Unfortunately so did Max. After a brief telephone call with the bridge, he recalled her and the rest of the security team to the theatre. There was to be an important town hall meeting, to which everyone on board was invited. The theatre couldn’t hold everyone, so a strong security presence would be required to prevent trouble from brewing among those left outside.
Even before Grace reached the theatre, the rumours had begun. Whispers in corridors, hushed and excited conversations in doorways. Always the same subject:
“Have you heard? They’ve found more people alive!”
“There’s another ship, just like this one.”
“I heard it’s a warship, and we’re running away from them.”
“Someone I know who’s friends with someone on the bridge said everyone on that ship is dead. Killed by the same virus we all had.”
“I heard it was a ghost ship.”
The theatre wasn’t at capacity. The short notice meant many people couldn’t get there in time. Plenty more didn’t want to attend. Such public gatherings had a habit of being organised to dispense bad news.
The meeting itself started well. Amanda Jackson and Ella Rose from the committee explained what they knew: that another boat had been spotted, that it showed indications of being inhabited, and that they were now on course to intercept it.
Initial reactions had been positive. As Silvia had predicted, a wave of optimism swept quite perceptibly through the cavernous auditorium. The space was filled with chatter at the prospect of finding new people, and what that meant in the wider scheme of things.
The hosts of the meeting let the chat continue for a while, then as it calmed down, they opened the floor to questions. Transparency was one of the guiding principles of the committee, and everyone in the community had the right to quiz its members on any topic relating to their wellbeing.
Amanda fielded the questions with ease.
“How far is this boat?”
“A bit more than two hundred nautical miles. We’ll rendezvous with it in roughly fifteen hours.”
“How big is it?”
“Between fifty and seventy metres long. That means it’s bigger than most fishing boats, smaller than most ferries. We can’t tell more than that yet.”
“How did they survive?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where are they going?”
“We don’t know.”
“Are you sure there are people on board?”
“No, but there’s a very good chance there are, because the boat is sailing under its own power.”
Then came the more difficult questions.
“What happens when we find them?”
“That’s being discussed. We will probably quarantine them before letting them onto the Spirit of Arcadia and inviting them into the community. We assume their resources are limited.”
“So you’re saying we’ll have to accommodate and feed them?”
“Yes.”
“But we don’t know how long our food is going to last us. Why should we hand out food to these people?”
The question was met with a murmur of agreement.
“We can’t simply leave them to starve. If they need our help, we will provide it. Plus, there’s safety in numbers. They may also have knowledge of other survivors or places that escaped the asteroid. The kind of knowledge that can help all of us.”
The response garnered many nodding heads.
“Why should we give up our hard-earned food stocks to a bunch of foreigners?” A shout from the stalls was met with a smattering of cheers.
“Foreign to who? There are people of almost every nationality on this ship. Besides, they are people, like you and me. If they need our help, we’ll give it. Just like HMS Ambush came to our aid.”
“That’s different. They’re the army, it’s their job.”
“They’re the navy, idiot,” someone else called from the back.
Amanda tried to calm the room, but people had begun to shout over one another, arguing among themselves, trying to make their voices heard.
Grace and the other security officers stepped in then, attempting to calm the situation. There was no time to reflect on the exciting news of other potential survivors; she understood that her afternoon was going to be spent trying to maintain order.
• • •
With the Ambush locked on to their target, guiding the Spirit of Arcadia through their shared navigation link, Jake was free to leave the bridge. He left Lucya in charge; there was another hour before she had to go and fetch Erica from school. Chuck was taking a well-earned break, and McNair was keeping a watchful eye over the helm, as well as maintaining lookout.
Jake was raw from the loss of Stieg. It was unfinished business, and although logic said that the man was gone, probably drowned, it felt unnatural and inhuman to turn his back on him. The decision was out of his hands though, so all he could do was occupy his time and try not to dwell on what had happened. After calling ahead to make sure she was there, he made his way down to Janice Hanson’s morgue on deck one.
There was a strange comfort that came from visiting the cold store room that had been taken over by the retired pathologist. Down in that part of the ship, among the endless pipes and ducts, the rusting metal bulkheads, and the low ceilings, away from the comforts of the public areas, he was reminded of what they had survived so far. Janice’s room had been used as a temporary morgue after the asteroid, a holding pen for the dozens of unidentified bodies charred and burnt by the ash cloud that followed the rock. And then, just weeks later, she had dissected the bodies of the first victims of the terrible mutated virus that had nearly wiped out the entire ship. Down there, in the dingy depths of deck one, the loss of Stieg was put into context.
“Captain.” Janice shook Jake’s hand and opened the door wide, inviting him in. He hadn’t been inside since she had taken over, and he was surprised at the transformation. Where once the place had resembled a giant steel container, now it looked like a low-budget operating theatre. In the centre of the room was an improvised dissection table. Janice explained that the engineers had modified a steel table to her specifications. They had also installed a water supply for a hose attachment, as well as a separate sink. Surrounding the table were free-standing lighting units.
A work area to the side was home to some of the equipment salvaged from the biological warfare lab at Faslane: scales, a microscope, and a digital camera. Surgical tools from the medical stores, complemented by more heavy-duty cutting instruments on permanent loan from the kitchens, completed the inventory.
Jake was relieved to find the dissection table was not in use. In fact, there was no sign of a body anywhere. The room was spotlessly clean, and mercifully odour free.
Janice caught the look on his face. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have brought you in here if I had someone opened up on there,” she said, grinning widely.
“What have you found out?”
She led him to another table he hadn’t seen when he entered. It was at the far end of the room, hidden in the shadows. Janice clicked on a desk lamp, pulled out two chairs, and sat down.
“This morning’s body was in perfect health.”
“Apart from missing a head.”
“Yes, apart from that. As to where he came from, I would guess given his skin colour and height, and the size of his hands and feet, that he was originally from somewhere in Asia. His stomach was empty, but under the circumstances I doubt that knowing what his last meal consisted of would tell us anything.”