“I’m of two minds,” Sam said, sounding thoughtful. “Perhaps I should just go on the offensive and call on him. Ask for a meeting and let him know what we’re doing. See if he’ll let bygones be bygones.”
“Or?” Casey asked.
“Do nothing. He did say, the last time we saw him, that he didn’t want to see us again. If he does say or do anything, we just act like we don’t know what he’s talking about. After all, what is he going to do? Tell Lord Dunmore I’m from the future and I’m using my knowledge to create new technologies?” Sam gave a small, bitter laugh. “Who would believe him if he said such a thing?”
Tom reached for Casey’s hand, rubbing her gloved fingers. He looked disturbed. “I think I’d like to talk to him.” He glanced at Casey, trying to gauge her reaction. “He knows my family’s reputation, and is aware of who I am. Maybe I can reassure him about the two of you. Negotiate a truce, or something.”
Casey squeezed his hand and Sam agreed that might be their best option.
Tom’s plan to see Riley early in the week was delayed by an announcement he should have remembered was coming.
Pirrie had just returned from London, and had called a meeting of the managing directors. This wasn’t unusual, and Tom had a lot on his mind. His uncle was cheerful and excited as they all gathered in the elegant conference room, and he brought them to order quickly, the chandelier catching the gleam in his eyes, a huge smile on his face and a roll of design paper on the table beside him. But as he talked, Tom felt a chill start in his heart and spread to the farthest parts of his body.
“We have a new project,” Pirrie started out. “I had dinner with Bruce Ismay recently, and we discussed plans for a new line of ships.” He pinned a rough sketch on the board along one wall for them to see and spread his arms to indicate the whole. “This is the “Olympic Line,” gentlemen. There will be three ships. They’ll be the largest, most luxurious vessels in the world. They’ll ply the Atlantic between Europe and America, each one carrying more than three thousand passengers and cargo. Each will have room for all passenger classes and,” he pointed suddenly at Tom, who wasn’t the only one to jump a little bit, making them all laugh a little, “first-class accommodations will be as elegant as the grandest hotels. You know how to do that, Tommy.” He continued over their laughter, building the excitement, “Second class will be nearly as nice as first class on other vessels and third class will the nicest anywhere in the world.”
He became serious for a moment. “Now you know that Cunard developed the new turbine engines with assistance from the government. They did this by agreeing to build their ships combat-capable, so the military could take them over on a moment’s notice.” His face purpled and he thumped the table in front of him. “White Star is not going to do that, gentlemen! These are passenger ships and mail vessels, and they will be classy through and through, as befits the White Star Line and the noble people who will be paying passengers! So we’ll stick with the engines we know, but no expense will be spared to make these ships the best in luxury and service.”
He paused to drink some water from the crystal glass in front of him. Tom held his breath, not daring to look away. Pirrie continued, “The first two ships will be the Olympic and the Titanic. We’ll build them…” his voice faded from Tom’s awareness as Tom stared at the notes in front of him, dizzy. He felt as if he were sinking into an encroaching darkness that somehow smelled of cold seawater. Someone else said something and there was laughter, and his uncle continued on, but all Tom heard was the now-beloved voice of Casey repeating, “a ship called Titanic… a ship called Titanic…”
God Almighty. It was really happening.
When he told Casey and Sam that night, sitting in their small parlor after dismissing Penny, they got as quiet as he had done, as the reality of the situation stared them down. Had they just been playing a game all this time? Had it, for them, just been “history,” something to read about in school or watch in a theater?
Now, faced with the project before him, with having to draw designs and build models and make recommendations, Tom was desperate to know what his first step would be. He held his time travel journal in his lap, with its notes and sketches of the last few months, and begged Sam to tell him what to do. Casey was silent, her face pale, her stocking feet curled up under her as she sat next to him on the divan, looking only at him. As if he would disappear if she looked away.
Sam looked helpless. “Tom, I don’t know how to build ships. I can’t tell you step-by-step, day-by-day, what your actions will be. Or what they should be.” He held out a hand. “Let’s take it a day at a time, okay? You do what you always do. We’ll talk about it. We’ll talk every day and figure out how that day’s actions fit into the big picture. If you come to a place where I have an idea that might help, I’ll tell you. We’ve got five years, Tom.”
Tom shook his head. “We have less than that, actually. We can’t make these decisions at the last minute. We have a few years, at most. We’ll have to make a difference long before that.”
Sam nodded. “All right. We will. We’ll go over it constantly.” He rubbed his face, staring at the low table between them. “It’s too big to do all at once, Tom. We’ve always known that. What are the first pieces you design?”
Tom glanced at the notes he’d written in his journal, not really seeing them. “Uncle Will always does a fairly detailed preliminary sketch that gives us the ship’s dimensions, tonnage, engine type, things like that. I’m meeting with him and Cousin Alex tomorrow. We’ll decide on our first steps, then.”
Sam slapped his hands together. “Excellent! Then tomorrow you’ll have a better idea of what happens.” He leaned toward Tom, lightly touching the journal Tom held. “Don’t get bogged down, lad. We’ll work on it together, every day. Take your time, think things through, keep your head above water.”
Casey gasped and both men looked at her, startled. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Sam in disbelief. He realized what he’d said and stood, running his hand through his hair.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. That was stupid. I’m going to see if dinner’s ready.”
Tom put his journal down and pulled Casey into his arms. She hadn’t spoken at all, and he could think of nothing to add.
He spent the next day in meetings with Lord Pirrie and Alexander Carlisle. Despite a sleepless night, he supposed he functioned all right; at least, no one seemed to notice anything strange about his behavior. As they talked, he began to see the project through their eyes, and slowly, he came back to himself, understanding that the work was going to be a joy, the kind of project that few men ever had the opportunity to work on. The day was spent discussing firsts, because everything they thought of to do needed something else done first, some technology invented, some space cleared or machinery built, some bidding process begun. The scale was more than humans had ever attempted, at least, Tom remarked wryly, since they’d built the pyramids. It even occurred to them that piers around the world would not be large enough to accommodate these ships, so negotiations would have to be opened with harbormasters in New York and elsewhere.
The sheer challenge of the project began to excite him: really, he was lucky to be in this place, at this time! He built ships, beautiful ships, marveling as they took shape under his direction, from putting the first thoughts on paper to the tiniest details improved upon during a maiden voyage. These new ships would require all his knowledge, all his experience and care, to become real. He would work with Sam and Casey, using their knowledge to make the ships as safe as they could be. And deep within, where the love for his work sometimes threatened to overwhelm him, Tom knew these ships would be his legacy. He would make it a good legacy, not the painful one described in another history. Perhaps others had left better things to the world, but these were not such a bad thing to leave behind for future generations to build upon.