Sedulity 2: Aftershock (Sedulity Saga) (6 page)

Was this the end of the world? If so, she didn’t want to face
it in her nightgown, let alone in bed. She moved stiffly to her wardrobe and
donned her foul weather gear. She knew that even the interior of the ship would
be wet today, considering how many windows had been broken and the extent of
the flooding. She had been dressed in her goddess of the sea costume and slathered
in makeup when disaster struck last night. Today she would prepare for the
worst, hope for the best, and try to help her husband display an image of
confidence and control. She knew how easily the passengers and even the crew
could lose hope in a situation like this. In fact, it was only her
determination to provide hope to others that kept Lydia from approaching the
abyss of despair herself.

Before leaving the captain’s quarters she walked back to the
balcony and opened the sliding glass door. Hot rain drops and spray pelted her yellow
slicker and flew past her into the lavish stateroom. Ignoring the wind and
rain, Lydia stepped out onto the balcony. The strong wind was blowing from the
stern, instead of the bow. The rain was hotter than a shower where it splashed
on her exposed hands, which she raised to shield her eyes and stare back down
the length of the ship. What she saw was disturbing, to say the least. The
beautiful white hull and superstructure of the
Sedulity
was scorched black and even distorted in places. Half the
lifeboats were missing or hanging askew. And the other balcony windows that she
could see were dark, gaping holes of jagged glass.

Turning towards the bow, Lydia realized that the bridge wing had
shielded the captain’s quarters, meaning that she and her husband had one of
the few intact balcony staterooms on the ship. Feelings of guilt crept into her
mind when she thought of all the passengers and crew whose cabins and
staterooms were no longer habitable. She knew it was not her fault, and that
she had even played a role in saving many of their lives, but couldn’t help
feeling sorry for those less fortunate. She made a silent vow to dedicate her
efforts in this and coming days to improving living conditions for all the
survivors on this cruise. Then she almost laughed aloud at herself for still
thinking of this voyage as a pleasure cruise. It was no such thing. This cruise
had turned into a disastrous odyssey into the unknown, where even the sun could
no longer be counted upon to rise in the morning. Nevertheless, and regardless
of what happened to the rest of the world, Lydia decided that she must act as
hostess to every survivor aboard the
Sedulity
and strive to improve their lot in whatever ways possible. Her conviction
firmed as she stepped back inside the plush captain’s quarters and slid the
balcony door closed to shut out the rest of a world she no longer understood.

*****

“Mr. Crawford? Do you have a headcount on surviving
passengers and crew yet?” Captain Krystos asked.

“We can’t be sure if this is a complete list yet, Sir. I sure
hope it isn’t,” the First Officer replied with a frown as he picked up several
sheets of paper. “We’ve accounted for nineteen hundred and fifty-three
surviving passengers. Twelve hundred and twenty-three of them are in the theater.
Four hundred and thirteen are in, or near, the medical center with serious
injuries and burns. One hundred and sixty have been located by cabin stewards
in their staterooms, mostly in the inside cabins. The remainder have been found
sitting or wandering around the rest of the ship, many of them injured or in
shock.”

“Less than two thousand?” the captain asked with a heavy
voice. “So we’ve lost more than a thousand.”

“Yes, Sir,” Crawford said, “but we might have missed some in
the headcount. Things are still quite hectic.
 
Some people might be sheltering, trapped, or
injured in compartments we haven’t had time to reach yet. The cabin stewards
are conducting a more systematic search of the whole ship now.”

“How many of the crew survived? And how many of those are
able-bodied?”

“Out of the fourteen hundred and eighty-eight crew, we have
accounted for nine hundred and twenty-five survivors, including those of us
here on the bridge. Three hundred and ninety of them have been relieved of duty
due to injuries, mostly burns and broken bones.”

 
“Dear God,” the captain
murmured. “So we’ve lost a third of our passengers and close to two-thirds of
the crew are either dead, missing, or badly injured. Is that about right, Mr.
Crawford?”

“Yes, Sir. Those numbers may improve as we continue
searching, and more of the crew will be fit for duty again soon, but we will
also lose more of the injured. We don’t have the medical facilities, staff, or
supplies needed to treat this many casualties effectively. Fifty-six of the
injured have already been triaged as terminal and won’t make it through the
day.”

“I understand,” Captain Krystos said with a heavy heart. “Do
you have any firm numbers on the dead and missing?”

“We have a preliminary body count, Sir. Seven hundred and
forty-four confirmed fatalities have been reported. We can’t give an exact
breakdown between passengers and crew because some of the bodies are too badly
burned to be identified. That leaves about a thousand people missing. I suspect
we’ll discover more bodies as we clear away wreckage and search the flooded
areas below-decks, hopefully more survivors too. The rest were probably swept
overboard and can be presumed lost at sea.”

“What’s being done with the bodies?” the captain asked.

“The crew have been covering them with sheets and tarps,
mostly,” Crawford replied. “I’m told that the worst concentrations of bodies are
down by the muster stations.” He didn’t notice the captain wince at that
statement, and continued, “They’ve started to move bodies out of the main corridors
so the passengers won’t see them when they leave the theater eventually.”

“Good idea,” the captain nodded. “We’ll have to think about
conducting burials at sea soon. We don’t have enough refrigerated space to
store that many bodies, and we can’t run the risk of disease if we let them
decompose.” He paused to consider the problem, then said, “Have the crew move
as many bodies as possible to rooms on the Promenade Deck, near the muster
stations. Screen off portions of the public areas, if necessary. That way the
bodies will be close to exits onto the boat decks when we get a chance to
conduct burials.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Mr. Crawford said, making a note on the
casualty report.

“What’s the updated damage report? Especially for guest
accommodations? I can’t keep all the passengers cooped up in the theater
forever.”

Mr. Crawford picked up a much larger stack of paper and read
a summary.
 
“Eighty-five percent of the
balcony staterooms and suites have been severely damaged by fire and flooding.
Most of the surviving 15% of Veranda Suites and staterooms are clustered over
the fantail at the stern, as well as several forward on this deck, such as
yours and mine, which were sheltered by the bridge wings. The Chief Steward
reports that only a few of the damaged balcony staterooms can be made livable.
The rest are gutted.

“The good news in that 90% of the inside staterooms received
little or no damage. The same is true of outside cabins with portholes on the
lower decks. Only of a handful of the portholes were broken and even in those
cabins the damage was far less severe than in the balcony rooms. Unfortunately,
as you know, Sir, more than seventy-five percent of the
Sedulity’s
total passenger accommodations have balconies. So the
net result is that we’ve lost about two thirds of the guest rooms and berths.”

“And we’ve only lost a third of the passengers,” the captain said,
without meaning to sound callous. “We might need to double up the occupancy in
the remaining staterooms, or even set up a hot-bunk system.” Hot-bunking was a
common practice on naval vessels, especially old submarines. It meant that when
one crewman woke up to go on duty, another member of the crew would get into
the same bed, often while it was still warm from the previous occupant. Such a
system would not go over well with passengers on a cruise ship, but the captain
needed to consider all options. “How about damage to crew’s quarters?”

“More than half of the crew cabins were at least partially
flooded, but didn’t suffer any fire or blast damage down there. We should be
able to make most of them habitable, if we can dry out the bedding, or cover
the mattresses with plastic. Dr. Segal has also taken over several dozen of the
crew cabins near the medical center to accommodate patients and says he needs
more space.”

“Alright, have the Quartermaster consolidate berths for
surviving crew into cabins with minor flooding damage. Give the doctor as many
of the undamaged ones as he needs. Whatever crew cabins are left over can be
assigned to passengers. In the meantime we can disable the key cards for all
staterooms deemed uninhabitable.”

“Yes, Sir,” Crawford remarked, scribbling notes on the damage
report. “Anything else, Sir?”

“A million things,” Captain Krystos replied with a sad smile.
“What’s the status of the ship’s kitchen and main dining room?”

“Engineering has restored power to the main galley. The Head
Chef says it’s still a disaster area with all the broken dishes, and such, but
his team is cleaning up and preparing some basic meals to be served later this
morning. A dozen of the hospitality staff have been busy getting the tables and
chairs in order in the dining room.
 
They
reported some water damage, but the flooding wasn’t too severe there. Being at
the stern, only a few side windows were broken in the main dining room. They’ve
been covered with plastic and canvas to keep out the rain.”

“Excellent,” the captain nodded. “I’ll be going down to
address the passengers and crew in the theater soon. I’d like to be able offer
them the option of going to the restaurant, since most of them no longer have
staterooms. The least we can do is feed them and let them stretch their legs.
Get me a report on which public areas have the least damage and can be opened
to the passengers today. I don’t want them going stir crazy, or be forced to
watch the terrible news on TV in that theater.” The first officer nodded and
continued taking notes while the captain turned to stare out across the dark
sea, towards the unseen source of this disaster.

*****

Down in the theater Lieutenant Reiner was nearing the end of
his patience, as were many of the passengers sequestered with him. The GNN
broadcast of panicked crowds in California, running for their lives, did
nothing to calm the mood of passengers aboard the
Sedulity,
especially since many of them were from that area. Reiner
had tried to change the channel briefly, but that sparked a minor riot among
those who demanded to be able to watch the terrible news unfold. Reiner
relented, but felt sorry for those who hid their faces in their hands and would
obviously prefer not to be exposed to such horrific scenes of disaster.

The constant demands, complaints, and pleading from angry and
confused passengers were becoming unbearable. He was praying that Captain
Krystos would arrive soon to provide more answers and better leadership than
the Lieutenant was capable of. Reiner was missing Staff Captain Stevens more
each second too. He would have known how to deal with this crisis, but the staff
captain had been burned to a crisp and washed overboard. Reiner had seen it
happen. So here he was, in charge of keeping more than a thousand distraught
passengers seated in the theater for more than ten hours now while the world
was destroyed in full HD right before their eyes.
 

Tensions were rising and Reiner was relieved to see Mr. Cohn,
the security chief enter the theater with four of his security guards who
spread out to join other members of the crew guarding each main exit. Reiner
was a bit surprised to note that they carried pistols openly on their belts,
but realized that they would project authority far better than the lieutenant’s
soiled uniform.
 

“Mr. Cohn,” he said as the man reached the main stage. “It’s
good to see you. These people are close to panic here. I’m not sure how much
longer I could have kept control. Will you relieve me?”

Cohn shook his head sadly and said, “I can’t do that, son.
You’re still the ranking ship’s officer here, but my men and I will do our best
to help you keep a lid on things. The captain will be down himself soon. I’m
here to get these folks in the mood to receive him properly. Can’t have them
badgering him, or worse, when he arrives. Would you care to introduce me to the
passengers?”

“Yes, Sir,” Reiner replied gratefully. And rank be damned. In
Reiner’s opinion, the chief of security should outrank a lowly ship’s officer
in a situation like this, if not strictly in maritime law. He stepped up on
stage and signaled for the sound of the television to be muted, but left the
video feed running. Then he addressed the restless crowd.

“May I have your attention please? This is Mr. Cohn, our chief
of security. He’d like to give you some information about conditions on the
rest of the ship and explain why we have asked you to remain in this theater
all night.” There were more than a few grumbles and only a smattering of claps
as the lieutenant passed the microphone to Mr. Cohn.

“I’d like to say good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr.
Cohn said in a strong voice. “But I’m afraid it’s not one. In fact, it’s so
dark outside that we can’t be sure the sun has even risen today. The asteroid
strike created clouds so dense that they are blocking the sunlight.” He paused
to let that sink into the speechless faces before him. “Now, before you get
more upset, let me assure you that this ship is safe. We are in contact with
other ships and authorities ashore too. They know where we are. You are in no
danger here, in this theater. In fact, it’s one of the safest places to be
across the whole Pacific Ocean, as you can see from the news on TV.