Noah's Ark: Survivors (13 page)

“Yes, that’s more or less it. I get your softly, softly approach, we’re the good guys and all that. But it’s not going to work if we discover the worst. The dynamic will change. As long as there’s hope, then the passengers are passengers — customers. We’re here to protect and serve them. They paid to be here, we are in their employ. When that changes, we will become the enemy, repressors, prison guards.”

“I meant what I said to Melvin, you know. If that happens, if home is gone and we are all that’s left, then there should absolutely be an election. Every passenger will have the chance to stand, to take charge. People can’t argue with a democratic process.”

“Jesus. Do you even watch the news, Jake?”

“Well an elected captain will have a certain amount of authority. Obviously you can’t please everyone.”

“We’re getting away from the point here.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that before the shit hits the fan, we must beef up our security effort. Amazing as I am, there is a limit to what I can do with a team of one. I’m the head of security, and I have one guy.”

“Ah. So this is a recruitment campaign? You want staff?”

“I
need
a team of people. People who are loyal to the company, to me. To you,” he added quickly.

“Anyone in mind?”

“Some of the sailors are ex-military boys, navy, know how to handle themselves, and can handle a weapon.”
“Ex-military, Max. Ex. We’re not creating a new army here. I don’t intend to see gun-toting sailors prowling the decks. You’re worried about people panicking, that’s a great way to start a panic. No guns.”
“Not now, maybe. But I need people who can cope if things turn ugly.”

“How many?”

“At least twelve. There should be a security presence on every deck. Twelve new guys plus Reeve, and I could cover each deck.”

“Okay, why not. You make some good points. And it will keep the sailors busy and out of trouble.”

“Good. I’ll get on it then.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, that was all. Good night then, Captain.”
“Good night, Max. Remember, not an army,” he called after him. But Max was already halfway out of the door.

Jake was alone once again. He settled into the captain’s chair and looked out to sea.

Twenty-Six

T
HE
NIGHT
PASSED
by uneventfully. Melvin returned after about half an hour and informed Jake that his replacement would arrive by oh-two thirty. Jake smiled to himself when he heard that. He didn’t know if Melvin was trying to avoid a shift on the bridge alone with Lucya, or if he wanted to be around while Jake was in charge. Either way, he couldn’t help but be amused.

The replacement turned up as promised. It was the only woman from the group of passengers that had been on the bridge earlier, an American by the name of Stacey Martel. She was a larger lady, in her late twenties, Jake guessed, and dressed for all the world as if she were on a Caribbean cruise rather than one visiting the Arctic. Her pink flowery top, bright green shorts and orange flip-flops certainly brightened up the bridge. Stacey made no real effort to talk to Jake, who had to wait around for an extra quarter of an hour, as Lucya was late. He didn’t mind, he’d already had some sleep during the day; she needed rest more than him.

Lucya and Stacey didn’t exchange a word the entire time they were alone. Lucya spent most of her watch scanning the radio waves for signs of life, but nothing had changed and she heard only static. The passenger representative simply sat and stared into space, presumably only there to make sure no decisions were being made without Melvin’s input. Within an hour she had fallen asleep, and didn’t wake again until Jake returned to the bridge just before oh-six hundred hours.

“Morning, Lucya. Oh, sorry, Stacey, did I wake you?”

“Morning, Captain,” Lucya said. “Did you get some sleep?”

“Yes, thank you. All quiet? Anything to report?”

“Radios remain dead. Nothing to report, ship-wise. No calls, I’ve not heard from the others. I imagine everyone has been catching up on some rest.”

“Let’s hope so, they’re going to need it.”

Stacey pulled herself to her feet and stretched, still silent. She watched as Jake wandered over to the console, picked up the telephone, and dialled a short number.

“Good morning, Claude, I hope you haven’t been up the whole night? Good. Are we set for a breakfast service? Thank you, Claude, you are amazing, I knew I could count on you. I’ll send someone down to collect something for the bridge if that’s okay? Thanks, I’ll catch up with you later.” He replaced the handset. “Lucya, would you mind bringing up four breakfasts?”

“Sure, no problem. I could do with stretching my legs.”

As Lucya left, Melvin returned.

“Stacey, situation report?” he said.

“Nothing to report. It was a quiet night. The captain has ordered breakfast for us.”

“Oh, sorry, Stacey, not for you. I’ve ordered for the bridge crew. You’ll need to get to one of the restaurants if you want to eat.”

She glared at him, then looked to Melvin, but he simply nodded. She rolled her eyes and left the two of them alone. Jake picked up the PA and spoke quietly into it.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Jake Noah. The restaurants are now serving breakfast. Service will continue for one hour. There will be lunch and dinner services later today. We are hoping to set sail sometime this morning, and the crew will keep you up to date with our progress. Thank you for your patience and cooperation at this difficult time.” He set down the receiver, picked up the telephone, and dialled another number. “Morning, Martin, didn’t wake you, I hope? Okay, sorry, only joking. How is the engine situation looking? Excellent, that’s really excellent news. I’ll wait to hear from you then.”

“I take it that means we will be able to move today?” Melvin asked.

“Yes, it sounds like it. Martin’s team worked through the night and they are going to start the engines in an hour or so. Another hour of running tests and we should be good to move off.”

There was a knock at the door. Jake opened it to Silvia, and spotted Lucya not far behind, carrying a tray of food.
 

“Morning, Silvia.”

“Good morning, Captain.”

“I suggest we take breakfast while working out the details of this passenger manifest business.”

“I don’t care what we do, as long as we eat while we’re doing it,” Lucya said. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.”

Lucya set down the tray on the table, and the four of them dug into meagre rations of cereal, bread and jam, and orange juice.

“Claude’s using up the fresh milk with the cereal. He’s using it in all of today’s meals so he can switch off one of the big refrigerators,” Lucya said.

Jake opened a drawer and pulled out some
Spirit of Arcadia
headed writing paper and a couple of pens. He handed one to Silvia and kept one for himself.

“So, the manifest,” he said.

“I thought it was a census?”

“It is, but we’re going to stick with calling it a manifest. I just think it’s less confrontational and controversial that way.”

“Have you got something to hide from the passengers?” Melvin asked.

“Not at all. I just think that if we call it a census then people are going to automatically think that we’re planning for the worst. That this is it, life stuck on this ship for who knows how long.”

“But that’s the case. You
are
planning for that. That’s the whole point of the census, as I understand it. Lying about what you are doing isn’t the right way to go about this. If you want cooperation from people, you’d better start being honest with them. I say we call it a census.”

“Silvia? What do you think?” Jake was trying to ignore Lucya’s grimaces.

“I think Mr Sherwood has a point. Just because we are seen to be preparing for the worst, doesn’t mean we expect it.”

“Right, I see. I’m outnumbered then.”

“Er, no you’re not,” Lucya chipped in. “I say we call it a manifest. And what about the others? Don’t they get a say?”

“We haven’t got time,” Jake said. “We need to get this done. Okay, we’ll call it what it is. The advantage is that we can ask more questions. So, a list of the questions. Bearing in mind this needs to be done quickly, we mustn’t get carried away. Obviously we need full name, date of birth, and occupation.”

“Date of birth?” Melvin looked sceptical. “Intrusive, isn’t it?”

“If we have to put people to work, then knowing their age is important. We can’t be assigning heavy lifting jobs to pensioners. We may also need to think about education for the children. Speaking of which, nationality and country of residence should be noted too.”

Melvin nodded.

“Useful skills,” Silvia said. “We may as well come out and say it. If there are people on board with useful skills, we need to know. We could dress it up as hobbies or interests, but nobody ever tells the truth about those, they make stuff up that makes them sound interesting or intelligent.”

“Alright, that’s enough to be going on with. So how do we deal with this, I mean, logistically?” Jake scratched his head. The thought of trying to canvass nearly three thousand people in a day was a lot to cope with so early, and on such a light breakfast.

“We send people to their cabins between lunch and dinner services,” Lucya said. “Passengers and crew. The only people with good reason to be out of their cabin should be people like the engineers, some of the sailors, obviously the bridge staff. And then we do all the decks simultaneously. Get it over with quickly.”

“I’m assuming the housekeeping team will be the best for the job? They go to every cabin every day anyway.” Jake addressed the question at Silvia, and couldn’t help but think back to the photograph of Tania, tied up and gagged. Melvin had assured him that she was now being treated properly, but he still couldn’t help wondering if that was true.

“Yes, they’re all twiddling their thumbs now. But for them it will be more or less like a regular day, pop into each cabin, but ask questions instead of clean. They should easily get the job done in the afternoon.”

“Keeping passengers locked up all afternoon is a bit much.” Melvin looked agitated. “Why not let them out once they’ve done their questionnaire?”

“Because having people wandering around the ship mid-census will cause confusion,” Jake said. “And those who get processed last are not going to be happy about waiting the longest while others are free to go wherever.”

“Why even put them in their cabins? Why not issue questionnaires during a meal service and have people hand them back when they’re done?”

“Because I don’t want families inventing children they don’t have in order to get extra meal rations. No, every person who goes on the list must be seen, in person, by a crew member.”

“You have a lot of faith in your crew, Mr Noah,” Melvin snarled. “How do you know they won’t invent passengers to claim extra meals for themselves?”

“I don’t, I have to trust them. But I would point out they are already trusted to clean your cabin every day without stealing your belongings.”

“That’s different, the rules have changed. This is about life or death now.”

“Forgive me,” Silvia cut in. “If I’m not mistaken, the passenger manifest didn’t actually get destroyed, did it? That was just going to be a cover story, before we agreed not to dress this census up as something else.”

“That’s right. But we still need to update it so we know who survived. Right now we don’t know how many are on the ship and how many jumped.” Jake didn’t know why he felt he was on the defensive, Silvia was on his side.

“I understand. But if we have a passenger list, then the crew doing the census can’t invent new passengers, can they? Because we have the means to find out.”

“In that case, neither can the passengers,” Melvin said. “So why don’t we just hand out questionnaires like I suggested?”

“Because,” Silvia said, “the housekeeping team can issue meal passes on the spot. They visit a cabin, do the questions, issue the pass, job done. If we leave questionnaires in the restaurant, someone has to process them afterwards, then find the passengers to hand out the passes. It really is easier this way. Speaking of the passes, Jake, how do we do those?”

“We’ve got working computers and printers, right?”

“Yes.”

“So we print up numbered passes on headed paper. Issue them to your team, they hand them out to passengers and note the numbers on the completed questionnaires. Then we make up lists for each restaurant, to divide the passengers and crew between them. When a passenger claims a meal, they show their pass, and their number is checked against the list.”

“Claude won’t like it, it’s a lot of extra work for his people, but yes, it sounds like it should work. I think we’ll have to have two sittings for each meal. we can’t fit everyone in in one go.”

“Why the emphasis on passengers?” Melvin asked. “What about crew, they’re subject to rations too, right?”

“Of course,” Jake said. Melvin was annoying him. “Crew eat in the crew cafe.”

The four of them worked out a few final details about how crew members doing the census would themselves be canvassed, as well as other staff who wouldn’t be able to return to their cabins. When they were happy that the plan was good, Silvia left to start work on printing up questionnaires and meal passes, and to organise her team. Jake put out another PA call informing everyone aboard that there was to be a census. He emphasised that it was mainly to help plan the food rationing. Everyone was to be in their cabin by fourteen thirty, and once the operation was complete, which was expected to be before the evening meal service at twenty hundred hours, an announcement would be made.

Twenty-Seven

S
EVEN
O
’
CLOCK
ROLLED
around quickly. Jake had been trying not to think of what lay ahead, but there was no putting it off now.

“Melvin, ready?”

Melvin looked up, wearing a confused expression.

“Morgue,” Jake said. “It’s time to go and photograph the dead and identify those we can.”