Offshore (4 page)

ABSOLUTELY NO WORK CLOTHES OR BOOTS BEYOND THIS
POINT!

The
home-made laminated sign blue tacked to the wooden slab of one of
the double swing doors indicated in no uncertain terms the strict
demarcation between work and leisure areas.

Boots
maybe. Overalls, no. Eddie yanked it off. They could get stuffed.
Neither he nor the crew were going to freeze their knackers off
twice a day just to keep the carpets clean.

They
passed through the doors and into the accommodation block
itself.

At first
glance the area appeared clean and bright; magnolia painted with
carpet tiles on the floor and wall lamps illuminating black and
white photographs of the platform, taken from various dramatic
angles in all kinds of weathers. A rather impressive artificial
parlour palm sat in a terracotta pot, giving the impression they
were in the foyer of a three star city hotel, but there the
illusion ended.

The air around them sat disagreeably cool with an
underlying musty odour.

“
Smells like wet dog,” said McDougal with a
sniff.

“
Bit dusty,” said Cameron, rubbing his fingertip over the
coating of white fuzz on the fake plant.

“
That’s nae dust, mate. It’s mould.”

“
Bleuch.” Cameron wrinkled his nose and wiped his hands on
his pants.

“
Still bloody cold,” said McAllister, rubbing his hands
together.

“
It will air out soon enough,” said Eddie.

“
Have we been assigned cabins?” asked Shaw.

“
Apart from the ones in A section, they have all been
stripped bare,” said Eddie. “Not so bad though. I’d prefer we all
stick to the one corridor.”

“
Why?”

“
In case we have to get off in a hurry, especially at night.
We can keep track of one another better if we are all together. If
the bells go down and you don’t get to the lifeboat in the fifteen
minute window because you decide to camp out in another section,
you’re putting us all at risk.”

“
Fifteen minutes! You’re joking right? Standard’s
twenty.”

“
Fifteen minutes, Mister Reynolds. Not one more.”

Reynolds
mumbled something to his shoes.

“
You have a problem with your timekeeping, Mr
Reynolds?”

A
defiant tilt of a pointed chin. “No … sir.”

From
Reynolds, ‘sir’ came with a side order of barely disguised
contempt, yet somehow Eddie still liked the sound of it and the
power it conveyed.

He led
them down a short side corridor, away from the hub.

“
Your pit for the duration,” he said, opening the door of
the nearest cabin and flicking on the light to allow a better view
of the single bunk with useful storage space underneath, a desk
with overhead lamp and simple chair. On the wall, individual
controls for heating and air conditioning. Nothing else. Spartan
didn’t even come close. Monks on retreat enjoyed more
luxury.

“
What you see is what you get I’m afraid,”
he said. “You have an
en suite
grey water head … that’s jargon for toilet, Miss
Ellis...and a fresh water shower, dependent on the desalinators, so
watch your consumption. No more than ten minutes. Cabins on the
right have a non-opening port light, those on the left, don’t.
There are sleeping bags in the stores, you can draw one later, same
goes for towels. To save fuel, the heating, light and leccy will be
restricted to these cabins, the recreation area and to sickbay. The
galley and mess will have minimal services to keep the fridges
ticking over and for cooking. Everywhere else will be cold and
uncomfortable, so bear that in mind when you go through your
extensive wardrobe trying to decide what to wear for the day. Any
questions?”

Silence.

“
Onward then.”

They
passed through another swing door at the end of the
corridor.

A bank
of overhead lights went on, showing them a bright airy room with
wood panelled walls, tartan carpet, and a large picture window
overlooking a grey swelling sea. The blackout blinds were rolled
up, allowing them the promise of a view which might be quite
impressive if the cloud ever lifted.

Piled
against one wall, under sheets of protective clear plastic were a
sofa, armchairs and two occasional tables, and encased in its own
cocoon of bubble wrap, a large screen television. There were also
boxes of books and magazines, videos and DVDs.

The same
dank smell prevailed, but the protective plastic meant these items
had been spared the coating of mould.

The crew
dumped their bags; Brewer leaned his precious fishing rod carefully
against a wall, and Eddie picked up his prepared guided tour where
he had left off.

“
This gentlemen … and lady … is the lounge, where, when
you’ve sorted it out, you will probably spend most of your
downtime; relax, chat, read or watch TV. Whatever. Under the
wrappers there are books and films to keep you entertained, and
there should be a full complement of channels on the satellite
system … if it works.”

“
What about email and internet?” asked Shaw.

“
I intend to set up a couple of laptops in what was the
concessionary …”

Eddie
pointed over his shoulder to a sliding hatch in the wall, the
serving area of the former mini convenience store.

“
Again, connections will be by satellite and might be
patchy, so be patient and don’t hog the machines, and remember,
your browsing history is being monitored, so stay off the porn
sites.”

Somebody
blew a raspberry. Eddie continued.

“
No signal out here, so no mobiles. If you want to use the
phone to keep in contact with your loved ones, or your bookie,
there’s a satellite phone in the control room. I’ll rig up some
kind of temporary booth for privacy.”

“
Gym still here?”

“
No, gone I’m afraid, so you might want to find another way
of relieving your...tension.”

Reynolds
took his turn to speak up. “As this is a special assignment, guv,
will we at least be allowed a bevvie at the end of the
day?”

Eddie
shook his head. “Same rules apply as for normal duties. No
booze.”

“
Fecking hell!”

“
Hey, I’m not making the rules here. The law is the law. It
applies to us all equally, especially me.”

“
Why you es-pecially?”

“
Because I’m the Team Leader and as such have to lead by
example.”

God, could that sound any more pretentious if I
tried?

“
But we’re here for three fecking months guv, not the normal
three weeks. It’s not fair.”

“
I know it’s not and I’m sorry Daz, but like I said I don’t
make the rules, I just enforce them. Look on the bright side, your
liver will probably thank you for the rest and you’ll enjoy your
first pint all the more when you get back onshore. If you are lucky
some generous soul might have put a couple of crates of non
alcoholic beer in the stores.”

“
Cat’s piss.”

“
Take it or leave it.”

More
mumbles of disapproval and Eddie felt his already minimal
popularity rating slipping inexorably earthwards.

Again,
not his fault. Ironically the powers that be gave the green light
for lighting up a cigarette and potentially sending the whole
structure sky high by providing a ‘safe’ area in which to do it,
yet strictly prohibited the enjoyment of a cold beer at the end of
a hard day’s graft. Onshore, perversely, the opposite was
true.

“
Any more questions, gripes, grumbles, piss-offs or
suggestions, now’s the time …”

He
spread his arms inviting input, receiving only averted eyes, bowed
heads and heavy sighs in response. No one had anything else useful
to contribute.

“
Okay, shall we move on?”

Another
fire resistant swing door, this one bearing a handmade notice onto
which someone had sketched a rudimentary knob and balls.

BIG BOYS
PLAYROOM

–
NO GIRLIES ALLOWED!

The
apostrophe was missing, Eddie noted. He’d change that later when
nobody was looking.

Everyone
eased themselves through the doorway to look.

No
furniture to speak of, it did at least have a window affording some
daylight. One wall had a dart board, complete with darts and
scoreboard, all surrounded by a rash of pock marks. Below it leaned
a folded ping-pong table. The other walls were bare.

A
selection of board games - chess, draughts, backgammon, Monopoly
and Scrabble, topped off with several dog eared sets of playing
cards were piled on top of an unlit pinball machine, along with a
cardboard box containing the table tennis paddles and
ball.

The
centre of the room carried the prize. A full-sized snooker
table.

“
Now this has got to be someone’s idea of a
joke,” said Brewer, rooting one of the red balls from a pocket. He
stood it on the centre spot. Instead of sitting still, the ball
rolled slowly toward the side cushion, rested, then sidled along it
to fall into the corner pocket with a
clack
.

“
Ach, even on a ten degree slope I can
wallop any one of youse,” said McAllister, raising a laugh and a
chorus of
In yer dreams, Mac!
and
Put yer money where yer gob is
.

They
seemed satisfied. Onward.

Eddie
pushed his way through the crowd. “Next stop the galley; if you’ll
follow me.”

Chapter 5

Proustian phenomenon proposes that distinctive smells have
more power than any other sense to aid recall of distant memories,
and even aromas
unconsciously picked up can awaken the most deeply buried
memories, stimulating associated visions, sounds and
emotions.

Driven
by the generators the re-activated ventilation system sucked in
air, filtered it free of dangerous gas and hydrocarbon residues,
sanitised and deodorised and warmed it, before recycling it
throughout the entire habitat via a series of pipes and conduits
and outlets.

But it
still carried within it some elements the most sophisticated
mechanical or chemical filtration could not eliminate, a bare trace
of which, when taken in, analysed, evaluated, categorised and
labelled by a living brain, would be enough to trigger a phenomenon
more primitive than even Proust could imagine.

In its
sleep, the workshop dweller breathed gently, sampling the air
through two small holes in a nub of flesh in what could loosely be
described as a face.

At the top of these dry and crusted nasal passages a patch
of cilia captured the free flowing molecules, triggering the
olfactory neurons and registering familiarity.

The nub twitched and a deep rumble sounded in its
throat.
Stirred by the aromas it moved its tongue around its foul
mouth and used it in a series of slow wet slaps to coat lips as dry
as leather with a thin film of saliva.

With
great effort it lifted its head and yawned, exposing a gaping maw
with grinding molars, lips drawn back over ivory, flat planed
incisors and canines, sharp like a dog’s.

On the
side of its head the pinnae of its ears swivelled to pinpoint and
pick up sounds not heard for a long while - the drum of machinery,
the clattering of footfall and the chatter of human
speech.

The
reluctant tenant unfurled its long limbs, testing muscles wasted
from lack of use during enforced hibernation, stretched, arched its
spine until it cracked, and rolled its neck to alleviate an almost
debilitating stiffness.

A quick
shake to wake itself fully, and it was ready to explore. There were
needs to be satisfied, a curiosity piqued, a bladder to be emptied,
and a stomach cramped with starvation to be filled.

Chapter 6

Another
passageway and yet another set of swing doors. Eddie pushed them
open dramatically.

“
Voila!”

He
flicked a switch on the wall and row upon row of fluorescent lights
blinked into life revealing the dining room, the mess, cavernous
and uncommonly bare.

Normally
it would seat up to ninety hungry souls over four shifts a day, but
at their withdrawal all but three of the tables had been removed
and those had been pushed together in a close huddle, leaving the
rest of the room as hollow as a ballroom after the prom.

Around
the tables were twelve chairs, enough to seat the original number
who were to make up the team before three dropped out.

One
silly sod had broken his leg falling off his motorcycle, another’s
mother had died, couldn’t be helped but her timing could have been
better, and Eddie’s preferred choice as second in command, Niall
Shanks, was in quarantine, having been unfortunate enough to break
out in a rather unpleasant and painful case of shingles.