“Oh, Kipp,” I said softly, as he pushed closer. It was going to be a long night.
Kipp possessed an internal clock superior to any mechanical one, and at promptly seven pm, he awakened me with a mental knock at the doorway to my brain. I sat up suddenly, my face flushed from a dream, my skin covered in sweat. I dreamt we didn’t get off in time, and I watched, horrified, as Peter and Elani slid down the steep angle of the deck to disappear into the black water. Peter’s face, pale against the darkness, turned up towards me, his features twisted in agony. Then Kipp began to slide, his paws scrabbling against the wooden planking of the deck…that is when I awoke, my heart pounding, my stomach twisted in a knot.
“Gee, you could have taken care of that one,” I whined.
“I figured it was good for you to confront your fears,” he replied, licking my face for good measure, his raspy tongue warm against my cheek.
Peter was already dressed in his evening wear, since he planned on joining the first class men in the smoking room in his now usual routine. We could only hope Littleton would gather there, as he had the previous nights, lurking in a darkened corner like a malignant creature from a sad, twisted tale of mythology. The four of us stood awkwardly, not sure what to say.
Finally, Kipp moved forward and touched noses with Elani.
“Good luck,” he said, his voice soft. He’d wanted to address her as “kid” but bit back the words at the last minute. She was no longer the kid in the room.
“You, too,” she replied, blinking her eyes.
Peter and I stared at one another before he reached forward and pulled me into a surprisingly close hug. I finally relaxed and let him hold me for a moment. Inhaling, I caught the scent of his cologne which made him seem more mature than his young years. I felt proud of his accomplishment on this journey. He’d managed to insert himself into a difficult aspect of society and did so quite well for someone with limited experience.
“It will all be okay,” I offered lamely, feeling the need, as the elder, to be reassuring. “You must listen to me and go when I say to go, no matter what.” I was speaking to Peter and, to a lesser degree, Elani.
“I promise,” he replied, his dark eyes sober, his face rigid.
“Your hair is getting a little long.” I reached up to touch the edge of the dark mop that was curling against his white collar. It took some self restraint to not push his bangs away from his forehead.
“Yeah, off to get a trim when I get home tomorrow,” he replied nonchalantly.
With that final remark and a lopsided cocky grin, Peter beckoned to Elani, and the pair departed to make their way to the First Class Smoking Lounge. Kipp and I had another destination in mind–we’d be on the forward deck watching, searching the darkness for what the crew saw on that fateful night just before the collision occurred. I’d dressed in my warmest clothes, even down to woolen underwear. Peter had handed me his heavy overcoat since Kipp and I planned on being outside for an extended period of time. My lightweight traveling jacket would have been woefully inadequate against the falling temperatures. And even though it was breaking time shift rules, I tucked the signed copy of Colonel Gracie’s book in the inner deep pocket of the coat. Smiling, I recalled that I’d violated those rules before, my hand reaching up to touch Harrow’s pearls. We weren’t supposed to return with trophies, but I’d always felt life was full of exceptions. As I passed people, some of whom were on their way to their cabins, others who were heading to one of the various post dinner locations on board, it was impossible to meet their eyes. Keeping my head down, my chin tucked on my chest, I moved on, feeling resolute and single minded. There was no other choice…we were committed and would see this out as long as possible.
Kipp and I made our way forward on the Promenade Deck until we were located beneath the Bridge Deck and the wheel house. Kipp looked up at me and nodded. “This is good,” he said, nuzzling my hand for comfort. Sitting, he closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly. We were alone; the blackness of the seemingly endless expanse of water stretched ahead of the Titanic. It looked benign, even welcoming to the humans on board who lacked our regrettable vision which gave us foresight but no authority to act.
“First Officer Murdock is on duty,” Kipp said. “His thoughts are generally calm and confident but with mild concern over the number of iceberg warnings. They started receiving them early this morning from the Caronia and since then have received messages from several other vessels noting field ice, icebergs and growlers.” Kipp looked up at me. “I know that a short time ago, McBride in the Radio Room was supposed to have received some type of warning from the Californian, but there is too much, uh, static for me to find him in all these people,” Kipp concluded, his tone apologetic. “He’s unfamiliar to me and that makes it difficult.”
“It’s okay, Kipp. Don’t worry about it. You’re doing great.”
“But Murdock, like the captain, has steamed through similar conditions–or at least he thinks they are similar–before and believes that the necessary caution is applied.” Kipp took a deep breath and stood, shaking himself from nose to tail, before seating himself again. “This deck is a little cold on my backside,” he grumbled.
I didn’t know how to reply since I thought my nose would freeze and fall off any moment. A man passed, tipping his hat, as he went aft towards more pleasant environs. He paused to give me the accurate time from his watch before departing again. It was 11:25 pm. The iceberg was fifteen minutes away.
“I want to go forward as far as we can to the open bow, so I can see what the crew are seeing,” Kipp demanded. With that, we hustled back to the stairs taking us down to B Deck, where we moved quickly forward, ignoring the stares of people as we hurried along. The outside air was harsh, cutting into my skin like shards of glass. I’d left my hat in the suite, thinking it would be an encumbrance; for a moment I missed the clumsy warmth it provided. Normally the forward part of the deck that led to the sharp point of the bow was not for casual strolling, but there was no crew member lurking to politely redirect us, and we made our way past the upright support holding the crow’s nest and the two men who were watching the black water until we had a clear view, my hands gripping the railing. Although I was wearing gloves, the cold from the metal was not put off by the thin barrier; my fingers throbbed and ached.
Borrowing Lightoller’s description, there was a flat calm on that fateful night. The blackened sky stretched from horizon to horizon with no moon suspended in the darkness. The sole illumination came from an unusually vivid canopy of stars, which seemed almost artificial and out of place. I’ve rarely seen anything to match in the brilliance and clarity…it was as if someone had taken a length of black velvet cloth, punched holes in it from one end to the other, and shone a bright light on the other side of the fabric. The effect was disorienting, at least for me. Kipp’s feet were planted wide, his eyes blinking against the numbing cold as he strained to see what lay ahead.
“I see it!” he exclaimed, his thought hitting the back of my head like a hammer. Kipp turned, looking at me. “Can’t you see it?”
I couldn’t, and neither could the two men in the crow’s nest. Maybe it had to do with lupine vision, which was superior to mine, as well as humans, but all I could see was the depthless void ahead as I strained to find the massive object bobbing directly in front of us.
“The speculation about a mirage must be correct,” Kipp said, his sides heaving; his breath was visible as clouds of white mist eerily visible in the darkness. “The cold, dense air has created a situation such that something that large and apparent has melted into an optical illusion and has been rendered invisible. And the flat calm doesn’t help matters since there are no breakers visible against the berg.”
“Why can you see it and the rest of us can’t?”
“I guess my eyes are different, as well as my instincts,” he replied. “But we are headed straight for it!” As he spoke, I saw his muscles bunch as if he was preparing for an impact.
/> The horizon was neither soft nor was there haze. It was a sharp horizon, and the stars seemed cut in two by the definition, their radiance shining onto the water, causing pinpoint spots of iridescent sheen on the ocean.
A minute later, I heard the thoughts of Fleet in the crow’s nest as he recognized the danger, finally, first ringing the alarm bell three times, before calling the bridge to alert the crew. Turning, I stared up at the bridge and saw Murdock peering forward, his face pale from cold and shock. The fear he felt as he, too, finally saw the enormous iceberg floating heavily in the water, flooded over me in a nauseous wave. Swallowing hard, I twisted around to watch the iceberg ahead. As Murdock gave orders in quick succession, turning the ship as well as closing the watertight doors below decks to seal off compartments, there was a flurry of activity in the wheelhouse.
The looming iceberg, which had picked up a soft glow of light from the stars above, looked like a small mountain rocking gently in the water. My numb fingers tightened around the railing from where we stood on the side of the vessel that the iceberg would hit, as the bow of the ship began to swing away, slowly, but it was turning. Irrationally, I beat my fist on the cold metal of the railing, hoping that maybe this time something different would happen. After all, we’d disrupted the time continuum from our trip and maybe that would extend to a different outcome for the ship.
“It won’t,” Kipp said, pushing his heavy body against my legs. I felt his warmth through the thick fabric of the tweed traveling skirt that Suzanne had carefully crafted for me. It seemed I’d first tried on that skirt years ago as time ground to a halt as the iceberg drew closer.
“Petra, uh, let’s move back a little,” Kipp suggested, using his furry shoulder to prod me away from the railing. I’d become almost hypnotized by the iceberg, which was blocking the star filled night sky…we were almost upon it.
I hurried back several feet and waited, picking up on Murdock’s fervent hope that he’d done enough to save the ship. But I felt his gut wrenching horror as the ship made contact with the berg. From beneath the soles of my shoes, I could feel the deck tremble and shudder, albeit slightly, as large chunks of ice detached from the berg to thud heavily on the deck. The top of the berg looked like the sail of a schooner, triangular and ghostly white, as the Titanic skimmed past it.
Kipp refocused on the bridge crew and noted the arrival of Captain Smith, who seemed sober and appropriate. “Well, there’s another story debunked,” Kipp remarked. “Smith was not under the influence of anything, as far as I can tell. He’s alert and coherent, asking the right questions and taking action.”
Thirty seven seconds elapsed from the moment the lookout spotted the iceberg, which lay malignantly in wait, and the collision. Somehow, that didn’t seem possible to me. It felt as if minutes had passed as I waited for something to happen. And something had happened—the ship had been dealt a death blow, and very soon the crew would be forced to acknowledge that fact. The next moment, Kipp’s ears went flat and he cringed, tying not to yelp in pain, as the engineers began to vent pressure from the boilers since the engines had stopped. Not to do so invited an explosion of the boilers. The noise was piercing and forced the humans around us to shout at one another to be heard.
Since the crew was not yet aware of the extent of the damage, the ship resumed her forward motion but at a greatly reduced speed while Captain Smith sent the ship’s carpenter off to sound the ship. It was not long before the ship coasted to a halt–that time for good—lying quietly in the water like a child’s toy left floating, unattended, on the surface of a still pond. Future analysts would postulate that the restarting of the engines for those few minutes hastened an already dire situation. Kipp and I drew closer to the bridge as passengers, who were unaware of the critical circumstances, arrived on the forward well deck to examine the chunks of ice that had fallen to the deck. There was general laughter and hilarity and no concern. After all, the Titanic was unsinkable, was it not?
“We need to find Peter and Elani,” I said. “If we get separated when the agitation starts, we’ll never be reunited.” I glanced at Kipp. “I have to get them off in time.” Even though we were early into the incident, I felt my throat tighten with anxiety. Curving my neck back, I stared up at the sky, which would have been lovely in any other circumstance, and took a deep breath, knowing I was no help to anyone if I let the stress I was feeling consume me and control my decisions.
As Kipp turned his massive head, his profile was captured by the light, and it almost appeared as if it were carved from a piece of granite, and the softness and vulnerability of his corporeal body melted away; he glanced at me and nodded. His actions might have seemed odd to any watching humans, but everyone was too preoccupied with their thoughts and perceptions to notice my “dog” nodding at me in agreement. “Peter will be in the smoking lounge,” he said, using a logical assumption.
We began to thread our way back to the first class area, finally arriving at the smoking lounge, which was aft on the Promenade Deck. Not caring about propriety, I pushed past the revolving door, taking care to accommodate Kipp, and entered the no female zone. Several men were playing cards and none bothered to stand in courtesy, since I’d broken the house rule and gone past the impregnable barrier. My lack of couth was received by theirs in kind, so I claimed no foul. The steward anxiously approached, a worried furrow on his brow.
“May I help you?” he asked, trying to not stare at Kipp. Hovering anxiously, he stilled his hand which ached to take my elbow and propel me from the room. His lips were slightly pursed from agitation since the responsibility fell upon him to control the room’s milieu.
“I need my brother,” I replied. “Peter Keaton,” I added.
“He left a few minutes ago,” the steward answered. “I’m not sure where he went.” His voice was dismissive, hurried and with a hopeful note that I’d take the proffered cue and depart.
I glanced around the room and realized Littleton was not there, either. Clenching my fists, I retreated, followed by Kipp.
“Don’t get upset,” Kipp advised. “He and Elani probably followed Littleton at a safe distance to see what he’s going to do.”
Kipp was right, of course. It was all too easy for me to lose confidence in Peter, and he was actually following the correct action for a curious symbiont to pursue the trail of the explosives. We knew Littleton’s cabin was on C Deck, so we pushed our way down the staircase, ignoring curious people who were walking up; it was only a short time before Elani pinged for Kipp. “They’re okay, just hanging out close enough to Littleton to follow his thoughts.” Kipp paused, his jaw dropping for a moment as he panted. “They will meet us back at the smoking lounge as soon as they determine his plans.” After a pause, he added, “The ship is beginning to flood, and the captain has ordered the wire operator to send out a distress call.” Kipp’s mouth opened again as he panted harder, the exertion almost overwhelming to tease out specific thoughts amidst the milling activity. “They will have started uncovering the lifeboats by now,” he added.
“Let’s go back upstairs to observe what happens on deck,” I said, knowing it was the right course of action but not keen on having to do it.
Even though only a relatively short time had passed since the actual collision, the boat began to list, although it was very slight and only noticeable to a few people. I knew because I was looking for it. As we passed the Gymnasium, I peered inside…Madeline Astor and her husband, John, were sitting on the mechanical horses, sheltered from the bitter cold outside. Madeline’s head lifted as she saw me staring at her, and a wan smile crossed her face. At that point, there was little excitement because none of the passengers thought the ship was in danger of sinking. Madeline was wearing a black coat with a soft sable collar that draped across her shoulders, framing the softness of her young face; a diamond necklace close to her slender throat flashed in the light. Ironic, I thought…John Astor was fabulously wealthy and a member of the elite of society, but none of that wo
uld save him. As if to reassure his wife, Astor had taken out a pen knife and was cutting into his flotation device, showing her how it was made.
Kipp closed his eyes, concentrating. “Elani says they are back in the smoking room. Frank Millet, Arthur Ryerson, Archie Butt and Clarence Moore are playing bridge, ignoring everything else going on. Another man is reading and likewise seems so absorbed in his book that he is unconcerned with his surroundings.”
We were making slow circuits of the upper decks; as we moved forward, we noticed the men from steerage had begun a soccer match in the forward well deck, kicking the large chunks of ice as if they were balls in play. The cheers and loud yelling reverberated out across the black water that surrounded the ship. Nearby, Colonel Gracie was speaking with the squash pro who stood staring at the ocean, blinking his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The man’s face was pale and rigid as if he had a pretty good idea of what lay ahead.
“Miss Keaton!” Gracie called out to me. “You must get in from this cold and wait until we get instructions.” He lightly touched my elbow, preparing to prod me back inside. Lifting his head, he glanced around the immediate area. “Where’s Peter?” he asked.
“Oh, he’ll be along,” I replied, smiling. I definitely didn’t want to influence Gracie in any way or alter his time line, since his survival was nothing short of miraculous.
Second Officer Lightoller passed by, his shoulder lightly brushing mine as he made his way to the port side of the ship where the lifeboats were located; he was too preoccupied to beg pardon at the inadvertent contact. It was obvious he was angry, his face red with agitation, jaws clenched, and I heard muttering as he passed. His thoughts were less than noble but understandable.
“He finally had to ask Captain Smith for direction since Chief Officer Wilde isn’t responding to him,” Kipp said. “He’s very agitated, thinking things are not being handled correctly.” Kipp sighed. “But he got permission to swing the boats out, and he’s full of motivation now, wanting to save as many people as possible.” Kipp looked up at me. “He doesn’t expect he will live past this night.”
Titanic, 1912 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series, Book 5): Young Adult Time Travel Adventure Page 28