Titanic 2020 t2-1 (5 page)

I
t is a universal truth that teenage boys, given the choice of either throwing a bottle they have recently found high into the air and watching it smash or setting it gently out of harm's way, will almost certainly choose to throw it.

Given the opportunity to throw
two
bottles, they are unlikely to compromise by smashing one and saving the other.

The boys in question were called Cameron Rodriguez and Patrick Hernandez, a fact which we are only aware of because just a few days after throwing the bottles they were both dead.

They lived in a housing project in San Diego, California. It was a rough area, and dangerous. Often, when they wished to play undisturbed by the local gangs the boys wandered out of the project and squeezed under a high wire fence on to a stretch of lush grass surrounding a laboratory owned by a company called Boris Bio Tech. On the morning of the San Diego earthquake the lab's entire staff were taking part in a softball tournament several miles away.

They felt the earthquake, but didn't for one moment think that it might affect their laboratory or indeed, lead to the end of civilization as we know it. Why would they? They were enjoying beer and hotdogs, while back at the lab the vibrations caused a faulty latch on a cupboard to give way. As a result approximately thirty bottles fell from their shelves. Of these, all but two landed harmlessly on the carpeted floor. The two that didn't bounced off a desk and through an open window. It was a ground-floor lab, so they didn't have a great distance to travel before landing, perfectly intact, on the soft lawn outside.

They might have remained there until staff discovered them the next day, and the world would not have been ruined, but for the inquisitiveness of Cameron Rodriguez and Patrick Hernandez. They were just having fun. They could not know that Boris Bio Tech's main work was top secret or that it developed poison gases for use in chemical warfare. Not to attack other countries, you understand, but to defend against other countries that might attack using their own poison gases. One bottle contained a very, very deadly poison gas. The other also contained a very, very deadly poison gas, although slightly different. But what Cameron and Patrick achieved by throwing these bottles into the air and smashing them was something the scientists at Boris Bio Tech had never even dared attempt. They mixed the contents of the two bottles.

***

Back on the
Titanic,
meanwhile, the earthquake remained just a small item in a newspaper almost entirely compiled by Jimmy Armstrong. When Scoop finally returned, later that afternoon, he wasn't looking well at all. His eyes were red, his skin blotchy and his brow damp. Jimmy had surprised himself by how much he'd enjoyed rewriting the stories and then slotting them into the newspaper, and he was anxious to show the nearly finished product to Scoop, but Scoop was too miserable to even look. He said, 'I'm sure it's fine . . . I'll look at it later . . . have to lie down.'

The suite where the paper was produced had a small bedroom at the rear, and it was into this that Scoop rolled.

'What . . . what do you want me to do?' Jimmy asked from the doorway.

'Whatever you like . . .'

'Do you want me to get a doctor?'

'No . . . sleep . . .' Scoop hauled himself out of the chair and on to the bed. 'Tired . . . Oh, they found your uniform . . . so be . . . careful. Captain gave me this . . . thought there might be a story in it . . .' Scoop pulled something small out of his shirt pocket and tossed it towards him. 'Catch . . .'Jimmy caught it. His lucky penny. 'You can . . . tell me . . . all about it. Later . . .'

Scoop's head fell to one side and he immediately began to snore. Jimmy turned the coin over in his hand. He'd forgotten all about it and its stupid history. Well — with Scoop sleeping and his work on the paper finished, now was as good a time as any to get rid of it. He would go to the tallest point on the ship — the climbing wall on the top deck — and chuck it into the sea from there. Jimmy didn't believe for one moment that it was unlucky or cursed, but he would do it for his granda, who clearly did.

As he turned to leave the room he was surprised to see two prosthetic legs standing in the corner behind him. He smiled to himself. Maybe these were the legs Scoop had intended stretching earlier. He wondered why the old man preferred to use a wheelchair. Still —
none of my business.
He gently closed the door.

***

His intention was to get rid of the coin, but there were, of course, distractions along the way. On the twelfth floor he discovered an amusement arcade which he hadn't noticed on the floor plans. He spent an hour playing pinball. He played a one-sided game of air hockey. There was a vintage
Star Wars
game which involved an attack on the
Death Star.
He played that nine times in a row, slapping the machine in frustration each time he was burned to a crisp. When he climbed out of the machine, Claire Stanford was standing there, with her arms folded.

'Oh,' said Jimmy.

'So you're the little twerp who ran away to sea.'

'So you're the owner's stuck-up daughter.'

'How dare you!'

'How dare you!'

'You're in so much trouble!'

'You're in
so
much trouble!'

'Stop that!'

'Stop that!'

'You . . .'

'You. . .'

'You are—'

'You are . . .'

'You are not funny!'

'Oh yeah?'

'Aha — didn't copy me that time!'

'Aha — didn't copy me that time!'

'My dad's going to toss you . . .'

'My
dad's going to toss you . . .'

'. . . in a cell and throw away the key.'

'He'll have to catch me first.'

Claire glared at him.
'I've
caught you.'

Jimmy laughed. 'I think not.'

'Yes I have. You're my prisoner.'

'Uhuh. Right up to the point where I walk past you and escape.'

'I won't let you.'

'Uhuh.'

Jimmy took a step towards her. 'I have a black belt in judo,' said Claire, raising her hands.

'And I have a black belt at home. It keeps my trousers up.'

Jimmy went to move past her. He kept his right shoulder down, meaning to give her a good shove on the way. But just as he leaned into her, Claire grabbed his arm, twisted it up, brought it down over her own shoulder, put her entire weight under him and heaved up. Jimmy was lifted off his feet and thrown. He landed in a heap in the corner, and for good measure banged his head on the
Star Wars
game.

He looked at her somewhat groggily. Then he shook himself. 'Lucky,' he said.

'I don't think so.'

Jimmy got to his feet. She was certainly stronger than she looked. But she was a girl, and he was a rough, tough product of the back streets of Belfast. He wasn't going to hurt her, but he was going to teach her a lesson she wouldn't forget.

Ten seconds later Jimmy lay in another heap. Claire stood over him, bouncing from left to right. 'Do you want some more? Do you? Not copying me now, are you? Are you?'

'What do you want,' Jimmy snapped, 'a
Blue Peter
badge? So you know a few tricks. I bet
Daddy
paid for judo lessons.'

'So
what?'

'Well we aren't even then, are we? So Daddy's little rich girl has a black belt. Big deal. I bet you have a pony as well.'

Claire folded her arms and gave him a disdainful look. 'You can say whatever you like. Makes no difference. You're my prisoner.'

Jimmy looked quickly around him. There were two exits within striking distance. She might be good at judo, but he was fast on his feet. There was no shame in running away. Surviving was more important.

As if she could hear what he was thinking she said, 'And don't even think about running for it. I'm a sprinter. I have medals for it; I've represented my school at national level.'

' Oooooooooooooh,'
said Jimmy, 'aren't we great?'

'Just get up. I'm taking you to the Captain.'

Jimmy got to his feet. 'What about a fair fight?'

'That
was
fair. You're just a pathetic fighter.'

'I mean, using something in here, something neither of us has had any training on. That would be fair. Like the air hockey.'

Claire looked at the table. 'I can beat you at anything,' she said.

'If I win, you let me go.'

'And what if I win?'

'You won't, but if by some miracle you do, I'm your prisoner, I'll go quietly, and as a bonus I'll never again repeat what you say.'

'Is that a promise?'

'Is
that a promise?'

She almost laughed. She managed to turn it into a grunt and nodded at the table. 'You're on,' she said.

Claire might have had a rich father and judo lessons from an expensive coach, but Jimmy was an amusement arcade veteran. When he wasn't in school he virtually lived in one. He rarely had money to play the machines, but he hustled it by challenging other kids. He rarely lost. There was no official competition or title, but if you asked anyone in Jimmy's school, they would have confirmed that he deserved to be crowned the Air Hockey Champion of East Belfast.

They agreed it would be best of five games. He let her win the first one, just to see the cocky, condescending look on her face. He let her win the second, and he loved the way she gloated over every victorious stroke.

And then he let her have it.

He whipped her ass.

Her face coloured up, sweat rolled down her brow, her mouth tightened in anger and as the final, winning goal shot in she let out a yell of frustration.

'That's not fair!' she shouted.

'That's not fair!'
mimicked Jimmy.

'You've played this before!'

'You've played this before!'

Jimmy raised his hands in mock apology.

'You — you — you — you . . .'

'Won,' said Jimmy. 'And now I'm off — free as a bird.' He gave a little bird whistle as he sauntered past. But then he stopped and extended his hand. 'Listen, no hard feelings, eh?'

It was an unexpectedly civilized thing to do, and much more in keeping with the circles Claire usually moved in. She might have been spoiled, but she was well brought up. So, albeit reluctantly, she clasped his hand.

Jimmy smiled in a friendly manner, then suddenly twisted her arm and spun her round before giving her a hefty shove in the bum with his left foot. Claire shot across the arcade, crashed into the
Star Wars
game and crumpled to the floor.

'Sucker,' laughed Jimmy. He jogged happily out of the arcade.

***

He was exhilarated: first the air hockey, then the humiliating
coup de grace.
It was in both his nature and nurture to extract victory by either fair means or foul and he saw nothing wrong with it. Whether it was on the tough streets of his city or in the more luxurious surroundings of the
Titanic,
it was all about survival. Attack was the best form of defence, and if God sees fit to give you an advantage, you grab it with both hands.

In hindsight, he should perhaps have chosen to lie low for a while, but Jimmy still had a mountain to climb. Or at least a climbing wall. He rode up to the top deck and began to work his way up the artificial cliff face. It was growing dark now and a cool breeze was blowing hard against him. Usually crew members provided safety harnesses for passengers attempting the wall, but even if there'd been one available, Jimmy wouldn't have needed it. In just a few minutes he was straddling the top of the the wall, barely out of breath. He stared out to sea. America was somewhere ahead of him. While trawling for news on the Internet earlier on he had done a little research into how long a ship might take to cross the Atlantic, and while it depended on speed and size, he reckoned that they were now approaching the halfway mark. By tomorrow there would be no turning back.

Jimmy thrust his hands into his overall pockets — and found the lucky penny. He held on to the wall with one arm, then pulled his other arm back to throw it . . .

'YOU BOY!'

Jimmy peered down. Captain Smith and three other officers were looking up at him.

'GET DOWN HERE NOW!'

Jimmy looked about him, then back down. 'Are you talking to me?'

'GET DOWN HERE!'

Jimmy took a deep breath. Unless he suddenly developed the ability to fly, or to swim huge distances, there was no escape this time. He slipped the lucky penny into his pocket, then began to climb down.

When he finally reached the deck, having taken his time, he was grabbed, held in a tight arm-lock and quickly marched away. As he moved along the deck Claire Stanford stepped out of the shadows. 'Who's the sucker now?' she hissed. Then, following on behind the prisoner and his escort she added, 'As a matter of fact I
don't
have a pony. I have
three.'

H
e wasn't on trial, but it felt like it.

Jimmy was hauled into Captain Smith's quarters on Deck Twelve and ordered to stand in the middle of the floor while the Captain and First Officer Simon Jeffers sat looking at him from behind a desk. After a few moments Mr Stanford — designer of the ship and owner of the cruise company — also joined them. Claire Stanford sat behind him. Each time Jimmy scowled at her an annoying smirk appeared on her face.

'Well?' the Captain asked.

'Well as can be expected,' said Jimmy

The Captain's eyes flashed angrily. 'I
mean,
well, what have you got to say for yourself?'

Jimmy shrugged.

'Have you any idea of the trouble you have caused?'

'Sort of, yeah.'

'And?'

'And what?'

'Have you anything to say?'

Jimmy thought about it for a moment. 'Nice ship.'

Mr Stanford jumped to his feet. 'How dare you!' he shouted. 'Do you think this is funny?'

Jimmy shrugged.

'Have you any idea of the worry you have caused at home? The man-hours we have had to devote to finding you? The expense we will incur if we have to return to port? Have you?'

'Sort of.'

'Again, what have you got to say for yourself?'

Jimmy looked across at the three men. Two were in uniform, one was in a grey suit. They all looked extremely angry.

Jimmy shrugged.

Mr Stanford's fist hit the table. 'I've a good mind to toss him overboard!' He sighed loudly, then sat down again.

First Officer Jeffers leaned towards the ship's owner and spoke in a quiet, controlled voice. 'Actually, Mr Stanford, we haven't yet reported to Belfast that he's been found. We
could
throw him overboard, and no one would be any the wiser.'

Captain Smith nodded as he lit his pipe. 'Good point,' he said. 'We
are
the only witnesses. Apart from Claire, of course. What do you say, Claire? Chuck him overboard?'

'Absolutely,' said Claire.

Jimmy swallowed. He
knew
they wouldn't throw him overboard. Or he
thought
he knew. But he'd also heard that strange things happened at sea. He also still had his lucky penny in his pocket, which was like a kiss of death. Still . . . still . . . even though he
knew
there was only an infinitesimal possibility of him being thrown into the sea, he thought a little backtracking might be in order. A little fake humility.

'Sorry,' Jimmy mumbled.

'What was that?' asked the Captain.

'Sorry.'

'For what?'

'For whatever I've done wrong.'

'Do you
know
what you've done wrong?'

'Yes.'

'Why don't you tell us, then?' asked Mr Stanford.

Jimmy shook his head.

'So you
don't
know?'

Jimmy took a deep breath. Now he was trying to hold on to his temper. Stanford was just like McCartney. He always had to keep pushing. Jimmy had never really apologized for anything in his life, but now that he'd made the effort apparently it wasn't good enough — Stanford was intent on making him spell out every last detail of his supposed indiscretions. 'Look,' he said, 'I'm sorry, all right? I sneaked on to the boat and I shouldn't have. I fell asleep. I didn't mean to stow away or whatever you call it. I don't
want
to be here . . .'

'Then why didn't you give yourself up as soon as you realized?'

'Well would you?' Jimmy snapped.

First Officer Jeffers almost laughed at that. A vague hint of a smile appeared on Smith's face. But Stanford's eyes blazed.

The Captain puffed on his pipe. 'Well,' he said, 'there's nothing can be done now. And much as we would
like
to throw you to the sharks we would only end up getting ourselves in trouble, and we can't have that. Now, thanks to the astonishing speed at which we are travelling — and you can thank Mr Stanford for that, she really is an amazing ship — we will very shortly reach the halfway point in our voyage to Miami, which I'm afraid makes it impractical for us to turn back to Belfast. So you will have to continue with us until we reach port. There you will be handed over to the authorities and they will do with you as they see fit. However, Master Armstrong, that doesn't mean you get free passage. You will be put to work.'

'What sort of work?' Jimmy asked.

'Whatever we decide!' Mr Stanford exploded.

Captain Smith raised a calming hand, then nodded across the cabin. 'Claire, if you could ask Scoop to step—
roll
into the room?'

Claire slipped out. A few moments later Scoop, who'd obviously been waiting outside, appeared in the doorway. He didn't look at Jimmy as he manoeuvred through the opening and pulled up beside him.

'Captain,' he said. 'Mr Stanford.' He nodded at Jeffers.

'Scoop — you've asked to have the boy work for you on the paper.'

'Yes, Captain. I gather he's supposed to be at school. Well I've a hundred and one things I could have him doing. I'll work him into the ground.'

Captain Smith nodded at Jimmy. 'Well? Can I trust you to work on the paper and not get into any more bother?'

Jimmy sighed. Then he nodded.

'Very well. And Claire?' Claire had retaken her seat, but now the Captain waved her forward. She stood on Scoop's other side. 'We should thank you for leading us to our young stowaway.' Claire beamed widely. 'However, you may not be aware that your encounter with young Mr Armstrong in the amusement arcade was actually caught on camera.'

The smile faltered. 'What do you mean— ?'

'Be quiet, Claire, and listen,' her father snapped.

'Daddy, don't speak to—'

'Claire!'

She fell silent.

The Captain nodded at Mr Stanford before continuing. 'Yes, Claire. Obviously with an amusement arcade it's important for us to monitor what goes on there. Parents like to know that their children aren't getting up to any mischief or that they're not being bullied. First Officer Jeffers here happened to spot your little altercation with Jimmy, didn't you, Jeffers?'

'Yes, sir. Just caught the end of it.' He smiled at Claire. 'The judo lessons seem to be paying off.'

Claire couldn't manage a smile this time.

'In fact,' said the Captain, 'once alerted to the situation, we all came and watched. We all listened. Yes, Claire, it's a state-of-the-art system and we could hear every word. So you will understand that we were a little distressed to hear you promise to let the lad go if he beat you at air hockey, and then immediately renege on the deal by following him to the climbing wall and informing us.'

'Because he
kicked
me!' Claire exploded.

'And that's not to be condoned; but nevertheless, a deal is a deal. It's a terrible thing not to be able to trust someone.'

Claire looked hopefully to her father. 'Daddy . . .'

'The Captain's right, Claire. I was very disappointed. And more than that, your mother and I have both been very upset by your behaviour recently.'

'What?

'You've been bad tempered, disobedient, you never have a pleasant word . . .'

'Daddy
please,
not in front of— !'

'. . . for anyone, you sulk all day and you
do
nothing . . .'

'Daddy!'

'No, Claire, we've had quite enough of your behaviour. The reason we bring it up now is that the Captain has a solution.'

'He
what?'

'Claire, you were allowed to come on this trip because it was important to me to have my family with me; it was supposed to be a very special time for us. But you've come very close to ruining the voyage for all of us.'

'I—'

'Be quiet!' Tears sprang into his daughter's eyes. 'Now — Captain?'

'Claire — your birthday was just last week, wasn't it?'

'What?' She was now looking very confused.

'Tell me, what did your parents get you?'

She started to shrug, but then blurted out: 'A camera.'

'What sort of a camera?'

'I don't know.'

'That's because it's still sitting in its box,' said Mr Stanford. 'It's a state-of-the-art digital camera. Professional photographers would give their.....for one, and I don't have to tell you it cost a small fortune. But she hardly looked at it.'

'I didn't
ask
for a camera,' Claire snapped.

Stanford shook his head sadly, then looked at the Captain and raised an eyebrow. 'You see what I'm up against?'

Captain Smith nodded. 'Claire — your parents have decided that you need to learn a thing or two, not just about honesty, but to appreciate what a very privileged life you lead. They've come to the end of their tether with you, quite frankly, and at least as far as the remainder of this trip is concerned, they are prepared to hand matters of discipline over to me.'

'Discipline?'
She looked in disbelief at her father, who was now sitting back in his chair, arms folded. 'You can't do that. . .!'

'Well he has, Claire. And what I've decided . . .'

'You can't
do
that!' Claire repeated, only louder.

'Be quiet, Claire!' her father ordered.

Claire stood shaking her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

'. . . what I've decided is that you take your new camera, you work out how to use it, and you work alongside Scoop and Jimmy on the newspaper. Isn't that right, Scoop?'

Scoop nodded. 'It'll be a great help.'

Jimmy looked aghast.

'Well, Claire?' asked the Captain.

'I won't do it. You can't make me.'

'Very well.' The Captain turned and nodded at Mr Stanford, who shook his head regretfully.

Claire followed this exchange. 'What . . . what?'

'Claire, if you can't do this simple thing we're asking then we'll have no alternative. I know how much you were looking forward to shopping in Miami and touring the Caribbean with us, but I'm afraid you'll be catching the first plane back to school instead.'

Claire looked horrified. 'You can't do that — I'm your
daughter!'

'Sometimes I wonder,' said Mr Stanford.

In the end she agreed. She had no choice. Scoop rolled out of the cabin first, with Jimmy and Claire following behind.

'I
hate
you,' Claire hissed at Jimmy.

'Not as much as I hate you,' Jimmy hissed back.

'And I hate the both of you,' hissed Scoop, 'but I still have to work with you. Now shut your pie holes and get a move on.'