Izzy steps to the door. “Better get these people on board then, Captain.”
She’s with me. I position Izzy and Fernando at the foot of the gangplank to prevent a stampede for the gangway. I can imagine people falling to their deaths as they force their way to safety. Scud and I help them through onto the deck.
Individuals, families, lost and frightened children, they all crowd onto the Shonti Bloom. I look into their eyes as they come aboard, mostly dull with defeat—they’ve just lost their homes, their families, their loved ones. They’re scared, frightened, and angry. Most are grateful, but some grumble we should have done more, acted sooner to rescue them. They’re probably right. A few are badly burned and need support. I try to get them into the map room away from the crush. Our first aid kit is woefully inadequate and soon Scud is ripping up strips of valuable photovoltaic cloth as bandages—it’s all we have.
When the deck is so crammed with frightened people and I have to fight my way to the ship’s wheel, we start sending them up the rigging into the blimp. I pump more hydrogen into the balloons to compensate for the extra weight. All it would take is one flaming shard to blow us all to smithereens, but we can’t leave yet.
As Fernando follows the last refugee onto the deck he turns to me again. “We must go now,” he pleads.
“No. We wait for Trent.”
“Be realistic, Nina, we don’t even know if he’s alive.”
“And we don’t know if he’s dead either. We don’t abandon our own. We wait.”
More burning debris rains down around the Shonti Bloom. The fire up top must be completely out of control. I begin to wonder if perhaps Fernando, still standing by the gangway, brooding, might be right. How can I possibly change my mind now without permanently losing all authority as captain? Then Trent’s blackened face appears through the smoke curling round the dock.
“Scud, cast off! Izzy, get us underway! Fernando, help Scud aboard!” I grab Trent’s arm as he leaps aboard and squeezes onto the over—crowded deck.
“Am I pleased to see you guys,” Trent pants. His cloths are scorched, his hair is singed, and one boot looks like it’s partly melted. “I thought I was a gonna for sure, but then I saw the Shonti Bloom still in the dock and knew I could reach you.” He grins manically. “Bloody stupid thing for you to do though—risking your ship and crew for a stranger.”
I notice Izzy through the crowd, grinning as she fights with the wheel. “We look after our own on this ship, Trent,” she shouts. I’ve won.
The plunging post platform drags the Shonti Bloom down with it. If we are not careful the burning upper decks will strike us as we fight free. There is only one safe exit from this dock.
“Straight down, Izzy. Dive, dive, dive!” I’ve always wanted to say that. Our passengers shriek and clutch for hand-holds as Izzy powers the Shonti Bloom into a steep dive. Crushed by the crowd, I’m helpless to do anything but watch. For a moment it looks as though we will never out run the falling platform, but then the Shonti Bloom pulls ahead.
Izzy expertly pulls out of the dive and I pray as the flaming decks of the doomed platform rush past. Then we plunge into thick grey storm clouds and visibility drops to zero.
With so many craft scrabbling to escape the burning post platform, we could crash into anything. To my relief, we emerge safely into lashing rain below the cloud base; free of the post hub and still in one piece. I breathe easy—today is my lucky day.
I peer round for the crashing post hub and find it suspended someway below us.
There are only two ways to deal with fire on a platform, either extinguish it quickly, or cut the burning section away. Whether by luck or design, the courageous soul who commands this platform has found a third way: drop the whole platform through a storm cloud so the driving rain below puts the fires out. Today, many people owe their lives to the mystery platform commander with that genius idea.
Lashing rain eventually quenches the fires to dirty smoke and we make our way back in. Eventually, we find a working dock and offload our cargo of passengers. Almost before the last one has alighted we cut loose again, anxious not to attract the attention of Borker, McGraw, or any other constables.
“What now, Nina?” Fernando asks nonchalantly, as if nothing has passed between us. The victor, in that winning moment of the battle, can ask almost anything of their defeated opponent and it will be granted. But a good leader also knows when to pick their battles and this one can safely pass.
“Great work, crew.” With a grin, I clap a hand on Fernando’s shoulder. “Now Ferny, we open my birthday present.”