by David Sachs
“Come on, that hit an iceberg. And that was over a hundred years ago! That’s not even relevant, not to me, anyway.”
“When the captain announced the plan, he said the risk was minimal,” Lee reasoned aloud. “That even if we weren’t picking up the refugees we’d be riding out the wave. So I guess it must be safe.”
“Hey, look at that dude,” Rick said. “He looks like Man Mountain McTavish!”
Lee turned and saw a man standing alone. How had he not noticed this passenger yet? The man was more mountain even than Man Mountain McTavish, who’d always been soft in the ring. The stranger stood close to seven feet tall, and was broad shouldered. He had grey hair down to the bottom of his neck, and a thick beard. His arms came out of his short sleeves like a bear’s, the hairy flesh flexed as the man held the railing.
He stared ahead and was oblivious to the two men who watched him.
“Looking for whales?” Rick called, and Lee laughed.
The man-mountain did not respond immediately. As if some unseen intervening agent passed on the message, he turned after a moment.
“Call me Ishmael,” the man-mountain shouted back.
Lee smiled. That was from Moby Dick. He’d listened to that book on the road from one stadium to the next. It was about a guy who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. And a whale. Lee felt an instinctive connection with this other giant.
The bulk of land receding behind them became more indistinct in its details. By the time the security guards asked them to return to their rooms, the United States appeared as only a thickening of the horizon.
“Please stay in your rooms until you hear from the captain,” one of the white-uniformed guards said. “It will just be a few hours. We really need to rely on everyone’s cooperation to stay safe and get through this without any tragedies.”
The grey-haired man-mountain walked in past the Mighty Lee Golding and Rick Dumas with a friendly glance to include them, so that they could experience with him the shared thrill of this event. The two smiled back. The giant’s facial expressions were so intense Rick and Lee could not help but smile back, but he quickly lost his inclusive cast, turning to his own thoughts. The giant looked away and went on inside.
His name was Adam Melville.
He was a man who looked and planned for special moments. That’s the way he travelled; he was a moment collector. Even with his planned cruise interrupted, he couldn’t shake that habit. An event of this importance made him feel important watching it. And no one knew what was on the other side.
A long-time tech entrepreneur, he had a big imagination, and he was trying to imagine what he could see in the event that others didn’t. As he returned to his room, Adam thought again through the clues: the news reports, the early devastation, the unparalleled evacuation, the reported projections. He was a man who’d always thought of big ideas, and how the big ideas touched his life.
We know a great deal of the world’s history, he thought. From the time of each civilization’s adoption of the written word, we know of all their major events: 5000 years of history among the Sumerians in modern Iraq and in Egypt, 3300 years in China, 2600 years in Mexico. As the written word spread across Europe and the Indian subcontinent, so did our knowledge of history gain over wider swaths of the earth.
This event was beyond all that history’s telling, but that was not our only knowledge. Written history goes back 5000 years, but humanity goes back 7 million years, a much longer period of witnessing. This event had precursors within the collective memory of man. Our myths were older yet than our histories, and they told of such things.
7
Captain London spent more time on the bridge than most in his position. Many captains on large cruise ships split their time between paperwork and social activities; the running of the ship was left to subordinates. This was not so with Captain London in routine times. It was certainly not so now.
He relegated the first officers to the sidelines as he managed the evacuation and embarkation from New York himself. In fact, the extraordinary traffic in the river and out to sea demanded Captain London stay on deck and he would no doubt remain to ride out the wave. There was no pilot ship to lead them out from harbor this time. Distance required between ships was compressed, and his maximum speed in the harbor had been raised, among the many regulations and laws London had been ordered to break.
London was not particularly troubled that Homeland Security had ordered such safety standards to be ignored, to get as many people out alive as possible. What he didn’t like was the lack of security in letting the refugees aboard. He liked to be in control, and that seemed to allow an element he couldn’t control. Even his security crew was weaponless, but who knew what was coming aboard now?
It was not, however, a situation in which debate or questioning was an option.
The senior officers all wore black suits. One could tell who the captain was without seeing the rank on their shoulders. The captain was at the helm, and the officers orbited around him.
London was not born to lead; he was made so by his own hand. He came from a small town, middle class background, and had understood from an early age that the drive to succeed was a race won not by speed, but by early start. He wasted no time. He had, through years in the Navy, university and various sports teams, cultivated not only the work ethic to rise, but the social connections as well. He hadn’t gained his advantages directly through those connections; rather, by embedding himself among groups accustomed to leadership, he grew to understand it as the expected outcome given the application of his qualities. Here he was, the undisputed chief of a hundred million dollar enterprise, a crew of near a thousand under him. Yet those aggrandizing details were less important to him as a sailor than the more basic fact that he was master of his ship.
Captain London was of average height, with a bearing and a voice weighted by his own gravity. He had a healthy weathered face and thin gray hair, and looked like a club golf pro.
He liked this bridge. It was old school. Out of all the ships on which he’d served in his career, this, with its long curved banks of windows, controls and monitoring equipment below, was coolest. At the center was his chair, a rotating throne he found embarrassingly comfortable.
The Festival was a decades old ship that had undergone major refurbishments twice. She was, to London, a beautiful and messy mix of new and old.
“Get Harrington in here,” he said. “Let’s learn what there is to learn.”
Minutes later, the Chief Radio Officer was on the bridge. He was a young man, fat and always sweaty in his black suit.
“Just the headlines,” Captain London said.
“At 15 knots, the wavefront is not more than five hours sailing.”
“We’ll make better speed when we get out. Go on.”
“Right now the waves are under ten feet but they will be considerably larger after passing onto the continental shelf. However, the troughs are currently long and the waves smooth. Coast Guard pilots have scouted and confirmed that it should be no danger to our vessel. We’re to ride it out and wait. Homeland Security is running the show, and they still don’t know where they’re going to direct returning ships and seagoing refugees. I… got the impression they just don’t now what the coast is going to look like after. Not to mention they’ve been as busy evacuating themselves as planning for everyone else.”
“Your editorial commentary is still unappreciated,” London said.
“So, we’re just supposed to ride it out and wait?” first officer Van der Hoeven asked.
“Yeah,” Harrington said. “Radar shows other ships heading out the same way.”
“Have you heard from the company?” London said.
“They’re satisfied with your decision and urge you to aid in any way, sir, so long as the guests are not put in any danger.”
“Meaning the ship, of course,” an officer said.
“What’s the latest on the event itself?” London said.
&nbs
p; “It’s muddled. And what’s clear, is probably wrong.”
“Harrington,” London said.
“Sorry, sir.”
The Communications Officer recited the same outline of events all on the bridge knew already. He had a few extra details: the fault was along the mid-Atlantic ridge; that there had been a major calving of glaciers off the Antarctic ice shelves on one end, and Greenland on the other, seemingly a result of the earthquake; and satellite images and measurements of the rising water levels indicated a major change to the ocean floor topography itself.
“In other news,” Harrington continued, “Washington, or at least our fearless leaders, have been evacuated. President Crawford is in Colorado at a NORAD base. The White House and Pentagon are empty, guarded by Air Force cover.”
There were murmurs of astonishment and excitement from some.
“What’s the refugee situation?” London asked.
“Here or more generally?” Harrington asked.
“In general, first,” London said
“It’s going to be the worst natural disaster in history,” the Communications Officer said, losing his humor for the first time. “Rio has been wiped out, Miami may be underwater as we speak. There’s all this chatter of lessons learned from New Orleans, how they’ve mobilized immense resources so quickly and are directing efforts at hospitals and old age homes. It seems almost useless, sir. In a disaster of this magnitude.”
“Those are lives being saved,” London said. “The actions of our crew are part of an effort that will mean hundreds of thousands saved. The scope may be far larger, but we can still save lives. Thanks for your report. I imagine it will be a while before we receive new orders. In the meantime, Harrington, scan the news. But keep it to yourself. I don’t need the crew distracted with worries of their families. Now, what of OUR refugees, Bausch?”
“Sir, there’s more,” Harrington said.
The others held their breath. London was not often interrupted.
“Go on, Harrington,” the captain said.
“There’s a Navy supply ship that’s lost contact. It was being used in the rescue, and they’ve lost radio contact and the on-board tracking has been shut down. They sent a search jet to its last coordinates, but it’s not on course. It’s disappeared, sir. They’re seeking reports of any sightings at sea.”
“Don’t let your imagination get carried away,” London said. “There are going to be issues as the flood breaks down communications systems. Cell networks have been going out all day. For a while, everyone will be a bit in the dark. Now, Bausch, what of our refugees, please?”
“Twenty-three hundred aboard, all in the Grand Atrium and the Royal Theater. Everything as planned,” said Bausch, the Chief Security Officer. “Birnbaum is out managing the situation right now.”
In extraordinary times, responsibilities were less than clear. Captain London trusted Staff Captain Birnbaum, and had put the new passengers under his management. Captain London had also put the massive resources of the hotel manager at the use of Birnbaum, meaning the restaurants, the wait staff, the housekeepers, the pursers; all could be drafted into the effort.
“They’re double-shifting galley staff to feed the new and old guests,” the Security Officer continued. “My men have swept the decks and have good confidence that the guests have all returned to their rooms. Still… another announcement wouldn’t hurt. There were quite a few out for a look, and with the resources required managing the refugees, we haven’t the numbers to maintain constant watches at all sections of the decks.”
“Have Birnbaum pull the staff together, in groups if he has to, and give them an update of the situation. It’s critical that the staff understand that things are under control and still being managed as tightly as before. Have them told that this is an opportunity and a responsibility to help in a crisis. If the staff maintain composure, the guests will remain at ease and under control.”
“Vince Lombardi it is, sir.”
“Sir, we haven’t handled emergency planning given the new realities on the Festival,” a First Officer said. “Our prior emergency drills have, I think, been rendered obsolete.”
“This is the reality,” London responded. “We are not up to SOLAS standards. I accept my personal culpability for this. Somehow I expect it to be overlooked. We are drastically short on lifeboats, and the Atrium and Theater couldn’t be evacuated in a reasonable, let alone legally mandated, time in any case. So, gentlemen, let’s keep this ship afloat.”
The skies had cleared in the afternoon; the visibility was excellent. Making 25 knots now as it emerged from Lower Bay into open sea, the vessel barely rumbled. The sun was behind them, so that the ship chased its own shadow. The First Officer on duty was left at the helm. The captain stood to watch as other great vessels passed it by to take their turn evacuating the docks.
No external circumstances could take away the beauty of the ocean.
In thirty-three years at sea, London had seen its immense power unleashed many times. He knew that the manifestation of this tsunami at sea would be minor; over the deep water the waves would be minimized. As it approached shore, the wave’s energy would be directed upward by the rising floor, and the series of waves would run into each other and add their amplitudes. Then would it become the monstrous force that just might change the world.
They were hours out to open sea as their rendezvous with the waves approached, the senior officers crowding the bridge. Finally, Captain London sent them below, keeping only a bare crew, and imagining them away as he looked out over the sea.
8
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please,” a black-jacketed officer called out to the crowded Grand Atrium from halfway up a staircase. “My name is Antonio Dipietro, and I’m the Festival’s Hotel Manager. We thank you for your patience and cooperation. First of all, if you look around for the signs, you will find our restrooms. You don’t even need to see the signs actually. Just look for the line-ups. I apologize for this inconvenience, but I’m sure these lines will go down soon. We will be able to keep you comfortable here until we learn when we can return to port. We are going to be bringing food out for you all. We’d like to ask for your patience, it will be about forty-five minutes longer and you will be able to eat. I will be back soon for the food service.”
Service doors which had been locked prior to the rescue were opened and an army of personnel came through, bearing tables which they set up all around the perimeter of the great hall.
Seeing the effort being made to keep them comfortable had a palpable effect on the crowd. They were not forgotten, and this was a competently run enterprise. Since the ship had left New York, the sadness of the refugees was quieted by the twin spirits, shock and fear. With the action of the crew, the spell seemed to break. There were smiles of relief, as well as long pent-up sobs.
Travis noticed the lines at the bathroom did shorten quickly, and soon the hotel manager appeared again on the staircase.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out. “I would like to ask you to wait just a few minutes more while our crew gets the food set up. When that is done, there will be an announcement to please come in an orderly fashion, line up for the buffet and help yourselves. We’ll have pizzas, hot dogs and hamburgers, as well as water and juice. We aren’t quite sure when we’ll next have food ready to bring down as we have our regular guests to take care of as well, so please come and get your fill. Just wait till the signal. Thanks.”
The food came in, a grand procession of staff passing gleaming chafer dishes and trays to other staff already waiting to serve.
When the hotel manager called on the refugees to begin lining up, Travis’s group didn’t rush, while many others did. It was a long wait, but there was lots of food. There were stacks of pizzas at the end of each table, with several open boxes at a time. There were large trays piled with hamburgers and hot dogs, and coolers of juice and water.
“What’ll you have, champ?” Travis ask
ed Darren.
“Hot dogs, please,” the boy said.
The four of them found a spot on the floor and sat down to eat. The marble was cold. Darren studied the metallic and crystalline lines in the tiles. The hot dogs were hot and good and made them feel better. A bit of strength came into each of them. Corrina looked up at the gem-cut skylight decks and decks above, and the tourists watching down from the railings, all the way up.
Corrina Adamson was a strikingly attractive woman, but only from close up. From afar, everything about her seemed average. She dressed and did her hair so that her beauty could not be seen but up close. She had long, light-brown hair, curling down across her forehead and cheek so that one did not see her face except directly from the front. You had to take the time to look at her to know her beauty.
She came from small town South Carolina and had swung between tomboy and girly-girl as a child. Even in high school she had been a multi-sport athlete, an adventurous and tough “guy’s girl” who loved putting on party dresses and make-up. As an adult, she had subtly hidden her looks, a bit of idiosyncratic defiance. Her ever-present smile and good humor, her raspy voice and rolling accent, and her fierce (and equally hidden) intelligence had bewitched both Travis and Gerry, and a few before them.
She had a temper, but had long ago begun to feel sorry for Travis more than angry.
After many of the refugees had gone back for seconds, the staff returned to clear off and remove the tables.
The intercom again came to life.
“This is Captain London. We are about to run the waves. We are in no danger, but I suggest you all prepare for a bumpy ride.”
There was a murmur of excitement in the crowd as individuals returned from wherever they were to rejoin their families or other groups. Travis and his group stayed together on the floor, Darren squeezing in between his mother and Gerry.
Without noise or warning, the floor gently rolled, and they all leaned a bit to stern. It lasted several heartbeats, and one held breath. A few things fell over and crashed, as well as a few people. Some fell from sitting. It calmed for a moment, and then there was a second wave, and they held their breath up and exhaled down. A third smaller roll and then a fourth. The voice came back on the intercom.