by Ralph Kern
Giving a nod, Carrie rushed back along the span and entered the DJ booth that overlooked the promenade. After a moment, she gave a thumbs up.
“PLEASE, I NEED YOU TO BE CALM.” Kendricks winced at the volume his voice thundered out of the speakers, but it broke the mood, and the shouting subsiding.
“We know a few things.” Kendricks noted with relief that Carrie was reducing the volume steadily to a more-tolerable volume. “We know mainland America exists still, and that will be our course. We are returning home. What we may find there, we don’t know, but that is our destination. We know that the fighting you have witnessed over the last month cannot continue. The pirates were in the same situation as us. Scared, uncertain, and desperate for answers. They have made a choice. They have a new leader, one who wishes to ally with us. They have fuel and supplies, and have offered to share them with us. The man who led them in attacking us has been brought to justice. They are eager to help, and we are eager to accept. We know that the brave sailors of the Ignatius will continue to defend us from whatever we face. We know the Atlantica can support us for as long as we need. I repeat, you are safe, as long as you are calm, and trust us.”
“We know,” Kendricks said, letting his voice rise. “That together, we can get through the challenges we will inevitably face. Tomorrow, we will set sail from this place. Tomorrow we are going home to America.”
Lowering his microphone, Kendricks looked over the quiet crowd. They seemed, as a collective, mollified that they finally had a destination.
***
“Well said, young man.” Reynolds took a sip of his brandy.
“I’m not that young.” Kendricks winced from the twinge in his shoulder.
“Everyone’s young to me, son,” Reynolds smiled.
Kendricks had found the half-full bottle of McDowell’s Number One in Captain Solberg’s bottom drawer when he had taken over his office, and thought it would be good lubrication for the job offer he had for the old admiral.
“About that,” Kendricks said, looking at the man, a picture of calm, reassuring competence. “The passengers are going to need a leader, a spokesperson if you will, and preferably one of them.”
“Are you headhunting me?” Reynolds asked.
“Yes. Want the job?”
“I hate politics.” Reynolds gave a frown. “And no, I don’t want the job, but someone has to do it, I guess.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“And here’s me thinking this would be a nice relaxing cruise,” Reynolds grimaced as he downed the amber fluid in his glass in one fell swoop.
“You know I was going to suggest a cheers to your new appointment.” Kendricks raised one eyebrow.
“That implies a celebration, dear boy.”
Chapter 69 – Day 26
Kendricks ducked as the sleek Airbus H155 touched down on Atlantica’s flight deck. The blast of air from the rotor wash caused him to step back slightly.
One after another, the occupants stepped out. Wakefield, Slater, and Bautista joined Kendricks, Reynolds, and Jack on the landing pad, the billionaire owner of the Osiris having done a round robin, picking up the senior members of the fleet.
“Welcome aboard the Atlantica,” Kendricks shouted over the spooling-down engines.
“Don’t think I’m going to be offering this kind of taxi service often,” Wakefield shouted back. “Special occasions only.”
Gesturing toward the hatch, Kendricks ignored the man’s attempt at humor. “If you’d like to come with me.”
***
The discussions and negotiations had taken them well into the night. They had batted many things around the table. How to redistribute the remaining food and people around the fleet? What should they do about the wrecked yet mostly untapped resource of the container vessel the pirates had discovered? Which ships should be left behind, and which should be taken with them?
Eventually, the plan came together. Together they would make the expedition home.
***
The meeting had drawn to a close, and small talk had taken over business.
“I feel I must take some fresh air,” Reynolds said, standing and stretching out his arms.
Wakefield looked at the man for a long moment before saying, “I think I may join you. It’s been a hell of a long night.
In silence the two men stepped out of the conference room and walked down the corridor. Reaching a pair of glass doors that slid open at their approach, they stepped out into the fresh night.
Reynolds leaned on the railing and gazed over the moonlit ocean, and Wakefield took up a position next to him.
“You are a hypocritical old bastard, John,” Wakefield said after a long silence.
Reynolds seemed to ignore him for a beat, before looking up at the man next to him. “To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t have me bumped off after you cut me loose back in Nassau. You have been somewhat... single minded in this endeavor.”
“Ha,” Wakefield scoffed without humor. “What were you going to do? Blow our little secret? You may not have liked my methods, but the objective was still sound; the survival of the human race. Even your much-vaunted morals acknowledged this was all for the greater good, and the only way to escape what was coming.”
“And for Laurie, it was the only ride out of dodge,” Reynolds replied.
“That’s right,” Wakefield winked. “Well, the only ride you and she could get on.”
Standing, the retired admiral looked at the billionaire. “So what are you going to do, Conrad? Tell them I was in on it?” Reynolds inclined his head back toward the door to indicate the others within.
“Why?” Wakefield shrugged. “To what end? They’d just keelhaul you. Besides, it’s always nice to have an inside man.”
“I don’t like swearing, Conrad. But fuck you. I helped you back home, but I’m not your inside man.”
“Just remember that keelhauling I mentioned, John.” Wakefield’s voice became firm. “They won’t take kindly to—
Wakefield gave a gasp as Reynolds’s hand gripped his throat. “Don’t you dare threaten me. My conscience is clear, more or less. You, however, are a murdering bastard.”
Wakefield reached up and pried Reynolds’s fingers from around his throat. “Yet you find yourself here, with me. Your principles only took you so far, you still wanted on the last train, and you made sure you were on it. Even when you knew what would happen when that train pulled out the station.”
Reynolds stepped away from the other man. For a moment he considered giving another retort. Instead, he settled for just shaking his head. “We’re here, Conrad. What more could you want from me?”
“We have to rebuild the human race. That Kendricks guy said you’re going to be the mayor or some such shit on this road show. I need you to make sure they stay on course, to make sure things go the way they should go.”
“The way they should go? Or the way you want them too?”
“That’s the same thing, my friend, that’s the same thing.” Wakefield slapped the other man on the back, once again jovial and cocky.
Chapter 70 – Day 27
“So, will I get more?” Laurie said as she bumped her shoulder playfully into Jack’s side.
“More?”
The two of them stood on the rear deck by the empty waverider, overlooking the motley collection of ships anchored behind the Atlantica.
“You know,” Laurie winked at him. “Snogs?”
“Ohhh,” Jack said, looking in every direction other than at Laurie. “You know that was under pressure. I was vulnerable at the time.”
“You were,” Laurie pursed her lips and nodded. “Vulnerable. I do admit I took advantage of a moment of distraction caused by a horde of rampaging pirates.”
“Yes, you did.”
“But maybe, it’s time to see how you perform under real pressure.”
Laurie grasped Jack’s hand firmly and tugged him in the direction of the doors leading inside the Atlantica.<
br />
***
“Come on, Hank. Put your back into it!” Mack called to her WSO. Her overalls were streaked with grease after she had been lying under the spare Seahawk they were cannibalizing a fuselage panel from.
Together they lifted the heavily armored section, and as gingerly as they could, placed it in a dolly for wheeling to the hanger next door so they could replace damaged parts of her helicopter.
“You know what, ma’am? I’m seriously considering going on strike. Then you’ll learn to appreciate us poor NCOs,” Hank said, his voice straining with effort.
“You don’t mean that, do you, Hank?” Mack gave a roguish grin.
“Pilots!” Hank muttered with affectionate exasperation.
***
“Kelly, how are we looking?” Kendricks turned from the window overlooking the dawn-lit ocean.
“As good as we’ll ever be, Skipper.”
Kendricks gave a slight smile. To be called Captain was one thing, an acknowledgement of one’s rank. To be called Skipper was a respectful, yet affectionate, other. It showed he had been accepted as their leader in heart as well as mind.
“Then please, signal the rest of the fleet and our wagon train we’re ready to move. Economic cruise, if you please.”
“Aye aye. Ahead at twenty knots, economic cruise.”
Kendricks moved around the bridge and settled into his chair.
Slowly, the huge ship built up its speed, giving the slightest of lurches as the towing cable played out behind the vessel snapped taut.
The wagon train of craft, running parallel to the one led by the supertanker, Titan, began moving west. Ahead of the fleet, the Ignatius sailed, the flicker of welding torches blinking off of her damaged superstructure.
Together, the fleet set a course to the west, in the direction of America.
Epilogue
Slater stood on the deck of the Ignatius, gazing up at the battered mast. The breeze from the speed of their journey over the nighttime sea caused her hair, uncharacteristically loose, to whip around. Unconsciously, she was twisting the West Point Academy ring on her right hand.
She thought back to the conversation with Kendricks.
“That would be the easy solution, Liam, but not the honorable one. I’m an officer. My word is my bond. I would put that bastard in front of a firing squad in a heartbeat as part of either negotiations or a judicial process. I should not, however, lie, kidnap, and then murder him.”
It galled her. Her Millie and Frank—her family—were long dead, yet a man who was a murderer, traitor, and saboteur was still alive and free. Could she let that stand?
She touched a hand to her breast, feeling the locket beneath her coveralls she always wore with her family’s photos. A tear leaked out of her eye and trickled down her cheek.
“Captain?” a figure called over from the hatch. “I need you to sign off on some repair proposals.”
Wiping her cheek, Slater composed herself and walked toward the hatch leading back inside the Ignatius.
“Okay, Perry, what have you have you got for me?”
***
The single cot was deep in the bowels of the Titan, situated at one side of a small cabin which was divided in the middle by a thin curtain. The cabin was stuffy, airless, but it was home for Karl Grayson, his wife, and son—who lay asleep on the other side of the curtain. The space was lit by a flickering halogen lamp. His son hated being in the dark, and him feeling safe was more important to Grayson than the sleepless nights the perpetual light caused.
Gently, Grayson pushed Kristen’s arm off him and slid off the bed. She gave a moan before turning over.
Standing, he took a few steps and moved the curtain to one side. He spent a long moment looking at his young son and listening to his light snores.
It may not have been much, but this was as good as it got in the crowded spaces of the fleet for them. He wished he could take his family to the comforts of Atlantica, but that seemed like it would never be.
Sighing, he let the curtain drop back into place. Padding on bare feet to the corner of the cabin, he saw his suitcase there. The suitcase that he insisted that no matter what, Kristen was to keep with her.
As quietly as he could, he unzipped the case, careful not to disturb his family. Opening it, he dug his fingernails under the tacks which kept the lining attached to the lid, and pulled it away. Underneath the lining was a brown manila folder.
Opening it, his eyes, squinting in the low light, flicked past the eagle and star crest and the words “Central Intelligence Agency—Special Activities Directorate” and TOP SECRET stamped beneath.
It had been years since he had even thought about the contents of this folder and he scanned it quickly to refresh his memory. Words sprang out—Weapon of Mass Destruction/Unknown Type, Nassau, and Project Elpis.
Turning over sheets, he eventually came to a sheaf of photographs.
The first was an image that had been taken of a group seated in the outdoor area of restaurant. Most of the people had names in black marker scrawled next to them, but in the picture, one man could be seen, seeming to preside over the others.
Next to it, scrawled in marker, was the name Conrad Wakefield.
And beside him, scribbled above another man who was seated at the table: Admiral John Reynolds.
He flipped through the photos until he reached a photo of a ship. It was within a dry-dock hanger, scaffolding all around her. Yet even beneath the barnacles of industrial equipment covering the vessel, her sleek lines were beautiful. And it was the ship he recognized as being the one which had appeared from the locus.
And the name emblazoned on her bow was the Osiris.
Stuffing the sheets of paper and photos back into the folder, he slipped it back into the suitcase and zipped it up.
Climbing back into the narrow bed alongside his wife, Grayson stared up to the ceiling.
Maybe the mission ain’t over yet.
Authors Note
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***
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Unfathomed as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.
This was one of those stories where inspiration struck in a surprising way. A few years ago, my girlfriend and I were on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, when it occurred to us just how much of a floating city these vast ships are. What was even stranger was how isolated from the outside world it felt to be on board.
So there we were, in the ship’s nightclub talking about this, when the seed of a story began to gestate—what if the whole world had disappeared? What if all that was left was this ship?
As we spoke, the idea grew and grew. Originally, it started out as a kind of whodunit, set exclusively on the ship as the crew and passengers sought to find land while contending with internal threats.
I can’t remember which of us suggested it, but pirates became involved, and by that point it was the wee hours and we wandered back to our cabin through the deserted promenade (leading to a scene which is pretty much replicated in the book).
Then the idea got shelved when we returned, while I finished off Erebus and started plotting Endings.
But my thoughts kept turning back to this and, as my fellow writers might agree—once the muse strikes, you just have to harness it.
So I began plotting and researching what became Unfa
thomed. It was quite surprising how the elements just flowed in and the story began to grow and expand in scope into what you have just read.
As with my previous novels, Endeavour and Erebus, I have tried to keep as accurate to the real world as possible. All the technology used by Atlantica and Ignatius exists. For very obvious and completely understandable reasons, obtaining accurate information about capabilities of some of the military hardware depicted is difficult or impossible. Any errors are mine alone or conjecture based on information obtained through open sources.
So, where will Atlantica and her fleet go from here?
I’ve sketched out the plot for a sequel, Expedition. I will say, if you think the characters have a rough ride in Unfathomed, then wait until you see the challenges they are going to face... and not everyone is going to make it.
A Nod:
I love Battlestar Galactica, so my not-so-little nod to that fantastic show was giving the Atlantica an “A” on the end... besides, it helps it roll off the tongue. It strikes me we may be moving to a generation which hasn’t watched that show yet... please do so, you won’t be disappointed.
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