Noah's Ark: Encounters (3 page)

“Joseph!” Jake called to the head of the farming team, a rugged retired farmer with ruddy cheeks and a warm heart, and a work ethic that put most former crew members to shame.

“Aha, Captain Noah. Nice morning.”

Joseph shook Jake’s hand, his firm grip making him wince. Jake didn’t think Joseph quite knew the strength a lifetime of hard labour had given him.

“I must say, Joseph, you and your team have done an impressive job. Every time I come here it looks different again.”

“They work hard, but they could do better. There is always room for improvement.”

“I swear there’s more growing space here than there used to be. How is that possible? Is it an illusion? Does the ground look bigger when it’s bare earth like this?”

Joseph smiled. He was a restrained man of few words. He rarely offered information, but when pressed, would open up and share from his immense wealth of experience. “No illusion, Captain. There is a lot more soil on this ship than that found in the Plaza. We have been relocating it, making better use of resources.”

Jake pondered this. “Okay, go on. Where are you getting more soil from?”

“It is all around. Almost every deck. Pot plants, floral displays; some of the restaurants have huge planters in them. Many, many cubic metres of earth are to be found. All one has to do is open one’s eyes.”

“So you’re gathering up all that soil and bringing it here? Wow, I would never have thought there would be enough to make a difference.”

“It is a big ship, Captain Noah. By the time we have finished, we will have increased the growing area by a third.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Impressive, Joseph. Really impressive.”

“Let us not get carried away. This will never feed everyone.”

“No, but anything we can grow here has to help. The Faslane food won’t last forever. Whatever we can do to supplement it is important.”

Joseph nodded sagely. “It is also a long-term effort. We are towards the end of the season. Going further south will help, but it is going to be months before we see the fruit of this labour. I don’t want you to be under any misconception about that.”

“No, you’re right, of course. Even so, what you’ve achieved here already is nothing short of a miracle.” Jake stared around him. Farm workers toiled like bees, turning the ground with improvised instruments. Some had proper gardening tools, forks and spades, recovered from the gardeners’ stores, but many more were using tools that had been constructed by Martin’s engineering team. “At least you’re not short of manual labour. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m here. I need to talk to one of your team.”

“We work in shifts. Not everyone on my team is present. Who is it you need?”

“One of the prisoners. Zhang.”

“Then you are in luck, Captain. Mr Zhang is mixing compost from the kitchens with the soil being brought here from around the boat. A thankless task, and a physical one.”

“Excellent. His punishment will contribute to the greater good.”

“Come with me, I will show you where he is.”

The two men walked slowly across the plaza. Joseph pointed out the different areas and what each would be used for.

“Potatoes in there. They’re in, and they’ve started growing. If we keep heading south we’ll have a good crop.”

“I don’t suppose Claude gave up his last reserves easily?” Jake smiled. The chef could be difficult to deal with.

“You suppose right. I promised him he would get back at least three times what he provided us with, and he saw the advantages.”

“What about wheat? The kitchens didn’t carry grain stocks, did they?”

“No. But we were very fortunate to find a little among the Faslane reserves. Maize as well. Not much, but enough to give us a start. It is a shame we did not visit the Svalbard Global Seed Vault when we were so close by. It was designed for just this sort of eventuality. We could have had a much wider variety of crops.”

“I understand your frustration. Without the teams established, and your knowledge available to us, it wasn’t something we were even aware of at the time. Although, I don’t suppose such knowledge would have stopped Flynn from heading south anyway. Still, nothing says we can’t go back there in time.”

“That would be to our advantage. The first crops here will be set aside almost in their entirety as we establish our own seed bank. Probably the second crops too. Once we have created a good stock of grain, then we can begin turning some over to Claude. Depending on the meteorological conditions, I am confident we can get two crops of maize before the end of the year. Martin’s group is upgrading the existing irrigation system to something far more substantial. That will help, but the sun is something we don’t have control over. Here, Mr Zhang is over there, with his minder.”

“Thank you, Joseph.”

The men parted, Joseph returning to get hands-on with his farm.

Zhang’s work looked like a backbreaking task. Soil was being delivered in wheelbarrows, and he was mixing it with a rich black compost in a heap on the ground. As a prisoner, his rights and liberties had been taken from him. He was locked in a cabin for twelve hours a day, and worked much of the rest of the time. Whilst out of the cabin, he was permanently under supervision by one of the security team. There was no danger of ‘escape’: the whole ship was effectively a prison to all those on board, and everyone knew Zhang’s face. Everyone knew the face of all the captured disciples. Even so, due to the violent nature of his crimes, they weren’t taking any risks. Jake wasn’t sure who had the worst job: Zhang, or the minder who looked on, bored. It felt to the captain like a waste of a good security officer, someone who could be doing more useful work, contributing to the community in another way. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was the best the committee could come up with.

“Hello, Zhang,” Jake said coldly, before turning to the minder and shaking his hand.

Zhang stopped shovelling and looked up. He said nothing. His eyes looked dead, lacking any emotion at all. He didn’t appear angry, or upset, or frustrated. It wasn’t so easy for Jake to remain detached. Zhang had been directly responsible for the death of Pedro Sol, helmsman, and Jake’s friend. He’d used him as a human shield when submariners from the
Ambush
had retaken the bridge. In the end, Pedro had been killed, and Zhang was seriously wounded. Jake couldn’t help but wish his injuries had been fatal.

“It’s time for you to repay a little more of your debt to society. I require your help with something.”

Zhang turned away and continued to mix soil, loading his shovel with compost and dumping it into the growing pile of earth before twisting and turning the tool, combining the two types of dirt.

“Zhang! The captain is talking to you!” the minder barked at his charge, who sighed, stopped, and stood up straight, facing Jake. He was shorter than the captain, but there was no doubting he had a certain menacing presence about him. Jake was glad they were keeping him under close guard at all times.

“I need you to look at this.” Jake pulled out a notebook from his inside jacket pocket, and flipped it open. He found the page onto which he had copied the symbols from the life raft, and held it out for the prisoner to see. “Is this Chinese? Do you know what this says?”

The corners of Zhang’s lips turned up, just a tiny bit, but Jake noticed. Zhang knew what the symbols were, but he wasn’t saying.

• • •

Grace Garet had committed a cardinal sin. The thirty-six-year-old detective from Iowa had barged into Max Mooting’s office without warning, catching him dozing on the job. Again.

Max wasn’t embarrassed by this, he was just annoyed. He’d impressed upon his team on many occasions the importance of knocking. He could, he reminded her, have been in the middle of a sensitive interview, or a confidential planning meeting. Grace wasn’t so easily fooled, and neither was she going to let her team leader get away with his lazy ways. As far as she was concerned, Max was one of the least qualified in the security team to be in charge of it. The fact that he was the boss was in her view down to the company-heavy makeup of the committee. It was jobs for the boys. Max got the office because Max had always had the office, not because he merited it in any way. She intended to show him up at every possible opportunity, until he was removed from his post. Naturally she also had very strong ideas about who should replace him, and her own name was, unsurprisingly, at the top of that list. The security team was a shambles, and Grace believed she was the woman to sort it out.

“Miss Garet,” Max sighed. “What can I do for you?”

“That’s Detective Garet, Mr Mooting.”

“There’s no rank of detective on this boat, Miss Garet, as well you know. Were you here for a reason?”

“Actually, yes. I’m fed up with patrolling decks full of cabins. Nothing ever happens. You’ve given me a job that is way beneath my rank—”

Max opened his mouth to challenge her, but she dipped her head and showed him the palm of her hand.

“Way beneath my level of experience,” Grace said, cutting him off and avoiding the argument. “Patrolling should be done by some of the younger guys. I should be down on the main decks. Maybe on seven. There are always groups congregating around the kitchens. You know it’s only a matter of time before someone organises a raid. People are sick of rations. I should be in plain clothes, infiltrating these groups. That would be a far more pertinent use of my skills.”

“Miss Garet, you see malice where there is none. Yes, things turned bad for a bit after the asteroid, but that was a one-off. Not every group of people is out for mutiny. I know the signs, and I’ve seen none.”

“I’m not suggesting they are. But put three thousand people in a confined space with limited food, and things are going to get ugly sooner or later.”

“I know all about what happens when you put three thousand people on a ship. I’ve been doing this job for twenty-five years—”

“Not the same!” Grace protested, shaking her head and sending her long blonde curls flapping about her ears. “Not the same at all. You can’t compare our situation with a regular cruise.”

“I’m in charge. I’ll do what I like.”

“I’m being wasted up there. You could stick a shop dummy in a security uniform and it would do the same job I’m doing.”

“You think I should replace you with a dummy? It’s a tempting prospect.” Max smiled for the first time since Grace had arrived.

“That’s not what I said.” She yanked back the visitor’s chair, causing a notebook to drop to the floor. She picked it up and tossed it onto the desk before sitting down and crossing her legs and arms. “If you don’t find me something more productive to do, I’m going to the committee. I mean it. I’m not spending another shift wasting my time wandering empty corridors. I’ll lodge a formal complaint against you.”

Max smiled wider. “Really? That could be interesting.” He eyed the notebook that had landed in front of him, seeing an opportunity to dispose of two irritating problems in one go. “Okay,
Detective
Garet. You want to do some proper detecting? How about a missing persons case?”

Three

G
RACE
HAD
BEEN
convinced that Max was winding her up at first. How, she asked, could anyone go missing on a ship? She had been surprised to learn that it was quite a common occurrence. Indeed, Max told her, worldwide, on average, a person went missing from a cruise ship every two weeks, never to be seen again. Most went overboard, ending their own lives at sea. Others were never explained, or at least not to the satisfaction of the families left without answers.

Persuaded that the case was genuine, her next question had been why couldn’t they just put out a ship-wide call for Mr Moran to contact the security team. Max had said she was welcome to try that, but it meant getting approval from the committee. Ship-wide announcements were now for urgent situations only. They reasoned that regular calls over the loudspeaker system were fine for train journeys or cruises, but this was their life now. This was a fully functioning community, a town. If they started putting out calls every five minutes it would be like living in a supermarket. Grace had reluctantly agreed that she should make some preliminary enquiries before bothering the committee with what was likely to be just a case of an old man who didn’t want to play bingo anymore. Besides, secretly she relished the prospect of performing an investigation, no matter how banal.

She began by calling on Giles Moran’s cabin. Max had entrusted her with a master key, so when nobody answered her knocks, she let herself in and took a good look around.

Up in the nines the staterooms were large and well appointed. Giles’ suite comprised a lounge room, double bedroom, and a luxury bathroom, all decorated in a light blue-and-yellow scheme. A balcony looked out over Farm Plaza. It wasn’t to Grace’s taste, which pleased her no end. Her pokey room didn’t seem so bad in comparison, she decided.

What was immediately obvious was that Mr Moran wasn’t travelling alone. Three quarters of the wardrobe was filled with evening dresses, skirts, blouses, and a lot of shoes. Unless he was into cross-dressing, there was probably a Mrs Moran. The bathroom confirmed her theory, with two toothbrushes and a lot of makeup.

Grace returned to the lounge room and sank into one of the armchairs. They looked comfortable, but were very small even for her slight figure. No doubt, she thought, in order to make the room look bigger than it really was.

She considered the probable Mrs Moran. If Giles really was missing, it seemed odd that his wife hadn’t been the one to alert the security team. Deflated, she left the cabin to go and report her findings to Max. There was no case to investigate here. Giles Moran had probably just given up playing bingo. What made it worse was that she was sure Max had already worked this out. He’d given her the case to get rid of her.
 

As Grace was closing the door behind her, she spotted a frail woman walking into the next-door cabin.

“Excuse me!” she shouted after the neighbour. “Hi there, sorry to disturb. I’m det…I’m Grace, from the security team.”