Текст книги "Noah's Ark: Encounters"

Автор книги: Harry Dayle

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Nine

JAKE TOOK HIS dinner rations on the bridge, as was his custom. He was in command, and also had the helm as Chuck’s shift was over for the day. Navigator Dave Whitehall was the only other person with him, maintaining the lookout as they sailed south-west.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Dave asked. “That boat? If something survived at Ile Longue, why are they heading away from it?”

“You’re the navigator, Dave. Haven’t you extrapolated a possible destination from their course?”

“Yep, and it doesn’t make any sense. I’d have to say they were headed for the States, but I’m far from convinced.”

“Why?”

“If the size estimates are right, she just sounds a bit small to be going transatlantic.”

“My dad went transatlantic in something much smaller. And don’t forget those mad people who circumnavigate the globe in bathtub-sized rowing boats. It could make perfect sense to go stateside. If whoever is on board didn’t see the final broadcast, they could easily assume the asteroid hit Europe. It might be reasonable to think, or at least hope, that the Americas escaped unscathed. If you didn’t know better.”

Dave opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a telephone ringing. He answered it, then passed the receiver to Jake.

“It’s for you. Silvia.”

“Hi, Silvia. How are you? Right…right…okay, that’s unfortunate. Thanks for letting me know.” He replaced the handset. “Don’t suppose you speak Korean do you, Dave?”

“Ha!” Dave shook his head and laughed.

“Shame. Can you believe that out of nearly three thousand people on this ship, there are no Koreans? I thought we had just about every nation covered.”

“Have you tried the Ambush? They might have some polyglots down there.”

“I already asked Coote. No such luck. Ah well, I don’t suppose it matters.” He patted his jacket, feeling the hard rectangle shape of the notebook inside. He didn’t like not knowing something. He liked it even less when the something was linked to dead bodies.

There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, it swung open and McNair wandered in, carrying a plastic bottle filled with water, and a copy of the complete works of Shakespeare.

“Evening,” he said, smiling at both men.

“Bit early this evening, aren’t you?” Jake shook the submariner’s hand vigorously.

“Yes. I thought you might want to knock off a bit earlier, spend some time with Erica. It could be a busy day tomorrow. You should probably make the most of the quiet, now you’re a family man.”

“That’s…that’s very thoughtful of you. Thanks, McNair.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ve got reading material for a couple of months, and it doesn’t make much difference to me if I’m sitting devouring the words of the bard in my cabin, or up here. Besides, I want to get a look at that new boat the second we’re within visual range.”

Jake smiled. “Not entirely altruistic motives then. How is it, out there?” He pointed at the door.

“The atmosphere is electric.” McNair sat in the captain’s chair and got comfy, setting his water bottle down next to him, and putting his book on the arm rest. “Everyone’s talking about the new survivors. It’s the only topic of conversation, wherever you go.”

“We don’t know there are survivors.”

“There’d better be. I think the public have already decided there are, so there’s going to be a lot of disappointment if the thing is empty. Can’t blame them. First sign of life in nearly two months. Heck, I’m excited, and I’m used to spending months at sea seeing hardly a soul.”

Jake didn’t admit that he did not share the excitement. He couldn’t help thinking about the headless men. He was far less convinced that finding new people would be a good thing.

• • •

The walk from deck ten to deck five was the furthest Vicky had been in weeks. The ship seemed to have changed. Last time she had been beyond the limits of their deck had been not long after the virus. The corridors had been quiet then. A large proportion of the community was shut away in their cabins, recovering from the terrible illness. Those who weren’t sick had been standing in for those who were; preparing meals, delivering medication, keeping things running. The atmosphere had been a mixture of relief at having survived the ordeal, and apprehension at what was to come. The contagion had brought home to everyone just how precarious their situation was.

But that had been almost a month ago. Now, on this summer evening, the Spirit of Arcadia felt alive. People were out and about on every deck. Some going to the restaurant for their rations, others leaving, having already eaten. Most of the people on teams had finished their day’s work, and were happy to be spending time with family or friends.

For the first time since the asteroid, Vicky saw the doors to the outside areas were open. Warm, salty air wafted in, reminding her of seaside holidays as a child. On the outside decks, couples walked hand in hand, giggling children skipped and ran, expending their pent-up energy. Somebody somewhere was singing, and a small crowd of onlookers had gathered, clapping along in time to the tune.

“It’s almost like it was before. When we were still on holiday,” she said. She hung onto Dan’s arm, walking slowly, awkwardly.

“It’s not always like this. The news about the other boat has got everyone fired up.”

“It’s good though, isn’t it? Seeing people happy. After all that’s happened I didn’t think anyone would be happy again.”

“People have short memories.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Is it much further?”

“No, not much. Just around the next corner. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’ll be fine. Just take it steady. I’m not used to all this walking.”

They passed a group of young women, close in conspiratorial conversation. They stopped talking when they saw Vicky.

“They were staring at me,” she said, when the girls were behind them. “Everyone’s going to stare, aren’t they? They’re going to hate me.”

“Don’t say that. Nobody will hate you. This is a good thing, right?”

She nodded, but her sad eyes said she didn’t believe him.

“Here we are. I hope there’s still someone in. It’s gone seven o’clock. Most teams pack up at six.”

Dan knocked on the open door to the medical suite.

“One second!”

“Come on, you can sit down over there,” Dan said, leading Vicky over to a chair by the wall of the outer room.

The door to the treatment room opened, and a muscular man with short cropped hair stepped out. He was drying his hands on a paper towel.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Vardy. How can I…” His voice trailed off. He was looking directly at Vicky. She looked up at him, her dark almond-shaped eyes filled with tears. Dan avoided the doctor’s gaze. “I see,” Vardy said. “Right. Wow. You’d better come through.”

• • •

Jake hadn’t wanted to change up to a larger cabin. It was his view that he should lead by example, and that included making do with the rather mean accommodation he had been given as part of his job as first officer. When Staff Captain Jonny Hollen had been killed, he could have taken over his – larger – cabin. Almost immediately following that murder though, Captain Clayton Ibsen had also died, at Jake’s own hands. When Jake eventually accepted the position of captain, he was offered Ibsen’s palatial suite, but had refused, preferring to let it go to someone ‘more worthy’, in his words.

That was before Lucya, before the virus, and before Erica. Now that the three of them were living together as a family he had had to face facts: the minute single cabin was not practical. So Jake had finally accepted that he had to move. As he had been sharing with Lucya and therefore freed up two cabins with the change (three, if he counted Erica’s late father’s room), he didn’t feel quite so bad about the whole thing. The committee had asked Silvia to find something suitable, and she had put him in a small suite on deck ten. It wasn’t one of the most expensive on the ship; she knew he would never accept something luxurious, but it did have two proper bedrooms and a small salon. Space enough for the new family. It also had the advantage of being very close to the bridge, which meant he and Lucya could both get there in a hurry if need be.

Erica was already in bed when Vardy knocked at the door to Jake and Lucya’s suite.

“Russell, come in. How are you?”

“I’m fine thank you, Jake. Good evening, Lucya.”

“Still enjoying running medical?”

“Hey, Grau’s still in charge.” Vardy sat down in an armchair by the picture window looking out to sea. Jake joined him, while Lucya disappeared into the bedroom, giving the two men some space.

“Technically, but we both know you’re running the show.” Jake rested one leg across the other and began fiddling absent-mindedly with his shoelaces.

“Only until he’s fit enough to take the team back under his wing. He’s doing remarkably well, actually. For his age, I’m impressed. He’s a real fighter.”

“That’s Grau alright.”

Vardy sat forward in the chair, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, Jake, I thought I should let you know about a couple who just came to see me. It’s a delicate matter. Victoria and Dan Mitchell.”

“Okay?”

“Victoria is pregnant.”

Jake’s head snapped up. His eyes narrowed and he stared at the doctor. “Really? I don’t remember anyone declaring pregnancy on the census. I mean, we didn’t ask the question, not outright, but I would have thought if someone was expecting, they might have mentioned it.”

“Well that’s why the matter is delicate. Victoria didn’t complete the census.”

Jake leaned back in his chair. “Okay. And how did that happen?”

“Because she should never have been on the ship. You see, she’s not just pregnant. She’s very pregnant. She’s at thirty-six weeks. That’s about eight and a half months, Jake. She’s pretty much at term.”

“Gosh. Right. We don’t allow pregnant women in their third trimester to book a cruise. Pelagios had that as a condition. Non-negotiable. All the cruise lines had that as a condition. It’s a standard thing. We don’t want to be dealing with newborn babies in the middle of the ocean.”

“Exactly. Which is why she hid during the census. Apparently she was terrified of being thrown off, or punished in some way. She lied on her booking form, and because she’s very slight, and the baby is small, she could get away with it. For a two-week holiday, anyway. With baggy enough clothes I can well imagine that nobody noticed. Not two months ago. But now? Now it’s very obvious.”

“I see. Did she really think we would throw her off the ship? After the world ended?”

“Apparently. They’re a very young and naive couple. And to be fair, before you found the Ambush and the food at Faslane, things weren’t looking good. If there was going to be any kind of tier system for allocating rations, I can understand that Victoria would expect to find herself at the bottom, given she is on board under false pretences. She’s been hiding out ever since, hardly leaving her cabin. On the plus side, it meant they avoided the virus entirely.”

Jake stood up and walked to the window. He stared out at the sea. They had left the English Channel and were heading out into the Atlantic. Land was no longer visible with the naked eye. He knew that the land offered no sanctuary now, but it still gave him a feeling of security knowing it was within striking distance. Being out in the ocean brought home how cut off they were, how entirely dependent on their own resources. “You ever delivered a baby, Russell?”

“Actually, I have, although only the one. It was an unexpected event, on board an aircraft in fact. I was the only medically trained professional on board. A terribly messy business it was. Fortunately Carrie, one of our newer nurses, has previously worked as a midwife, so I have no major concerns when it comes to the birth. It would have been reassuring if we had ultrasound equipment and an incubator available. Alas that is not the case. The ship was never designed for such an eventuality.”

“If she missed the census, this Victoria, how has she been getting rations?”

Vardy stood and joined Jake at the window. “Her husband, Dan, has been giving her his. He’s been living off any scraps he can find in the restaurants, so he tells me. Young love, eh?”

“People leave leftovers?”

“Believe it or not, they do. Perhaps we should look at reducing the size of the rations!”

“I don’t want to bring about a mutiny. Not again. Where is this couple now?”

“They’ve gone back to their cabin. I gave Victoria a quick check-up and she is in good health. I’ve asked her to come back in the morning when Carrie will be on duty. She can check the health of the baby and advise the young lady on what she should or shouldn’t be doing, and get her better prepared for the happy event. I gave her a census form as well. She may be naive, but she seems to be a bright girl. We need to know if she has any skills or special knowledge that will be of use to the community. And apart from that, she should be getting her own rations. She’s promised to fill it in and pass it on to Silvia.”

“So…life goes on, eh?” Jake stared far out to sea. “Life goes on…”

Ten

JAKE SLEPT FITFULLY. The prospect of meeting other survivors made it hard to relax. His mind played out different scenarios, and half the time he didn’t know if he was dreaming or not. He was also plagued by images of Stieg, and repeatedly saw him drowning, crying out for help as he was swept away by a turbulent swell.

By 5:30 he was wide awake, soaked in sweat, and too on edge to consider sleeping again. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb Lucya, but she opened her eyes and looked right at him as soon as his feet hit the floor.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not really,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep either. Too much to think about.” She whispered the words, conscious of the sleeping child and the thin walls.

“It’s a big day. An important day. We could learn a lot.”

“Or be very disappointed.”

He shrugged. “I’m going to take the early shift. Do you mind sorting Erica out this morning?”

“Of course not. You should be on the bridge.”

Jake took a quick shower, rinsing away the sweat and the bad dreams. He put on his best uniform. With power and therefore an endless supply of clean desalinated water, the ship’s laundry was still running. Detergent was rationed though, and most clothing was washed without soap of any kind. Instead, tennis balls were added to the huge machines. He’d been told that the effect was the same, the balls beat the dirt and grease out of the clothing, but it didn’t feel the same to him. If he was meeting survivors, he wanted to look his best.

When he arrived on the bridge, it was brilliantly lit by a rare glimpse of the rising sun, shining through a break in the swirling grey cloud and streaming through the rear-facing windows. It was moments like this, with the light reflecting off the flat, calm ocean and sending tiny stars of sparkling light dancing across the ceiling, that he felt he could accept his job. He knew he was never a sailor, not really, but in these occasional instants of beauty and tranquillity, he could understand his father’s love of the sea.

“Good morning, Captain.” McNair pulled his feet off a console and stood to greet him.

“Morning. So?” He didn’t need to elaborate.

“Our friends maintained a steady speed throughout the night, and we are steadily catching them. Another three to three and a half hours and we’ll be with them.”

Jake walked to the windows at the front of the room. He could see nothing except a vast expanse of ocean disappearing over the horizon. “Still nothing on the radio?”

“No. Dead as a dodo. The Ambush has been trying to hail them on all common frequencies, and Officer Levin’s distress beacon broadcasts round the clock. Neither her automated radio scans nor those of the submarine are picking up anything at all.”

Jake picked up a pair of binoculars and swept the horizon. “Weird. Are they ignoring us?”

“Perhaps they can’t respond.”

“How so?”

“If there’s nobody on board. If they’re incapacitated. If their communications system is down. Or, maybe they’re ignoring us.”

Jake put down the field glasses. They didn’t help; they were too far away to catch sight of their target. He wandered over to the captain’s chair and sat down, perched on the edge. “So we still don’t know who they might be.”

“Actually, we might have a bit of a lead. Now we’re closer, the Ambush’s sonar has been able to take a much more detailed look at her.”

“And?”

“And…” McNair glanced around, found a clipboard and started to read from it. “She’s sixty metres in length, with a beam of eleven metres, although that’s just what’s in the water. She could be a little wider at deck level. She has one stern thruster and is travelling at eight knots. From the vibrations she’s putting out, she has a single engine, diesel.”

“They can tell all that from sonar?”

“Oh yes.”

“Still, that doesn’t tell us where it came from, or who’s on board.”

“True. But from the dimensions, they ran a search in their vessel-identification database.”

Jake looked at McNair sideways on. “You’re going to tell me they can identify her from just that information?”

McNair chuckled, and dropped the clipboard back onto the console. “No, they can’t. But only because her dimensions are common. They came up with a few hundred possible matches. Taking into account our location, they can discount more than half of those as being too far away. Even so, that’s a lot of possible ships.”

“You really have a database that lists every ship in the world?”

“Every registered vessel, yes. If she’s not registered – a smugglers’ ship, or pirates for example – then we might not know about her. Although we do hold records on most unregistered pirate ships.”

“How…Where does all this information come from?” Jake scratched the back of his head, and sat down again.

“Friendly governments share their registration data.”

“And unfriendly ones?”

“That’s what you have security services for, to source that kind of intelligence.” McNair grinned. “Anyway, what it comes down to is that she’s most likely a large fishing vessel, a research ship, or a patrol boat – police or navy.”

“Wow. You lot never cease to amaze me.” Jake stared out to sea again. He hoped it wasn’t a fishing boat they would find. The irony of losing Stieg to find more fishermen would be too cruel.

• • •

Grace Garet had also had trouble sleeping, although not entirely for the same reasons. Certainly the prospect of meeting other survivors held excitement for her, but she was preoccupied with the Moran case.

She had been convinced that something untoward was going on, that someone was claiming their rations despite their absence. And yet, there was Mrs Moran herself, collecting dinner. Grace was a naturally suspicious person, she believed it stood her in good stead as a detective, and so she had challenged Mrs Moran when she had handed over her ration slip. The poor old lady had been quite taken aback, and became somewhat flustered as Grace had demanded she prove who she was. Even Grace had to admit that carrying a means of formal identification was not something anybody thought about now. With such a tiny population, and with no particular benefit to be had from impersonating someone else, there was simply no need. Even so, she had insisted, and Mrs Moran had searched her handbag and found, to her relief, that she had been carrying her passport. The document proved conclusively that Mrs Claire Moran was who she said she was. The passport had been renewed shortly before the cruise, and the photograph inside left no room for doubt.

Grace had turned the events over in her mind for much of the night. Something about the situation just felt wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. At five o’clock she got out of bed and started writing up her notes. Max had insisted on a full written report. “If you want to be a detective, you can do the work of a detective,” he had said. “And that includes the paperwork.”

She had an hour to kill before she had to be ready to report for duty. Max had called an early meeting of the whole team. Tensions were sure to be running high on the ship as they approached and contacted the new vessel. Security would have an important role to play.

• • •

The calculations and predictions proved to be accurate. A nine o’clock, the new ship was within sight.

“Captain, HMS Ambush reports they are surfacing.” Lucya relayed the message from her position at the communications station. “Coote wants to talk to you.”

“Put him on the speaker.”

She punched some buttons, and the submarine captain’s voice boomed out, heard by the full complement of officers on the bridge.

“Good morning, Arcadia. Coote here! We’re coming up for some fresh air, and to get a better look at our new friends.”

“Morning, Coote.” Jake was standing at the front window, binoculars in hand once more. “Any luck on narrowing down the vessel type?”

“Young Eagle-eyes is on the case as we speak, old boy. We’ve got excellent visuals. Stand by…”

There was a tense silence as everyone waited for Coote to report back.

“I believe we have a name. She’s called Lance. Ralf is looking her up now.”

“She’s bigger than I expected,” Jake said. “Taller. And she’s blue. Erica will be pleased.”

“Sorry? Ah, here we are. Lance: research vessel, operated by the Norwegian Polar Institute. Also served as a coastguard vessel in the Barents Sea.”

Lucya looked up from her console. “Yes! That’s why I know the name. I’ve seen her before, when I was patrolling the Barents. We suspected her of spying, but could never prove anything. She had some very advanced sonar equipment on board.”

“Indeed!” Coote bellowed. “According to our information she has two wet labs, two further labs, a rather fancy echo sounder – capable of detecting a single fish at kilometre range – some split beam transducers, and a highly advanced sonar. Eagle-eyes is getting quite excited, although I must admit it’s mostly gobbledygook to me. Let’s see…winches, motion sensors, a veritable floating research centre.”

“All very impressive,” Jake said, putting down his binoculars and returning to his chair. “But do we know if there’s anyone on board?”

“Well, they appear to have stopped, which is unsurprising as they must now be able to see us. So I would say yes, there is. We are trying to detect the presence of any heat signatures with our infrared sensors, but we are still a bit too far away to get an accurate measure. Now, the main reason for my call. I suggest myself and some submariners make the initial approach. You know how I feel about this from the rafts we’ve picked up. Never know how the chaps might react.”

“I agree. But I’d like to be with you. As captain, and as chairman of the committee, it’s my duty.”

“Of course, old chap. In that case, I’ll see you on the Ambush as soon as the ramp is in place.”

The speaker went dead, the conversation over.

“Jake, are you sure you want to go?” Lucya looked worried. “Shouldn’t we leave it to the professionals?”

“If a bunch of gun-toting navy men turn up, it’s going to look pretty hostile to whoever is on that ship. Someone needs to be the friendly face of the community. Chuck, you have the helm. The Ambush will talk you in, slow and steady as we get closer.”

Chuck nodded once.

“Dave, keep a good lookout. With all eyes on the Lance, someone needs to be making sure we don’t run into anything else. Lucya, you’re in charge until I get back.”

Jake took a look around at his skeleton crew. It was a great relief to him that he could have such confidence in them. He walked towards the door, but Lucya called after him.

“Before you go! I’ve got Silvia on the phone. She says she has something important to show you.”

“Tell her I’ll see her on my way down.”

• • •

Silvia Brook’s office was, as usual, a hive of activity. The hotel manager, previously responsible for all non-sailing personnel on board, now had the task of overseeing all the teams and accommodation. The workload was enormous and she had taken on two assistants to help her. As new teams were created, personnel were sourced from the crew and passenger list, jobs were handed out, and cabins were sometimes reassigned if the position warranted it. The aim was to get almost everyone working in some capacity or other.

Despite the imminent encounter with the Lance, it was business as usual for Silvia. She and her assistants were building up the recycling team. With finite resources on board, and with waste mounting up, it had become a priority. They had found a materials expert to lead the new group, and with his help they were working through the census data to find suitable team members.

“Ah, Jake. Glad you could come. I thought you should see this.” Silvia handed him a page of paper the moment he was through the door.

He took the sheet and began to read, his eyes scanning the handwritten text, stumbling on some of the more scrawled words.

“Oh, I see. Vicky Mitchell’s census form.”

“Yes. Keep reading.”

“Thirty-one years old, married, degree in marine biology? That could be useful.” He lowered the paper and raised his head, looking towards the ceiling. “Stieg…before he…he was talking about an idea he had for farming fish in the swimming pools, so we wouldn’t be reliant on what we could catch. No idea if it was feasible, but it sounds like Mrs Mitchell would be an ideal candidate to lead such a project, or at least investigate its viability.”

“Good idea,” Silvia said, looking at her watch. “Keep reading.”

“Hobbies…interests…favourite books…liked to work out before she was pregnant…oh!” He looked up, a big grin on his face. “Her mother was Korean. She speaks fluent Korean!”

• • •

Capturing and greeting life rafts had become something of a speciality for Jake, Coote, and submariners Ewan and Eric. Meeting the Lance was a different affair altogether. They were joined on the conning tower of the Ambush by submariner Brian Thomas.

They made their approach from the Lance’s starboard side, with the Ambush sandwiched between her and the Spirit of Arcadia. The Lance had, as Coote suggested, cut her engine, but she had not dropped anchor and drifted freely.

“That is one weird-looking boat,” observed Eric as they closed from behind.

The five of them stared up at her. The rear end was dominated by what appeared to be a huge white scaffold. Four towers supported a platform that was as wide as the ship, and as high as the roof of her central section, which incorporated much of the accommodation as well as the bridge. The front third of the vessel was empty save for a tall A-frame winch support, the highest structure on board. The combination of the scaffold and the midship section gave her an unbalanced appearance, as if she should tip up on her back, sending her bows rearing out of the water.

“A helipad,” Ewan said, pointing to the surface atop the scaffolding. “Not much use now. Don’t suppose there are any helicopters left anywhere.”

“What’s with the winch?” Jake asked. “It’s gigantic. It looks like they’re transporting the Eiffel Tower!”

“For trawl nets, I expect,” Coote said. “Research vessels like this are all about surveying fish stocks. Sometimes that means catching the blighters. I tell you what though, that looks rather handy!” He pointed to a bright orange lifeboat suspended from the side of the helipad rigging. It was fully enclosed, and apparently in perfect condition.

“My dad worked on ships with lifeboats like that,” Jake said. “Given the size, the Lance must have a crew of what…fifteen? Twenty?”

“Twenty,” Ewan confirmed. “Two rotating crews of ten each, so it can work around the clock. According to our data. Which is not saying much. I don’t trust that computer.”

“Now, now, Mr Sledge,” Coote said. “What would the Admiralty say if they heard you questioning their work?”

“They never will hear me, will they? And you know as well as I do, that database is well out of date.”

“If you are referring to the incident with the Portuguese fishing boat, then I will concede that yes, the information available could have done with a freshen up. An embarrassing moment for all concerned indeed.”

Jake looked behind him to the Spirit of Arcadia. It had been decided that nobody be allowed on the outside decks during the meeting of the ships, a safety precaution mainly brought about by their experience with the mutated virus. That didn’t stop the masses from lining the windows though. As ambassador, representing all of those faces looking down at proceedings, Jake began to feel the pressure of the situation.

Coote must have read his mind. “Don’t let it get to you, old boy. History won’t record the words you speak today, only that you were here.”

Behind them, the propellers of the cruise ship spun up in reverse, bringing their already glacial progress to a graceful halt. They were sliding up alongside the Lance. Those on the Arcadia looked down at her; those on the submarine looked up.

“I know she’s only small, but she looks quite impressive from here,” Jake said, his voice shrinking away. “For once, I’m glad you two are armed.”

“Must say, bit odd that there’s no welcoming party!” Coote boomed, not in the least bit intimidated by the looming hulk of the blue-and-white hull. His voice resonated between the Lance and the massive side of the cruise ship, fading with every echo until finally there was complete silence.

Coote and Jake stood shoulder to shoulder, flanked by Eric and Ewan on either side, with Brian standing behind. Coote took a step forward, cleared his throat, and addressed the faceless, lifeless craft.

“Hello there!” The words once again bounced back and forth across the cavern created by the parallel ships. “Do come out and say hello! My name’s Coote, captain of HMS Ambush. Terrible name, but don’t let that—”

Before he could finish, a single gunshot rang out, and a tiny hole exploded in his breast pocket. A trickle of red seeped down his chest. “Oh!” he said weakly.

Coote dropped to the floor, and then all hell broke loose.