Chapter 2

The next morning Richard awoke to find that he was shivering. After a couple of attempts at getting out of bed he hurriedly dressed in the warmest clothes he could find in his wardrobe and marched out to confront his mates.

Paul and Tim were sitting at the table eating breakfast.

"Have you two been messing about with the heating?" he demanded, "it's freezing in here!"

"No-one's touched the heating, it's the same temperature it was yesterday," said Tim looking up from his cereal. He noticed the white bandage, "Hey, what did you do to your hand?"

"Nothing," Richard said defensively, hiding it behind his back.

"Cut yourself shaving did you Rich?" joked Paul, making gorilla noises and dragging his knuckles along the floor.

Tim at least had the good grace to glare at him, "Pots and kettles, Paul."

"It's just a joke, for God's sake; you've got no sense of humour you two."

"Come on mate, you can tell me, what did you do to it?"

Richard could feel his temper growing short again. "Look, it's just an insect bite all right!" he snapped, stamping off in the direction of the boiler room. The heating must be broken; they were just playing silly buggers as usual.

Tim and Paul watched him go in bewilderment; who was this impostor and what had he done with Richard; the meek little wallflower who wouldn't say boo to a goose?

Rich spent the rest of the day going over the heating controls with a fine tooth comb but in the end he had to admit defeat; there was nothing wrong with them. The temperature was still dropping though, he could feel it. He jumped up and down rubbing his hands together, unsuccessfully trying to coax some warmth back into them.

As he did so he noticed two red stains slowly seeping through the bandage. He looked down alarmed at his hand, OK that really wasn't right. Reluctantly he made his way back to the living room. But as he went he absent-mindedly took a woolly hat and scarf that had been perched jauntily on top of the machinery and put them on without thinking; he just had to get warm.

Paul and Tim heard Rich's footsteps down the corridor.

"Hey, poodle quiff!" called Paul, "Where the hell have you been? We've been yelling for you for ages. It's your turn to make dinner, we're starving." Then they caught sight of him and burst out laughing.

"What on earth are you wearing?" teased Paul, snatching the wool hat from Rich's head and dancing about, holding it just out of his reach, before throwing it to Tim who did the same. They kept up this game of piggy in the middle for quite some time before the hat landed on the flat roof of Paul's room.

"You'd better go and get that Paul…"

"Or what, Rich? What are you going to do?"

With a speed that surprised everyone, including Richard himself, he slapped Paul hard across the face.

Paul took an involuntary step backwards, reeling from the blow, and stared in stunned silence, reaching up to touch the red hand print which was already beginning to form on his left cheek. That hadn't been one of Richard's usual pathetic attempts at retaliation, that had really hurt.

Without a word Richard turned and hurried away into the ship, his fists clenched; he had to get out of there before he felt like committing bloody murder.

"You had that coming you know Paul," said Tim.

"Maybe I ought to go after him."

"I'd give him at least half an hour to calm down first if I were you or you might get far worse than a slap next time."

In the end they spent an hour playing cards before Paul decided to get up and go look for Richard. He didn't have to go very far as he found him lying in a foetal ball in the middle of a corridor a mere few minutes walk from the living room. From the shaking of his shoulders it looked like he was sobbing silently. An odd place for a sulk.

Paul kept his distance and sighed in mild exasperation; despite the great pleasure he got from teasing him he did love Richard dearly but, God, he could be hard work at times.

"Rich? Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. We're just messing around with you, you know, it's not real." There was no response from the bundle of clothing that was all that could be seen of Richard.

What could he say that might help the situation?

"Come on Rich, I'll bake you some of your favourite cookies," that usually did the trick; it had often amused him how easily Richard could be bought.

However this time there was still no response and Paul was beginning to get a bit worried. There had been no insults flung his way, no 'go aways,' not so much as a 'get nicked'.

"Rich are you listening to me?"

He moved closer and suddenly realised that he had been wrong. Richard wasn't crying; his shoulders were shaking too frenetically for that. He was shivering. Violently. His whole body near vibrating with chills.

Paul quickly knelt by his side and gently rolled him onto his back before stumbling away in horror. Richard was unconscious, his face a ghostly white; as if all the blood had been leached from it, breaths were taken in brief gasps through teeth chattering themselves to pieces in his head, and his veins stood out like dark vines snaking their way down his neck and across his hands. This was no mere cold.

Paul started to panic, there were no medical facilities on the Titanic II and even if there had been there were no doctors. Before there might have been an outside chance of contacting the surface for help, but out here in space they were completely on their own.

Tim! Ask Tim! He'd know what to do! Paul looked down at his stricken friend.

"Just stay there," he said a tad foolishly, backing away down the corridor before turning and breaking into a run.

"Tim! Tim! Richard's ill!" Paul exclaimed as he careered round the last corner. Tim was sitting at the table idly flicking through one of Richard's comics.

"I told you so," he said, not looking up.

"No, I mean seriously ill! Maybe even dying!"

He hadn't actually considered that possibility until he said it but from what he had seen of Richard's condition that didn't seem such an outlandish conclusion and it only fuelled his hysteria.

Tim did look up at him then, sharply, eyeing him with some scepticism. Paul was incredibly prone towards panic and exaggeration, so he'd long ago learnt to take much of what he said with almost a whole cellar's worth of salt but if Rich's life really was on the line…

"Where is he?"

"Lying just a few corridors from here. He's freezing cold!"

Paul moved to lead Tim along the passage but Tim stopped him. If Richard was suffering from hypothermia they would need to re-warm him.

"No, I can manage, you put the kettle on and make a mug of hot, sweet tea and a hot water bottle, then gather up all the blankets you can lay your hands on."

He hurried through the corridors with not a little trepidation until he found Richard lying where Paul had left him and blanched to see that this time Paul hadn't been exaggerating in the slightest.

Richard had stopped shivering by this time which was a bad sign. Tim knelt down beside his friend and took his wrist feeling for a pulse. He found one but it fluttered butterfly-like against his fingers. He hovered a hand over Richard's mouth to check he was still breathing but pulled it back in surprise when Rich stuck out his tongue and licked his palm. He wiped the hand on his trousers and turned his attention back to Richard as he gave a feeble groan, his eyes slowly flickering open.

"Richard? Can you hear me?"

"Tim?" He couldn't focus properly but the blurred figure above him might have been Tim.

"Hey mate, how are you doing?"

"I'm… cold… Tim," he managed.

"I know, don't you worry, me and Paul will take care of you."

A flash of fear crossed his eyes as a memory passed through his addled brain and he mumbled something so quietly Tim had to lean close to hear. He only caught the last two words, "Jazz records," but knew immediately what he must be thinking about. He suppressed a smile.

The last time they'd told Paul to 'take care' of something he'd interpreted that to mean 'utterly destroy'. Yes, perhaps he could have phrased that better.

"Come on Rich, let's get you to bed." He bent and lifted Richard in his arms, looking down at him fondly as he nuzzled his head in the crook of Tim's neck, his bandaged hand lying useless in his lap against Tim's chest. With one arm under Richard's knees Tim reached up the other to support his back and neck, his hand stroking Rich's dark brown hair.

Paul was frightened to see just how frail Richard looked, cradled like a babe in Tim's arms as he was carried in. He darted over to Rich's room to open the door and moved to turn down the bedclothes as Tim ducked through, being careful not to bash Richard's head on the lintel as he went in. He gently laid him on the bed and between them Paul and Tim tucked him in, neatly arranging the extra blankets on top, the hot water bottle cuddled to his side like a teddy bear.

Paul went to fetch the tea and placed it on the bedside table; it was far too hot for him to be able to drink just yet. They watched over his motionless form with deeply troubled expressions.

"What are we going to do Tim? We're no doctors."

Tim continued to gaze down at their friend for a long, thoughtful moment before looking up with a steely determination to meet his eye, "We'll just have to take a crash course then won't we? I don't intend to sit idly by and watch him die."

He made a start by reaching for Richard's injured right hand and carefully unwrapped the bandages to examine the wound. His patient gave a faint moan of pain but didn't wake.

The area around the bite was red raw and blistered, the bite mark itself was still bleeding steadily and there was a faint, ripe smell as of fruit that had just turned. It didn't take a doctor to diagnose what was ailing poor Richard.

"He's been poisoned, that insect must have been venomous."

"Poisoned?!" exclaimed Paul growing even more fearful, but then something occurred to him which gave him a sudden burst of hope. "We just need to find the antidote then." It was at least something practical they could do.

However Tim did not look encouraged, in fact some of his earlier drive had seeped away at this discovery.

"Even if there is one, which there may not be, where do we start? We have no idea what it was that bit him."

He saw Paul deflate at this and pulled himself together, no, they couldn't fall at the first hurdle.

"No, I know where we start; the library. There must be loads of medical textbooks; we'll just have to figure it out for ourselves. We owe it to Richard to at least try."

Deliriously, Richard began to sing snatches of the new song they had been practicing earlier and they found themselves listening curiously to his deep voice, thinking how odd it sounded to hear only the lower harmony that was usually subsumed within the tune.

Gradually though Richard regained some measure of true consciousness and was able to take stock of his current condition.

He was still gripped by an unnatural coldness but at least he was comfortable; he could feel a couple of pillows under his head and the weight of several blankets heavy on his chest. Blearily he opened his eyes. He could just about make out the fuzzy shapes of Paul and Tim leaning over him; they must have put him to bed.

"Rich, can you hear us?" Tim asked, moving to support him into a sitting position, gesturing for Paul to help him. Periods of consciousness may well be few and far between so they would do well to utilise them as much as they could.

Tim picked up the mug of tea and, sitting on the edge of the bed, held it to Richard's lips. "Come on Rich, drink this, it'll make you feel better."

He tipped it forward slowly so Richard could sip from it but took it away again and hurriedly put it back on the table as Rich; surprised by the sweet taste, coughed and choked.

Paul looked at him worriedly, gripping his shoulder to steady him and rubbing his back until the fit passed.

"I'm sorry about that Richard, I should have warned you, but you need the sugar," said Tim as he picked the mug up again and pressed it once more to Richard's lips. This time he was able to drink it all with only a grimace but it was obvious that even that much effort had taken it out of him and he quickly slipped back into unconsciousness.

When they had settled his head back against the pillows Tim straightened up. "I'll be back in a minute," he said.

After a short while he returned carefully carrying a small basin of water and a cloth. A brown Gladstone bag was hung over one arm, a towel over the other.

He put the basin on the floor and unclasped the bag, rifling through it until he found a bottle of antiseptic.

"Where did you find that?" asked Paul indicating the bag.

"Oh, I found it the other week when I was cataloguing on one of the lower floors; I thought it might come in handy."

He went and got a chair from the living room and brought it over to the bed. He sat down and, with the basin balanced on his lap, he once more took Richard's hand and started to clean the wound as gently as he could.

Despite his best efforts, however, whenever he touched his skin Richard let out a cry of pain and tried to pull his hand away, his legs moving restlessly under the covers. Paul sympathetically took his other hand and gently shushed him in an attempt to calm him to no avail.

Tim was well aware that what he was going to do next would hurt much more. He hated being the cause of his friend's suffering but he knew it had to be done. After drying the wound with the towel he put the basin back on the floor and reluctantly produced some cotton wool from the medical bag and picked up the antiseptic.

'I'm so very sorry about this Richard,' he thought as he soaked the cotton wool and dabbed it on and around the bite.

This time Richard screamed; his back arching, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. Tim held on tightly to his hand continuing in this dreadful but necessary task and it wasn't long before he was finished.

"It's all done now Richard," Tim reassured him, "all over," but Rich continued to moan and writhe until exhaustion pulled him back into welcome oblivion.

Tim re-bandaged the injury and laid the hand gently on Rich's stomach.

Paul got up and took the basin of bloodied water away to empty it and came back with fresh water and a clean flannel. He placed the basin on the floor on his side of the bed this time and dipped the flannel into the water, wringing it out before applying it to Richard's forehead.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to Richard's ragged breathing, lost in their own thoughts. There had been many occasions when they had caused Richard to be hurt or injured for the purposes of their own entertainment but somehow this was different. What they had just witnessed hadn't been funny at all and yet in this case they had caused him such pain only in order to ultimately make him better. It was a very troubling conundrum.

Eventually Tim got up from the bedside not taking his eyes from Richard's pale form.

"I'd better make a start on gathering up those books, are you all right to watch over him 'til I get back?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I'll look after him."

Not without some reluctance Tim backed out the door and disappeared off in the direction of the library.

Left alone, Paul dragged the chair over from the desk and sat down heavily. After neatening the bedclothes he again took Richard's good hand in his own.

The Titanic wouldn't be the same without Richard; he might be naïve and childish about some things but he had great stores of knowledge about others. If it had been either of them that had befallen this fate Paul was sure they would be probably well on the way to recovery by now.

He was also suddenly acutely aware of how he'd treated him the other day and felt a deep pang of guilt. Rich hadn't been responsible for his bad mood and it hadn't been fair to take out his anger on him. Richard usually took the insults and teasing so stoically that it was easy to forget that they might still hurt him and it shouldn't have taken something as drastic as this to make him realise that. He only hoped he'd get the chance to apologise to him properly.

Despite the blankets piled high he could still feel the cold radiating through his fingers and racked his brains for all the information he could remember about what little first aid he knew. He recalled that in the wilds, without resources like blankets and hot water bottles, sharing body heat could be beneficial, so he lay down next to him and gently wrapped himself around Richard's body, being careful not to fall off the narrow bed not really designed for two people. After a while his eyelids grew heavy and it wasn't long before Paul was fast asleep.