Flood

84

June 2038

Lily woke up in a hospital room.

Some of it was familiar, the bed, bits of furniture, medical monitoring gear, regular hospital stuff. But the walls were steel. The battered paperback books on the shelf beside her bed were held in place with a wooden bar. And there was a constant regular thrumming, as of vast engines.

She wasn’t sure where she was, but she felt vaguely reassured. She drifted back into unconsciousness.

When she came round again she found herself looking up at a medical officer in a blue coverall.

“Welcome to the SSGN New Jersey,” he said. Aged about fifty, he was a round, smiling, reassuring man with a broad Texan accent. He told her he’d set her up in a kind of private ward.“Look, it’s just a store room. But we sleep in nine-man berthing spaces on this boat. Believe me, you don’t want to be recuperating surrounded by a bunch of enlisted guys snoring their ugly heads off.”

“Manco…” Her voice was a scratch.

“The little boy? He’s fine. A lot better off than you, in fact. Get some rest.”

The next time she woke, Thandie Jones was there.

In her fifties, Thandie was still slim, tall, a handsome woman, her graying hair worn long and brushed back into a bun. She wore blue coveralls and sneakers, as the MO had; this seemed to be the standard-issue uniform here.

She leaned over Lily’s bunk and gave her a hug. “Hi.”

“We’re in a submarine, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. Bit of a change from the Trieste, right?”

“The coffee’s no better,” Lily whispered.

Thandie laughed.

Lily longed to ask her about Ark One, whatever it was, and Sanjay’s cryptic message about Thandie’s connection with it, over which she’d been fretting for years. She’d never wanted to discuss it over the radio. But now wasn’t the time.

Thandie insisted Lily had to rest. “The MO says your problem isn’t only the shooting, though that was a clean wound, or your near-drowning. You’re over sixty-”

“You’re no spring chicken yourself.”

“Doc Morton says you’re having a kind of crash. A system breakdown. You’re exhausted, Lily. I guess living with Nathan Lammockson is hard work, huh?”

In the humming, fluorescent-lit calm of this undersea boat, Lily thought back to Ark Three, the perpetually fraught atmosphere among the commanders, the slow deterioration of the fabric of the ship, the deepening sense that they were all stuck on a cruise to nowhere. “Hard work. Yes, I guess it is.”

“Look, you don’t need to worry. We contacted Nathan. We told him you’re OK-and so’s the Ark, if you want to know. Nathan says they fought off those pirates without significant losses.”

“Nathan would say that.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it anyhow. We couldn’t get you back to the Ark, things were kind of chaotic after the pirate attack and the storm. We’re off on our own course, and it’s going to be a while before we cross the Ark’s path again.”

“A while? How long have I been out of it?… Kristie. My niece. Manco’s mother. I need to speak to her.”

“I’ll arrange it. But she knows Manco’s OK; Nathan told her. For now just take it easy.” Thandie stood and made for the door.“Sleep, read, kick back, watch TV. It’s not as if you’re missing anything. A nuclear sub isn’t the most exciting place to be.”

“Take care of Manco for me.”

Thandie grinned. “I will-not that he’s going to need it.”

Lily lost count of the days she dozed away.

She tried to watch TV on the big plasma screen on the wall of her cabin. She still couldn’t bear old movies. The crew put out a kind of inboard broadcast service, where you watch them indulging in sports like wrestling and poker, or read their blogs, and look at their comics and artwork. All this was mostly incomprehensible in-jokes by a crew who seemed to be mostly middle-aged men who knew each other very well, with little news of the outside world. It meant nothing to Lily.

She tried the books on the shelf by her bed. They were mostly novels, yellowing paperback editions. The contemporary fiction made no sense, contemporary meaning any time from the last few decades before the flood, every single assumption they made about the world having been proved wrong. But she found a few historical novels, accounts of worlds that had vanished even before her own, and older fiction, “classics.” There was a Dickens omnibus, and for a while Lily lost herself in complex tales of a vanished England.

There was also an astronomical almanac, tables of star declinations and eclipses through to the end of the century. A sailor’s book. Sometimes she found a study of the meaningless celestial precision of the almanac tables more comforting even than Dickens.

The engines hummed, the lights never flickered. She felt cradled. Sometimes as she dozed she felt her bunk tilt, the whole boat tipping as it undertook its maneuvers. So that was why the bookshelf had a bar across it.

Manco visited her. As it turned out, for the first couple of days after their rescue he had stayed close to the sleeping Lily. After so long on the Ark new faces freaked him out, and he clung to familiarity. The medical crew accepted this and set up a cot in Lily’s room for him, and even installed a little chemical toilet so he wouldn’t have to go out in the night.

But he came around. Being on a submarine didn’t bother him fundamentally. After the Ark he was used to living in a machined environment, to living at sea. And the crew befriended him. Supplies ran him up a kid-sized version of the standard-issue blue coverall and gave him a red SSGN New Jersey baseball cap to wear. Lily learned that only the captain was ordinarily entitled to the grandeur of a red cap, so it was quite an honor.

After maybe a week, the medics let Lily out of her cage. She was issued with sneakers and a blue coverall of her own, and Thandie took her on gentle walks.

The boat’s interior was all corridors, brightly lit by fluorescent strips. The curve of the pressure-hull walls was obvious. The roof was a tangle of ducts and pipes and cables, and the walls were paneled with instrument boxes. It was a noisy place, the crew’s voices echoing from the steel walls, overlaid by the rasp of a tannoy system relaying orders mostly incomprehensible to Lily. She was surprised that most of the doors were rectangular, ordinary-looking, unlike the curved wheel-handled hatches of the submarine dramas of her childhood. Thandie said there were only a handful of watertight doors on the boat, separating the big compartments, and those doors were circular, not oval.

The New Jersey was a hundred and seventy feet long, beam forty-two feet-the US Navy still worked in feet and inches-which made her a big boat, but you could walk her length in minutes. Despite some artful paintwork there was a continual sense of claustrophobia, and you could never forget you were in the guts of a machine.

“I hope Manco’s not making any trouble down here.”

“The men think he’s terrific.”

“I guess they would. But he’s used to the space of the Ark. And he gets to go swimming whenever we heave to. He must be rattling around in this tin can like a wasp in a jam jar.”

Thandie shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. There are sports facilities. Exercise machines like treadmills and bikes, virtual reality systems where you can play tennis and so on. The guys wear him out. Mind you, since he was shown the control room, he’s been nagging to have a crack at piloting the boat. The helm is a joystick, like a games console.”

“He’ll have us leaping out of the water like a salmon if he gets the chance.”

Thandie laughed. “There are simulators, a big educational suite in the galley. We’re allowing him time on that. Don’t worry about him. The Chief of the Boat told me he would take personal care that Manco doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Well, thank him for me.”

This was an Ohio-class boat, Thandie told her, her keel laid down long before the flood. Once she had carried Trident nuclear missiles, but she had been refitted as an SSGN, her mission to launch guided missiles and other conventional weapons: Tomahawk cruise missiles, unmanned air vehicles, various reconnaissance systems.

The nuclear submarines, designed for cruises lasting months with minimal resupply and refurbishment, continued to patrol the world. They were used to maintain physical contact with the scattered communities that were the refuge of mankind-and to protect the interests of the US. The subs were armed, some of them still bearing nukes, and this crew had seen action, Thandie said, mostly escorting convoys or driving off attempted forced landings on the US coastline. But most potential aggressors were far away from the remnant continental US, and the Denver government rarely intervened in third-party conflicts. The days when the US had acted as a global policeman were over.

And the boats served as floating platforms for scientists like Thandie, oceanographers and climatologists and biologists studying the fast-changing world-even historians and anthropologists recording what was becoming of the remnants of mankind.

Lily grunted. “Recording for who?”

“Well, we never ask such questions.”

The crew was a hundred and forty enlisted men and fifteen officers, all men also, and a handful of passengers, mostly scientists like Thandie, men and women. They all wore the ubiquitous blue coveralls and soft sneakers, though the officers wore khaki belts rather than black, and had rank insignias on their lapels. Many wore baseball caps, faded souvenirs of long-disbanded sports teams.

Traditionally the enlisted men on a boat like this would have been young, but aboard the New Jersey there were few under thirty, and the mean age seemed to be late forties. Recruitment into the Navy had been wound down in recent years, Thandie said. As the subs and ships approached the end of their operational lives, the Navy just kept on the men until they retired with their boats. And besides, the men themselves didn’t want to be anywhere else; where on Earth was there a better environment than this?

The boat seemed cramped to Lily, but was roomy enough for courtesy; as she and Thandie passed the men got out of their way, smiling. Everything was spotlessly clean, brightly lit. And with everybody wearing those same blue coveralls, everybody being about the same age, it was a faintly eerie environment. It was like being in a hospital, Lily thought, an institution.

As they walked the corridors, and Lily slowly rebuilt her strength and walked off the ache in her healing leg, they spoke of their lives since they had last met.

Thandie had always tried to keep in touch with those she had known in the old days, the slowly diminishing network of scientist types-including Gary Boyle, who was still holding out in the Andes-and Nathan and his community on the Ark. When Thandie had noticed that the New Jersey ’s course was going to cross the Ark’s, she had persuaded the captain to make a minor detour; the Ark was a significant enough vessel for the Denver government to take an interest in. It had been no coincidence that Thandie and the sub had shown up when she did, though fortunate for Lily.

Thandie listened to Lily’s accounts of the Ark’s voyage, the seaborne communities of aging boats and disintegrating rafts, what she had seen of the brutal regime emerging in Tibet. She encouraged her to relate all this to the anthropologists on board.

“Things are better than that in the US, for now. Much of Utah has flooded now, and that’s put paid to the Mormons. But you still have this relentless pressure of refugees from the lower lands, crowding into the last scraps of high ground-or trying to.”

“You can’t take them all.”

“No, we can’t. We’ve not yet fallen into the barbarism of Tibet. But we have pretty rigid border control, Lily. We do take doctors and engineers and the like, if you have a proven qualification of some kind-but that’s rare since most colleges shut down long ago. Otherwise you’re turned away.”

“How long can it last? Even Denver will go in the end.”

“Something else we don’t talk about. It may not come to that, however. Not for all of us.”

Lily looked at her. “Sanjay said something about Ark One.”

Thandie nodded. “I told him to get a message to you, if he could. I wasn’t sure if I should send such news through Nathan… Whenever I’m in Denver I keep hearing rumors of some kind of last-ditch program. The Arks, they call them. Supposedly top secret but it’s leaky as hell, because that’s the way of the engineers and scientists who are working on it; we talk. Nathan himself was involved at one time.”

“Hence Ark Three.”

“Yes. I think it began as an initiative of the rich, a global network of them trying to find ambitious, high-tech ways to save themselves. I briefed some of them, years back. They shared ideas, technicians, resources. The operations on US soil were taken over by the Denver government long ago, but the program has continued. So I hear.”

“So what is Ark One?”

“I don’t know. But whatever they’re doing at Denver has got to be a better long-term bet than Nathan Lammockson’s schemes. I remembered your pledge to your fellow hostages, to Helen Gray’s daughter. Gary made the same promises.”

“Grace, yes. She’s on Ark Three.”

“I don’t have any idea how you’d get Grace into Ark One, whatever it is. Maybe I could find out, though. I have contacts back in Denver. Gordo Alonzo, for one.”

Lily held her breath, choosing her words carefully, not wishing to extinguish this flickering flame of hope. “It would be a hell of a challenge.”

“Oh, I like challenges.”

More days passed. Lily wasn’t always sure if she was awake or dreaming. She found she read passages of Dickens until some sentence or memorable image stuck in her memory, and she realized she was reading the same page as yesterday. Gradually, however, day by day, she felt fitter in mind and body.

It was just as she began to feel restless that Thandie invited her to come view her work area.

This was an extensive science bay that had been cannibalized from part of the missile compartment. There was a well-equipped biology lab, with glass flasks and tubing and pipettes and white-box equipment Lily didn’t recognize. An area for geology and hydrology stored shallow sea-bed cores and minute samples of sea water from the changing oceans, held in neat racks, and Lily remembered going to NewYork with Thandie to present a bank of evidence like this to the IPCC, a visit all of twenty years ago.

The pride and joy was the in-cruise observation area, a curtained-off room lit only by a dim red glow. Those sitting here in near silence were mostly scientists, supplemented by a specialist crew like sonar operators. All middle-aged men, they glanced around as Lily and Thandie entered, irritated at the light they let in. Then they went back to their work, mostly simply monitoring the screens, making occasional notes verbally into microphones or scribbled on paper blocks-seashell paper from the Ark, Lily was pleased to see, if surprised.

“At last,” she said in a whisper.“Red lights, bleeping sonar, guys huddled over screens. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Red October chic.”

“Oh, shut up. Listen, the boat has its standard complement of sensors.” Thandie pointed to displays labeled BQQ-6, BQR-19, BQS-13. “Bow-mounted and active sonar, navigation arrays. But for these cruises that’s supplemented by science gear. We have a towed array, robot vehicles, and we’re shadowed above the water by various surface drones and UAVs.”

Lily guessed at the latest acronym. “Unmanned air vehicles.”

“Yes. With pressure, temperature, density, chemistry sensor suites, imaging in various wavelengths, sonar, radar, and a link to the surviving GPS network. We can put together quite a picture. Look at this.” She pointed to a screen that displayed a kind of false-color map, an archipelago of scattered islands isolated in an immense ocean. A flashing green splinter was, Lily guessed, the position of the New Jersey. “This is what I brought you in to see, Lily. This submerged landscape. Thought you’d be interested.”

“So where are we?”

“Britain.”