As the force of the tsunamis became channeled into the narrower and shallower southern end of the Ross Sea it had nowhere to go but up, even if that meant displacing cubic miles of the ice shelf above. In a colossal display of elemental force the ice shelf shattered and in places exploded into the air, driven by the force of seawater that erupted through countless fractures spanning hundreds of miles. A shelf of ice close to the size of France and more than a thousand feet thick in places was sliced off from the glaciers that fed it and slid away from the coast of Antarctica.
Movement of the ice shelf, now a massive collection of the largest icebergs in history, was accelerated by the force of the tsunami rebounding off the coast of Antarctica, driving massive portions of the shelf out to sea. This caused a displacement wave to spread north with a force greater than the tsunami created by an undersea landslide off the coast of Indonesia in 2004. Though far less powerful than the impact tsunamis generated by the asteroid strike, these waves were aimed at the southern coasts of New Zealand and Australia, towards cities and coastlines that had largely escaped damage by the initial waves.
The release of the Ross Ice Shelf into the South Pacific would cause significant sea level rise in the short term as it began to melt, but its greater impact would be to cool the South Seas and accelerate global climate change during the southern summer. Scientists at McMurdo Station sent out urgent warnings, most of which were ignored during the acute phase of the crisis. It would take many hours for stunned scientists around the world to put the puzzle pieces together. By then another disaster would already be in progress.
*****
Kevin had sent out dozens of emails with attached data dump files and was now trying to call a friend who worked for the National Weather Service at the Climate Prediction Center in College Park, Maryland. Stephen Cline had taken post-graduate courses in climatology with Kevin at Cal Tech a couple of years before and was a whiz when it came to global forecasting. It was taking longer than usual for him to get to the phone, but Kevin figured everyone there was pretty busy tonight. After a five minute wait, when Kevin was about to hang up and try again, he finally got through.
“Steve? This is Kevin.”
“I know, buddy. I’m too busy to chat right now. Big trouble out in the Pacific, as I’m sure you know. I’m really glad you made it through the disasters in California, but I don’t have time to fill you in on the big picture. Are you at home? Can I call you back?”
“No, Steve, wait a second. I’m not in California. I’d probably be dead if I were. I’m calling you from a ship in the Pacific, near the equator. I saw the asteroid strike up close and we’ve been recording weather phenomena ever since.”
“You’re where?” Stephen sounded flabbergasted. “What ship are you on?”
“The Sedulity, it’s a big cruise ship. We were on our way to Australia.”
“The Sedulity? Oh, man, we just received a pile of weather data downloaded through NOAA and a satellite feed from the Emergency Managers Weather Info Service that came from that ship. It has everyone pulling their hair out here. Did you send that data?”
“Yes, Steve, and it’s all legit. I compiled it myself. We were about a hundred miles away from the impact. The thermal and blast effects smashed up the ship and set her on fire, until the tsunamis arrived to put them out. I didn’t think we could survive it, but we did, or most of us did. And then we went in closer for a look at the impact zone afterwards. It’s apocalyptic, Steve. You’ve got the raw data now. I just wanted to call and tell you what I think it means.”
“Go ahead, Kevin. Do you mind if I turn on my voice recorder?”
“Please do,” Kevin said with relief. He had to get this off his chest, and Steve was not only in a position to make the most use of his data, but was also a friend who might be more inclined to accept his incredible conclusions than some stranger. Kevin spent the next five minutes detailing the climate predictions that he and Professor Farnsworth had developed. He ran through their estimates of the amount of vaporized water being pumped into the atmosphere, as well as the dust from all the volcanic eruptions they had seen reported on television. He described the twenty mile wide column of steam, how it was sucking air into the base from every direction, and how the cloud cover was expanding in every direction from the point of impact at hurricane force speed. Kevin pointed out that rain had been falling at half a foot per hour since the event began, with no letup in sight, and concluded with a dire prediction of global storms and major climate change pointing towards a new ice age.
Steve listened patiently on the other end of the line until Kevin finished up by saying, “So, I guess I’m calling you with the wild hope that you’ll tell me I have it all wrong. Do I, Steve?” There was a long pause and Kevin was worried the call had been terminated. “Am I wrong, Steve?”
“No, Kevin, I’m afraid your projections are probably accurate. More so than my own, since I’m only now seeing the direct data you collected. What you just told me only confirms my own fears,” Steve said. “But don’t hold your breath to hear that forecast echoed on NOAA weather alerts, at least not until the current crisis is dealt with. We’re all grateful for the data you’re collecting out there. Please keep sending it. But, Kevin? You really should keep those long-term projections to yourself for now.”
“Why? You heard what I said. And you agree?” Kevin was confused. “People need to know what’s coming next.”
“It’s not that simple,” Stephen said. “I recorded what you said and I promise the right people will hear it, but your projections are more than weather forecasts. That stuff’s political now.”
“So what?”
“So we can’t start another panic, not after what the world has been through today,” Steve said. “Government leaders at every level will get climate forecasts on a need to know basis. They need time to prepare for this without facing a run on every commodity and source of supplies by terrified citizens. We have to develop evacuation and relocation plans, move stockpiles south, and mobilize resources in a methodical way. That can’t happen if we behave like Chicken Little. I mean, yes, the sky has fallen and it’s going to get worse before it gets any better, but we need to handle this the right way. What you said about climate change sparking mass migration and even wars? That’s no joke. You start spreading doom and gloom predictions now, before we’re ready to deal with another crisis, and it could spark chaos. Perhaps chaos that might be avoidable if we use the remaining time wisely to prepare for what’s coming.”
“Alright, Steve, I can see what you’re getting at,” Kevin agreed grudgingly. “I guess being in the news business gives me a different perspective than you government types. I do feel like I should be yelling that the sky is falling from every rooftop, or on every radio channel and website I can access from this ship.”
“I know, Kevin, but you mustn’t. It would do much more harm than good.”
“Either way, it’s going to be bad, Steve. I haven’t seen any firm numbers, but I’m guessing we’ve already lost hundreds of millions of people from the tsunamis and earthquakes.”
“Closer to a billion,” Steve said sadly.
“Damn,” Kevin cursed. “A global flood and ice age will kill even more than that.”
“That’s probably true.”
“You aren’t going to warn them?”
“Not yet. Not until we can also offer advice and guidance to help them survive – some hope to counter their despair. I mean think about it, Kevin,” Steven said calmly. “If someone had known that an asteroid was going to strike the Earth yesterday, do you really think they should have told us in advance? Would that have made any real difference? Aside from sparking global panic and mayhem sooner than later? Or having millions more refugees to care for during the coming crisis?”
“Are you saying you knew this was coming?” Kevin asked in disbelief.
“No, of course not,” Steve replied sharply. “I had no warning of an impending asteroid strike, but that doe
sn’t mean that no one else did. And I wouldn’t blame them for not announcing it, if they knew. Would you really have wanted to tell a billion people that they were going to die in a week or a month, and not be able to say for sure who was safe or not? Or what they could do to avoid that fate? How much more fear and pain and suffering would that have caused?”
Kevin was dumbstruck. He hadn’t even considered that aspect of this tragedy. Would it be better to let people live in ignorant bliss, if only for a short time? To laugh, and love, and dream in peace for a little while longer, rather than shatter those lives and dreams without offering a solution? All Kevin could say was, “Oh my God.”
Steve said, “You do understand, don’t you?” and Kevin suddenly realized that he did. When he ended that call Kevin spent several minutes of soul-searching before calling his parents. Should he tell them that he was alive and well? Or that the whole world was screwed? It was obvious which of those messages would make them happier, if only for now.
*****
Lydia took Rachel to the room assignment table, cutting to the front of a line of disgruntled and displaced passengers. She explained Rachel’s situation to the purser’s mate on duty and was able to get the injured widow assigned to a bunk in a cabin with three female crew members located on the same corridor as Armando’s cabin, and not far from the medical center. Rachel sounded pleased with the arrangements. The captain’s wife decided to take Rachel down there herself to get settled, then stop by the med center again to check in on the injured and make sure everyone was being fed. On the way down to Crew Country she explained the layout below decks and what Rachel could expect in her new cabin.
“The crew quarters are comfortable and cozy, but don’t expect any luxuries,” Lydia explained while they walked. “You won’t have any window or porthole. There’s a bathroom in the cabin, but it’s quite small. You’ll be sharing the room with three women from the hospitality staff. I’ll make sure they give you one of the lower bunks because of your injuries.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Krystos,” Rachel said. “You and Amanda have been so kind.”
“You’ve suffered more than most, Rachel. The least we can do is try to make you as comfortable as possible. And your friend Armando’s room is right across the hall.”
“He’s not really my friend,” Rachel said. “More like a guardian angel. I don’t know what would have happened to me last night if Armando hadn’t found me and taken me down to get medical attention. He was so brave to go back up looking for Brad...” Her voice trailed off while her thoughts wandered. Lydia guided Rachel towards her new cabin while offering more commentary on how and where the crew lived.
The companionways in Crew Country were mostly empty and quiet, as they should be with the crew working double shifts to clean up the ship and make repairs. The two women encountered a few injured crew and several displaced passengers on their way to Rachel’s new cabin, but it was otherwise quiet. That changed when they reached the corridor of her assigned room.
Lydia heard them before she saw them. Loud voices and pounding footsteps echoed down the linoleum floored hallway. She and Rachel were startled to see a large group of men, clearly members of the crew, run into the corridor. They ran towards the two women, sending furtive glances over their shoulders. A moment later Lydia spotted a ship’s officer and Mr. Cohen, the security chief, round a corner in pursuit. She pressed Rachel up against the wall and tried to make room for the men to run past them.
At the last moment the leader of the pack focused on Lydia and came up short. He reached out and grabbed her. Lydia screamed, but his hand reached around from behind to cover her mouth while he spun around to hold her like a shield.
“I have the captain’s wife!” he yelled hysterically. “Stay back! I have a knife!” Lydia stopped struggling when she saw the big butcher knife waving in front of her face.
“That’s enough, Baluk!” barked the officer. Lydia recognized him now as Mr. Reiner. “Let her go,” the lieutenant continued in a calmer tone, halting his advance. “This has gone far enough.”
“It won’t be far enough until this ship reaches Indonesia!” yelled the man with the knife. “Grab her too,” he told his companions, gesturing at Rachel. “Tell the captain to turn the ship west, toward Jakarta! I have a compass. We will know if you don’t meet our demands!” Baluk shouted down the hall at Reiner and Cohen. “I don’t want to hurt these women, but we’ll do whatever it takes to get home to our families.”
Lydia could see Mr. Cohen pointing his pistol down the hall, but the man with the knife was standing behind her, and his cohorts clogged the hallway too. As much as she wanted to be rescued immediately, even if it meant having her captor’s brains splattered on the wall, she could see that wasn’t going to happen. Lydia quickly realized that these were some of the crew who had abandoned their posts and, obviously, had now gone past the point of no return to open mutiny. It was horrifying to realize that after surviving an asteroid strike and near drowning last night, she might well be killed by a deranged cook, or shot in a botched hostage rescue.
Rachel was whimpering in shock and pain as the mutineers manhandled her to use as another human shield. Mr. Cohen raised his pistol toward the ceiling to pose less of a threat, but never blinked, staring hard and cold as stone at his targets. Mr. Reiner took a step back and raised his radio to report these latest developments to the bridge. He was not looking forward to explaining this to the captain.
*****
Hank couldn’t sleep. He tried to nap, but couldn’t stop thinking about the destruction still sweeping across the globe. He considered turning on the television, but didn’t want to disturb the young couple sleeping fitfully in the sitting room. He got up, put on his cowboy hat, and decided it was about time for him to check on the Armadillo down in the ship’s cargo hold. The drone submersible was well packaged inside a standard twenty foot container and he had witnessed it being secured to the deck mounts, but the ship had really been thrown around by the tsunamis and recent rough seas. He had a nagging suspicion that something might have happened to the sub.
Since it was his only real means of livelihood, besides gambling, Hank needed to confirm that his Armadillo was still safe and sound. As long as the sub was okay and made it off the Sedulity in one piece, Hank felt confident that it would make him a rich man. Forget about working on deep sea oil projects. Hank would become one of the world’s richest salvage operators. There must be billions of dollars’ worth of valuable stuff washed out to sea by the tsunamis, now sitting on the ocean floor, just waiting for someone like Hank to show up with a tool like the Armadillo to retrieve it. He could hire on to retrieve specific items for clients, or set himself up as a freelance treasure hunter. Lord knows there would be a lot of it down there now. Hank’s Armadillo was one of the few drone submersibles capable of retrieving things from thousands of feet underwater.
Hank had everything he needed in that container to make a fortune. The Armadillo was packed in its launch and recovery cradle, along with three miles of fiber optic control cable encased in monofilament wire mesh strong enough to winch the drone up in case of a systems failure. The drone’s grappling arms were designed to lift, manipulate, and assemble heavy oil drilling apparatus, such as pipes, drill bits, massive valves and fittings. Inflatable floatation bladders allowed it to lift more than 10,000 pounds to the surface on each dive, or it could attach stronger winch cables to lift anything larger. The Armadillo’s capabilities made it the perfect vehicle to collect and recover objects from the sea floor. The more Hank thought about it, the better he felt about his personal prospects in a post-apocalyptic world. Hell, he might even be able to buy an island nation that had been swept clean of inhabitants today. Those were the type of thoughts that drove Hank Donner during the end of the world as he knew it.
In order to reach the ship’s cargo hold Hank had to pass through Crew Country. He’d only been down there once before, on the day the Sedulity departed the Port of Los Angele
s, and that was with an officer escorting him. He probably should have asked for an escort this time too, but Hank knew the crew were shorthanded and he didn’t want to take no for an answer. Considering that many of the passengers were being reassigned to beds down in the crew quarters, and most of the crew themselves were busy elsewhere, Hank decided he could bluff his way through to the cargo hold. If not, he’d have to try getting permission or attempt to sneak down again later. The need to know if his precious Armadillo was intact was compulsive.
His plan nearly failed when a crewman stationed at the entrance to Crew Country asked him what cabin he was assigned to. Fortunately for him, Hank had always been able think fast and spin a good tale.
“I’m Hank Donner from Houston, Texas. Dang it, son, I forgot the cabin number and left that slip of paper upstairs. They said they were putting me in a cabin with my little buddy, Armando. He’s a Filipino barkeep.”
The crewman smiled and nodded. Then he told Hank that Armando Ramos was berthed in cabin C-214, gave him directions, and let him pass. Since the directions took Hank towards where he thought the cargo hold should be, he followed them.
Hank thought everything was going splendidly as he strolled through Crew Country, so much so that he would have been whistling a tune if not for the somber mood aboard and the fact that he needed to keep a low profile. So he was moving quietly when he heard a woman scream and several men shout somewhere around a jog in the corridor. He couldn’t make out any words, but the sounds caused Hank to pause before proceeding with caution. He’d been in a bunch of sketchy situations over the years and this one sounded like trouble. All Hank wanted now was to reach the cargo hold and check on his precious drone. Fate may have thrown a curve ball into his path.
Sedulity 2: Aftershock (Sedulity Saga) Page 18