The Aftermath

by Samuel C. Florman

  The captain considered trying to salvage some of the heavy motors and other mechanical apparatus, along with a supply of fuel oil, but decided against it on the grounds that the fuel would so quickly be exhausted that no good would be served. Tools and utensils, however, were carefully assembled under the vigilant direction of one of the engineering officers. The purser made sure to gather together vital company records, and more usefully, paper, writing utensils, and miscellaneous office supplies.

  Having noticed that, where the shore party was being established, there was a river running into the sea, the captain decided against spending valuable time and energy transporting fresh water. He did, however, order the crew to gather together basic pots and pans and kitchen utensils, along with containers of dishes, glasses, and tableware.

  Finally, with little time remaining, the small flotilla salvaged personal belongings that the passengers had been unable to take with them in the first crossing—clothing mostly, along with gadgets such as tape recorders, CD players, VCRs, and laptop computers—presently useless, yet icons of the life they were leaving behind and mirages of a life that they hoped might be restored.

  Wilson Hardy and several of his colleagues saw to it that hundreds of technical books were saved. All the engineers had come laden with texts in their particular fields, along with journals and notebooks filled with information on current developments. Anyone who, in the midst of this chaos, could give thought to the eventual revival of civilization had to recognize that this literature was a vital supplement to the human talents among them. The written material was also a critical resource for teaching the young people how to carry on an engineering culture of high quality into future generations.

  Along with the piles of engineering books, the boatmen transported several hundred volumes of all kinds from the ship's library: Shakespeare and the Bible, classics, history, biography, encyclopedias, and popular fiction, too. The survivors would not want for spiritual nourishment and intellectual challenge to go along with the handbooks, manuals, and texts. A hundred-plus collection of children's books was salvaged from the day care center. The kids on board were not to be forgotten.

  Then, with an almost festive flourish, cases of wine were brought to shore. And in the very last boats to pull clear, the band's musical instruments stood out in jaunty silhouette.

  Shortly after the salvage operation was halted, the ship's top decks disappeared under the water. The event was shockingly abrupt. One moment the ship's superstructure was there, then suddenly it was gone. There was no dramatic plunge into the depths as in a movie rendition of the Titanic's demise. The deliberate, seemingly willful, descent of the magnificent vessel betokened, the captain thought, a formal farewell, not only the death of the ship but also the end of an epoch.

  Nordstrom personally took three round trips to and from the ship during the course of the day, finally coming to shore for good with the very last load of salvaged material. That first night he supervised the crew, who worked tirelessly.

  By morning, a commissary had been established. Leaders of the kitchen staff began to organize food distribution. Provisions destined to spoil without refrigeration were prepared for early consumption. Nordstrom ordered a bucket brigade to be created, and they set to work bringing water from the nearby river. A team of environmental engineers performed some elementary tests to assure the water's potability. A group of engine-room workers was delegated to gather firewood, of which fortunately there was plenty. All of it was wet and scattered, testimony to the forceful waves that had washed over the beach just a few days before, but once lit, it burned well enough.

  How does one light a fire? Johan Nordstrom considered. This is often one of the key predicaments in classic stories of castaways. He remembered Jules Verne's novel, The Mysterious Island, which he had encountered as a boy, and recalled that the engineer hero, Cyrus Harding, solves the problem by using the crystals from two watches to concentrate the rays of the sun on kindling. He remembered his father reading that adventure tale to him ... and the stories of Robinson Crusoe, and the Swiss Family Robinson ... all of those memories flooded back into his mind. Well, he thought, smiling ruefully, this was one problem that he did not require the engineers to address: the crew had salvaged plenty of matches.

  As the new day dawned, cooking fires started to glow and tureens of soup were set upon them to warm. Passengers gathered around to watch, and several spontaneously started to applaud captain and crew for their successful salvage operation. Suddenly it seemed the entire company was swept up in a mood of high-spirited defiance. Nordstrom felt, momentarily, like Robinson Crusoe, to whom shipwreck was a challenge through which he could demonstrate his resourcefulness, indeed, his humanity.

  Once the kitchen operation was established, the captain asked the military engineers in the passenger group, led by General Allen White, director of civil works of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, to establish sanitary facilities. Soon work was underway on the construction of rudimentary outhouses. One of the engineers suggested designing a gravity sewer system leading to an anaerobic digester which could produce methane gas for lighting, cooking, and an eventual source of power. The idea was commended, but put in the category of "future possibilities."

  The medical staff set aside a small area designated as a clinic. But there were hardly any patients. The twenty-five hundred people who had just undergone a considerable ordeal appeared to be amazingly healthy.

  Food, water, and sanitation. The immediate needs of the survivors were attended to on the first day. There was no shelter, but the weather was wonderfully mild.

  "Just like the Caribbean," Wilson Hardy said to Nordstrom as the two men stood together at noon, surveying the swarm of activity along the beach. "My late wife and I went several times over the years: Jamaica, the Virgin Islands, Nevis. She wouldn't have liked these clouds. But they're good fortune for us, given the ozone problem."

  "It happens to be the traditional rainy season," the captain said. He was impressed with Wilson Hardy, the organizer of the AAES cruise, a natural leader among the passengers. "We cannot rely on traditional weather patterns, however," he went on. "We can only hope they prevail. But, of course, since we're a long way from establishing a farming operation, favorable weather does not solve our major problem, which is food. Even if meals are restricted to minimal levels, our supplies are adequate only for about a month."

  "Is this what you want to talk to us about this evening?"

  Nordstrom had called together a committee for a meeting before nightfall. Although he might have asserted his prerogative of absolute command, he felt that the existing circumstances called for a different approach. He had asked Hardy to join him as co-chairman of a leadership assembly. He invited a few of his senior officers to join and asked Hardy to call upon leaders from several of the constituent engineering societies. General White of the Army Corps of Engineers was enlisted, as was Harold Carson, director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), who was also part of the traveling seminar.

  Carson, especially, had been distressed not to be in Washington when the comet struck. He had told Hardy that he was responsible for a staff of nearly three thousand in ten regional offices and had oversight of emergency response activities of twenty-eight federal agencies and departments, plus the Red Cross and other volunteer organizations. He and some of his key aides, who had accompanied him on the trip, had presented a session early in the voyage devoted to the mitigation of such disasters as earthquakes, floods, fires, and a variety of storms. He very much regretted not being at his post when the ultimate disaster struck. But, as it turned out, no amount of preparedness and resourcefulness would have helped.

  The captain of the Queen of Africa said to Wilson Hardy, "We are lucky to have you and your fellow engineers in our company; but this good fortune brings with it potential problems. Engineers are not renowned for their mastery of politics. How are we going to take a collection of intelligent, strong-willed individuals and forg
e them into a community that works in relative harmony? I've given this some thought," he continued, "and I believe we should work toward a consensus model—not a military organization, not a true democracy. We need to remove politics and egos from the picture, as much as possible."

  Hardy considered this proposal and deemed it essentially sound. He was skeptical—thinking of some of his more opinionated colleagues—but agreed to support Nordstrom's strategy.

  "As long as we can channel their special talents, get them to buy into the plan..."

  "Well, we'll know soon enough," Nordstrom said. "We can't afford a minute's delay. Let's get our people together—we might call them the Governing Council—and meet this evening."

  —————

  At 1900 hours (the old "time zone" designation was being retained), the Governing Council convened for its first session. The fifteen members sat on makeshift chairs or on the sand, facing a sawhorse table that resembled something from a western movie set. For overhead protection, pieces of canvas had been spread on a framework improvised from scrap lumber and pieces of bamboo. Hardy's son, Wilson Junior, sat at one end of the table, serving as recording secretary. There was much to be done, and little time was wasted on idle conversation.

  With Nordstrom the consensus chairman and Hardy his elected co-chair, the Council quickly decided to move ahead on three fronts: First, continue to improve the camp on the beach, most immediately by providing shelter from sun and rain. To help achieve this, several military engineers would be asked to design simple lean-to structures, using wooden debris scavenged from the area, along with such canvas, tablecloths, blankets, or other fabrics as could be found among the supplies. The sand dunes, some of which were tall and steep, served well as a wall against which to rest the sundry structural supports. As for assembling the rudimentary shelters, General White's officers and Harold Carson's FEMA people would direct the effort, with passengers and crew expected to pitch in as best they could. At the same time, a cadre of civil engineers was assigned the task of designing a "next-generation" structure, employing thatch or other natural materials that might make for more comfortable and durable shelters.

  Second, it was vital that a survey team seek out potential sites for a more permanent settlement away from the ocean's edge. The responsibility for this work was also assigned to General White and his team.

  Third, and most important for long-term survival, a scouting party would be sent inland to see who and what might have survived the holocaust, and what the prospects were for finding sources of food. The logical objective for this expeditionary force was the city of Ulundi, fifty miles distant—seventy-five by winding road— perched in the promisingly green hills at an altitude of about two thousand feet. The Ulundi decision was unanimous, although more than a few of the members of the governing group admitted that they had never heard of the place and had only the vaguest idea of its location.

  "Just where the hell are we?" The question was raised by Donald Ruffin, president of the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, an acknowledged whiz-bang with fiber optics, but rather inscrutable when it came to non-technical subjects. Lumpy and bespectacled, he sometimes chose to act the country bumpkin, implying not that he was dim-witted, but rather that the world about him was run by dimwits. In the current situation, however, he was genuinely perplexed. There had been a few shipboard lectures about African geography, history, and culture, but Ruffin—along with many other engineer passengers—had chosen not to attend.

  "We're in Africa, Donald," Wilson Hardy responded drily.

  "I know," retorted Ruffin, "but exactly where in Africa, and what can we expect to find here other than a bunch of angry elephants?"

  "We are in the Republic of South Africa," said Captain Nordstrom. Then, after a slight hesitation, he elaborated: "The province in which we find ourselves is called KwaZulu Natal."

  KwaZulu Natal! Wilson Hardy, Jr., who up to that point had been dutifully recording the minutes in his own makeshift shorthand, looked up from his notepad. The announcement evoked in him a thrill of excitement and apprehension. The word "Zulu" is the embodiment of heroic ferocity, the incarnation of Africa's bold resistance to colonial adventurers. KwaZulu, he knew from a lecture he had heard on shipboard, meant home of the Zulus, whereas Natal was the Portuguese word for Christmas, a name selected by Vasco da Gama when he sighted this coast on Christmas Day in 1497—512 years before the fateful Christmas just past. And, from the part of the lecture that dealt with modern South Africa, Wilson had learned that this was the area where disorder and violence had reigned just half a generation earlier, during the transition to a new government after the end of apartheid.

  For excitement, mystery, and symbolic implication—along with the hint of new dangers—the fates could hardly have made a more fanciful choice.

  "Who do you propose for this exploration team?" asked John Hertzler, a blue-jeaned computer genius from Seattle. He had been included on the Council at Dr. Hardy's suggestion not only because of his technical brilliance, but because he had been the designated representative of Bill Gates and the other financial sponsors of the trip. Even in death, Hardy thought, they deserved to have a voice.

  Nordstrom had a ready answer. There were several South African engineers on board and the captain had recruited two of them for the scouting party. They were fluent in Afrikaans, one of the official languages of the nation, and familiar with the territory to be explored. One of them was also conversant in Zulu. The expedition was to be led by the senior deck officer, Carl Gustafsson, accompanied by the security officer, two of his masters at arms, and six seamen. In addition, Hardy had asked two prominent agricultural engineers to go along, as well as a half dozen specialists in mining, construction, manufacturing, and metallurgy. "Of course, our first interest is food," he said to the assembled Council. "But assuming we find a world in which we can live, we will quickly want to make it as comfortable a world as possible."

  There was general agreement with the plan, and with the composition of the scouting party. So Nordstrom turned to the next item on the hurriedly prepared agenda, a discussion of governance. Wilson Hardy, Jr., who had scribbled down the details of the expedition plan as best he could, expected a debate about political organization, chains of command, lines of authority, or possibly a constitutional convention ... but this was not to be.

  Again it was Hertzler who interjected his opinion. "Governance be damned," he said emphatically. "As we say in Seattle, let's not waste time allocating parking places in the company lot. The product comes first." He had the group's attention. "We've got to provide our people with food and shelter, a feeling of security, and expectations of improved living conditions. Later, if we draw up a political plan—a rational plan—everybody will be with us, and administration will take care of itself. On the other hand, if we begin by debating bureaucracy and fail to hold out hope for material progress, people will lose faith in the future and discontent will breed chaos. We'll be in Lord of the Flies territory. So let's talk facts and figures. Where exactly are we—to reiterate the previous question— and what do we have to work with? I mean physically, not philosophically. Let's be engineers today. We can be Thomas Jefferson tomorrow."

  A murmur of agreement and smattering of applause came from the engineers in the council. This was an approach to the politics of survival that they could endorse: Let's get to it, not the talking, but the real work. Let's consider what materials are available to us and how we can put them to use.

  The secretary, Wilson Junior, had an almost irresistible impulse to speak up. This strategy struck him as somewhat simplistic. Who says that good technology is an adequate safeguard against bad government? Well, he considered, I'm simply the scribe for this gathering of sages. He picked up his pencil, and kept his mouth shut.

  His father, having anticipated that the group would be eager to assess the area's resources, was prepared to address Hertzler's challenge. With Nordstrom's consent, he had asked two of the nati
ve South African engineers to make themselves available. They were Pieter Kemm of the Richards Bay Minerals Company and Kelvin Marshall of Sasol Limited. These men had originally been invited to join the seminar not only because of their personal talents, but also because of the unique technologies in which their respective companies were engaged. The Council would learn more about those technologies presently, but for now Hardy called upon the men to provide a general overview of the survivors' new surroundings.

  Both Kemm and Marshall had been traveling with their wives and children, and so, like most of the passenger group, were spared the ultimate calamity of losing those dearest to them. Still, they found it difficult to look out at their devastated homeland at the same time that they were trying to describe it. They carried on, however, and their spirits seemed to lift as the session progressed.

  "Look at this nation of ours," Kemm said, pointing to a map that hung from a makeshift easel of tree branches lashed together with nautical ropes. He was a slim, youngish-looking man of average height with red hair, and he paced back and forth as he spoke. "Let me tell you about it. We cover the bottom of the African continent, reaching from our westernmost point—where the Orange River flows into the Atlantic Ocean forming our border with Namibia— to where we are now, almost fifteen hundred kilometers—more than nine hundred miles—directly to the east, on the shore of the Indian Ocean. It's about the same distance from the Cape on the south to the farthest point in the north, where we abut Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Mozambique.

  "You may have heard that this land is blessed with natural resources, and it is. But believe me, these resources are not uniformly distributed. Far from it. Two thirds of the country, running from the Atlantic coast inland, is either desert or semidesert. This bleak landscape is largely caused by the cold Benguela Current that runs north along the Atlantic shore. Near Cape Town, where the Atlantic meets the Indian Ocean, there is a narrow coastal area that has what we call a Mediterranean climate, with hot and dry summers and cool and wet winters. But the truly fertile part of the country, favored by ample rain—thanks to the warm, south-flowing Agulhas Current of the Indian Ocean—is along the east coast, and that is exactly where we find ourselves today. This coastal strip, which is fairly narrow, and runs inland only twenty to fifty kilometers before the land begins to rise, has a humid, subtropical climate. The soil will support many types of vegetation, and much of the area was committed to growing citrus produce, bananas and various tropical fruits, eucalyptus, and most of all, sugar cane, of which more than two million tons per year were produced, half of it for export. We sure as hell won't have use for all that cane; but it's good to know that we can cultivate many different crops in these conditions.