over practically all of the island. In this effort he was helped by the British, who had become interested in this vast landmass adjoining their trade routes to India. From England the king received arms and advisers, and, as an incidental adjunct, an influx of Christian missionaries.

  "When Radama died in the early 1800s, he was succeeded by his widow, Queen Ranavalona I. Known to some as 'the wicked queen,' she determined to rid the land of European and Christian influence. During her lengthy rule, she drove out the missionaries, martyring a number of them, and also brutalized her own people. She was one rough, tough lady. Make of this what you will in trying to figure out what your pirate queen is up to."

  "Incidentally, Wilson," Richard Frost said, "you and your fellow engineers would be fascinated to learn about one European who, because of his technological talents, managed to get into the queen's good graces. Jean Laborde, the son of a French blacksmith, was shipwrecked off the coast of Madagascar in the 1830s. Brought before the queen, he convinced her that he could manufacture all manner of things she craved—particularly muskets and gunpowder. Whereupon she provided him with work crews to build what amounted to an industrial complex. He was as good as his word, and better. In a large factory compound he produced munitions, bricks and tiles, pottery, glass, porcelain, soap, candles, cement, dyes, sugar, rum—just about everything needed to make the island self-sufficient. He was eventually expelled for dabbling in local politics, and his workforce, who had labored without pay, wrecked the factory buildings and machines. That was the end of Madagascar's industrial revolution."

  "Sounds like someone we could use today," Dr. Hardy said.

  "The
re's a lot I can tell you," Richard continued, "but I don't know how much more you want to hear. The French entered the picture in 1883, when they invaded the island. They came again in 1895 and stayed, making the place a French colony. The monarchy was declared at an end, and Queen Ranavalona III was exiled to Algeria. During World War II, the British attacked in order to drive out the Vichy French, which they did. After the war, with French control restored, the natives rebelled, were bloodily repressed, and eventually, in 1960, achieved independence. Subsequent experiments in government were chaotic, to put it mildly. I think that's enough history for your purposes."

  "Where does Captain Kidd fit into the picture?" Captain Nordstrom asked.

  "Ah yes, the pirates." Deborah Frost warmed to the subject. "They're a very important part of the saga of Madagascar. From the 1680s to around 1720, the island was a major hideout for pirates in the Indian Ocean. They preyed upon the merchant ships that carried rich cargoes to and from India and the Near East. At one time the pirate population numbered nearly a thousand. And to be sure, William Kidd—Captain Kidd—was among them. As a matter of fact, it was in the Indian Ocean, at that time, that Kidd first decided to become a pirate.

  "This was a mysterious turnabout, since he had been sent there by the British Crown to apprehend pirates who were molesting the ships of the East India Company. Just as, earlier, he had been commissioned by both New York and Massachusetts to protect the American coast from buccaneers. After he was hanged in London— in 1701, I think it was—doubts were expressed about the fairness of his trial. Maybe there are questions of guilt and innocence that appeal to your so-called pirate queen."

  Hardy and Nordstrom had heard more than enough historical detail; but the young scribe, Wil Hardy, was lapping it up. A thousand pirates! Captain Kidd! An island where the natives speak like the people of Borneo, four thousand miles away! Evil queens martyring missionaries! What a delicious concoction of exotica for a young historian, and for a young mind that had absorbed comic books and movie special effects and computer games. All in addition to the flora and fauna of Madagascar—tens of thousands of species unique to the island, notably more than thirty different kinds of lemurs—about which his friend Roxy had been reading, and waxing rhapsodic, ever since they learned that a part of the island was in Jane Warner's safety zone.

  For the moment, however, there was nothing more to be told. The other crew members added a few details, but essentially corroborated McIntosh's fantastic story. The men seemed a capable, experienced group, but it was clear that they had been shaken by their encounter with Queen Ranavolana. It wasn't the danger that seemed to bother them as much as the eeriness of it all.

  Captain Nordstrom dismissed the crew. "And thank you, gentlemen, for your clear, detailed report and your behavior under such pressure. You are a credit to all of us. Please keep this information to yourselves, as much as possible. I understand that it is a wonderful sea tale that you probably want to share with others ... but I would prefer—and I believe I speak for Dr. Hardy and the other leaders—that you characterize the incident as simply an encounter with a few hungry people in a boat."

  "Understood, Captain," McIntosh volunteered, with a significant glance at the bedraggled, still-excited crew. "We'll do our best." The men shrugged and shuffled and mumbled their agreement.

  Dr. Hardy spoke up: "And our thanks to the Frosts for their erudite briefing."

  When the Frosts and McIntosh's group left, Nordstrom, Hardy Senior, and Hardy Junior sat quietly for several long minutes. The seasoned engineer was the first to break the silence. "We could spend many hours speculating about this bizarre situation," he said; "but I suggest we defer that to another day and direct our attention to practical planning and action."

  The captain agreed. He turned to the younger man. "It is important that you keep an accurate, complete record of all of this— very important."

  "I understand, sir," Wil Hardy said.

  "This incident will require us to call a special meeting of the Governing Council, followed by a session with the Coordinating Committee," Dr. Hardy said. "And we will need a clear, focused agenda. Well, there's no time like the present."

  With that, Hardy and Nordstrom set to work preparing such an agenda, along with specific recommendations. Abruptly, they started to dictate, taking turns, and editing each other's comments in a remarkable display of cooperative composition. The younger Hardy turned to a clean page in his notebook and began to write as rapidly as he could:

  First, we recommend that there be no change in the operations of the fishing fleet. We are not prepared to embark on a naval war, nor to put what few arms we have into the hands of our fishermen. If we have to forfeit an occasional boatload of fish, so be it. At the moment, there does not seem to be any great peril to the crews. If the raids persist and become more worrisome, or if it turns out that there are more pirate ships sailing the seas, this policy should be immediately reviewed.

  Wil Hardy wrote quickly, grateful that the two leaders spoke in more or less complete sentences. But there was a gnawing feeling of doubt and fear in his gut.

  Second, this incident compels us to address without delay a matter we had hoped to defer: national defense—or, since we have no formal nation to speak of, let us say military security. We suggest that Deck Officer Carl Gustafsson, representing our Governing Council, and Stephen Healey, representing the Ulundi Indaba, be designated to co-chair a Defense Committee. There are military people among both the Inlanders and the Newcomers, and a small number of them should be convened to make preliminary strategic plans.

  Obviously, from what we have heard, we must consider the possibility of attack from the sea. But it is only prudent also to consider potential invasion by land. We have been assuming that outside of the Ulundi Circle there is nothing but death and devastation. Yet we seem to have forgotten about Madagascar, even though we were told it was partly within the safety zone. And there may well be other pockets of survival about which we know nothing. Not that we should expect other survivors to be hostile. But it would be folly to make no preparations at all.

  Sensible, Wil thought, although far from reassuring.

  The Defense Committee should make plans for armed forces— probably in the form of militia, since we cannot afford to assign people full time to military service. And the Committee must make recommendations concerning armaments—the use of such guns as we have, and the manufacture of ammunition and new weapons. This manufacture will naturally have to be processed through the Joint Planning Subcommittee. Difficult trade-offs will be entailed, since we cannot let the production of armaments constrain vital industrial development. In this domain, final decisions should be authorized by the entire Coordinating Committee.

  The enterprise is inherently complex and dangerous. It is crucial that any armed forces we establish must be completely under control of the communal authorities. We do not want military juntas in a position to usurp authority. Yet to do nothing is to leave ourselves helpless in the face of potential aggression.

  Wil Hardy felt a cold chill grip his spine and he tried to shake off a feeling of impending doom. No ... it couldn't be, after all that the group had so far endured ... He and Sarah and the rest of them were destined to survive, to meet any challenge or danger. Weren't they?

  Later, when Wil crawled under the blanket next to Sarah, he was relieved that she stirred but did not awaken. Time enough the next day to talk about the strange new turn of events. Happily, compared to what the survivors had lived through since Christmas, this new encounter had to be considered a relatively minor threat. In the telling, Hardy planned to emphasize the fanciful drama of the incident while downplaying the element of danger.

  Yet it was a long time before he fell asleep. Once he had started to think about pirates, it was difficult to stop. It wasn't only the existence of Queen Ranavalona that disturbed him; there was the phenomenon of piracy itself. Captain Kidd is commissioned by the British government to protect merchant ships, and
he decides instead to prey upon them. Greed? Simple perversity? So be it. There had been few human societies in history without buccaneers of some kind. The aggressive impulse is as old as Homo sapiens, and even older. We must simply cope with this phenomenon, he thought, the way we do with the many other difficulties that fate— or Providence, or God, or bad luck—puts in our path.

  Having reached this rational, dispassionate conclusion, he slept.

  But even as he slept, he dreamed. Deep in his subconscious, and concurrently far off in the distant reaches of the universe, a sloop with red sails sliced through foam-topped waves, a pirate queen at the wheel... mysterious, romantic, ominous, and ultimately beyond the reach of logic.

  8

  Alf Richards gaveled the meeting to order with a wooden mallet designed to crack shellfish, an item he had appropriated from the ship's galley. He glowered at latecomers and proceeded immediately to the business at hand.

  The opening presentation at this, the second meeting of the Joint Planning Subcommittee, was scheduled to be given by Ichiro Nagasaka, the group's most eminent authority on iron and steel. Nagasaka was a compact man, narrow-shouldered, with a large head and a shock of black hair combed in a stiff pompadour. His dark eyebrows flicked as he spoke. Because of his specialty, everyone expected that he would be talking about metals. But he had a surprise in store.

  "I wish to introduce an important topic," he said. "Kilns."

  "What?" "Huh?" Several people had not understood the word.

  "Kilns," Ichiro Nagasaka repeated, "furnaces, ovens, places in which to build fires."

  This seemed like a strange detour on the way to restoring an industrial society, and several subcommittee members snorted as if to say as much.

  Alf Richards spoke for the majority when he asked, "What happened to iron and steel?"