Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure

by T. L. B. Wood

  “What exactly do you think your job is, Petra?” Philo asked. He removed his reading glasses, the way he did when he was trying to delay an emotional response and remain irritatingly patient. Yes, I knew him too well, it seemed. As he exhaled, his lips pursed slightly, and I figured he was counting to ten.

  “I know my job, but I also realize I have the right and responsibility to, perhaps, decline a bad choice.” I crossed my arms and tilted my head to the side. I cared not for being backed into a corner. “After all, our backsides are on the line, not those of the Twelve.”

  “There have been many trips to dangerous events,” Philo began before I ill advisedly cut him off.

  “And you’ve made none of them, so it’s easy for you to say.” The minute I said it, I regretted the words which were dismissive and unpleasant. I suppose I felt the way many employees did when the boss would reel off some impossible series of tasks followed up with “you gotta problem with that?”. To his credit, his face only reddened slightly before he sighed deeply. Philo glanced over at Fitzhugh, who remained quiet.

  “There’s a reason we avoid places like Mount Vesuvius and Krakatoa,” I said, rolling my eyes as if I was conducting an entry level class on time shifting for novice symbionts.

  “Well, actually there was a trip to Krakatoa,” Fitzhugh began.

  “Did I ask for your help?” I was getting agitated, feeling the heat flush up my neck to stain my cheeks. The chair in which I sat suddenly felt constraining, uncomfortable; I shifted my position, crossing my legs. Glancing towards the window, I felt an almost desperate wave come over me wishing to be outside, free of that room and those inside, despite the fact I loved every one of them. To draw attention away from my red face, I began to swing one of my legs as if I was feeling carefree with no issues on the table.

  Philo stood and walked over to the window that overlooked the garden. He was tall, slender–almost thin, those days—and I noticed, for the first time, that his shoulders were beginning to slump. A couple of centuries ahead of me on the timeline, Philo was starting to show a little age in the way he held himself. I was next, I supposed, feeling a frown appear on my face.

  “Petra, you should know that Arnie and Tig have retired from traveling.” Philo turned, and his face looked tired and lifeless in the harsh, fluorescent lighting of the room. “That leaves Laurel and Devon and you and Kipp as our experienced travelers. Of course, we have high hopes for Peter and Elani,” he said, smiling, his gaze darting towards the duo, who sat quietly.

  “Sorry to hear about Arnie,” I muttered. He’d had some health problems that must have finally taken a toll on his abilities. He’d been good…very good. “But why the Titanic?” I asked. “I just don’t get that choice.”

  “The word Titanic still resonates with people, over one hundred years after the tragedy. Anything we can discover addressing questions about the voyage and her sinking will add to the history of humans, even if we can’t directly share some of those answers.” Philo sat on the corner of his desk. “I’ve really wanted to do this for a long time, but I don’t have the ability, as you so aptly pointed out,” he added unnecessarily, his mouth curving in a wry smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Haven’t you wondered the truth behind how the people in steerage were treated? Was the captain pressed by Bruce Ismay to ignore safety regulations?” He sighed. “There are countless stories within stories. And if there is some possibility that a bomb placed hastened the sinking, it would be invaluable to have that knowledge.” Standing, he walked towards me. “What if the bomb was involved in the sinking? If it wasn’t and the Titanic stayed afloat longer, would the Carpathia have arrived in time to rescue more people?”

  Kipp looked up at me, his eyes bright. I knew that he was drawn, like a moth to a flame, to anything new; at his essence, he was filled with boundless curiosity. Once I’d been like that, and I wondered where that Petra had gone? I knew for certain that she wasn’t present in that room listening to a cockeyed proposal for an ill-advised time shift. Peter and Elani were listening but not contributing. I figured Peter might think any words uttered would fall under attack by me. Smart kid, I thought.

  “I don’t want to be totally closed-minded,” I offered, glancing down at my shoes. The laces were dirty and frayed at the end. I needed some new ones if I could remember to pick them up the next time I was at the market. How could I coordinate a time shift to the Titanic when I couldn’t even take care of the basics like shoe strings?

  “What I’d like is for the four of you to start pulling anything you can find to read about the Titanic and then let’s get back together in a few weeks and talk again. Is that unreasonable?” Philo was wearing that irritatingly earnest expression that was meant to convince me of his rightness. Of course, he knew his request wasn’t unreasonable, which is why he would pose such a question. He was in a safe zone, and I was out on the diving board, perched, ready to fly off into oblivion.

  “I guess we can do that, but I’m not promising anything,” I grumbled, not meeting his eyes.

  “There is always Peter and Elani who can manage if you can’t,” Philo said unexpectedly.

  “You must be joking!“I exclaimed. “They are a couple of kids, and you know they can’t safely navigate a risky trip like that.” Narrowing my eyes, I stared at Philo. It was unusual for him to be cleverly manipulative, and I didn’t care for his trying to force my hand by involving Peter and Elani. “I think your job is changing you in ways I don’t like,” I finally said, standing. I’d had enough of the office, Philo and most things Technicorps. Kipp hopped up and moved to my side to softly nuzzle my hand. I was truly done and, after a hasty good bye, made my way outside where the air would hopefully cleanse me of my agitated mood.

  Despite my irritation, a promise was a promise, and we spent that weekend watching James Cameron’s Titanic as well as the classic movie, A Night to Remember. October began as a rainy month, so we four travelers, plus Fitzhugh, Juno and Lily, of course, hung around my house watching movies, discussing scenes and eating popcorn and grilled cheese sandwiches. During some of the more suggestive scenes in Titanic, Kipp edged away from Elani and came over to sit by me.

  “Don’t want her getting any romantic notions,” he intoned privately to my ears only.

  “You’re a stud muffin, and you know it, Kipp,” I whispered back, resting my chin on top of his head.

  Over the next few weeks we read all the books we could find. Kipp and I shared his Kindle, falling asleep each night with the device propped upon my chest. I found he became a little lazy and would let me do the reading while he just followed along with his telepathy. Fitzhugh utilized the Technicorps library researching events before and after the sinking, moments in time that defined the Gilded Age and many of the personalities who were already notable for the day and with the amazingly bad luck to book passage on the Titanic.

  “There were more than 2200 people on board the ship, including passengers and crew members. Only seven hundred plus people survived the sinking. Exact numbers are still a little fuzzy, depending upon the reference,” Peter began. “As per what would have been acceptable practice during those times, the classes were separated into first, second and third, or steerage. Parts of the ship were reserved, exclusively, for the different classes, who, with few exceptions, did not mix. The Titanic was the second of three mega liners designed and built by Harland and Wolff for the White Star Line, and the Olympic was already in service by the time Titanic was completed. The White Star Line was in direct competition with Cunard for the choice North Atlantic routes. Titanic was conceptualized to be the ultimate in terms of luxury, and Ismay hoped that her magnificence would offset the fact that Cunard had faster liners in service.” Peter paused for a sip of water. He enjoyed the role of narrator and had huddled prior to his presentation with Fitzhugh, who watched, nodding, like a proud father, a slight blush staining his thin cheeks.

  “The Titanic departed Southampton, England on April 10, 1912 and, after s
tops at Cherbourg, France and Queenstown, Ireland, started her voyage across the Atlantic.” Peter pushed his glasses, which had skidded down his nose, back into proper position. “She actually had been scheduled to leave earlier in the season but a coal strike hampered the activities of the big ocean liners, and she was delayed. It’s odd to think of the timing…if she’d left on schedule, she’d not have encountered that iceberg on April 14th, and she would have not sunk.”

  “Life is full of what ifs,” I remarked. “Are such things bad luck or predestination?” My rhetorical comment went unanswered. With a sigh, I glanced out the front window; a brisk wind became tangled in the tree tops. Even from my vantage point within my house, I could hear the fall leaves tremble against the cooling breeze surging from the north. It was my favorite time of year.

  “And then there was the weather which caused the ice to be more prevalent longer into the season as well as dipping deeper into the North Atlantic shipping lanes. All the ships navigating during that time were aware of the increased danger of flow ice as well as bergs.” Peter sat back in his chair and stretched. He’d been hunched over my dinette table all morning reading another book he’d found at the library. With Kindles, Nooks and the internet, I was happy to see people still frequented libraries.

  “There were several survivor stories that would seem to indicate that explosions were heard as the Titanic went down,” Elani remarked. She lay before my fireplace which was dormant. Glancing up at the wooden mantle, I gazed at the little framed picture of my son, George. His toothless, silly grin remained unchanged, frozen in time, over the years since his accidental death. I’d kept the picture boxed up safely out of view until Kipp, in his typically bossy way, determined he knew what was best for me and forced me to bring it to light again. I admit the picture brought both sadness and happiness to me; it was good George’s face was back again, clearly in view. Kipp had been right about that.

  “Yes, but some people attributed those sounds to other events,” Kipp was saying. “The officers and crewmen thought that the boilers and engines detached from their fixtures as the ship tilted at a greater angle when water began to fill the bow. As the angle increased, the heavy equipment broke through bulkheads as they crashed throughout the ship’s lower decks.”

  “The fact is, no one would know for certain if there were explosions or not.” Fitzhugh was sitting in his favorite chair, an overstuffed piece that carried the imprint of his narrow backside upon the seat cushion. “But there was testimony as to sounds that could or could not have been explosions. And since you are investigating whether or not there was a bomb on board, the information is important evidence of suspicion.”

  I felt more than a dart of irritation. Kipp glanced up at me, aware of my thoughts in our manner of sharing. I was tired of others making the assumption that this trip to the Titanic was a go and there was no question that we should take the plunge, metaphorically speaking. I must have been wearing my feelings on my face because Fitzhugh commented.

  “What’s bothering you?” he asked, frowning.

  “I don’t feel like this is time well spent,” I began. “Unless we are definitely going, then this research is a waste of time.”

  “And maybe Peter and Elani will go without you,” Fitzhugh replied. His cheeks reddened slightly as he stared at me. Despite his growing fondness for me, he’d not abandoned his no nonsense approach to our work. Since he’d been a traveler, I couldn’t accuse him of asking me to do things of which he had no awareness of the associated risks. “The Twelve are down to few choices, as you well know. Perhaps some of the classes for youth will give us possible candidates who possess the genetic ability to link up for travel.” He paused, his face growing sad. “There are no Kipp’s left who can do the remarkable, Petra, due to his genetic diversity. We have to work with what we have left of our species.”

  I, as did most sentient beings, cared little for someone using guilt to force my choices. “Do you want me to feel guilty if I don’t go and let Peter and Elani go by themselves?” I finally asked.

  “Yes, quite frankly…yes.” Fitzhugh crossed his thin arms across his narrow chest.

  I had to laugh at his reply which reeked of brutal honesty, but my attention was drawn to Kipp who was watching me closely. “What?” I asked, since he’d closed his thoughts to me. Suddenly, they hit me like a rush of flood water.

  “Why is it you make this your decision only, Petra? What if I want to go?” Kipp huffed out an agitated breath. “I thought we were a team.” His large ears drooped a little as he finished.

  I felt a little startled, since he’d previously indicated he didn’t want me to go against my druthers in terms of a time shift to the Titanic. It occurred to me at that moment that he’d spoken from a position of love and not intellect or desire. Kipp had given me permission to be selfish and only think of my feelings with no regard to his. Swallowing hard, I scooted off my wing chair and plopped on the floor next to him. Despite lacking the knees of a youngster, I managed to pull my legs up, crosswise, in a sloppy imitation of a yoga pose.

  “Kipp, tell me how you feel…and I mean honestly.” Reaching out, I touched his fur, threading my fingers down through the hair to comb his thick pelt.

  “I don’t want to push anything that you don’t want to do. But at the same time, there are risks I’m willing to take and ideas that seem exciting. I hesitate to suggest them because I’m afraid you don’t want to go.” His amber eyes looked up at me. “I don’t know what to do.”

  I pulled him close and pressed my face next to his. “Oh, Kipp! This is one way we can be like humans. When desires and wishes conflict with those of a loved one, it’s difficult–maybe impossible—for everyone to be happy. And sometimes, we compromise.” I laughed and invited the others to join in what had been a private conversation. After listening for a minute, Peter smiled, having scooted down on the floor to put his arm around Elani, who snuggled close, her tail wagging.

  “Elani and I have done that about what to have for dinner,” he said, feeling happy he could join in the topic. “She wants chicken and I want steak; we end up eating fish, which neither of us wants, just to keep from pushing something on the other!” Peter laughed at the thought.

  “And I love Captain D…they have that great fish with those little bits of fried, crunchy batter that get tossed in the box and the hush puppies…” Kipp glanced at me. “But Petra doesn’t eat fish, so we don’t go there very much.”

  I glanced up at Fitzhugh who was definitely amused at the musings of youth.

  “Have you come to any conclusions?” he asked, his query directed at me.

  “Well, Peter likes steak, Elani prefers chicken, and Kipp wants some hush puppies from Captain D.” I sighed as I tried to smile. “I think Kipp and I need to talk in more depth. And we all need to work less on pleasing and protecting one another and focus on honest dialog.”

  Kipp gave a sharp bark of agreement.

  None of us were exempt from having to show up at work, even though the research on the Titanic was technically an assignment. On the following Monday, Kipp and I made the pleasant walk to Technicorps. Autumn was fully engaged at that point, with the bright, fiery leaves just past mid-peak; the hues were so vivid they made me think some artist had swept his brush against his palette and flung it to carelessly spatter the colors against the canvas of blue sky. Inhaling deeply, the thick odor of dying foliage hit the back of my throat in a burst of musty, dusty molecules, as I tried to suppress a cough. Kipp’s head swiveled as he watched a pair of squirrels dart for safety, their toenails scrabbling loudly as they raced in a spiral up the trunk of a large hickory tree. A couple of intrepid adventurers were out walking their dogs. As we passed the dogs, their heads lifted with interest at the massive Kipp, but once they realized he was no dog, their ears flattened, and they pressed against the legs of their human companions, seeking security in an uncertain world.

  Kipp laughed softly, adding a little strut to his walk. “That littl
e one with the shaggy hair over his eyes thought he wanted to rumble with me. Not gonna happen.”

  We separated at Technicorps as I took the stairs down to the lower level where the research library was located. Fitzhugh and Juno had begged a ride with Peter and arrived earlier than had I. Juno would have made her way to the lupine classroom where she and Kipp worked with the young ones.

  “Slacker,” Fitzhugh remarked, pointing at his wrist where an imaginary watch resided, making a point as to my arrival time. He looked more tired than usual, and I wondered if he’d slept well the previous night. I could smell coffee, the fragrance tantalizing as it threaded its way through the large room. Arching an eyebrow at Fitzhugh, I tilted my head to the back office.

  “So, are you letting Mark Elliott change all the traditions?” I was needling Fitzhugh and he knew it.

  “We suffer when we are rigid and not accepting of new ideas,” he deftly replied, knowing his comment had a dual meaning and targeted my vulnerability with Kipp.

  “I still enjoy the Earl Grey,” I replied, yawning. “It’s familiar,” I added, after struggling for an apt description.

  Mark appeared at that moment carrying a tray with a carafe, cups, and containers of cream and sugar. His teeth gleamed when he smiled; his wheat colored hair was a little longer than usual and showed some natural wave rippling through the thick, lovely mass. My hair had not looked that perfectly styled in 400 years.

  “I’ve asked Mark to help with our Titanic research,” Fitzhugh remarked, his voice bland. “Philo thought it is prudent to explore every possible fact, given the nature of the event.”

  I smiled, nodding, glad once again that contemporary symbionts didn’t read each other’s minds since Mark would pick up on my negative thoughts towards him. As he leaned forward to hand me a cup of coffee, I caught a whiff of some expensive fragrance…subtle but pleasant and not overpowering. Probably contained some pheromone laced chemical, I thought darkly, meant to lure unsuspecting females to become entrapped in his web of allure.