Eventually Ty plucked up the courage. 'Claire, I think we're all—'
'Quiet.'
Ty blew air out of his cheeks. Quietly.
Claire rose to her feet. She looked around the room. She made eye contact with every single one of them, and even those who had been staring at the ground somehow knew to raise their eyes when Claire's deadly gaze fell upon them.
'I am shocked,' said Claire.
It sat in the air.
'I am horrified.'
It sat in the air beside her shock.
'I await an explanation as to the non-appearance of the Titanic Times!
'Well,' Ty began bravely, 'with Jimmy dead and you shot we thought . . .'
Ty stopped. He knew immediately that he had said something very, very wrong.
'Don't you ever say that again!' Claire towered over him as he sat at his own screen. 'Jimmy is not dead. He is alive. And he will find his way back to us. Do you understand?'
Ty nodded.
'Do all of you understand?'
Everyone nodded. Ty was still nodding.
Claire's icy gaze roved around the room like the searchlight at a prison camp from which nobody was brave enough to attempt an escape.
'Now I want you all to listen to me.'
As if they weren't. They were too scared not to.
'Jimmy made the Times. He turned it from a boring little news-sheet designed to keep lazy, fat passengers happy into what it is today — the paper of record. What we've been writing over these past few months — it's history. It's important. People need to know what's going on out there. How we set about surviving. They're scared. We've all lost friends and relatives. We give them hope. We show them that there is a way forward. It is our responsibility to make sure that the Times appears each and every day. It is a little bit of certainty in an uncertain world.' And then she surprised them by letting out a small chuckle. A very small chuckle — but it was something. 'I'm just thinking how Jimmy would've reacted to what I'm saying. He'd say, "Claire, get over yourself, it's only a bloody newspaper.'" At least two of the other girls, and one of the boys, had tears in their eyes. 'He would say it, and he would mean it — but I'm telling you, if anyone messed with the paper he would fight tooth and nail to make sure it survived, and that's what we have to do. We don't give up the Times for any reason. If Jimmy's gone, it continues. If I'm gone, it continues. The Times is not Jimmy, it's not me, it's not even the Titanic — it's all of us. Do you understand?'
They all nodded.
Even those who hadn't a clue what she was talking about. Like the idiot who made the tea badly.
'OK, then let's not let it happen again. The Times appears every day without fail — starting tomorrow morning. That means getting to work now. OK?'
Claire had surprised herself with the passion of her speech, but it was working. They were smiling now, they were up for it. It was such a relief. She clapped her hands together. 'OK. Ty — you know the Titanics lost half her power and we're heading for New York?'
'Uh, no . . .'
'Well neither does anyone else! Get on it!'
'Andy?' A skinny boy with freckles and glasses looked up eagerly. 'I want an article on Jimmy, his whole life story.'
'But I don't really know what—'
'Find out! That's your job!'
'Debs?' A pretty blond girl stood to attention. 'Talk to everyone who came aboard today, find out what happened in their settlement, how they ended up there, where they're going . . .'
It went on like that for another ten minutes — Claire firing out stories, giving photographers their assignments, discussing front-page designs, organising a schedule for printing the paper, making sure the delivery team knew their routes. She felt exhilarated to be back on the Times, but also, and suddenly, very, very tired. Her hands gripped the side of the desk where she was standing as her legs began to give way. She held herself up, aware of a sudden sweat breaking on her brow. She looked about her. Everyone was so busy, they hadn't noticed.
I will not faint. Not now.
She had just managed to re-enthuse them about the paper — if she fell on her face now they could just as easily give up again. She had to be strong. Claire took a deep breath, steadied herself, then told Ty she was going upstairs to talk to First Officer Jeffers. Ty was already on the phone talking to Jonas Jones about the problem with the engines, so he gave her the thumbs- up. She walked as steadily as she could to the office door and slipped out. She made it to the elevators, then up to the top deck and out into the fresh air before collapsing down on to one of the sun beds. She lay there, feeling impossibly weak, her arm aching. But at least it was cool up here, and after a few minutes she began to feel a little bit better. Dr Hill had ordered her to rest and now she would, for at least twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. But then she would get back to work. She had to. For the Times. For Jimmy. She closed her eyes. She was still thinking about the paper, not just tomorrow's, but the day after, and the day after that.
She was just beginning to pleasantly drift off into a light sleep when she heard footsteps coming along the deck. Lots of people took a stroll here in the evenings, it was usually so pleasant. But then she heard something vaguely familiar, a tune being hummed. In her dreamy state it took more than a few moments to pin it down.
But then she had it.
Her eyes flashed open.
The minister was coming straight towards her.
13
Fort Hope
Jimmy had visited many devastated areas on the Titanic's journey up the eastern seaboard of the United States. He had witnessed horrific scenes, observed the pathetic state of the settlements forced to grow up away from the diseased cities, and had interviewed countless survivors. But it was perhaps only on the President's train, sitting with his nose pressed against the window as it travelled hundreds of miles across country, that he began to truly appreciate the massive scale of the disaster that had befallen mankind. For hours at a time nothing moved on the landscape. Civilisation was nothing more than an overgrown memory now — although if you believed President Blackthorne, it was still possible to rebuild it.
Only thing was, Jimmy wasn't quite sure if he was buying what the President was selling.
As he stared out at the passing countryside Jimmy tried to imagine what Claire would have made of Mr Blackthorne. She would probably have drawn up two lists — one of positive things in the President's favour; the other negative.
Jimmy tried it.
There were other points to be made, but Jimmy couldn't carry them all in his head the way Claire would. He thought that if there was a trial to decide whether he really was the President and only had the best interests of humanity at heart, then the jury would have been split down the middle. All Jimmy could really add to the argument was that he was usually pretty good at reading people, and meeting Blackthorne had left him feeling uneasy. But then again — you could be uneasy with some people, and it didn't mean they were necessarily bad. He'd felt a bit like that with his old headmaster, Mr McCartney — yet he'd undoubtedly run a pretty good school.