A sudden gust of hot air blew past us, momentarily parting the smoke like curtains, and I caught a brief glimpse of two words painted one above the other in golden yellow across the curve of ship’s stern: Liverpool, the lower word read, and above that in four-foot-high letters Titanic.
Three
“You have got to be kidding me,” I managed to splutter before Chou pulled me away. She pushed me to the right side of the ship, placing the legendary liner between us and the oncoming fire. Now I had a clear view of precisely what we had stumbled into.
The ground around the enormous ship’s keel had been kicked up in an earthen wave. For fifteen feet in all directions, the trees had been reduced into nothing more than matchsticks. Those just outside the perimeter had been snapped in two and now lay at odd angles, slowing us as we clambered over their splintered trunks.
The liner must have arrived at the same time as we all had. Only a small amount of new vegetation grew around the edges of its keel. Additionally, there was no sign of rust or damage to indicate it arrived any earlier. In fact, it looked like it had just rolled out of the dock. Brand new.
“Ve must find a vay in,” Freuchen said. “If ve can get inside, ve can shelter until the fire moves past us. It’s our only hope.”
Behind us, several of the dead trees we’d just climbed over ignited into flame. Like some unstoppable monster, the main fire would not be far behind.
“It broke in two,” I gasped.
“Vat?” said Freuchen.
“The Titanic, in my universe, when it sank, it broke in two. We need to find where the break is.”
“Silas,” Chou said, “run ahead and see if you can find us a way in.”
“Of course,” said Silas, then took off, vanishing into the wall of smoke surrounding us while we stumbled blindly onward. He reappeared thirty-seconds later, bounding over the fallen logs that blocked our way as though they weren’t even there. “Meredith was correct,” he said. “There is a fissure large enough for us to enter the ship just ahead. Quickly, follow me.”
With renewed energy, we followed behind the robot as best we could.
“Here,” Silas yelled, the roar of the fire deafening again as it closed in on us. Silas stopped and pointed toward a gash running from the ship’s keel all the way up through each floor to the top deck. The opening was about ten feet wide, and as I looked into it, I saw buckled metal supports and broken floors. Pieces of furniture and equipment hung from the lip of each shattered level like internal organs. Some of the debris had fallen out and lay scattered around the opening.
“Quickly,” Silas yelled, “there is no time left.” He leaped up and grabbed ahold of a piece of metal that had been the floor of a corridor, pulled himself up, then turned and reached down for us. One after the other, he drew us to him until we were all safely inside.
Coughing and spitting gobbets of black soot, we moved up the corridor before collapsing to the carpeted floor. We lay there, panting, breathing in the deliciously cool air of the ship’s interior.
“We must keep moving,” Silas said. “Upward, We must move upward. The dead and broken trees around the perimeter of the ship will keep the fire from reaching the upper portions of the vessel.” A dense black and gray cloud of smoke was already flowing into the corridor, rising slowly toward us. The Titanic was sinking again, but this time she was being swallowed up by smoke.
We dragged ourselves to our feet and followed Silas as he progressed along the corridor. Beyond the metal bulkheads, I heard the fire roaring, heat already beginning to radiate into the corridor.
“Ve vill be cooked like beef in an oven if ve stay here,” Freuchen said.
“Up,” Silas repeated. “We must try to get above the fire.”
“There’s a maintenance stairvell,” Freuchen yelled, pointing to an opening in the left wall. We staggered toward it and began climbing the metal steps toward the upper decks.
“Keep going,” Chou insisted.
Finally, three decks later, weary and footsore beyond words, we stepped out into a door-lined hallway. Each door had a set of gold numbers on them, which I assumed meant they were cabins. First-class, too, judging by the luxurious carpet, exquisite sconces on the wall, and miniature chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Freuchen lowered Albert to the floor, then fell onto his back, chest heaving while wiping black soot from around his nostrils.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, leaning against a wainscoted wall while I tried to catch my breath.
He nodded. “I believe I vill live.”
Even Chou seemed spent. She sat next to me, her usually pristine white clothing and cloak smudged with black and stained gray here and there from the smoke.
“Do you think we’re high enough?” I asked, sliding down the wall until my butt hit the floor next to hers.
“I believe so. For now, at least,” Silas said. “My thermal sensors indicate the heat is being dissipated sufficiently through the ship’s hull to no longer be a threat to us at this time.” His eye-bar tilted upward. “I do not see any sign of fire above us either.”
Exhaling slowly, I wiped soot from my lips with the back of my hand. I took a mouthful of water from my canteen and swilled it around then spat it out. It came out black.
We rested for a while, none of us saying a word, my mind finally able to take in where I was. I was on the Titanic. I let that thought sink in for a moment if you’ll pardon the pun. So many weird things had happened to me since arriving on this far-flung future version of Earth. So many in fact that I really shouldn’t be surprised to have literally run into the wreck of the most famous liner ever in the middle of a forest.
Freuchen sat up, placing both hands on the floor behind him. “Vy do you...” He coughed, spat a ball of black crud onto the carpet. “My apologies. She is such a vundrous beast, no? In my timeline, it vas just a few months ago that she sank. But vy on earth do you think the Architect vould bring the Titanic here?”
“Perhaps you should ask Silas,” I said.
“While I do not know the precise reason this vessel was brought here, I do know that the Architect targeted specific caches of equipment, artifacts, supplies, and resources that candidates would find useful. It would be expected that some of those caches would be recovered from the site of unfortunate disasters such as this.”
“So, the Architect is into recycling?” I said, turning to the robot.
“Yes, after all, it would be a terrible waste of resources to simply leave them to decay.”
I was beginning to feel better, so I got to my feet, then helped Chou up too. “Let’s see what’s behind...” I paused to check the embossed number on the nearest cabin, “...door number C-79, shall we?” I said, reaching for the ornate doorknob. It turned easily in my hand, and I pushed it open.
“Wow!” I said, stepping inside. The room was a complete shamble; broken glass lay next to a mirror frame. The king-sized mattress hung half-off the bed, a high-backed easy chair lay on its side, and pieces of broken crockery were scattered all over. But the workmanship of everything was exquisite, and it wasn’t hard to see that the room had indeed been first-class accommodation. An ensuite bathroom adjoined the main cabin. On the opposite wall was a porthole. Beyond it, I saw nothing but smoke and the orange glow from outside.
Freuchen approached the porthole and looked out. He shook his head slowly. “The leading edge of the fire has moved past us, but it looks like hell out there. But you are correct, Silas, the flattened trees beneath us have kept the fire from reaching the ship.”
The rest of us crowded around the porthole. Clouds of smoke billowed past the window. From this elevated position, I could see the brighter line of the fire’s leading edge moving away, just as Freuchen had said. It stretched for miles on a rough path. Everything behind it was aflame, burning brightly but with less intensity.
“There was no way we would have outrun that,” I said.
Chou nodded her assent. “Once again, chance has smiled on us,” she sa
id.
“Chance or perhaps by design?” I said, not even trying to calculate what the probability was of a safe refuge of this magnitude having been randomly set down here.
“You think the ship vas placed here on purpose? By the Architect?” Freuchen said, both caterpillar-like eyebrows raised.
“Perhaps,” said Chou. “The odds would seem too great for us to have simply stumbled upon it accidentally.”
“Vell, vether by good luck or design, ve are not getting out of here tonight. Ve are going to be stuck here until the fire dies down.”
“Maybe we should rest for a while, then explore?” I said. “There doesn’t seem to be much water damage that I’ve seen, which is weird. And if that goes for the rest of the ship, there have to still be supplies onboard. Maybe something we can use?
“That is a good idea,” Chou said.
I wondered how many historians would have given their first-born to be in my shoes right now. This was the Titanic! To have the chance to see firsthand the actual ship behind the legend was an amazing opportunity.
“Vat I vould not give for a Turkish Bath right now,” Freuchen mumbled.
I nodded at the adjoining bathroom. “Maybe the faucets still work,” I said, jokingly.
Freuchen walked into the bathroom and turned on one of the taps. There was a pop-clunk and then the unmistakable sound of water gushing into the porcelain sink.
“No way!” I said, rushing to his side.
“Yes vay,” Freuchen deadpanned. He placed a metal plug into the sink and watched it fill with water. “There must be some kind of gravity-fed vater reservoir connected to the plumbing system. The fact that it is still vurking is another stroke of good luck.” He picked up two large white towels from the floor, shook them out, then hung them over the bathtub.
“Ladies first,” Freuchen said, retreating into the main room and closing the door behind him.
I stripped out of my clothes and dumped them on the commode. They stank of smoke and sweat. I turned and looked at myself in the ornate mirror above the sink. Every inch of me was covered in dirt and soot; even my hair looked more brown than red, but at least I looked like me, something I hadn’t been able to say for what felt like a very long time. In a wooden cabinet next to the sink, I found several bars of paper-wrapped soap and began working on scrubbing away the grime. The water was cold but felt wonderful against my skin. I was halfway to being clean when there was a knock on the bathroom door.
“Meredith, I have something for you,” Freuchen’s muffled voice said.
I hid behind the door and cracked it open an inch. Freuchen stood several feet away, his head turned in the opposite direction for modesty’s sake, his arm outstretched to me.
“I think these should fit you,” he said and handed me a set of men’s pants and a thick polo-necked sweater. “Ve found them in the next cabin. The water is vurking in most of the cabins in this corridor. Chou and the boy are cleaning up in them, so take your time. Now, if you vill hand me your clothes, I vill wash them for you.”
I laughed and thanked him. “You are a man of many talents, Mr. Peter Freuchen,” I said, as I placed my soiled clothing into his outstretched palm.
“It is my pleasure,” he said, then turned and left me to my business.
I finished my ablutions and slipped into the clothing Freuchen had found for me. The material was itchy against my skin but comfortable enough and so much better than the alternative.
When I stepped into the main cabin, Freuchen and Albert were already back. Our clothes, still dripping, hung from hangers against the ship’s bulkhead to dry. Chou had even abandoned her seemingly indestructible clothes.
Albert wore only a man’s sweater, so large it came down to just below his knees. Freuchen wore a pair of pants far too short for him and a long leather coat that was also too short for his arms. Chou showed up a minute after me, rocking a man’s frock coat and wool pants.
“Well, don’t we all just look fabulous,” I said, laughing.
“Needs must ven the devil drives,” Freuchen said, good-humoredly.
Albert giggled and flushed red. Chou raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly.
Silas said, “I must remind you that I am running on limited power. I should position myself near the porthole to gather as much of the available light as possible and place myself in standby mode. Is that acceptable?”
“Oh, my God,” I said.
Despite only getting maybe four hours of sleep after the aurora last night, running for your life has a way of blowing the cobwebs from your mind. I had utterly forgotten that Chou had roused us before dawn. “Absolutely, Silas. Go ahead.”
The robot positioned himself so the light that came through the porthole would hit the maximum area of his energy-collecting coating, then shut down.
Despite the invigorating energy of the aurora, we humans also needed rest, if we were to stay on our toes until the fire burned itself out. “Maybe we should get a little rest while our clothes dry?” I suggested.
Freuchen nodded. “Ve should stick together for safety. You and Chou and Albert take the bed. I’ll be fine in this.” He righted the easy chair from where it lay on the floor and settled himself into it. Chou repositioned the mattress back onto the bedframe, then we climbed onto the bed, Albert sandwiched between Chou and me.
I stared up at the ceiling awhile, my mind wrangling with the reality that I was now a first-class passenger aboard the Titanic.
If I remembered correctly, the Titanic had been on her maiden voyage from Southampton to New York when she’d sunk, at least in my version of the universe. But her wreck hadn’t been discovered until sometime in the ‘80s, which meant that this Titanic couldn’t be the one from my universe. It had to be from a parallel world where the wreck was never discovered. And I hadn’t seen any water damage which meant she’d either never sunk, or the Architect had transported her here before the sea reached this deck, but who knew what the rest of the boat was like?
An hour passed, then another, and I drifted along the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, listening to Albert’s puppy-snore and the occasional creak from Freuchen’s chair as he shifted position.
Though she tried to be quiet, I heard Chou rise from the bed. I sat up too. Light streamed in through the portal, enveloping Silas in orange and casting a shadow across the breadth of the room. Chou silently passed me her canteen, and after a couple of gulps, I handed it back to her.
Freuchen’s eyes fluttered open. He stretched, stood up, and checked our clothing. “Dry as a bone,” he announced, tossing them to us.
Chou immediately began to undress. She wore nothing beneath her borrowed clothes.
A mortified Freuchen turned and stared at the opposite wall, the back of his neck flushing as bright red as his face surely was. Chou didn’t seem to notice or care.
“I’m a little bit more modest,” I said and walked into the bathroom to change. When I came back, Albert was awake and dressed, sitting cross-legged on the bed.
Freuchen was re-entering from the corridor, buttoning up his shirt. “Vell then,” he announced, “now that ve are all decent again, who is up for an adventure?”
“I have a sneaking suspicion,” I said to Chou, as we followed Freuchen back into the corridor, “that one of these days, those are going to be the last words of our species.”
Wisps of smoke floated near the ceiling, caught in the beams of the flashlights we’d liberated from the Nazis back on Avalon. We followed the corridor toward the bow, past cabin after cabin. I don’t know about anyone else, because they didn’t say anything, but I found it eerie, wandering through this empty ship, despite its almost pristine condition. And I still couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to the passengers. I would have expected to have seen some kind of a sign that someone had managed to make it here alive, but like I said, apart from the obvious external damage that had allowed us to get inside and the disheveled state of the rooms, there was no indication that this T
itanic had even spent a minute beneath the waves.
“Can you imagine the people who must have been traveling on this ship?” I asked, peeking into an open cabin. The room was just as much of a mess as the one we had left Silas in. Women’s clothing was scattered across the floor, and, miraculously, next to an empty champagne bottle, lay two intact champagne flutes.
“Some vould say the very best of our time,” Freuchen said.
“You would not?” Chou said, one eyebrow raised.
“I prefer the company of the common man... or voman,” Freuchen answered. “Although, I vould very much like to have made the acquaintance of Captain Edwards, as I believe he vas given a rum deal after the disaster.”
We reached the end of the corridor and stepped out into a large open section of the ship.
“Oh, wow!” I whispered.
Ahead of us was the magnificent wooden structure known as the Grand Staircase.
“I had heard the Grand Staircase vas a masterful piece of vurk,” said Freuchen, running his hands over the smooth lacquered banister. “But I never imagined just how exquisite.”
I craned my neck over one banister. The staircase swept up to the deck above, then down below us, and down again for several more decks.
“Which way do you think?” I asked.
“I have no knowledge of this vessel,” said Chou, “but you and Freuchen seem very familiar with it, so I will leave it to your judgment.”
“Vell, if ve could locate one of the dining halls or perhaps the crew kitchen ve might be able to find preserved food or rations?”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
Freuchen said, “I believe the first-class dining hall is on B-Deck.”
A Memory of Mankind: (This Alien Earth Book 2) Page 2
