Survival Page 20

  Here, Derek stopped and his eyes fell to the floor.

  ‘Uhm,’ he continued, ‘maybe I’ve said a little more than I should have. You must think I’m a terrible person; somebody who’s long overdue for a much-needed visit from the thought police. Or even from the real police. After all, much of what I’ve said could land me in court…’

  Here, he hesitated just a second before carrying on.

  ‘You know, looked at another way, it’s not England that had become the problem, but me. I, and many like me, had become obsolete; subversive dinosaurs who should have had the decency to fade away before this new England with its new population and its new ideas had installed itself so firmly. We had all passed our use-by dates and turned into toxic, shrivelled bigots, fit only to be ignored or despised. And certainly, without any valid claim on the country we no longer recognised as our own…’

  Alex wasn’t sure what to say, so he picked up on Derek’s comment about landing in court.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll end up before the beak,’ he observed. ‘And not only because there aren’t any courts any more, but also because I doubt any of your fellow passengers would report you. Your views are hardly unique, Derek; just generally unspoken. And for the very reasons you’ve alluded to. They’re not allowed any more. Or they weren’t allowed any more. Not in what, until very recently, was a country with multiple cultures but with only one single authorised way of thinking. So, I now know exactly what you meant when you talked about your England disappearing some time ago, and you will not be surprised to learn that I’ve had some very similar thoughts myself. Although I will still miss a sunny Spring day and a misty Autumn morning…’

  Derek smiled broadly. He clearly knew that he was in the company of a fellow ‘nonconformist’. And whilst he must have suspected as much before, it had now been confirmed beyond doubt.

  Alex finally left his friend to rejoin Debbie in their cabin, and then to accompany her to the bar. Neither of them could summon up an appetite for even a light lunch, and instead they decided to dip into their drinks ration for the day, and partake of just a few salted nuts. It was a good decision, and it enabled Alex to further debate with just his wife what they’d been told by Stuart over breakfast, and to tell her of his discussion with Derek, none of which surprised her in the least.

  Neither was she surprised when, back in their cabin, Alex announced that he’d be paying a visit to the stern of the ship for a little birdwatching while she embarked on another book – and while a good number of the ship’s passengers assembled in the lounge for an impromptu presentation on navigation aids. Roy wasn’t among their number, because he was already at the stern of the Sea Sprite. He was standing on the Marco Polo’s rear observation deck, binoculars in hand, and a big welcoming smile on his face when he saw Alex arrive.

  ‘Ah, been kicked out, eh?’ he asked as Alex approached him. And then he informed Alex that he’d just missed a black-browed albatross, a fly-past of some slender-billed prions, and two blonde-haired mermaids. Alex responded with the observation that the two mermaids probably wouldn’t have been true blondes, and then quickly switched the conversation to China. He wanted Roy to know what Stuart had imparted over breakfast.

  Roy’s reaction to this denouement was not that different from that of Derek’s. It was as though he’d just had a series of long-standing suspicions confirmed, and he seemed more pensive than surprised. He also expressed the view that what the Chinese had done was hardly an example of aberrant behaviour; more, it was just another manifestation of mankind’s unparalleled idiocy and its immeasurable arrogance. He then went on to amplify this opinion by telling Alex that, for the last thirty years, he had been convinced that humanity was on course to destroy either every other species on the planet or itself. That he had observed the way it had bred out of control and pushed all those other species to the margins, and had wondered what would be the ultimate result of this blind and selfish behaviour: its own extermination, or that of the natural world? Increasingly, he’d thought it would be the former. With the world divided into nation states, more and more of which were run by autocrats or out-and-out monsters – and fewer and fewer of which were prepared to cooperate for the common good – he could see the undoing of humanity arriving well before it had managed to undo the well-being of all its fellow creatures. And now it had happened. Not quite in the way he had expected – a pathogenic obliteration of all humans or their frying themselves in a nuclear conflagration – but by some sort of incontinent fungus ripped straight from the pages of a trashy sci-fi novel. Oh-so-clever mankind, nil. Dumb, unthinking fungus, one. With no replay on offer. What an end! And what a fitting end to a species whose hallmark was hubris. If it weren’t all so desperate, it would be a hoot.

  Alex listened to Roy’s views on his fellow man with the interest they deserved, but was then left with a couple of questions in his mind. And now he had to ask them.

  ‘Roy,’ he said, ‘how do I reconcile what you’ve just told me with your expressed enthusiasm for your “new adventure”? You know, what you said last night about not being able to wait to see what the next few days have in store. Oh, and you seem to have written off mankind entirely, whereas last night you were confident that we on this ship would survive. And I think that means…’

  ‘There’s nothing to lose,’ interrupted Roy. ‘What I’ve thought for thirty years has come to pass. And those few of us still left alive might as well enjoy what we can while we can. And we may indeed survive. In fact, I think there’s a fairly strong likelihood that we will survive for quite some time. And I mean for quite a few years. But that’s just us, Alex. Not the other seven-point-something billion people who are no longer with us. And, in case you haven’t noticed, I think the Sea Sprite might have a bit of a problem in becoming the cradle for a new generation; you know, one that might go on to repopulate our currently empty world. You see, by my reckoning there are only a handful of women on this ship who could produce children. Even if they could be convinced to do so. Which means that even if we survive, we will probably be the end of the line. Mankind’s fucked. We’re not. Yet. And for as long as we’re here, let’s make the most of it.’

  Roy had supplied Alex with a comprehensive response to his questions, and also with a great deal of food for thought. In particular, he had brought to Alex’s attention that he, Alex, had forged a close relationship with two people on this ship (and probably three if, as likely, Elaine shared Derek’s views) who had not much more than an academic interest in their own survival, and who had certainly shed barely a tear for the billions of their fellow humans who had already lost their chance to survive.

  In a peculiar way, he found this rather reassuring and comforting. He wasn’t quite as indifferent to his own fate as they were, and he was definitely very concerned about the fate of his wife. But maybe he ought to be a little more resigned to whatever might happen. After all, he and Debbie had both had a very good three-score years and ten – and more. And life wasn’t everything. It was just what one became used to…

  Meanwhile, however, there was the practical and the mundane to attend to, and that included stoking up on a few more calories, this time in the form of a rather tasty Spaghetti Bolognese followed by a sticky toffee pudding. This feast was, unsurprisingly, shared with Derek, Elaine and Roy, but what was not shared was the content of Alex’s earlier exchanges with Derek and Roy. Instead the conversation ranged far and wide and took in China’s behaviour, the rapid evaporation of so much of human civilisation, and the challenges that might face all those aboard the Sea Sprite over the next few days.

  Alex participated fully in this debate, albeit he found himself evaluating everything he heard within the context of the earlier revelations on the subjects of both home and humanity. None of which he would easily forget…

  twenty-five

  Alex was cutting into his second rasher of bacon when Jane’s voice came through the tanno
y. She was a little late this morning, but still in time to give her charges plenty of notice that, in about twenty minutes’ time, the Sea Sprite would be passing just to the east of Elephant Island. Given its place in Antarctic history and its status as the marker for the imminent arrival of the Antarctic proper, she was clearly eager to ensure that none of those aboard missed it, even if there would be no opportunity to see it at close quarters. That would have been possible with the zodiacs had the Sea Sprite still been carrying amateur explorers, and not, as it was now, a group of amateur survivalists.

  As Jane completed her announcement with the news that there would be a regular presentation at 10.30 (on The Seals of the Antarctic) and an irregular presentation at 3pm (on The Deception Island raiding plan), Alex set to work with his knife and fork with more urgency than before. Whilst his and Debbie’s present breakfast companions – a smiley pair of retired lecturers from Worksop – had proved pleasingly good company, he was now keen to finish his meal so as to be back in his cabin in plenty of time for the promised Elephant Island transit. He really wanted to see what the majority of the Endeavour’s crew had been obliged to live on for so many months.

  It was grim. The Sea Sprite was now only a few hundred yards off Elephant Island, and it looked to Alex like the sort of place that would never be chosen as even a transient refuge, let alone somewhere one might want to spend several months of one’s life. It was, after all, no more than a large snow-streaked rocky outcrop surrounded by a scum of sea ice. And worse still, it was currently half hidden behind a curtain of half-hearted sleet and snow. It couldn’t have looked more uninviting.

  It was the first time Alex had seen any precipitation on this voyage, and he wondered whether there was something about Elephant Island’s position, or maybe its jagged profile, that induced such a dreary veiling of its form. And, if so, what that must have meant for all those left-behind members of Shackleton’s crew as they huddled together in the shelter of their (second) upturned lifeboat for all those days and weeks. And then he wondered how the hell they had managed to find a spit of land that could accommodate their makeshift home. All Alex could see from his cabin-balcony vantage point were the rocky slopes that made up the island, entering the surrounding sea at an angle of more than forty-five degrees. Nowhere was there a beach or even a stretch of gently-inclined ground.

  This topography hadn’t, however, discouraged a multitude of chinstrap penguins from choosing this place to raise their young. There were hundreds of them, all visible through binoculars, and all clearly demonstrating their preference for elevated nesting sites and their indifference to the effort required to reach these sites. They were obviously very hardy types, just as the snowy sheathbills were very inquisitive types, and so much so that they were not averse to visiting ships as they passed their island home – and landing within just feet of their startled passengers. One had now alighted on the handrail of Alex and Debbie’s balcony lookout, and was providing them with their first close-up view of this unusual bird. With its pink face, its yellow-grey bill, and the general appearance of an all-white cross between a pigeon and a chicken, it was certainly not the most handsome bird on the planet. But, in a way, it was still enchanting, simply because it was so nosy and so precocious, spending most of its life exploiting any feeding opportunities that presented themselves in a penguin colony, but also a little time exploiting any feeding opportunities that might present themselves on a passing vessel. Even if that meant indulging in a reckless proximity to that vessel’s much larger creatures. Or was it really reckless? Observing this particular snowy sheathbill on the handrail, Alex began to think that these birds were not visiting ships such as the Sea Sprite just for food, but also for the opportunity to experience an encounter with a species of animal not found on Elephant Island since Shackleton’s survivors left it. After all, this close-by bird did seem to have more interest in him and Debbie than it did in the prospect of something to eat somewhere else.

  However, all too soon, he (or she) was gone, and so too was Elephant Island and its little clutch of smaller outlying islets. The Sea Sprite was now on its way to a whole string of equally inhospitable islands, otherwise known as the South Shetlands. The first of these was still not in view when Alex and Debbie made their way to the lounge to hear John deliver his talk on the various seals that might be encountered as the Sea Sprite travelled even further south. Fur seals and elephant seals, his audience would already know. Crabeater seals, Weddell seals and leopard seals, most of them would not. Nor how these three very different seals went about making a living. Soon, however, they would. And the first seal to have its habits exposed was the crabeater.

  This chap, as was apparent from an image now being projected onto the lounge’s two screens, is a large, rather slender-looking seal with a small head and a doglike muzzle. And rather disappointingly, it doesn’t eat crabs. Instead, as John made clear, it consumes copious amounts of krill, foraging largely at night, and so successfully that it is reckoned that it is now the world’s most abundant large mammal. According to John, there could be up to seventy-five million of these creatures, all of them in the Antarctic. Alex was impressed, and then further impressed when John moved on to discuss the Weddell seal.

  This guy is apparently noticeably fatter than the crabeater seal, and tends to be solitary whereas its crabeater cousin is fairly gregarious. It also has a rather ‘feline’ face which, with upturned corners to its mouth, creates a somewhat Cheshire-cat-like smile. But what really sets the Weddell seal apart from the crabeater and all other seals is its wintertime habits. Seals need to breathe. They are, after all, mammals. To do this in the Antarctic winter, when pack ice almost doubles the size of the continent, seals have to migrate further and further away from the land mass, in order to keep ahead of the expanding cover of frozen sea. But not so the Weddell. It stays put and survives by creating breathing holes in the pack ice, which it then keeps open by constantly gnawing away at the freshly forming ice. This strategy gives it the great advantage of having exclusive access to its food source while at the same time being able to avoid its principal predators, as both killer whales and leopard seals will have disappeared to open water. Unfortunately, this advantage is eventually overtaken by an inevitable problem. The canines and incisors of these creatures do not last forever, and those of old adults ultimately wear down to the point where they become useless. No longer can the breathing holes be maintained, and the seals drown. It was undeniable, thought Alex (not for the first time), that the beauty of nature had an undesirable flip side: one of uncompromising cruelty.

  This feature was also apparent in John’s description of his third subject, which was the leopard seal. This guy is the scary seal; a large, fearsome-looking creature with a huge, snake-like head and a mouth which, when open, reveals a pair of jaws equipped with numerous sharp teeth. These it uses to catch and dispatch its favourite food: penguins. And, given the opportunity, to bite off the hands of careless visitors to its domain. As John explained, when travelling in a zodiac in Antarctica, one should never dangle one’s hands in the water. Leopard seals not only occasionally bite the rubber of the zodiacs, but they are not unknown to try for the flesh of any nearby fingers. Needless to say, ‘swimming with leopard seals’ was not to be advised either. One might easily suffer a lethal attack before one froze to death…

  Back in their cabin – and having taken in their first view of the distant Shetland Islands – Alex and Debbie acknowledged the quality of John’s presentation, and its ability to so successfully distract them from their current precarious predicament. They were, after all, still on a not-so-magical mystery tour, and after another modest lunch and an even more modest siesta, this fact would stare them in the face. Just as soon, that is, as the raiding-plan briefing had got under way.

  Everybody was again gathered in the lounge: all those signed up as volunteers, all those who had offered their services but who had been rejected (generally on the grounds of la
ck of fitness or lack of stature), and all those who had declined the invitation to assist in the raiding of the research stations. Proceedings then kicked off with Captain José coughing into his microphone and, when he’d secured everybody’s attention, greeting them with a series of varied thanks.

  ‘Good afternoon, everybody,’ he started, ‘and thank you for coming. I’m pleased to see that we have ourselves a completely full house. And I particularly want to thank those of you who have volunteered to help out in our… provisioning runs. I am more than grateful. Because I have more of you than I can possibly use, as will become apparent very soon. And, of course, I want to give a special thanks to all those members of my crew and all those members of the expedition team who have agreed to lead the errh… provisioning parties. And you won’t be surprised to learn that again we had more volunteers for this than we could actually use. And that leading these guys – and organising the whole campaign – will be none other than our far-from-diminutive ex-Royal Marine, Mike. Which, I can tell you, is my cue to ask him to come and take this microphone and to spell out how we’ll be going about relieving the first two research stations of their otherwise redundant provisions…’