by Nhys Glover
Karl
Karl prowled along the length of the promenade on the Boat Deck like a caged beast. He wanted to scream and pound his fists into something hard. He wanted to throw himself down into a kicking, shrieking tantrum. He wanted to heave himself over the railing and end it all in the cold ocean depths.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so inept? Of course, she wouldn’t believe him after their little ‘what if’ fantasy over tea. What gave him the idea that she would? The look she’d sent him when she agreed she would come if he were there? That was the only indication he’d been given that she was open to his fantastic scheme. But obviously, she'd simply been following a hypothetical idea through to its conclusion. She didn't consider it real or even possible.
Maybe he was the mad man she now saw him as; he felt like it. Never in all his years had he felt so overwhelmed, so out of control. Where had his mild, balanced and analytical mind gone? If this was what his father was knocking out of him when he was a child, then it was fairly done, because while in this state, he couldn't function, he couldn't think.
The pain in his chest was excruciating and he knew that no drug or medication would ease it. No doctor could cure it. His heart was breaking and he was helpless to stop it.
It had been an awful day. An awful twenty-four hours, in fact. Ever since he’d made the mistake of kissing her yesterday afternoon on deck he'd been spiralling out of control. That was why he'd backed off from her, played it safe, trying to act as if his totally uncharacteristic behaviour had never happened. He didn’t do things like that! He didn’t kiss women he had only just met. He didn’t force his attentions on them so they felt they had to pull away, giving him the polite brush-off line: ‘It isn’t you, it was me.’ How often had that line been used to mask rejection?
And he'd managed to keep their relationship on a friendly level from then on, even though every moment had been torture. Even though in every moment he'd wanted to pull her into his arms and cover her face with wild kisses.
Maybe it was his way of self-sabotaging. Maybe he had raised the subject of New Atlantis so crudely so that she would reject him outright and he wouldn't have to suffer the agony of the unknown. It was the only explanation. The only thing that made sense in this irrational pool he was drowning in.
He needed to talk to someone; someone who understood. And he needed to fix what he had broken with Lizzie. Not for his sake – that was over before it even started – but for her sake. She had to be convinced of what was to come so that she would choose to go with them; because the alternative was unthinkable.
Cara. He would get Cara up here to talk to Lizzie and the other women. Who would have thought that there would be four pregnant women suitable for Targeting in second class? They had estimated one, if that. Records showed that the women in second class had been proportionally high in the survival stakes; most women in first and second had made it to the lifeboats and lived to tell of it.
That even one of those who hadn’t survived should be pregnant was unexpected; that there were four… unbelievable. He was not equipped in personality or training to coax these women into choosing his world. What a botch he'd made of it so far; and all because he was too emotionally involved.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to get back to his lab where everything was clear-cut and comprehensible. In his lab there was no mystery, no erratic thoughts and feelings. There was just the beauty of science. That was where he belonged. Not here on a doomed ship trying to rescue lost souls. That was for braver, more flexible minds than his.
Some people just had a knack with people. They understood how they worked, as he understood science and the human body. People like Cara, Jac and young Bart; it came naturally to them. How could he have been foolishly arrogant enough to think that he could do their job? What he had done was take the place of a more competent Retriever, and now he would be taking Cara away from where she was meant to be, where she was most needed, to come and do his job for him up here in second.
He strode back to the companionway and made his way to his cabin. The young stewardess in his area was the person to get the message down to Cara. Lucy was her name and she was another who would die on this floating coffin. Could she be rescued, too, even though she wasn’t pregnant? She was young and mentally flexible. She’d proven that this afternoon with Bart. New Atlantis might suit her well.
He took the stairs two at a time, unable to maintain his outward composure. It was late – almost dinner time – and soon the reception area outside his cabin would be jammed with impatient dinners waiting for the doors of the saloon to open. It would be difficult to find Lucy in that crowd.
Luck was with him. He had no sooner turned the final bend in the staircase and he spotted her walking past with a tray of food.
‘Lucy,’ he called breathlessly.
Lucy stopped and looked in his direction as he jumped down the remaining three stairs to get to her. He had flown down these same stairs with her hot on his heels only a few hours ago. Then, he'd thought Lizzie was in trouble, because he hadn’t taken the time to get the full story from the young stewardess before taking to his heels. Impatience. He was displaying uncharacteristic impatience in all his dealing with Lizzie, and his behaviour was letting the team down.
‘Yes sir?’
‘I need a favour; a rather big favour.’
‘Certainly, sir. Anything I can do to help. Is it to do with Miss Lizzie?’
‘No… well, yes, in a way. I have a friend… a nurse who is in third class. It was she who sent for me this afternoon to deal with her cousin’s injuries. I need her to come up and check on Lizzie and possibly a few of the other ladies in the family way. She is quite brilliant in her field and I think it would help the ladies to have her input.’
‘I could get the matron to look at them,’ offered Lucy.
‘No, no, your matron is probably very good but this requires expertise she would not have. Cara’s specialty is obstetrics.’
‘Ob what, sir?’ The young woman’s brow creased with confusion.
‘Obstetrics. It is the branch of medicine that deals with childbirth.’
‘She’s a midwife, then?’
‘Yes… in a way. Can you go down to third class and find her and tell her I need her as a matter of urgency? I do know that moving between classes is frowned upon, but I would not consider it if it were not necessary for the well-being of these ladies.’
Lucy looked down at the tray she held thoughtfully. ‘I would be happy to go down and pass that message. Third class will be going to tea shortly as you will be. Maybe I could go down after dinner and see if I can find her. Do you know her cabin number?’
‘K 107. Tell her that Karl has four ladies in a delicate condition who need her help immediately. Tell her I will be in my stateroom waiting for her. Bring her back with you if you can.’
‘Certainly, sir. Do… do you think it might be possible… No, I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter.’
‘What Lucy? What might be possible?’
‘Well sir, I may be in the family way myself. I’m not sure. Do you think this nurse would be able to tell me?’
Karl felt his heart lift. Yes! This pretty young girl had just saved her own life.
‘I am sure she will, Lucy. She is very good; I assure you.’
With a shy smile, Lucy nodded and went on her way. For a moment, Karl just stood watching her go. Another one. Five women he could possibly save. Ten new lives for his home. This was bounty, pure and simple. These people of the past took birth for granted. They even regretted their condition if it was not economically or socially beneficial. However, to those who had not borne children for hundreds of years, every pregnancy was a gift; every child a much-anticipated gain.
Feeling a little better than he had since seeing Bart, he went to his stateroom. He didn’t want to see Lizzie over dinner. It was too soon. He needed to get his emotions under control before he did that. And they were being so well fed on this journey that h
e could afford to miss a meal.
He was lucky in his roommate. Old Mr Bridges spent all his time in the smoking room when he wasn’t sleeping. They'd nodded politely as they passed but had been able to keep their personal lives separate; unlike Lizzie and her roommate from hell. Mrs Duncan was driving the poor girl to distraction. And now he'd made her lot all the more difficult. Oh, he hoped Cara would be able to work some magic with these women, especially Lizzie, because he certainly was making a mess of it.
