We know a great deal of the world’s history, he thought. From the time of each civilization’s adoption of the written word, we know of all their major events: 5000 years of history among the Sumerians in modern Iraq and in Egypt, 3300 years in China, 2600 years in Mexico. As the written word spread across Europe and the Indian subcontinent, so did our knowledge of history gain over wider swaths of the earth.

This event was beyond all that history’s telling, but that was not our only knowledge. Written history goes back 5000 years, but humanity goes back 7 million years, a much longer period of witnessing. This event had precursors within the collective memory of man. Our myths were older yet than our histories, and they told of such things.

7

Captain London spent more time on the bridge than most in his position.  Many captains on large cruise ships split their time between paperwork and social activities; the running of the ship was left to subordinates. This was not so with Captain London in routine times. It was certainly not so now.

He relegated the first officers to the sidelines as he managed the evacuation and embarkation from New York himself. In fact, the extraordinary traffic in the river and out to sea demanded Captain London stay on deck and he would no doubt remain to ride out the wave. There was no pilot ship to lead them out from harbor this time. Distance required between ships was compressed, and his maximum speed in the harbor had been raised, among the many regulations and laws London had been ordered to break.

London was not particularly troubled that Homeland Security had ordered such safety standards to be ignored, to get as many people out alive as possible. What he didn’t like was the lack of security in letting the refugees aboard. He liked to be in control, and that seemed to allow an element he couldn’t control. Even his security crew was weaponless, but who knew what was coming aboard now?

It was not, however, a situation in which debate or questioning was an option.

The senior officers all wore black suits. One could tell who the captain was without seeing the rank on their shoulders. The captain was at the helm, and the officers orbited around him.

London was not born to lead; he was made so by his own hand. He came from a small town, middle class background, and had understood from an early age that the drive to succeed was a race won not by speed, but by early start. He wasted no time. He had, through years in the Navy, university and various sports teams, cultivated not only the work ethic to rise, but the social connections as well. He hadn’t gained his advantages directly through those connections; rather, by embedding himself among groups accustomed to leadership, he grew to understand it as the expected outcome given the application of his qualities. Here he was, the undisputed chief of a hundred million dollar enterprise, a crew of near a thousand under him. Yet those aggrandizing details were less important to him as a sailor than the more basic fact that he was master of his ship.

Captain London was of average height, with a bearing and a voice weighted by his own gravity. He had a healthy weathered face and thin gray hair, and looked like a club golf pro.

He liked this bridge. It was old school. Out of all the ships on which he’d served in his career, this, with its long curved banks of windows, controls and monitoring equipment below, was coolest. At the center was his chair, a rotating throne he found embarrassingly comfortable.

The Festival was a decades old ship that had undergone major refurbishments twice. She was, to London, a beautiful and messy mix of new and old.

“Get Harrington in here,” he said. “Let’s learn what there is to learn.”

Minutes later, the Chief Radio Officer was on the bridge. He was a young man, fat and always sweaty in his black suit.

“Just the headlines,” Captain London said.

“At 15 knots, the wavefront is not more than five hours sailing.”

“We’ll make better speed when we get out. Go on.”

“Right now the waves are under ten feet but they will be considerably larger after passing onto the continental shelf. However, the troughs are currently long and the waves smooth. Coast Guard pilots have scouted and confirmed that it should be no danger to our vessel. We’re to ride it out and wait. Homeland Security is running the show, and they still don’t know where they’re going to direct returning ships and seagoing refugees. I… got the impression they just don’t now what the coast is going to look like after. Not to mention they’ve been as busy evacuating themselves as planning for everyone else.”

“Your editorial commentary is still unappreciated,” London said.

“So, we’re just supposed to ride it out and wait?” first officer Van der Hoeven asked.

“Yeah,” Harrington said. “Radar shows other ships heading out the same way.”

“Have you heard from the company?” London said.

“They’re satisfied with your decision and urge you to aid in any way, sir, so long as the guests are not put in any danger.”

“Meaning the ship, of course,” an officer said.

“What’s the latest on the event itself?” London said.

“It’s muddled. And what’s clear, is probably wrong.”

“Harrington,” London said.

“Sorry, sir.”

The Communications Officer recited the same outline of events all on the bridge knew already. He had a few extra details: the fault was along the mid-Atlantic ridge; that there had been a major calving of glaciers off the Antarctic ice shelves on one end, and Greenland on the other, seemingly a result of the earthquake; and satellite images and measurements of the rising water levels indicated a major change to the ocean floor topography itself.

“In other news,” Harrington continued, “Washington, or at least our fearless leaders, have been evacuated. President Crawford is in Colorado at a NORAD base. The White House and Pentagon are empty, guarded by Air Force cover.”

There were murmurs of astonishment and excitement from some.

“What’s the refugee situation?” London asked.

“Here or more generally?” Harrington asked.

“In general, first,” London said

“It’s going to be the worst natural disaster in history,” the Communications Officer said, losing his humor for the first time. “Rio has been wiped out, Miami may be underwater as we speak. There’s all this chatter of lessons learned from New Orleans, how they’ve mobilized immense resources so quickly and are directing efforts at hospitals and old age homes. It seems almost useless, sir. In a disaster of this magnitude.”

“Those are lives being saved,” London said. “The actions of our crew are part of an effort that will mean hundreds of thousands saved. The scope may be far larger, but we can still save lives. Thanks for your report. I imagine it will be a while before we receive new orders. In the meantime, Harrington, scan the news. But keep it to yourself. I don’t need the crew distracted with worries of their families. Now, what of OUR refugees, Bausch?”

“Sir, there’s more,” Harrington said.

The others held their breath. London was not often interrupted.

“Go on, Harrington,” the captain said.

“There’s a Navy supply ship that’s lost contact. It was being used in the rescue, and they’ve lost radio contact and the on-board tracking has been shut down. They sent a search jet to its last coordinates, but it’s not on course. It’s disappeared, sir. They’re seeking reports of any sightings at sea.”

“Don’t let your imagination get carried away,” London said. “There are going to be issues as the flood breaks down communications systems. Cell networks have been going out all day. For a while, everyone will be a bit in the dark. Now, Bausch, what of our refugees, please?”