The Roaming (Book 3): Haven's Promise

by Hegarty, W. J.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Desperation

  Nazneen was sweating as much as Paula—if not more. It was sweltering in the infirmary. Everywhere below deck this close to stowage and beneath Underworld was hot and muggy. Always. “Push, Paula. Push!” Nazneen cried.

  Paula strained and wailed. She was in agony; something wasn’t right. Paula’s cries echoed throughout the steel corridors surrounding medical. Rodrigo clutched Paula’s hand; she had him in a vise-like grip. He offered soothing words of encouragement in an attempt to keep the frightened mother-to-be as calm as possible. Paula had been in labor for near fifteen hours. She was exhausted. So was the understaffed medical unit, all six of them. Even Jonah made a rare appearance for this. And on top of that, a crowd had gathered outside of the infirmary to bear witness to the rare sight of a child birthed aboard Haven.

  “That’s it, Paula. You’re doing great.” Doctor Nazneen was nothing if not supportive.

  The head was breaching; it was nearly time. Aiko was at Nazneen’s side, ready to rush the newborn to the waiting table.

  “Push… Paula, push. That’s it. One more time. You’re doing it.”

  With a guttural scream as if her insides were being yanked out with her child, Paula squeezed the tiny new life into the world. Nazneen wrapped the baby in a warm, sterile towel. She promptly handed her off to Aiko, who rushed the child to a stainless-steel table where the baby’s lungs were cleared and she was checked for signs of abnormal stress.

  The baby girl coughed once, then a second time as she began to cry, filling the steel-walled room with her first sounds—and demanding attention. The onlookers out in the hallway cheered, hugged, and blotted tears while congratulating the new mother and the medical staff. Aiko breathed a sigh of relief; even Jeremiah nodded at Nia with the hint of a smile. Aiko quickly took a blood sample, recorded the baby’s temperature, and ran a bevy of noninvasive tests. The medical staff was collecting as much data as they could.

  At nearly the four-minute mark of the child’s life, she began to cough, slowly at first until the fit grew overwhelming in its intensity. The medical staff and the hallway of curious onlookers quickly turned from joyous and hopeful to apprehensive. A wave of dread had washed over them all. Jeremiah rushed the newborn to the incubator. Nothing was working. Something was terribly wrong. The little girl turned blue, and within ninety seconds from the onset of her fit, she went silent. Aiko and the others tried as best as they could to revive the little one. It was no use. In the hallway, gasps turned to sobs before most of the spectators dispersed with heavy heads.

  Aiko covered the child in a clean white sheet. “Call it.”

  Nazneen replied, “Time of death: 4:37 a.m.”

  The child lived for six minutes.

  Rodrigo never left Paula’s side and offered what little comfort he could muster.

  Paula whimpered and begged for her daughter.

  “I’m so sorry, Paula,” was all Rodrigo had to offer.

  Aiko quickly saw to the mother. Paula was bleeding profusely. “We need to get you sewed up, honey.”

  Paula was in an out of consciousness during the procedure; Rodrigo struggled to keep her awake.

  Aiko and Nazneen worked in tandem, attending to the grieving mother. Within a few minutes, Aiko had the bleeding under control. She nodded in the positive to her assistant, and even behind the surgical mask, Nazneen’s relief registered.

  Rodrigo breathed a heavy sigh before kissing Paula on the forehead.

  “Keep her legs elevated,” Aiko said with an air of frustration. “She needs rest. She’ll pull through, but she needs to stay calm, so I’m giving her a tranquilizer. The worst of it’s behind her,” Aiko instructed while yanking off her mask.

  “Is it, though?” Rodrigo added with a clear line of sight to the unmoving child, who lay beneath a tiny white sheet across the room.

  ~~~

  Vanessa and Sam walked the ship out in the cold December air. She needed to open the bar. He was due in stowage; the fishery would soon be busy. Their schedules didn’t exactly mesh, but Sam would always make the time for Vanessa. The sunbathers vying for the best spots around the pool bar were replaced with empty chairs. The steel-drum band had moved inside more than a month ago. The pool bar’s patrons had migrated to Trix’s or the casino and other indoor spots to relax and ignore the problems of the world.

  A light dusting of snow sat silently on the deck and railings. Vanessa pushed the white powder along the railing as they walked. Every few feet, it would pile up just enough for her to fashion a small snowball. Vanessa would shape it into a near-perfect sphere before heaving it as far as she could into the sea. Her smile was fading of late. This morning, she greeted Sam with a solemnness not seen since before they arrived on Haven. Vanessa was giving Sam the rundown of her and Lillian’s encounter with the women at the bar a few days prior.

  “And then that bitch threw a cup of chicken’s blood on us.”

  “Jesus. I’ll never understand some people.”

  “Tell me about it. And all because she says we’re not doing our part—that as women, essentially, we should be reduced to nothing more than baby factories. Unbelievable. She says it’s irresponsible to be gay in the face of the crisis.”

  “Just ignore the bitch. She doesn’t know a goddamn thing.”

  “I don’t know. She’s a fucking asshole, no doubt about it, but I just can’t get her words out of my head. Maybe it is my responsibility to have a child. Maybe it’s all our responsibilities to try as best as we can to repopulate. I mean, if people are dying faster than they’re being born, how much time do we have left?”

  “Don’t think like that. You getting yourself knocked up isn’t going to amount to a whole hell of a lot as far as numbers are concerned. She’s not wrong that we need to think of the future, but if she was truly that concerned over it, she’d be looking for a man instead of spending her time harping on a couple of girls in their prime who’re just trying to live their lives.”

  “You’re right, Sam. As usual, you’re right. I don’t know why I’m letting her get to me. It’s just… I don’t know. I think she reminded me of how I felt ostracized for so many years back home. She rekindled that feeling of being the perpetual outsider again, and it yanked the rug out from under me. I thought I had put all that shit behind me, but I guess I haven’t.”

  “I can’t pretend to know what that felt like, but I can tell you we have found a good thing here on Haven. There are a few rotten apples for sure, but it seems like the vast majority of this place is filled to the brim with good people just trying to make their way in this crazy new world. I’d say your comparing this place to Pepperbush is right on the money, though. Life on this ship’s not very different in that regard.”

  “How so?”

  “Up there”—he pointed to the wheelhouse high above the opposite side of the pool bar—“you’ve got the Elite. They look down on us. We work for them, but they resent us all the same. Sound familiar?”

  “Fucking Lancaster.”

  “Fucking Lancaster. Without a doubt, the highs are higher and the lows are lower aboard this ship, but right here in the middle, where it seems most folks live, life is comfortable. I’d even go so far as to say life is good. This place can be anything we want it to be. If you let her, that frumpy old bitch will drag you down with her. Don’t let that sorry sack of shit win.”

  “Thanks for that, Sam. I think I just needed a familiar face this morning, that’s all.”

  “You couldn’t talk to Lilian about it?”

  “She’s over it already, and good for her. Besides, it doesn’t feel right to complain about the same shit over and over again. I start to sound like a broken record, and I can just see it in her face that she doesn’t want to hear it.”

  “I get it. Ignoring the bullshit is something we should probably all strive for.”

  As they continued their trek, Vanessa took Sam’s arm in hers and said, “So you want to be a father?
”

  “Stop it.”

  ~~~

  Paula was sedated; she had been sleeping for hours. Jonah, of course, was nowhere to be found, which left Nia alone to tend to the patients. For her benefit, Joel was helping as best as he could.

  Aiko and the rest of the medical staff were locked away in Nazneen’s office, discussing the death of Paula’s baby. The window shades were drawn so as not to alarm the rest of the patients, as tempers were up. Frustration ruled. Suggestions on how best to move forward ran the gamut from a proper burial at sea for the baby to treating the child like nothing more than a lab rat.

  “This will sound insensitive, but we should study it,” Jeremiah suggested.

  “God.” Nazneen looked like she was going to be sick. She opened her file cabinet and began flipping through documents.

  “Study it with what? We don’t have the equipment.” Aiko didn’t like it, but she didn’t oppose the idea of using this tragedy as a means to conduct research.

  “I have a confession to make. After you first arrived, when we discussed Haven’s birthrate, I wasn’t fully transparent with you. In the months before you were brought aboard, I helped eleven other expectant mothers, all with the same results. Four children were born on this ship. None lived for more than three days. The others died in utero.” Nazneen threw a stack of notes onto the desk.

  “And you’re waiting until now to tell us this?” Aiko snapped back. “Why lie?”

  “Captain Kayembe thought it best to keep it secret. I agreed. We didn’t know you. We were only concerned with the ship’s well-being. I’ve told you now, and that’s what matters most.”

  “We can’t be of use if our hands are tied. Is there anything else we should know?” Aiko rifled through the papers.

  “That’s it, no. That’s it.”

  “Are you sure?” Jeremiah insisted.

  “Yes, Jeremiah, I’m sure.”

  Rodrigo threw his hands in the air. “So that’s it then? We throw in the towel? We give up?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. We have to be pragmatic here,” Jeremiah replied.

  “What are you driving at?” Aiko asked.

  “That Paula sets the precedent.” Jeremiah was stern, more so than usual. “If we are unable to reproduce, the human race faces extinction.”

  “Don’t say that. We don’t know anything for sure yet.” Nazneen was frustrated.

  “Of course we do,” Jeremiah insisted. “You said it yourself. There were multiple dead babies before our arrival, and now Casandra and Paula have suffered the same fate.”

  Rodrigo stormed out of the office. He slammed an empty gurney into a shelf. Medical implements danced around the floor, tumbled under patient’s beds, and rolled into the hallway. A small child who was patiently waiting to be treated for a broken arm cried.

  Aiko slammed the office door behind him. She turned to face Jeremiah and said, “I want this thing out of me.”

  “Aiko, you’re too far along for that now.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” she shouted.

  Jeremiah remained silent. As did Nazneen.

  “I know.” Aiko steadied herself. “I know it’s too late to do anything about it now. We have to see this through, one way or the other.”

  ~~~

  Lancaster scraped and scrounged all his chits with the intention of renting a fine tuxedo. If Miller and those closest to him could borrow nice clothes for an evening out, then surely Lancaster would be afforded the same courtesy. His chits didn’t amount to much. “Maybe you should work a little harder,” the woman behind the counter of Haven’s rental desk told him. Lancaster left the clothing shop in frustration and more than a little embarrassed. He would have to do his best to groom his dirty white suit.

  On his way out of the shop, the woman behind the counter took pity on him and accepted his paltry sum of chits in exchange for a black dinner jacket. It didn’t match the rest of his clothes, but what choice did he have? Lancaster ducked back into his cabin to clean his suit as best as he could in preparation for meeting the Financiers. His matching shoes and hat were more an off-tan now with only splotches of the original bright white. It would have to do.

  Evening had set as he navigated the stairwell until it deposited him onto deck eleven—the home of the Financiers. Deck eleven also doubled as the location for the Financiers’ private entertainment. Their nightclub, Presence, was his destination. The movers and shakers of Haven spent their nights there dancing and mingling, planning what was best for those beneath them. Or at least that was what Lancaster assumed that they did up there. He honestly had no earthly idea what the Elite got up to in the privacy of their own domain.

  As he approached the smoked glass double doors to the club, a familiar face was passing with a large wheeled laundry cart. It was Todd. Lancaster rarely had interactions with Haven’s chief of security.

  Todd was always on the move. Constantly seeing to one issue or the other, he made no time or the promise of time for anyone outside of his circle of influence, which just so happened to be on the fringes of the Elite.

  For Lancaster, Todd seemed like an odd duck. Was he accepted by the Elite? Or was he merely another lackey living and dying at their behest? “Do you have a minute, young man? Are you busy?” asked Lancaster. He still carried himself with an air of importance.

  “What does it look like? I need to check on Walter. I’ve got a delivery to make to the twins. It sounds like a fight broke out in maintenance. My wife embarrassed the shit out of me again last night—she’s probably still drunk. So yeah, I’m busy.”

  “Then I’ll be brief.” Lancaster didn’t give him the time to retort. “You seem to have the ear of the ship. The pulse of the people, as it were.”

  “Is that so?” Todd straightened himself from his laundry cart. He was curious where this was heading.

  “It was just an observation, my good man. I pride myself on the ability to read others.”

  “And what else have you observed?”

  “That I think you and I are more alike than we give the other credit for. I think we can help each other.”

  “How could you possibly help me, old man?”

  “If you could use your considerable pull to get me into Presence unmolested, I am confident that those inside would come to value me as their equal.”

  “Hmm.” Todd just stared. Now he had to know where the old man thought this train of questioning would land him.

  “If you could get me inside, I would see to it that when they accept me as one of their own—and they surely will—we would treat you with the respect you deserve.”

  “You don’t say.” Todd decided in an instant that he would humor the man. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll escort you inside personally. From there, you’re on your own.”

  “That is all I ask.” Lancaster made sure to straighten his tie. A nearly forgotten emotion washed over him—pride, a sense of purpose. His biggest obstacle had been surmounted. Now all that remained was appealing to the Financiers’ sense of superiority so that they could see him for what he truly was: one of their own. In time, he would be back where he belonged, looking down on the likes of Sam and Marisol and Miller and the rest.

  Todd whispered something to the doorman, who leaned over and peered at Lancaster with a grin.

  The bouncer held the door open. “Right this way, sir.”

  “Thank you, young man,” said Lancaster as he passed with a bounce in his step. In his exuberance, he nearly forgot to thank his benefactor. He turned to Todd. “I won’t forget this.”

  Todd simply nodded and continued on his way with a glance at the doorman.

  Inside Presence, the Financiers were spread out, cliques withing cliques. Lancaster was amid a sea of well-dressed socialites. They shot him the briefest of glances before returning to their conversations. He crept through the room, offering smiles and attempting greetings; one cold shoulder after another was his reception. The Elite were as stuffy as Lancaster had
come to expect from those who considered themselves above the rest of the chattel.

  As he passed from one group to the next, their noses turned up and conversation continued as if he wasn’t even there. He tried to insert himself into various gatherings, none of which would have him. He soon found himself at the bar; even the servers had an air about them, and Lancaster could not seem to crack it. Dolores sat a few seats down from him; her manservant diligently stood at her back with her tiny dog on a leash. She sipped her drink while ignoring her dog’s desperate yaps for attention until the tiny thing finally relieved itself on the floor.

  “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “Would you be a dear?” she said directly to Lancaster—the first attention anyone had shown him since his arrival. She motioned to the dog droppings on the floor at her feet, then made eye contact with the former mayor of Pepperbush with a deadness in her eyes.

  “Absolutely, ma’am.” Lancaster fumbled for a napkin. He had just seen a stack atop the bar; he was sure of it.

  Acacia, the manager of Presence, ignored him and casually tucked the small stack of napkins behind the bar, just out of sight.

  Lancaster reached into his pocket. The only thing he had on him to pick up the filth with was an embroidered handkerchief he had carried around for nearly three decades. It was a gift from his wife, the only memento he had to remember her by. She would understand. A moment of humbleness now was a small price to pay, as this act would pay dividends later when he was counted among the Elite. He picked up the droppings, wrapped them in his handkerchief, and made for the restroom.

  After he flushed the mess, he attempted to scrub his handkerchief in the sink and quietly cursed his luck. Ian and his sister Elsa emerged from a nearby stall; Lancaster thought he was alone in the facilities. “Oh, my word. You startled me.”

  They merely stared. Elsa was standing uncomfortably close; he could feel her breath on his cheek. Ian walked slow half-circles back and forth behind Lancaster as he washed and then dried his hands. Ian looked himself over in the mirror, then across to Lancaster. Elsa flanked him. Lancaster’s reflection was dull and dirty compared to the well-put-together siblings in their matching pink suits.