What worried Max even more was that he could tell he wasn’t the only one who had concerns about the leadership on board. Everywhere he went he heard whispers, gossip, chit chat. He had ignored the captain’s request and was not wearing uniform. He viewed that order as meant for the others. It wasn’t realistic to expect him to blend in and gauge the mood if he stood out as some kind of policeman, or even a crewman. So the security uniform had been ditched in his cabin, and he was now clad in black jeans, black shirt, and a black leather jacket. In his civvies, he went where passengers congregated. Most of the bars were busy, despite being closed. Groups of people packed around tables, discussing whether or not the world really had ended. He noted with mild interest how like minded people somehow seemed to congregate. One bar had a particularly high concentration of conspiracy theorists. He sat with them a while as they talked at length about how the final broadcast had been a hoax, CGI effects and green screen work. They’d convinced themselves that this was part of the cruise experience, that they would soon sail into harbour where their families and loved ones would greet them with cries of “surprise!”

A cafe off the Palm Plaza appeared to be the favoured spot for the doom mongers. Generally a bit older than the conspiracy theorists—more middle aged—they were chewing over the depressing details of how exactly everyone was going to die through starvation. That was, if there wasn’t an outbreak of some disease first, possibly even an alien space-disease dispersed by the tail of the asteroid.

The happiest groups had been the older folk, the pensioners. Maybe it was because they had for the most part already lived long fulfilling lives that they seemed more carefree. Their main cause of concern was the “young people” and what a shame it was that their lives were going to be cut short. The largest group looked like they were enjoying themselves so much that Max wasn’t sure at first if they understood what was happening.

“Oh yes dear, the world has ended. But what can you do?” said one purple haired old lady when he asked her if she knew why they weren’t moving, why there were no lights, and why the cafe in which they were sitting was shut. “It’s terrible of course, some of my friends have lost their entire families back home. But I say if we’ve been granted a few days more, then let’s enjoy them! Would you like to join in our card game? We’re playing canasta.”

Max said that yes, why not, he would play some cards to pass the time of day.

The real concern came later when he wandered into the cinema. It was so dark he tripped over the first row of seats, causing the voices he had heard from outside to stop talking abruptly. When his eyes eventually adjusted to the dark he saw that a group of about twenty people, almost all young men, were seated at the back. Nobody spoke another word until he left. Now the question was how to find out what was going on. It was possible there was an entirely innocent reason for the men to be huddled in a dark room to hold their conversation. Possible, but highly unlikely. Max had a nose for trouble, and this didn’t smell good at all.

His first thought was to try and listen from the projection room, which was accessible without going through the cinema’s auditorium. That was locked, but Max had a master key that allowed him access to most areas of the ship. He entered quietly, taking care not to fall over any equipment this time. He’d never been in there before, and had expected to find a huge projector, maybe some reels of film. Being a modern ship though, the cinema was fitted with state of the art digital projectors. The projection room was really just a control room with a table, a couple of computers, and some servers sat in a rack in the corner. He tip toed to the front where there was a small window that overlooked the auditorium and its impressively wide screen. The window was triple glazed. The whole room had been fully soundproofed. Cursing under his breath, he left the room and found a place where he could sit discreetly watching the door of the cinema without drawing attention to himself. He hated stakeouts, but knew what had to be done.

• • • • •

“So you understand why it has to be done like this, right?” Flynn said.

“I don’t know, I still think my way could work.”

“Melvin, you’re smart, think about what would happen. If you want this to work, you’ve got one shot at it. By all means start tough, but be realistic about what we can achieve so soon. Rome wasn’t built in a day. We must take our time, do this properly or not at all.”

“Flynn’s right, you should listen to him,” a thin man with huge hair added.

“Thank you Clayton,” Flynn said.

“I guess…I need some time to think about this,” Melvin said. He stood up and paced around in the aisle between the seats, kicking at the floor.

The other men in the cinema whispered among themselves.

“Sure, take some time, but not too long or we’ll miss our best chance. It’s getting late. If we leave it too long there will only be a night watch on the bridge. When we show our hand, it has to be with the captain present.” Flynn looked the mobile phone in his hand and smiled. No signal, no surprise. There was no regular service this far north even before the asteroid, only that provided by the ship itself, and the power cut had killed that. He wasn’t hoping to make any calls though, he was looking at the picture he’d snapped earlier. The picture that was going to move his plan to the next phase.

In the dim light of the screen, Melvin’s lanky frame cast a long shadow over the seats on the other side of the aisle. It made him look even taller than he already was.

“Okay, we’ll do it your way,” Melvin said.

Flynn smiled to himself. This was going to work out just fine.

Twenty-One

BARRY NICKELSON HAD an office down on deck two, round the back of the casino. Jake’s only dealings with the man had been in the crew bar. The sailing crew, responsible for the operation of the boat itself, and the hotel staff, who looked after passengers and passenger facilities, had little interaction. The crew bar was the one place where these two worlds collided. Barry, being very much a people person, saw it as his personal mission to get all staff on board together as often as possible. This involved organising themed party nights in the crew bar. There was dancing, singing, and plenty of drinking. The parties had been responsible for several romances, and more one night stands than anyone would care to count. Barry, believing in a hands-on management style, somehow managed to do a bit of DJing, as well as serving drinks. It was with little hope of an answer than Jake tapped on his office door.

“Yes?” a voice called from the other side.

Jake pushed it open and walked in. The room was sparsely furnished with a small desk, a chair either side, and a filing cabinet in the corner. It was not what Jake expected. Barry must have sensed that as he watched him look around.

“Jake, my man. How’s it going? Huh, not very impressive is it. If I’d known I’d be receiving the acting captain, I would have decorated!”

“It’s fine, yeah, fine.” Jake smiled, offered his hand, which seemed to confuse Barry.

“Oh, yeah, okay dude!” He shook the hand vigorously. “So, end of the world. What about that then? And even more amazing, you’re the captain now! What happened to Ibsen?”

Jake winced at the mention of the name. “He…he didn’t survive. Neither did Johnny Hollen. So you’re stuck with me for now.”

“Huh! Get that, that’s a shame. I liked Johnny, he was a top man. Ibsen’s no great loss though. Sit down dude, sit down. So, what’s up? What are we doing?”