NOVEL NEXT Chapter 1, Day 10 – 14: Disaster
Prologue
We set sail because there is new knowledge to be gained, and new land to be explored, and we must explore for the benefit of all people. The casualties inflicted by the pneumonic plague have made it evident that, if we wish to ensure mankind's continued existence, we must explore and develop these unknown lands, to protect ourselves from future disasters – because there will be more! The next plague might not be so easily cured, or perhaps Mount Diadem will erupt just as it did one thousand years ago. We take our modern comforts for granted, but these luxuries only exist because we made them, because we decided to focus our energy, our skills, and our talent, to make something that will benefit humanity as a whole!
First our ancestors mastered fire and iron. They used the blessings of our homeland, built shelters to withstand the cruelty of nature, and thrived as a species! But they didn't stop there, did they? No! They continued to progress! They solved problems, engineered solutions! They struggled through war, pestilence, famine, and yet they continued to advance, because that is what it means to be human!
It was our perseverance that allowed us to conquer the pneumonic plague, a disease that would have gone on to ravage millions more if not for the timely discovery of antibiotics. It is that very same perseverance that we carry into the unknown, along with the knowledge and wisdom of our progenitors, and with this we will succeed, to go where no one has gone before!
-Excerpt of Prime Minister Jefferey Bolton's speech, delivered on the thirty-third day of the second month, in the year nine hundred and fifty eight, two years before the start of the Horizon expedition.
[Expedition Day 10]
In the year 960 AE, on the fifth day of the third month, an expedition was launched from the Mainland, making it the first ship in history to set course for another continent.
The vessel was a sophisticated diesel-powered ship, one designed for the long distances required to reach the unexplored continents of the world, and its crew were among the best and brightest that humanity had to offer.
Unfortunately, not even these advantages were enough to ensure smooth sailing, and several problems had arisen over the course of the journey.
"So, how are the crew doing?" Captain Williams asked from behind his desk.
"The infection appears to be resistant to penicillin," Doctor Pryce reported. "As of yet, the symptoms are fortunately rather mild. So long as it stays that way, the crew should make a full recovery."
"Good, good," Williams nodded. "Thank you for the update, and do let me know if anything changes – there'll be no shortage of work once we reach the continent, what with it having no infrastructure at all, and I'll need to factor in the health of the crew for any detailed plans."
"Of course," Pryce nodded. He paused, then hesitantly asked, "How is the ship doing? Have we fallen any further behind schedule?"
"Ah, yes, you were working in the sick bay when I gave the update," Williams said, flipping through his notebook. "It seems the Horizon is going with the currents now, so we've made up for a bit of lost time. According to Randal we've got about three-and-a-half thousand kilometers left to go, so we should arrive in about five or six days, Naruna willing."
"That's a relief," Pryce said, breathing a little easier with the good news. "I need to return to my duties now, but I'll keep you updated if anything happens."
"Of course," Williams nodded, and waved his dismissal.
Pryce closed the door behind him, and left to return to the sick bay. He navigated the compact passageways of the ship with familiar ease, but was nearly knocked over when someone came barreling down the corner – Randal, Pryce recognized as he steadied himself against a bulkhead.
"Sorry!" the navigator cried, and rushed off towards the captain's quarters without another word.
Pryce frowned as he brushed himself off. Randal was normally a rather calm individual; something important must have happened for him to be so panicked. After a moment's hesitation the doctor decided to turn around and follow the visibly shaken man. He had no desire to eavesdrop, but Randal's stressed voice was clearly audible even before Pryce reached the solidly built door.
"-never seen the mercury drop so fast!" the navigator exclaimed, and the door swung open before Pryce could properly knock.
"Doctor Pryce," Captain Williams said in tones of mild surprise. "Did you forget something?"
"I almost ran into Randal a minute ago," Pryce replied. "Thought there might be something important happening."
"A storm's coming – a big one," Williams said shortly as he walked past Pryce. "We're battening down the hatches. Go tend to your patients, and secure whatever you can."
"Understood," Pryce said, with he and Randall nearly jogging to keep up with the Captain's swift pace. Their paths diverged as he made his way to the sick bay, and the doctor made sure to don his mask before entering the room.
"You've returned," Doctor Siebert greeted, looking up from her clipboard. "Could you take a look at Charles? I think-"
"Storm's coming," Pryce said, without preamble. "Go tell the patients, then secure everything."
Siebert blinked, and her eyes widened as she processed his words. "Understood," she curtly nodded, and swiftly left to carry out her task.
Pryce exhaled, glanced around the room, and got to work.
[Expedition Day 13]
"Any improvement?" Siebert asked as Pryce left the sick bay.
"Slowly but surely," Pryce reported. "How much longer till we make landfall?"
"Captain Williams wasn't able to give me a straight answer," Siebert sighed. "The hurricane is still going strong, and our ETA depends on when this damned storm will finally decide to let up."
"Well, we'll just have to hope that we haven't been blown too far off course," Pryce sighed. "Keep an eye on the patients. I'll go see if the crew needs any help."
"Understood," Siebert nodded. "I'll take a short break; wake me if you need me."
"Will do," Pryce nodded, and closed the sick bay door shut behind him.
Pryce stumbled towards the wheelhouse, feeling moderately ill. The doctor had stopped feeling seasick after he'd spent a few weeks training aboard the Horizon, but this hurricane was another beast entirely. Even some of the sailors had been incapacitated despite their years of experience, so the doctor felt that it was his duty to offer his assistance while the ship was so short handed.
"Back again, Doctor Pryce?" Randal asked. The poor man was the ship's primary navigator, and had barely slept in the past few days, as evidenced by the bags under his hazy, unfocused eyes.
"Indeed," Pryce said, taking note of the others who were on duty. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Absolutely," Randal said, glancing at the ship's chronometer. "Our shift is almost up. The next shift will be here to relieve us in a few minutes. I need to go talk to the engineers, could you stay and keep an eye on things with Warren?"
"Will do," Pryce nodded. His official training had been limited with respect to operating the ship itself, but he'd learned enough to be comfortable assisting a sailor, even if he wasn't keen on handling the ship himself.
"Appreciated," Randal mumbled before stumbling off. The other crew members likewise mumbled their thanks before stumbling down below decks, leaving Pryce and Warren alone to helm the ship.
"They're late," Pryce said, frowning as he checked the chronometer for the fifteenth time in ten minutes.
"Those lazy bastards are probably just dragging their heels," Warren grumbled, the bags under his eyes giving the sharp-jawed man a cantankerous appearance. "Watch the ship, will you? I'll go drag their sorry asses on over."
The sailor left before Pryce could voice his reluctance, leaving the doctor alone to helm the ship. Unlike Warren, Pryce wasn't as quick to assume the crewmen were merely late. They may have been exhausted, but Captain Williams ran a tight ship, and his men were well disciplined. Pryce also knew that Elliot was a part of the next shift, and he had never seen the man late before.
Several more minutes passed with no one coming to relieve him, and Pryce's concern grew with each passing moment. Perhaps they were preoccupied with some emergency? That seemed to be the only explanation, though it was hardly a comforting one.
Pryce continued to wait, hoping that someone would show up. By the twenty minute mark he had half a mind to go find them himself – that was, until the ship's lights abruptly flickered and died.
The much dimmer emergency lights kicked in a few moments later, and now Pryce had truly begun to worry. He fumbled for an emergency hurricane lamp between flashes of lightning, and the lantern soon flared to life.
Light source in hand, he made his way down into the bowels of the ship, walking slowly so as to ensure that he would not stumble and break his light source.
He'd made it down three decks when the flame flickered, and he noticed that it was much weaker than before. Pryce turned the knob to raise the wick, only to find that it was already all the way up.
He stared at the lantern, confused by this turn of events. The lantern still provided more than enough visibility for him to navigate the lower decks, but…something was wrong.
On a whim, he retreated back up the stairs, and watched in horror as the flame grew larger and larger.
The lantern wasn't malfunctioning. There was something wrong with the air, something that displaced enough oxygen to stifle the lantern's flame.
Pryce clambered up the stairs as quickly as he could and flung open the windows and doors of the wheelhouse, heedless of the rain and salt water that blasted into the room. He panted as he considered his options, feeling acutely aware of the unusual exhaustion in his limbs. He couldn't be certain what the gas was, but the only explanation that made sense was if the engines or ventilation system malfunctioned – possibly both. In that case, the gas was probably carbon dioxide and/or carbon monoxide. It baffled him that such a thing could possibly happen, but the cause was something to think about later – right now, most if not all of the crew were either currently working or quartered in areas of the ship with deathly low levels of oxygen. The change might have been gradual enough for the symptoms to merely manifest as exhaustion, a state which already described nearly all the crew. None of them might have noticed anything wrong until it was too late.
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Pryce would have liked to find Warren first, but the man had almost certainly left for the deeper areas of the ship where the crew were quartered. The human body could only survive a scant few minutes without oxygen, which meant most of the crew would be dead before he could do anything.
The doctor gritted his teeth, pushing the truth away to focus on the present. The gas was definitely heavier than air, so those in the highest levels of the ship had the highest chance of survival. With this in mind Pryce rushed to the sick bay, doing his best to conserve oxygen along the way while following the ship's dimly lit corridors.
He felt slightly lightheaded by the time he reached the sick bay, and once inside he took a few seconds to fling open a window – ignoring the torrential spray of rain and sea water that it let in – and dragged the first body he literally stumbled across down the corridor, up the stairs, and into the wheelhouse.
Pryce collapsed onto the floor the moment they'd reached relative safety, and panted as he waited for the lightheadedness to fade. He turned his head to face the motionless body he had retrieved, who turned out to be Siebert.
With shaking hands, he checked her vitals.
No pulse. No breath.
Pryce clenched his fist as he stood, his lips pressed into a thin line. He could perform CPR, or he could retrieve someone else from the ship, but he discarded the latter option almost immediately. Siebert was a smaller woman, and her oxygen requirements were lower compared to the men who resided in the sick bay, which was located just below the deck. None of the others could be in better condition than her, save for Captain Williams, whose quarters were on the same level, but located in a different part of the ship which might not be as polluted.
CPR was a relatively new medical protocol; it could revive the recently deceased, but the odds of success declined with each passing second. Pryce knew he had no time for deliberation, so he quickly began attempts to resuscitate Siebert. He didn't waste any time checking the chronometer; instead he kept time by counting chest compressions.
His arms and chest burned with exhaustion at six-hundred chest compressions, but he kept going. Every minute spent saving Siebert meant dooming the Captain, and Pryce was forced to stop at the seven-hundred mark.
Pryce spent half a minute recovering his stamina while he observed Siebert's motionless body.
"Damnit…!" he swore. Water had begun to pool on the floor, sloshing around with the pendulous rise and fall of the ship. The tepid saltwater thoroughly soaked his pants, sapping the warmth from his body. The doctor tried to stand, but he slipped on the wet floor as the ship pitched. He only barely managed to sit himself up against the wall, and with an effort, forced himself up to stumble towards the Captain's quarters. As he staggered down the passageway he realized that he felt more exhausted than he should have been, which was probably an effect of the carbon monoxide – the molecule was able to bind with oxygen transport proteins like glue, a lethal trait which rendered them useless for several hours.
He had to hurry, before it was too late.
Pryce heaved, his arms burning as he kneeled over Captain Williams.
He had performed chest compressions on the man for as long as he could, but he was too late.
So he pushed himself to his feet and began opening windows all around the ship as quickly as he could without endangering himself. He knew it was extremely unlikely that anyone had survived, but there was still a chance, and so the doctor worked with as much haste as possible.
Several hours later, Pryce confirmed that there were no other survivors. The lone man stumbled back into the wheelhouse in a daze, and collapsed into a chair.
How could things have gone so wrong? Just a few hours ago everyone had been alive and well, and now…now they were all dead. He was completely alone, on a ship with a potentially broken engine, thousands of kilometers away from civilization.
A glint of light caught his attention, and Pryce stepped out on deck to see that the hurricane had abated. Soon, sunlight filtered through the clouds and into the wheelhouse, completely uncaring of the disaster that had taken the lives of everyone around him.
Pryce was able to restart the generators without any issue, which didn't surprise him. The engines were his main worry, as they were the only possible source of toxic gas large enough to kill the entire crew…and yet, each inspection he performed revealed them to be completely undamaged – at least, undamaged to his inexperienced eye.
In the end he decided to wait a full day before attempting to start the engines. That would ensure that all of the gas had been cleared out, and in the meantime he had another pressing matter to contend with: the bodies of his crewmates.
The simplest option was a burial at sea, but…he couldn't bring himself to throw them overboard. With the generators operational he could preserve their bodies by placing them in the walk-in cooler, but then what?
Merely cooling the bodies wouldn't halt the decaying process. He could freeze them, but for how long? He didn't have an answer for any of this, but he had to do something before the bodies began to rot.
Ultimately he decided to store them in the cooler, which would at least give him more time. Moving the bodies of his fallen comrades was slow and painful work, but it had to be done. The arduous task took several hours to complete, and in the process Pryce realized that there were only 47 bodies, meaning that two were missing; Edward Clarke and Jane Callan. The former was a sailor, while the latter was a famous geologist. Pryce scoured the ship several times over, but their bodies were still nowhere to be found. They must have fallen overboard, almost certainly in the chaos of the storm.
Pryce wasn't especially close to either of them, but it was impossible not to entertain the idea that they might have survived…but no, there was no chance of that. Falling into the ocean for any prolonged period of time was a death sentence, even if there hadn't been a hurricane.
He leaned against the bulwark of the ship and looked up at the night sky. Moving the bodies had taken longer than he'd expected, and he gazed up to see the stars accompanied by a full moon, their celestial luminosity unimpeded by the light of civilization. The ocean was remarkably smooth as well, and it reflected the heavens like a mirror to create a truly stunning sight.
The entire crew had once appreciated a similar view several days into their journey, which now seemed like so long ago. Pryce's vision blurred as he recalled the memory, and he wiped his eyes to focus on the task at hand: determining his coordinates. Longitude would have to wait until tomorrow noon, but he could determine his latitude just by sighting the north star – assuming he was still in the northern hemisphere.
Fortunately the star was right where he expected, and using the sextant he was able to determine that his latitude was about 3.7 degrees north, just barely above the equator. This was quite a bit further south than the ship was supposed to go, but it was far from unsalvageable.
Now that night had fallen, Pryce was beginning to feel the toll that the day's events had taken on him. The lower decks of the ship should be safe now, but he couldn't trust them anymore; not when they'd killed the rest of the crew.
So it was that Pryce set up a hammock in the wheelhouse, where he slowly and uncomfortably drifted off to sleep.
[Expedition Day 14]
Pryce slowly blinked awake, and for a moment he wondered why he was sleeping in the wheelhouse. Then yesterday's memories came flooding back in a rush, and he had to take a few minutes to compose himself.
Today he would determine his longitude, which was a little more complicated than latitude. To do this he could use either of the two methods at his disposal: the first relied upon the ship's receiver antennas, while the second relied on the chronometer. Both revolved around the same concept: comparing the time difference between noon on the Mainland and his current position.
There were two ways to use the radio system. The first was to fly the antenna wire up on a kite, while the second was to float it over the ocean upon a series of buoys. The antenna required headwind while the buoys had to be dragged behind the ship, so both methods required the ship to be sailing forwards. Pryce wished to wait a little longer for the lower levels of the ship to air out, so he decided to use the chronometer to determine his latitude.
No one was certain if the radio waves would reach the Horizon eight-thousand kilometers away from home, which was why the ship carried two chronometers – three, including Pryce's personal model. Reading the chronometer at noon was a bit harder than it sounded – the Earth's elliptical orbit meant that it travelled at slightly different speeds at different times of the year, which resulted in changes of the Sun's apparent angular speed. This meant that solar noon rarely ever occurred at exactly 12 o'clock, and knowing the true time of noon required some rather extensive tables which had been worked out long in advance, trivializing the task for Pryce.
The key to it all was the chronometer, which Pryce retrieved from his pocket. The stainless steel case was a little worn from daily use, but the device still functioned as perfectly as it had the day he'd received it. Pryce gently ran a thumb over the metal shell, tracing over the words etched into the casing.
Mk. 10
Wright Marine Chronometer
The device swung open with a click, revealing the clockwork inside. A child's sketch could be seen on the interior of the case, though Pryce did his best to ignore it while he studiously recorded his observations of the sun.
According to the chronometer it was 6:38:48 back on the Mainland, which meant that he was 5 hours, 21 minutes, and 12 seconds away from home. Each hour of difference from noon equated to 15 degrees of longitude, which meant that his coordinates were 3.7 degrees north, 80.3 degrees west.
Armed with this knowledge, Pryce re-entered the wheelhouse to examine the world map pinned on the back wall of the bridge. Beside it hung a copy of the satellite imagery which had so shaken the world.
The photos obtained by the Longshot program were unarguably the most famous photographs in existence. It had taken twelve rounds of trial and error to photograph the entire surface of the planet from orbit, but humanity's persistence had finally been rewarded with irrefutable proof of other continents. This image alone had fueled the dreams of countless people, spurring them on to be a part of the generation that would venture out from their homeland and explore the rest of the world.
In short, it was the reason why they'd set sail in the first place.
Pryce pressed his lips into a thin line, and pushed his unproductive thoughts aside to mark his position on the world map.
A simple measurement told him that he was about eight thousand kilometers from the Mainland. Given the ship's nominal speed of 25 km/hr, that meant it would take him ten days to return to the Mainland. Fifteen, he corrected – he wouldn't be able to sail the ship while he slept, after all; at least, not without it careening off course in the night.
On the other hand, the new continent was only about two thousand kilometers away, which would take five days to traverse.
The Horizon's intended destination was actually the eastern coast of the continent, at a latitude of 22.5 degrees north. The mission was meant to last for two months from start to finish; in that time the crew were supposed to set up a simple base of operations - something that would pave the way for future expeditions. If there was a place to await rescue, it would be there. Once two months had passed with no sign of the Horizon's return – GLobal EXploration Agency (or GLEXA), would almost certainly repurpose the second expedition to rescue the missing crew.
The problem was that this location was about 2500 kilometers away from his current position, and Pryce didn't know how far the ship could travel. Something had to be wrong with the engines, even if he couldn't determine the cause of the disaster. He needed to make landfall as soon as possible, but the limited resolution of the satellite imagery made the exact shape of the continent unclear; for all he knew the south end of the continent might be a cluster of landlocked archipelagos. To be safe, he needed to make landfall on the main body of the continent, and that meant travelling northwest until he saw land.
Pryce read over his notes several times before beginning the start-up process. The doctor held his breath as the ship slowly rumbled awake, while the lights on the control panel simultaneously flickered to life. He held his breath as a minute passed, with nothing going wrong. When ten minutes passed he could only conclude that the engines were perfectly fine, and Pryce returned to the bridge and engaged the propulsion to drive the ship forward.
The doctor waited half an hour, and in that time none of the ship's readings indicated any abnormalities. Pryce had rarely ever been so baffled in his life. How could the engines poison the entire crew if they were apparently undamaged?
Pryce spent the next hour checking the oxygen levels with lanterns placed throughout the ship. He inspected all the vents, ducts, and exhaust pipes that he could, but when he found nothing out of the ordinary he was forced to return to the wheelhouse.
The doctor had assumed that the ship's engines were damaged, and he'd hoped to limp to the continent if possible, but seeing them function without issue changed things. He could try and return to the Mainland, but was it the right call to make?
Turning around was obviously the logical, rational choice to make. It wasn't possible for one man to explore a continent himself, even if someone more capable were in his shoes…and yet something in him rebelled at the idea. If he went back now the deaths of the crew would have been for nothing, but if he continued on then at least it would have been for something…wouldn't it?
Pryce tucked his hand into his pocket, and tightly gripped the chronometer as he deliberated over what to do. He didn't care about being the first to explore the continent, but he still had his own reasons for joining the mission. He couldn't just give up so easily, not when he had a promise to keep.
The doctor spent the rest of the day keeping the ship on course, then at night he would turn off the engines, take his latitude, and go to sleep. The next morning he would start his engines, take his longitude at noon, then continue until nightfall. He repeated this cycle for three more days until he reached his destination.