Errol's Folly

by Dave Brown

  He stopped for a moment, anxiety creeping in at the edges of his concentration. Errol had never meant to be a leader. When he built the Folly his sole intention was to offer a handful of capable people a chance at survival. Leadership had just sort of grown up around him. Now hundreds of people were floating along together. The committee was still in charge according to the provisional constitution that was ratified by the citizens of New Taiwan, but there were dozens of messages per day asking for Errol's advice. On top of that, he had started to sense some tension the last few times he spoke to the committee. He wondered if they thought he was trying to take over. They couldn't be farther from the truth, but he couldn't tell them that. He didn't want to be in charge of all these people, but he also couldn't turn someone away when they were asking for help. Seung Jin seemed the least suspicious of him. He would try to have a word alone with him next time he gave a report, explain his position.

  The screen drew him back and he worked without distraction for another hour. When people started wandering into the hall for lunch he stopped and listened to his own stomach. Food seemed like a good idea. He put the computer in standby and went to see what was on the menu. Emmy had chef duty that afternoon and she usually whipped up something bold. Sometimes too bold for Errol, but dining was one area of his life where he enjoyed taking risks.

  He sat back down at the table with the computer and bit into a slice of some sort of casserole. He was pleasantly surprised to find it spicy without being too hot. The dish was mostly gone a few minutes later when Jones sat down across from him, a mug of tea in his hand.

  “I got an idea,” the Texan said, as cool and casual as ever.

  Errol looked at him, smiling a little. “Okay.”

  “Floatin' around on our own was great, but floatin' around in a big clump like this is just dangerous. Too much can go wrong.” He took a sip of his tea. “Hell, too much already has.”

  “That's not really an idea.”

  “Slow down, I'm gettin' to it. What we need is a place to stop, someplace we can walk around. Where pickin' up dinner don't mean a boat ride over choppy water.”

  Errol sighed. “Come on, Jones. We've seen twice already how bad going ashore can get. You wanna try for a third?”

  Jones put on his signature grin, took another swallow from his mug, and then said one word. “Midway.”

  That was confusing. “Midway to what?”

  The Texan shook his head. “Midway Atoll.”

  Errol stared at him. “As in Midway, the battle of?”

  Jones nodded slowly. Errol shrugged and raised his hands in resignation. “Okay, tell me about Midway.”

  The concept was tantalizing. Two islands atop a volcano that had subsided millions of years ago, creating an underwater slope no walking corpse could surmount. Population was almost nothing at the time of the collapse. They could set up housing, desalination, crops, the whole works. Still it was hard to accept it all just on Jones's recollection from his days in the Navy. When Errol had brought up the idea of more proof, his friend had put on the sly grin again and said, “Just wait.” Then he sauntered out of the galley.

  He wasn't gone long. Errol was thinking of getting back to his code when Jones strolled in with a battered manila folder in his hand. He dropped it on the desk and sat down again.

  “What's all this?” Errol asked as he opened it up.

  “I rounded up some materials from a few different people in the fleet.” Errol held up a compact disc that was sitting on top of several papers. Jones pointed at it and continued. “That's an encyclopedia program. It's 2001 but that'll do fine, the place hadn't changed much since '97.”

  Errol flipped through the rest of the pages. There were some aerial photographs, a report on a Navy environmental cleanup program, and what looked like a topographical map colored in different hues of blue with two green splotches in the center. This last item interested him the most. The gradient lines where a normal map would have rising elevations showed progressively greater negative numbers instead. “Are these depths?”

  “Yep.”

  “It looks like a slope of...” he did some quick mental math, “maybe thirty degrees.”

  Jones grin was as wide as it got. “Yep. And that's not the best part. There's a wall of coral, runs around the whole thing almost.”

  Errol flipped back to the aerial shots and saw the distinctive white outline under the water's surface. “Okay. This is pretty intriguing. But the risk, Jones. I just don't know.”

  The Texan looked him straight in the eye. If Errol didn't know him better he might think the man was trying to intimidate him. He knew from experience, however, that when Jones looked in someone's eyes like that, it was because he had news he was uneasy about delivering.

  “Barbara's pregnant,” he said quietly.

  They sat together in silence for a few minutes. That simple utterance had shifted Errol's entire way of thinking. The idea of settling down somewhere was on his mind more in the last few months than it had ever been, but still theoretical, something to puzzle over while fishing or harvesting aeroponic broccoli. With the basic human reality of a baby on the way to their little family, he began to think of finding a permanent home as a real issue. Perhaps even a necessity.

  Anne passed through the galley, giving them a friendly smile. Errol watched her go and thought of her young relationship with their recent recruit from the Royal Navy. Every member of the Folly's crew was important to Errol, but Anne was something more. He had thought of her with warmth and affection since the first week he had known her. He'd never said it out loud to anyone, but he felt like she was a younger sister. If she wanted to start a family, could he ignore the opportunity for her to do it on solid ground?

  “Okay,” Errol said. “What have you got in mind?”

  #

  “And the last item, desalination output is up five percent.” Errol flipped a page on his notebook, verifying a few numbers. He was standing before four members of the committee in the staff room of Koninklijke. “I recommend you put half the gains into storage and use the other half to ease the water rationing a bit.”

  “Thank you, Captain Stimsky, we'll take all of this under advisement,” said Juan Pelozar, water resources chair of the committee. “We appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to deliver these reports in person.”

  Errol, already sensitive to their opinion of him, thought maybe Pelozar was trying to imply something. “It's not a problem. I just want to help.”

  “Yes, well, thanks again.”

  The four committee members began gathering their things. Errol took advantage of the shuffle to grab the eye of Seung Jin. A few minutes later when the other three had gone, the two of them stood alone in the room.

  “What can I do for you, Errol?” Seung said.

  “Uh, a couple of things. The first one's kind of difficult so I'm not really sure how to say it.”

  Seung interrupted him. “My father always said difficult news is best delivered like a good fastball.”

  Errol smiled and took the advice. “I think the committee may have some sort of problem with me.”

  Seung nodded slowly, as though he already knew what they were talking about. “Not me, I assure you, but unfortunately you are correct.”

  “Can you fill me in? I mean, I think I have an idea, but if you can clear it up I'd appreciate it.”

  Seung looked around the room even though they were alone. It was clear to Errol that the man was wrestling with something. “I hesitate to reveal information from closed committee sessions but... I believe you are an honorable person.” He motioned for Errol to sit down and settled into a chair himself. “We are aware that many of the population have been seeking your advice since the breakup of the island. Some of the committee members are concerned that you will attempt some kind of coup or takeover.”

  It was what Errol had feared. “I really won't. I just want to help people.”

  Seung was holding a hand up, and Errol cea
sed his protest. “I understand that, Errol, and I'm on your side. There's been no discussion of a reaction or response. Right now it's just some paranoia.” He paused, thinking something over, then continued, “How many requests for aid and advice would you say you are getting?”

  “Thirty, maybe forty a day.”

  Seung nodded. “And how many of those would you say are really something only your crew could handle?”

  Errol had to think about that one a bit. “I don't know, less than ten. I just... if somebody asks for help, I help.”

  Seung put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “I know. You're an admirable man, not a bureaucrat. Luckily for you, we have people here whose only job is answering day to day questions and offering basic advice. I suggest you start relaying those easier messages back, and I'll inform the committee that you are doing so. It will show that you want to work within our system, not start your own.”

  The suggestion sounded elegant and simple, one of those organizational things Errol would never have thought of on his own. He felt more at ease and a little less nervous about bringing up the next topic.

  “That sounds great. I'm glad I spoke with you.”

  “It's no trouble at all. Now, your second item?”

  Errol opened a manila folder he had brought along and took out some photos of Midway. “One of my crew came up with an intriguing idea,” he said.

  Chapter 20

  The DHC-3 Otter bounced roughly over the water, building up speed for take off. Reg Stoneham was sitting in the seat behind Jimmy Hong, hoping his hastily eaten breakfast would stay put. He held a digital camera in his lap, loaned to them for the mission from the committee's small and precious store of electronics. The two memory cards he had would hold about fifty images each, hopefully plenty for what Errol and Jones had planned.

  “How long to get there?” he asked.

  Jimmy checked his map. “A little over two hours, I'd say. Lana?”

  The little Russian pilot sitting next to him kept her eyes on the instruments and uttered a clipped “Da.” The Otter was really moving. The bouncing stopped for a moment, and then they touched the water again for one last thump before they finally leaped into the air. Reg, not a fan of flying, shut his eyes tightly. Four years since his last trip by plane was too soon. He was still a bit confused about why Errol had picked him for this mission, but he was not one to turn down an assignment. Now he was wondering if it was time to change that habit.

  He opened his eyes and caught Lana looking back at him. Then she grinned and looked out the front again. “Navy boy is turning green,” she said.

  “Lana, be nice,” said Jimmy. He turned and spoke to Reg over his shoulder. “There's a thermos in the seat next to you with some sea tea in it, calm you down a bit.”

  In his younger days Reg would have denied any difficulty, but that time had passed. “Thank you,” he said and reached for the red and white cylinder tucked into a crate on the opposite seat. After some careful pouring he sipped the warm salty beverage, more like a broth than a tea, and found himself settling down.

  Jimmy turned out to be an excellent conversationalist. He and Reg talked at length about their respective pasts, hobbies, hopes for the future. Reg was so absorbed in talking that he was taken by surprise when Lana said, “There, Midway.” He leaned to the left trying to see out the front window but the angle was bad.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Jimmy said, tickling Reg's curiosity even more.

  “Da,” said Lana. She turned the wheel and brought them into a circular path around the island, clockwise so Reg could see the view out his side. He peered out and immediately saw what had drawn his friends' attention.

  There were two islands near the southern arc of a large coral ring. The west one was bigger than the east and the two were less than two kilometers apart at their closest points. He could see that they both had paved airstrips, and the bigger one had several roads and buildings visible as well. Sitting on the long runway of the big island was a large white aircraft with a blue stripe running down its length. As they got closer they could see an American flag painted on the tail and the words “United States of America” in giant letters on the fuselage.

  “That's...” Reg said, but he was too surprised to say more.

  “Air Force One,” Jimmy finished for him.

  #

  Reg sat in the Folly's galley, slightly behind and to the left of Errol, watching his captain flip through the images he had taken out the window of Jimmy and Lana's plane. They ranged from wide views of both islands, larger shots of the big one, and as tight a zoom as the camera could manage on the big white jet.

  “Wow,” Errol said quietly. “I mean... wow.”

  Reg understood his captain's loss of words, having only recently regained his own.

  “It looks a little disused. But you said there were people?” The white paint was clearly aged, with some rust showing through in a few places even at the grainy zoom available.

  “Yes, sir. We did a lower pass of the north end of the island and saw some people around. They were pointing and a few waved, so I don't think they were dead.”

  “No radio contact?”

  Reg shook his head. “We tried. No response. Jimmy wanted to set down but Lana and I both disagreed. No telling who they are or what they might do.”

  Errol continued clicking through the images, stopping here and there to focus on some detail. “I need to show these to Jones. Can you track him down for me?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  He got up to leave. Just as he reached the door he heard Errol say, as an afterthought, “It's just Errol, Reg.”

  #

  He found Jones on the bridge and took over for him on watch. A moment later he heard the Texan's lazy drawl drift through the doorway, telling someone where Reg was. Anne stepped through the hatch and Reg brightened immediately. “Hello, love!”

  She smiled and came to stand by his side, slipping under his offered arm and settling her own around his waist. Together they looked out the window. There wasn't much to see since the Folly was under sail, but they could look off to either side and see the other big ships. Bill Jenkins was on the bow with a walkie, keeping an eye on the smaller craft cruising in front.

  Anne broke the comfortable silence. “So... what happened on your trip?”

  “Well, we found the atoll. The islands seem quite serviceable. Funny thing though.”

  “What?” She had a slightly worried look on her face. Anne had had her fill of funny things in recent months.

  “There was a plane on one of the runways. Air Force One.”

  “You're joking.”

  “No.”

  She shook her head, eyes narrowed as though she had sniffed out a trick. “This is one of those dry British humor things, where you spell humor with a U.”

  “I'm completely serious,” he said.

  She looked in his eyes and he looked right back. “Damn!” she exclaimed.

  “What?”

  She chewed her lower lip slightly, like she did when she had to admit a mistake. “It's just... ugh, it sounds horrible. One of the things I always thought was a bright side to the whole zombie thing was that we wouldn't have to deal with the president anymore.”

  Reg laughed aloud. In 2004 the President of the United States was not exactly popular abroad. Like many Europeans, Reg had thought all Americans except for a vocal minority in the entertainment industry were totally in love with the man. He remembered something about that particular year just then. “You lot were having an election that year, weren't you?”

  “Oh yeah!” she said, “I'd completely forgotten. I bet that guy from Massachusetts would have won, too.”

  One of those sad waves washed over them, as though the dead past had reached up from its grave and tried to swat them for their audacity. Reg remembered being on leave at a protest rally in London, marching with his sister and her punk musician boyfriend. They were holding blown-up pictures of the unpopular
American leader with a toothbrush mustache drawn on his face. How small and petty it all seemed now. He shook his head slightly to throw off the reverie and gave his girl a squeeze. She smiled with her lips but her eyes were still sad.

  “Do you think he's really there?”

  Reg heard a tiny note of hope in her voice. He thought of all the times he'd wondered about that first day, four years ago, when the rescue chopper rose from Lusty's deck and headed to England. If the Folly had found a possible trace of the royal family, he thought he might sound just like she did.

  He shrugged. “Impossible to say. There were people on the ground, living people, but we couldn't get them on the wireless. Lana and I didn't think it was safe to risk setting down.”

  They stood together quietly again, watching the sails flap. Eventually she kissed him on the cheek and went back to her plants. Reg settled into the lawn chair bolted to the deck and watched the sky out the starboard windows. He didn't know he had dozed off until the intercom buzzer jolted him awake. He hopped up, chastising himself for slacking off on duty, and grabbed the microphone. “Bridge,” he said.

  Errol's voice issued out of the speaker. “Reg, can you call over to Konink and let them know Jones and I are on our way over with our report?”

  “Yes, sir, right away.”

  “Thanks. Keep an eye on things until we get back, okay?”