“Twenty-three hundred aboard, all in the Grand Atrium and the Royal Theater. Everything as planned,” said Bausch, the Chief Security Officer. “Birnbaum is out managing the situation right now.”
In extraordinary times, responsibilities were less than clear. Captain London trusted Staff Captain Birnbaum, and had put the new passengers under his management. Captain London had also put the massive resources of the hotel manager at the use of Birnbaum, meaning the restaurants, the wait staff, the housekeepers, the pursers; all could be drafted into the effort.
“They’re double-shifting galley staff to feed the new and old guests,” the Security Officer continued. “My men have swept the decks and have good confidence that the guests have all returned to their rooms. Still… another announcement wouldn’t hurt. There were quite a few out for a look, and with the resources required managing the refugees, we haven’t the numbers to maintain constant watches at all sections of the decks.”
“Have Birnbaum pull the staff together, in groups if he has to, and give them an update of the situation. It’s critical that the staff understand that things are under control and still being managed as tightly as before. Have them told that this is an opportunity and a responsibility to help in a crisis. If the staff maintain composure, the guests will remain at ease and under control.”
“Vince Lombardi it is, sir.”
“Sir, we haven’t handled emergency planning given the new realities on the Festival,” a First Officer said. “Our prior emergency drills have, I think, been rendered obsolete.”
“This is the reality,” London responded. “We are not up to SOLAS standards. I accept my personal culpability for this. Somehow I expect it to be overlooked. We are drastically short on lifeboats, and the Atrium and Theater couldn’t be evacuated in a reasonable, let alone legally mandated, time in any case. So, gentlemen, let’s keep this ship afloat.”
The skies had cleared in the afternoon; the visibility was excellent. Making 25 knots now as it emerged from Lower Bay into open sea, the vessel barely rumbled. The sun was behind them, so that the ship chased its own shadow. The First Officer on duty was left at the helm. The captain stood to watch as other great vessels passed it by to take their turn evacuating the docks.
No external circumstances could take away the beauty of the ocean.
In thirty-three years at sea, London had seen its immense power unleashed many times. He knew that the manifestation of this tsunami at sea would be minor; over the deep water the waves would be minimized. As it approached shore, the wave’s energy would be directed upward by the rising floor, and the series of waves would run into each other and add their amplitudes. Then would it become the monstrous force that just might change the world.
They were hours out to open sea as their rendezvous with the waves approached, the senior officers crowding the bridge. Finally, Captain London sent them below, keeping only a bare crew, and imagining them away as he looked out over the sea.
8
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please,” a black-jacketed officer called out to the crowded Grand Atrium from halfway up a staircase. “My name is Antonio Dipietro, and I’m the Festival’s Hotel Manager. We thank you for your patience and cooperation. First of all, if you look around for the signs, you will find our restrooms. You don’t even need to see the signs actually. Just look for the line-ups. I apologize for this inconvenience, but I’m sure these lines will go down soon. We will be able to keep you comfortable here until we learn when we can return to port. We are going to be bringing food out for you all. We’d like to ask for your patience, it will be about forty-five minutes longer and you will be able to eat. I will be back soon for the food service.”
Service doors which had been locked prior to the rescue were opened and an army of personnel came through, bearing tables which they set up all around the perimeter of the great hall.
Seeing the effort being made to keep them comfortable had a palpable effect on the crowd. They were not forgotten, and this was a competently run enterprise. Since the ship had left New York, the sadness of the refugees was quieted by the twin spirits, shock and fear. With the action of the crew, the spell seemed to break. There were smiles of relief, as well as long pent-up sobs.
Travis noticed the lines at the bathroom did shorten quickly, and soon the hotel manager appeared again on the staircase.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out. “I would like to ask you to wait just a few minutes more while our crew gets the food set up. When that is done, there will be an announcement to please come in an orderly fashion, line up for the buffet and help yourselves. We’ll have pizzas, hot dogs and hamburgers, as well as water and juice. We aren’t quite sure when we’ll next have food ready to bring down as we have our regular guests to take care of as well, so please come and get your fill. Just wait till the signal. Thanks.”
The food came in, a grand procession of staff passing gleaming chafer dishes and trays to other staff already waiting to serve.
When the hotel manager called on the refugees to begin lining up, Travis’s group didn’t rush, while many others did. It was a long wait, but there was lots of food. There were stacks of pizzas at the end of each table, with several open boxes at a time. There were large trays piled with hamburgers and hot dogs, and coolers of juice and water.
“What’ll you have, champ?” Travis asked Darren.
“Hot dogs, please,” the boy said.
The four of them found a spot on the floor and sat down to eat. The marble was cold. Darren studied the metallic and crystalline lines in the tiles. The hot dogs were hot and good and made them feel better. A bit of strength came into each of them. Corrina looked up at the gem-cut skylight decks and decks above, and the tourists watching down from the railings, all the way up.
Corrina Adamson was a strikingly attractive woman, but only from close up. From afar, everything about her seemed average. She dressed and did her hair so that her beauty could not be seen but up close. She had long, light-brown hair, curling down across her forehead and cheek so that one did not see her face except directly from the front. You had to take the time to look at her to know her beauty.
She came from small town South Carolina and had swung between tomboy and girly-girl as a child. Even in high school she had been a multi-sport athlete, an adventurous and tough “guy’s girl” who loved putting on party dresses and make-up. As an adult, she had subtly hidden her looks, a bit of idiosyncratic defiance. Her ever-present smile and good humor, her raspy voice and rolling accent, and her fierce (and equally hidden) intelligence had bewitched both Travis and Gerry, and a few before them.
She had a temper, but had long ago begun to feel sorry for Travis more than angry.
After many of the refugees had gone back for seconds, the staff returned to clear off and remove the tables.
The intercom again came to life.
“This is Captain London. We are about to run the waves. We are in no danger, but I suggest you all prepare for a bumpy ride.”
There was a murmur of excitement in the crowd as individuals returned from wherever they were to rejoin their families or other groups. Travis and his group stayed together on the floor, Darren squeezing in between his mother and Gerry.
Without noise or warning, the floor gently rolled, and they all leaned a bit to stern. It lasted several heartbeats, and one held breath. A few things fell over and crashed, as well as a few people. Some fell from sitting. It calmed for a moment, and then there was a second wave, and they held their breath up and exhaled down. A third smaller roll and then a fourth. The voice came back on the intercom.