CV

46

At oh-two-hundred that night his bedside phone brrred. More or less awake, Bliss picked it up. “Yes?”

“Chief, sorry to disturb you, but it’s collect from your wife.”

“On video?”

“No.”

“All right, put her on.”

“Stanley?”

“Yes, dear.”

“We’ve been so worried about you, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Well, dear, I wouldn’t have called at this hour, but I couldn't get through before—they kept saying all the circuits were busy.”

“Yes, they probably were. Is anything wrong?”

“Well, it’s nothing really, but Tommy is in a little trouble. He borrowed some money from a man at work, and then, you know, he lost the job and so of course he couldn’t pay it back.”

“How much money?”

“Well, they say it’s three thousand pounds, and you know with the new furnace last year, and the rise in the rates, it’s left us very short indeed.”

“How much has he got left?”

“Well, only a few pounds, you see he lent most of it to another man, I’m afraid it’s a complicated story. But this man, the one he borrowed from, is being very nasty, calling day and night, and we really are at our wit’s end, dear. I just wanted to know if there’s anything you can do.”

“I’ll wire the money,” said Bliss.

“Thank you, dear, you are an angel. What about your epidemic, is there anything new?”

“No, it’s the same.”

“Well, I know you’ll come through it all right, dear. Oh, by the way, old Mrs. Frye particularly wanted to be remembered to you. She prays for you every night, and of course we do too.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, dear, this is costing the earth. I’ll ring off now. Sleep well.”

“Yes, you too.”

“And I’ll give your love to Tommy, shall I?”

“Yes. Good night.”

At oh-eight-hundred the next morning, Bliss entered the Control Center as was his custom; Deputy Ferguson had just come on shift. Stuart was at the communications console.

“Mr. Ferguson and Ms. Stuart, I regret to tell you that I have been ordered to do something that in my judgment would be extremely dangerous.”

“Yes, Chief?” said Stuart.

“A U.S. aircraft carrier is steaming towards us from Guam and will arrive at approximately oh-nine-hundred.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The carrier is to take off a number of our passengers and keep them in quarantine. I don’t think they realize the impossibility of doing so on a carrier, but naturally I have no choice but to comply.”

“No, sir,” said Stuart.

“In the circumstances, it is regrettable that you should have informed me that our communications gear is down, and that we cannot send messages.”

“Sir?”

Bliss put a finger beside his nose. “Something to do with the aerial, I believe. In fact, it’s quite serious, because we can receive messages on the emergency channels, and weather and navigation signals, but no other incoming messages at all—no telephone, no TV. Naturally I expect you to make repairs with all deliberate speed. Do you understand me now?”

“Oh. Yes, sir, I think I do.”

“Good. And you, Mr. Ferguson?”

“Yes, Chief.”

A light was blinking on the comm console. Stuart flipped a switch and listened. “Chief, a message from the Bluefields. They say they will make rendezvous at oh-nine-thirteen. They’re asking for confirmation.”

“It’s a pity we can’t answer, isn’t it? Prepare for submersion, Mr. Ferguson.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sirens went off all over the open decks. Stewards hurried about stowing away loose gear and escorting passengers inside. The weather doors were shut and dogged. The fishery and marine sections were secured. “Ready for submersion, sir,” said Ferguson. Bliss did not reply.

At oh-nine-hundred Stuart said, “A radio message from the Bluefields, sir. ‘We are approaching rendezous. Do you read? Please open telephone link.’ ”

“Thank you.”

He turned to Ferguson. “Can you see them?”

“Yes, sir. There they are.” He pointed to the TV screen.

“Bone in their teeth,” remarked Bliss.

“Yes, sir.”

“They must be rather irritated.”

“Yes, sir.”

In the screen, the carrier was now plainly visible, a hulking gray shape. Lights were winking from her foremast structure.

“She’s signaling by heliograph, Chief.”

“I see she is. Can you read that, Mr. Ferguson?”

“Yes, sir. ‘Prepare to receive helicopter.’

Bliss frowned. “How long is it since you learned heliograph, Mr. Ferguson?”

“Thirteen years. Chief.”

“So you're bound to be a little rusty. You’re really just guessing at the message, aren’t you?”

“If you say so. Chief.”

“I do say so. In fact, we don’t know that’s a U.S. Navy vessel at all. It could be hostile. I think we must consider evasive action, Mr. Ferguson.”

They watched in silence as the carrier rapidly drew nearer. It hove to half a mile away; there were further signals. Then they saw a helicopter lift off the deck and swing toward them.

“Down to plus ten,” said Bliss, “smartly, Mr. Ferguson.”

“Yes, sir.”

The water rose until only ten feet of Sea Venture’s upper works stood above the surface. The copter was still droning toward them. In the view from the camera on the foretop they saw it fly over, vastly foreshortened; it reappeared, circled twice, and turned back to the carrier.

“There’ll be hell to pay for this later,” Ferguson remarked.

“I know it,” said Bliss. In the old days on the Queen, a first officer would not have spoken to his captain in quite that way, but Bliss wasn’t a captain and this wasn't a ship.