"This is Alton Webb speaking. Due to Commander Kranuski having abandoned his post, I am taking emergency command of the boat. All senior personnel report to the wardroom."
Webb knew that to certain people on board, these words would be as shocking and unwelcome as a fire alarm. And he knew exactly which ones would come running the fastest: those with the most to fear. The guilty.
They didn't disappoint him. "What happened to Kranuski?" demanded Dan Robles.
Perfectly composed, Webb replied, "I don't know, Dan-he's gone missing. We'll have a full investigation as soon as it becomes feasible. In the meantime, let's focus on the situation at hand."
"You have no authority to command the boat," said Phil Tran. "Half the men outrank you."
"No, they do not. Yesterday, Mr. Kranuski issued me a field promotion to commander. You're out of order, Lieutenant-as executive officer, I am next in line. End of story."
Robles said, "I'm afraid we don't accept your authority."
"Is that right? Is this a mutiny, then?"
"No-what you're doing is mutiny. We're trying to run a clean ship. Just step aside, Webb, and put a real captain back on deck."
"A real captain. Who would that be, I wonder?"
"The only captain we have, the one who was assigned the duty in the first place: Harvey Coombs."
"Coombs-what a surprise. Sure, let's put the saboteur back in charge. But then, you two are his unofficial representatives, aren't you? Did he tell you to get rid of Kranuski? And I suppose I'm next, is that it? Or am I supposed to conveniently back down and step aside?"
Webb leaned away from the table, revealing his.45 automatic. All the other sidearms had been collected and locked up, he had seen to that. A silence fell over the wardroom.
"Sorry to disappoint you, gentlemen," he said, "but it ain't gonna happen. I know you two have been monkeying around where you don't belong-you've made your contempt for legitimate authority very clear ever since you backed Fred Cowper's little People's Revolution… and we've been paying for it ever since. Do you still think you did those folks any favors bringing them on board? Well, the social experiment is over. I'm returning this ship to principles of logic and discipline. Of which the first order of business is to eliminate the sabotage."
"Sorry to tell you," said Tran, "but you've got the wrong guys."
"I don't think so, I really don't. What I would like to know is what you thought to accomplish by keeping us here. Did you cut a deal with those river rats out there? Because at least that would make sense. Believe me, I've thought about it myself-I mean, if we're all there is, just us, no more Big Daddy telling us what to do, it's all over. Forget your country, your Navy, and your Uniform Code of Military Justice. Forget all your hopes and dreams. If we're going to survive this shitstorm, we're gonna to have to come up with a new way. Which is why I called you men here."
"I thought it was to shoot us," Robles said.
Webb nodded thoughtfully, bleakly, at them. "I still might," he said. "That depends on you."
He knew this was going to be the hard part-harder even than killing Richard Kranuski had been, or cramming the man's body down the trash-disposal unit. Just as ugly… but just as necessary.
"Listen to me," he said. "We can't go on this way. You and I know that. Men like Kranuski and Coombs are the past; they'd get us all killed because they can't cope with the kind of extreme changes that have taken place. There's a harsh new reality, a whole new playbook, and if we don't accept it, we're all going down with the ship. But if we do accept it…"
"What?"
"The sky's the limit."
"How so?" asked Phil Tran.
"Well, the first thing we have to accept is that our knowledge is a precious commodity in this world. The boat is worthless without us, and there are other nuclear vessels out there, other warships that just need trained crews in order to be functional again. We can train them. That means we can pretty much write our own ticket in this new society. Nobody can touch us."
Tran scoffed, "The Moguls didn't seem to have any trouble."
"The Moguls were different. They conquered us by dividing us. Deceiving us. It was Kranuski's mistake to believe them-a mistake I'll never repeat, believe me. Rich was my best friend, but he was stuck in the past, weak, and his weakness made him a danger to all concerned. Phil, I know how you felt about sending those kids ashore. Well, what happened to them is eventually going to happen to all of us if guys like Kranuski and Harvey Coombs call the shots. They're trying to cling to something that's gone. The truth is, we have a lot more to fear from ourselves than we do from scavengers-this boat is a death trap unless we get some outside help. There's no food left. In a matter of days, the rest of those kids are going to start dropping like flies, and that'll be the end of the Good Ship Lollipop. That rogue convoy out there is our only hope. Dammit-we need them. We need them. Probably more than they need us."
Suddenly, the men became aware of a new presence in the room. It was Bobby Rubio-the little boy they had found floating in the gondola. He stood at the doorway, staring up at Webb with big, glassy eyes.
"You killed him," he softly.
Startled, Webb said, "What?"
"You killed him."
"Oh for God's sake, this is all we need. Get this kid out of here."
"You killed him," the boy repeated. "I saw it."
"Killed who, son?" asked Robles.
"The captain," said Bobby. "I saw you kill the captain."
"Give me a break," Webb snapped. "Beat it, kid! I'm warning you."
Robles looked from the kid to Webb. "Did you kill him?"
"No! Of course not!"
"You did it, didn't you?" said Tran.
"This is ridiculous." With a feeling of skidding on ice, Webb realized no one was going to intervene for him, not even those who had always backed him up: Jack Kraus, Bartholomew, Tom Nelson. Rather than tossing the brat out, they were just standing there and letting him babble on. The trouble, he realized at once, was that they were all former friends and allies of Rich Kranuski-any loyalty they had to Webb was merely a by-product of his relationship with that much more attractive and dynamic personage. A serious miscalculation.
"You killed him," the kid repeated dully, like a squeaky windup toy.
"I'll be damned." said Jack Kraus, staring at specks of dried blood on Webb's jacket. "You did kill him, didn't you, Al? I thought the two of you were like brothers."
Scrambling for ground, Webb conceded, "We were! But there was no choice; he was going to release Coombs. I couldn't let that happen. This is exactly what I'm taking about-I did it for all of you. With Coombs in charge, we'd be right back where we started: with those kids and that Langhorne bitch having the run of the boat."
"You're out of your mind," said Tran.
"No, Rich was out of his mind-total Section Eight. You should have heard him going on about Fred Cowper's head. I only did what was necessary to save the ship."
Robles stood up. "You're under arrest, Mr. Webb," he said.
"Bullshit. You have no power to arrest me."
"You're under arrest on charges of murder and sabotage."
"Sabotage!"
"You're the one who needed the boat to stay here. You're the one who wanted to sell us out to the Moguls."
"Bullshit! You're the traitor!"
Tran stood up as well, edging around the table, and saying, "Easy now, Alton. Surrender your weapon before anyone else gets hurt."
Backing away from them, Webb said, "Take one more step, and I'll shoot. I have the authority. One way or another, the sabotage stops here."
Phil didn't stop, and Webb said, "You asked for it," and fired, hitting him in the chest. The man faltered, then shook his head and kept coming. Webb shot him again in the face, popping a neat round hole in his forehead and blasting a chunk out the back of his scalp. Tran's head jerked from the impact, but still he didn't stop. Wiping oddly colored blood out of his eyes, he came on with infinite patience. Nor did the others seem to find anything unusual about this.
What the fuck?
Retreating out the forward door, Webb cried, "Stay back! All of you!"
Webb grabbed the little boy and carried him up the forward companionway. No one seemed to be following, and when he emerged two flights up at the command deck, there was no one in sight. So that's it, so that's it, he thought, not quite knowing what "it" was.
"You're the crazy ones," he muttered.
Hauling his unresisting hostage aft through the radio shack, the sonar room, and into the control center, Webb was disconcerted to find the whole first deck deserted. He hit the general alarm and dragged the boy into the CO stateroom, barring the door.
Catching his breath, Webb put the child down and switched on the 1MC. "Attention all hands, attention all hands," he announced breathlessly, voice crackling from speakers throughout the ship, "this is Commander Alton Webb speaking. This is an emergency. I hereby order all security personnel to report to the main deck. There are… enemy insurgents aboard." He didn't know how to put it so as not to sound stark raving mad. "They have infiltrated members of the crew and are attempting to take over the ship. Please acknowledge this message."
There was no reply; the speaker remained silent.
Suddenly, he heard a muffled voice in his ear, as if inches away: "C'mon, Al, get with the program."
Webb nearly jumped out of his shoes, spinning in the direction of the voice. There was no one there. Of course-the room was much too small for anyone to hide. Was the kid a ventriloquist? He checked the shower-empty.
"Who the fuck was that?" he demanded.
Moon-eyed, the boy raised his skinny chicken arm and pointed a grubby, accusing finger at the plundered captain's safe. Webb's safe now, for what it was worth; Alton Webb's personal keep, with its scorched door from which the lock had been gouged like an offending eye, leaving an ugly black peephole.
"No fuckin' way," Webb said, yanking it open.
"How ya doin', Al?" quacked Fred Cowper's severed head, staring out at him with great black fish eyes. Cowper's mouth yawned open to a grotesque degree, splitting the old man's face from ear to ear like the exaggerated jaws of some primordial sea creature, one of those deep-sea monstrosities with teeth as huge and sharp as a cocked bear trap-a ravenous Pac-Man.
Webb slammed the door on the dreadful specter-OhGodohmyGod-and recoiled backward, holding his gun out at arm's length and training it on the safe. Before he could decide whether to scream, cry, or just go raving bat-shit, he heard a crackling sound beside him and turned to see the kid. What he saw, rising nearly to the ceiling, was beyond all comprehension.
Now Alton Webb did scream.