'Golden Empress'
All sorts of rumours were abounding as to why we were in this predicament:
"We've hit an ice burg!" As we were cruising close to the equator I was inclined to discredit that one.
"A bomb's exploded in the hold."
"An engine had overheated."
"The bar man had been too adventuresome with one of his fiery drinks and had set fire to a vat of whiskey which had ignited some vodka, which had lit..." Now that one was too fanciful.
I remembered dinner last night. One old timer had droned on and on about how poorly made and under crewed the ship was.
"But it cost $600 million to build" someone had said.
"Most of that money" he'd replied, "went into the pockets of the designers and the big bugs. They don't know how to make ships anymore," he'd espoused, "not like last century."
"Like the Titanic?" someone had facetiously asked.
The old gent hadn't been amused. "Mark my words," he wagged his finger at us all, "one day it'll happen, you'll see. One day."
I could see him now as I looked down through the banisters into the gloom. He was seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs that were bolted to the floor. A male Cassandra terrified by his own predictions.
I'd only managed to salvage one thing from my cabin. I took my camera from out of my pocket and snapped a few photos. I doubted they'd turn out in this light, but felt the need to have some sort of record. That was if we made it out alive.
I put the camera back into my pocket and once again peered through the banisters. There seemed to be a large crowd by the bulkhead door. As I watched the group seemed to surge forward and diminish in size. I could just make out their exit thorough the door. For some reason they were going outside! Then a wail rose up to me from below. It had come from those by the now closed door. Some were beating on it.
"Please keep calm" a voice rang out. It seemed to have the opposite effect. The noise increased in volume.
It was during this melee that I, incredibly, heard a small voice from behind me. "Help me! Would someone please help me?"
I dragged my eyes from the scene below and peered into the gloom. It was an elderly lady, blindly feeling her way along the wall. "Please help me." She pleaded. "I can't see."
I abandoned my position against the railing and crawled over to her. "Here." I took her arm. "It's easier if you crawl."
My touch seemed to reassure her. "Oh thank you!" she breathed as she stiffly got to her knees. "What's happening?"
No point in worrying her more than necessary. "We're in a bit of a storm and the generators have given out."
"Bit of a storm!" she scoffed. "And I'm only twenty one!"
I looked at her more closely now. Her name, she'd had pleasure in telling anyone who'd listen, was Beatrix Trickey But she was called by her friends, and she hoped we'd all be friends, Trixie. "Tricky Trixie" she said with a laugh. She'd outlived two children. "They were too boring to live."
She was, she claimed, eighty four.
She'd thrown herself into this cruise with all the gusto of someone a quarter of her age, trying anything and everything. Clapping her hands in delight when she'd won a game of shuffleboard, laughing at her ineptitude when she lost a hand of bridge. She'd not restricted herself to activities designed for the older set either. She'd been "boogying down" as she put it, quite happily in the night club last night.
I'd been amazed to discover that she lived only a couple of streets away from me. How could I have missed meeting this energetic octogenarian before?
To see this vibrant and garrulous women so helpless and frightened was pitiful.
"What's happened to the lights?" she asked.
I explained that we'd lost power and only the emergency lights were visible.
"Oh that explains it." She said. "My eyesight's not the best in dim light. I'm as blind as a bat." She gave a thin chuckle, a weak echo of her normal laugh.
She pushed her face closer to mine. I'm sorry dear, I can't recognise you."
"My name's Chris Brown."
"Chris?" she said thoughtfully. "Oh I know! You were the lucky soul who won this cruise in a competition."
"That's right."
"I'll bet the organisers didn't think this would be part of the prize."
"No, and neither did I!"
She laughed again. "Well you'll really have something to remember. I can't wait to tell my friends. I'll be able to dine out on this story for months!"
I had to admire her spunk. Here she was, eighty four, trapped in a ship that in my opinion was as good as doomed, and the though that the end of her life was near hadn't even crossed her mind.
"Trixie!"
"Yes dear?"
"If you can't see in the dim light, why'd you go to the night-club?" It was an inane question in light of our current predicament, but for some reason I had to hear.
"Oh I know it sounds strange and I can't see the other dancers very well, but I love being in the thick of things. And with all those bodies gyrating about no one is going to pay any attention to an old body bumping into them."
She laughed again. She sounded more like her old self.
Suddenly the ship pitched alarmingly. I let out a yell and grabbed Trixie tightly.
"Steady dear." She said calmly as the ship righted itself again. She patted my arm soothingly. "We'll be all right."
I exhaled noisily. "Sorry Trixie."
"That's all right dear. Only not so loud in my ear next time, okay."
"I'll try to remember that."
"Now," she said, as if she were perusing her shopping list, "how do we get out of this little predicament Chris?"
"I don't know. But if we crawl to the balcony we, I-I mean I, can see what's happening down below."
"Then lead on MacDuff, or should I say MacChris?"
The scene below was as I remembered it, except there were less people. In fact I estimated that half the number had gone, including 'Cassandra'.
"What's happening?" I asked the man beside me.
"Dunno." He grunted. "Maybe they're manning the life boats. Every so often that door opens and a wave of 'em sweep out."
"D'you think we could get closer?" someone asked. "There's less people on the stairs now."
As if in reply there was a voice, amplified and distorted by a megaphone. "Would those upstairs start making their way down the stairs slowly please."
Trixie grabbed my arm, her nails digging through sleeve. "Chris. How am I going to get down those stairs?" she whimpered.
"Don't worry. I'll help you." We'd reached the top of the broad sweeping staircase. "You go down hanging on to the banisters and I'll stay beside you..."
"But I won't be able to walk down! Not with the boat rolling like this!" She was starting to panic.
"We won't walk. We'll go down on our, ah, bottoms. Here's the top step - swing your legs round so your feet are two steps down. That's it. Now ease your bottom onto the next step and down we go!"
We completed this manoeuvre about ten times when Trixie turned in my direction. "Chris," she asked brightly, "wouldn't it be quicker to slide down the banisters?"
In spite of myself I found myself laughing along with her. The other passengers must have thought we were mad.
It was a long, tiring trip down those stairs and we were thankful to reach the bottom. I was surprised to see that only a relatively small group of people remained.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
"International Rescue." The words were spoken in awe. "International Rescue are airlifting us off the boat. We're the last to leave."
"Did you hear that?" I asked Trixie. "International Rescue are going to save us."
"International Rescue!" She breathed. "I've always wanted to meet them."
Considering International Rescue had only been in existence a maximum of five years, I took this statement with a grain of salt.
As if on cue the door slid open and a bright light spilled into our gloomy prison. A young man was standing there. His uniform was blue; his sash was orange, matching perfectly the trim on his hat and boots. His hair appeared to be copper in colour and he gave us all a big grin.
"Right. All aboard. Last calls." He said. An American I noted.
Everyone shuffled forward. Trixie and I decided to crawl the rest of the way. "This is hard on my poor old knees?" she complained. It was the only real word of complaint that I'd heard from her.
My knees weren't taking too kindly to it either.
We found ourselves beside a pair of blue boots. The owner of the boots squatted down so he was at our level. "I can't have this." He said cheerfully. "I won't have anyone grovelling at my feet." He gave Trixie a big smile tempered by a frown of concern. "Are you able to stand?"
"Oh, yes." She said brightly and got to her feet aided by myself, and the man in blue.
We stepped into what appeared to be a large elevator car, packed with people.
The International Rescue man turned to the ships Captain who was ticking off names on the ships manifest. "Is that all?" he enquired.
The Captain scanned the manifest. "That's all." He confirmed.
"Great!" the International Rescue man said. "Come aboard Capt'n." The Captain hesitated. "I've never been a believer that the Captain should go down the his ship." The International Rescue man continued. "I'd appreciate it if you'd come with us."
The Captain nodded, glanced around the darkened shell of his pride and joy, straightened his shoulders and marched into the elevator. The doors closed behind him.
"Okay, Thunderbird Two." The man from International Rescue spoke into an intercom. "That's the lot."
"F.A.B." the intercom replied.
"Hang on everyone." The International Rescue man was talking to us all now. "Next floor sardines and tinned goods."
A little ripple of nervous laughter ran through the crowd. I wondered how many times he'd cracked that joke.
I heard four thunks from beneath our feet and then experienced a rising sensation. The ride wasn't smooth, but at least we were free of the cruise liner.
There was a hiss and then four more sounds. The man in blue spoke again into the intercom. "Thunderbird Two. We've arrived."
Once again there was a disembodied "F.A.B." and the doors opened.
"Right ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to head down the corridor and take a seat we will be off shortly."
Trixie was still clinging to my arm when we reached the room where the other passengers were. As I gaped at it I got some idea of the size of the plane we were in - the mythical Thunderbird Two.
I escorted Trixie to a seat and assisted her into her safety harness. Then following the lead of others, reached underneath the seat and pulled out a bucket. "You may want to give it to someone else." I told her. I couldn't see her needing it for herself!
The International Rescue operative came over to double-check my handiwork. "We can't have young ladies falling about and hurting themselves." He told a giggling Trixie.
I looked about. I couldn't see any spare seats. I cleared my throat. "Ah, excuse me. But where can I sit?"
"Oh." He said. "Good question. Wait a moment." He wandered up and down the auditorium-sized hold, stopped occasionally to check a harness or give a reassuring word. When he got back to me he was frowning.
"We have a slight problem. We've no seats remaining here and we've nowhere else to put you safely." He paused in thought. "There is one option." He said just before I started to panic. "Come with me."
I followed him obediently through a door. As soon as the door behind us was closed he turned back towards me. "Can you keep a secret?"
"I've got a terrible memory." I told him. "I'm just as likely to forget any secrets anyway."
He still hesitated. "Do you swear, by whatever Supreme Power you believe in, that everything you see and hear will remain secret?"
I was startled and mumbled an "I do" feeling I was either about to be brought before a jury, or be married.
Suddenly he smiled again. "Sorry about this, but this is all very irregular. Come with me."
We entered a lift and rode upwards in silence. This ride was much smoother than the one we'd just completed. I assumed that we were no longer attached to the Golden Empress.
The elevator doors opened and I found myself on the flight deck of Thunderbird Two!
All sorts of rumours were abounding as to why we were in this predicament:
"We've hit an ice burg!" As we were cruising close to the equator I was inclined to discredit that one.
"A bomb's exploded in the hold."
"An engine had overheated."
"The bar man had been too adventuresome with one of his fiery drinks and had set fire to a vat of whiskey which had ignited some vodka, which had lit..." Now that one was too fanciful.
I remembered dinner last night. One old timer had droned on and on about how poorly made and under crewed the ship was.
"But it cost $600 million to build" someone had said.
"Most of that money" he'd replied, "went into the pockets of the designers and the big bugs. They don't know how to make ships anymore," he'd espoused, "not like last century."
"Like the Titanic?" someone had facetiously asked.
The old gent hadn't been amused. "Mark my words," he wagged his finger at us all, "one day it'll happen, you'll see. One day."
I could see him now as I looked down through the banisters into the gloom. He was seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs that were bolted to the floor. A male Cassandra terrified by his own predictions.
I'd only managed to salvage one thing from my cabin. I took my camera from out of my pocket and snapped a few photos. I doubted they'd turn out in this light, but felt the need to have some sort of record. That was if we made it out alive.
I put the camera back into my pocket and once again peered through the banisters. There seemed to be a large crowd by the bulkhead door. As I watched the group seemed to surge forward and diminish in size. I could just make out their exit thorough the door. For some reason they were going outside! Then a wail rose up to me from below. It had come from those by the now closed door. Some were beating on it.
"Please keep calm" a voice rang out. It seemed to have the opposite effect. The noise increased in volume.
It was during this melee that I, incredibly, heard a small voice from behind me. "Help me! Would someone please help me?"
I dragged my eyes from the scene below and peered into the gloom. It was an elderly lady, blindly feeling her way along the wall. "Please help me." She pleaded. "I can't see."
I abandoned my position against the railing and crawled over to her. "Here." I took her arm. "It's easier if you crawl."
My touch seemed to reassure her. "Oh thank you!" she breathed as she stiffly got to her knees. "What's happening?"
No point in worrying her more than necessary. "We're in a bit of a storm and the generators have given out."
"Bit of a storm!" she scoffed. "And I'm only twenty one!"
I looked at her more closely now. Her name, she'd had pleasure in telling anyone who'd listen, was Beatrix Trickey But she was called by her friends, and she hoped we'd all be friends, Trixie. "Tricky Trixie" she said with a laugh. She'd outlived two children. "They were too boring to live."
She was, she claimed, eighty four.
She'd thrown herself into this cruise with all the gusto of someone a quarter of her age, trying anything and everything. Clapping her hands in delight when she'd won a game of shuffleboard, laughing at her ineptitude when she lost a hand of bridge. She'd not restricted herself to activities designed for the older set either. She'd been "boogying down" as she put it, quite happily in the night club last night.
I'd been amazed to discover that she lived only a couple of streets away from me. How could I have missed meeting this energetic octogenarian before?
To see this vibrant and garrulous women so helpless and frightened was pitiful.
"What's happened to the lights?" she asked.
I explained that we'd lost power and only the emergency lights were visible.
"Oh that explains it." She said. "My eyesight's not the best in dim light. I'm as blind as a bat." She gave a thin chuckle, a weak echo of her normal laugh.
She pushed her face closer to mine. I'm sorry dear, I can't recognise you."
"My name's Chris Brown."
"Chris?" she said thoughtfully. "Oh I know! You were the lucky soul who won this cruise in a competition."
"That's right."
"I'll bet the organisers didn't think this would be part of the prize."
"No, and neither did I!"
She laughed again. "Well you'll really have something to remember. I can't wait to tell my friends. I'll be able to dine out on this story for months!"
I had to admire her spunk. Here she was, eighty four, trapped in a ship that in my opinion was as good as doomed, and the though that the end of her life was near hadn't even crossed her mind.
"Trixie!"
"Yes dear?"
"If you can't see in the dim light, why'd you go to the night-club?" It was an inane question in light of our current predicament, but for some reason I had to hear.
"Oh I know it sounds strange and I can't see the other dancers very well, but I love being in the thick of things. And with all those bodies gyrating about no one is going to pay any attention to an old body bumping into them."
She laughed again. She sounded more like her old self.
Suddenly the ship pitched alarmingly. I let out a yell and grabbed Trixie tightly.
"Steady dear." She said calmly as the ship righted itself again. She patted my arm soothingly. "We'll be all right."
I exhaled noisily. "Sorry Trixie."
"That's all right dear. Only not so loud in my ear next time, okay."
"I'll try to remember that."
"Now," she said, as if she were perusing her shopping list, "how do we get out of this little predicament Chris?"
"I don't know. But if we crawl to the balcony we, I-I mean I, can see what's happening down below."
"Then lead on MacDuff, or should I say MacChris?"
The scene below was as I remembered it, except there were less people. In fact I estimated that half the number had gone, including 'Cassandra'.
"What's happening?" I asked the man beside me.
"Dunno." He grunted. "Maybe they're manning the life boats. Every so often that door opens and a wave of 'em sweep out."
"D'you think we could get closer?" someone asked. "There's less people on the stairs now."
As if in reply there was a voice, amplified and distorted by a megaphone. "Would those upstairs start making their way down the stairs slowly please."
Trixie grabbed my arm, her nails digging through sleeve. "Chris. How am I going to get down those stairs?" she whimpered.
"Don't worry. I'll help you." We'd reached the top of the broad sweeping staircase. "You go down hanging on to the banisters and I'll stay beside you..."
"But I won't be able to walk down! Not with the boat rolling like this!" She was starting to panic.
"We won't walk. We'll go down on our, ah, bottoms. Here's the top step - swing your legs round so your feet are two steps down. That's it. Now ease your bottom onto the next step and down we go!"
We completed this manoeuvre about ten times when Trixie turned in my direction. "Chris," she asked brightly, "wouldn't it be quicker to slide down the banisters?"
In spite of myself I found myself laughing along with her. The other passengers must have thought we were mad.
It was a long, tiring trip down those stairs and we were thankful to reach the bottom. I was surprised to see that only a relatively small group of people remained.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
"International Rescue." The words were spoken in awe. "International Rescue are airlifting us off the boat. We're the last to leave."
"Did you hear that?" I asked Trixie. "International Rescue are going to save us."
"International Rescue!" She breathed. "I've always wanted to meet them."
Considering International Rescue had only been in existence a maximum of five years, I took this statement with a grain of salt.
As if on cue the door slid open and a bright light spilled into our gloomy prison. A young man was standing there. His uniform was blue; his sash was orange, matching perfectly the trim on his hat and boots. His hair appeared to be copper in colour and he gave us all a big grin.
"Right. All aboard. Last calls." He said. An American I noted.
Everyone shuffled forward. Trixie and I decided to crawl the rest of the way. "This is hard on my poor old knees?" she complained. It was the only real word of complaint that I'd heard from her.
My knees weren't taking too kindly to it either.
We found ourselves beside a pair of blue boots. The owner of the boots squatted down so he was at our level. "I can't have this." He said cheerfully. "I won't have anyone grovelling at my feet." He gave Trixie a big smile tempered by a frown of concern. "Are you able to stand?"
"Oh, yes." She said brightly and got to her feet aided by myself, and the man in blue.
We stepped into what appeared to be a large elevator car, packed with people.
The International Rescue man turned to the ships Captain who was ticking off names on the ships manifest. "Is that all?" he enquired.
The Captain scanned the manifest. "That's all." He confirmed.
"Great!" the International Rescue man said. "Come aboard Capt'n." The Captain hesitated. "I've never been a believer that the Captain should go down the his ship." The International Rescue man continued. "I'd appreciate it if you'd come with us."
The Captain nodded, glanced around the darkened shell of his pride and joy, straightened his shoulders and marched into the elevator. The doors closed behind him.
"Okay, Thunderbird Two." The man from International Rescue spoke into an intercom. "That's the lot."
"F.A.B." the intercom replied.
"Hang on everyone." The International Rescue man was talking to us all now. "Next floor sardines and tinned goods."
A little ripple of nervous laughter ran through the crowd. I wondered how many times he'd cracked that joke.
I heard four thunks from beneath our feet and then experienced a rising sensation. The ride wasn't smooth, but at least we were free of the cruise liner.
There was a hiss and then four more sounds. The man in blue spoke again into the intercom. "Thunderbird Two. We've arrived."
Once again there was a disembodied "F.A.B." and the doors opened.
"Right ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to head down the corridor and take a seat we will be off shortly."
Trixie was still clinging to my arm when we reached the room where the other passengers were. As I gaped at it I got some idea of the size of the plane we were in - the mythical Thunderbird Two.
I escorted Trixie to a seat and assisted her into her safety harness. Then following the lead of others, reached underneath the seat and pulled out a bucket. "You may want to give it to someone else." I told her. I couldn't see her needing it for herself!
The International Rescue operative came over to double-check my handiwork. "We can't have young ladies falling about and hurting themselves." He told a giggling Trixie.
I looked about. I couldn't see any spare seats. I cleared my throat. "Ah, excuse me. But where can I sit?"
"Oh." He said. "Good question. Wait a moment." He wandered up and down the auditorium-sized hold, stopped occasionally to check a harness or give a reassuring word. When he got back to me he was frowning.
"We have a slight problem. We've no seats remaining here and we've nowhere else to put you safely." He paused in thought. "There is one option." He said just before I started to panic. "Come with me."
I followed him obediently through a door. As soon as the door behind us was closed he turned back towards me. "Can you keep a secret?"
"I've got a terrible memory." I told him. "I'm just as likely to forget any secrets anyway."
He still hesitated. "Do you swear, by whatever Supreme Power you believe in, that everything you see and hear will remain secret?"
I was startled and mumbled an "I do" feeling I was either about to be brought before a jury, or be married.
Suddenly he smiled again. "Sorry about this, but this is all very irregular. Come with me."
We entered a lift and rode upwards in silence. This ride was much smoother than the one we'd just completed. I assumed that we were no longer attached to the Golden Empress.
The elevator doors opened and I found myself on the flight deck of Thunderbird Two!