Кейт Кристенсен - The Last Cruise

“Cabaret is sending tugboats, but they’re still days away. HQ is looking into sending additional supplies and water if we need them.”

“An airdrop,” said the captain. “Okay. No power, no tugs yet, limited food and water. Elhadji, what’s the weather look like out here?”

“Clear skies all week,” said one of the lower-ranking men behind the captain. “Fingers crossed.”

“Crossed fingers won’t save us in a storm,” said the captain. “Chen, are we set with the lifeboats? Manual winches good to go?”

“Yes, Captain,” said a younger officer. “And we’ll organize another muster drill this afternoon.”

Although Miriam always wanted to know the worst, the mention of lifeboats was frightening. Rivka’s fingers had been squeezing her upper arm so hard it almost hurt.

“Good,” said the captain. “Phil, what’s the report on the galleys? How’s morale?”

“Chef Laurens is very sick,” said a deep-voiced officer. “But Chefs Mick and Kenji have taken over in the main galley. Tonight they’re planning to do a cookout on the pool deck. We’ll have drinks and music, if possible. We want to keep people happy.”

“Lots of booze,” said the captain. “Keep it flowing. But not too much. We don’t want any man-overboard situations.” It was evidently meant as a dark joke, but no one laughed. “And also, keep those bio-bags in circulation, make sure they use ’em, otherwise this boat’s going to stink like a barnyard.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” said Phil. “My team is on it.”

“Now,” said the captain, straightening up and crossing his arms. Miriam didn’t know a thing about the formalities of nautical command, but the captain’s dramatic show of authority seemed intended to impress Larry Weiss. “We have another situation to add to the engine and generator failures. Eric, why don’t you brief us on the latest with this illness we’ve been seeing? Chef Laurens isn’t the only one, is he?”

“The medic says it’s norovirus,” said a bald senior officer with a mournful face. “About eighteen, twenty people are pretty damned sick already. It’s fairly common, as we all know, especially on cruise ships. And there’s no real way to treat it, you just quarantine the patients and let it run its course. But it’s gonna be hard to keep things sterilized with no plumbing and limited water. This bug tends to spread pretty fast in the best of conditions.”

Everyone in the room looked unhappy, including Larry. Clearly this was news to most of them.

“We’ve established a clinic on the promenade deck,” Eric was saying. “It’s the best we can do for now. And we’re going to need all the hands we can get.” He said this to the captain, not challenging him, but implying a question.

“Well, about that,” said the captain. He hesitated, not with uncertainty, Miriam thought, but for effect. He looked directly at Larry. “As most of you know, right before the fire, we had a situation in which about half of the crew walked out.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Larry with a hint of annoyance. “I’m well aware of the situation.”

“Then you know they’ve set up camp on the main deck. And they seem to have taken over the buffet galley as well, at least until Cabaret agrees to reinstate their contracts, in which case they would be willing to resume their duties.”

“Bullshit,” said Larry. “It’s a publicity stunt. I’m not reinstating any contracts. I don’t even have the authority to do that without approval from the CEO of the company and the board of directors. Honestly, this is outrageous. Criminal, in fact.”

“Mr. Weiss,” said the captain with elaborate courtesy. “Perhaps if you just agreed to have a conversation with the leaders of this protest.”

“No way,” said Larry. “Absolutely not. First of all, I don’t negotiate with terrorists. And second of all, how do we know they didn’t set the fire themselves? Do we know that?”

Captain Jack seemed frustrated, Miriam thought, which made sense, since he clearly couldn’t dictate the workers’ terms, couldn’t do anything but defer to Larry. “Well, it’s critical to the well-being of this ship that we get them back to their stations, in uniform, as soon as possible. Otherwise our situation could disintegrate further.”

“Sorry,” said Larry Weiss without looking at all sorry. “You can let them rot or throw them overboard. I don’t give a fuck what happens to them.”

Miriam almost gasped aloud. Rivka’s grip was cutting off the circulation in her arm.

“Anyway,” said Larry, “what I want to know is, why the hell don’t we have power? Where is the backup engine?”

“With all due respect, sir,” said the captain with cautious geniality. “The company decided to use the space for extra cabins instead. Better for revenue, that was the rationale.”

“Well,” said Larry, “that should never have happened.” He looked around the room for someone to blame. But since there clearly wasn’t anyone, he changed tack. “Well, luckily I’ve arranged for a military helicopter to come this evening. It can only make one trip, and it can only take limited weight. I’m airlifting the executive chef out, he’s dangerously sick and he needs a hospital.”

“My hero,” muttered Rivka.

“My wife and I will be leaving the ship as well,” he was saying. “So you all will just have to sit tight and wait for the tugboats to arrive.”

“I’m not going,” Rivka said. “I’m staying here with the people whose lives are your responsibility.”

“No,” said Larry. “You’re coming with me.”

“No, I am not,” said Rivka. “I’m staying right here, and you should too. This is your fault. You canceled their contracts. You wouldn’t pay for backup engines. And now you’re ditching the ship?”

Everyone in the room, including Miriam, stared at her.

“Okay,” said the captain. “Meeting dismissed. Except Elhadji and Chen, I need you two for further instructions.”

Rivka marched out and along the catwalk. Miriam hurried after her.

“I want the whole quartet to move up to my quarters,” Rivka said as she hustled along. “All four of you, as soon as Larry’s off the boat. I’ve got room, no sense wasting it.”

“Thank you,” said Miriam, matching her stride.

“No,” said Rivka. “It’s for me. I want company. You’re doing this as a favor to me.”

“Is a helicopter really coming to get him?”

“If Larry wants a helicopter, he’ll get one.” They started down the stairs. “And a new wife. Goddamn it, I’m thirsty.”

The sun hit their faces with a hot blast as Christine and Valerie emerged from the stairwell and out onto the expansive main deck. It was the lowest and largest outdoor deck on the ship, and from it, the higher decks rose in a terraced block. At some point during the night or early morning, the aft section of the main deck had been converted into a makeshift camp. Corners of bedsheets had been tied to high railings and awnings in taut rectangles to make ceilings for shade. Bunk mattresses were lined up underneath, each made with sheets tucked in just so, pillows plumped, cotton blankets folded at the foot, everything crisp, orderly. So this was what happened when a bunch of room stewards went on strike and set up a tent village, Christine thought. It was all so impeccable. The crisp military neatness was at odds with the mood among the crowd on deck, young workers out of uniform, wearing their own clothes, lounging on deck chairs, at ease for once. They were quiet, seemingly relaxed. At first glance, they could have been a group of young passengers, enjoying a sunny morning on a cruise. But a pall hung over them like the smoke from last night’s fire, and on closer look, the casualness of their postures seemed forced, provisional. Their faces were tense and alert. Their voices carried to Christine as she hesitated by the stairwell doorway. She heard several foreign languages at once, for the first time since she’d come on board, of which she recognized only Spanish.