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 Means to an End --- Chapter 06
by Nathaniel Perkins
Back in level two Smith asks me, "Do you really think they will take to the life boats?"
"It seems something this lot might decide was a wise course of action. On reflection though, where would they go?" I answer myself a moment later, "No idea really, but I find that for many the activity of action, even when it is not paired with thought, is preferable to stillness."
There would be chaos, screaming, denials, and possibly some of the baser elements of the human condition present during those first hours. Yet, if that storm is weathered, where will that leave the ship and her crew of Flying Dutchmen? I think this is the question that slows our steps and stutters our speech. The future, for us, is now unknown. It takes a strong mind to hold back the braying jackals of fear in the presence of unknown tomorrows. We have been uprooted. Within my own mind I can feel the dark frothing whirlpool of my thoughts circle round and round an inescapable vortex of uncertainty.
We are lost and I can see where the cracks will begin. Does the ship carry-on, hoping to pass through this limbo as if it was another stop on a cruise? Do we turn back and perhaps pass through some veil we unknowingly parted the previous night? Will the food last, last for how long, what will do, where will we go, how do we, when do we, what…And I can see where the cracks will begin for those soft self-centered souls that inhabit the Centurion.
A glance at Smith shows me some of the same madness building in his eyes.
"There will be hoarding and maybe even riots over the food," he says looking grim. The direction of his glance is toward the commissary as if he can take stock of what we have left. "This was supposed to be a voyage of a few days. A few days, a few hundred people. Crew. How long do you think it will be until they start to fight over bread and scraps?"
I have not thought about food riots. That could turn ugly. Salem’s witch trials on the high seas. Sell your neighbor out for porridge. What a terrible tragedy the human spirit is to condemn others for fear of losing something not already in your possession.
"Have you ever seen anything like that before," I ask him. "Shortages, riots, that sort of thing."
"Yes. Once. It was not pretty. But, back then, it was a military matter. The military has order and rules and tradition on its side. When you have things like symbolism, duty, and honor, it is easier. Military people expect to be held accountable for non-tangible ideals. Here, though, what is to stop the man next door from taking a dozen rolls at breakfast tomorrow. And what is to stop the couple across the way from lynching him tomorrow afternoon for hoarding. If we are somewhere truly unknown, where all we have held true is now in question, who will hold to laws and traditions established in places left far behind. Ripped from a structured society, what will become of each passenger’s moral compass. It is a struggle that each will make on his or her own. The officers can enforce what they like, but the decision not to devolve into complete anarchy will come from each passenger, one by one."
It is the longest speech I have heard Smith give. I have my notebook out and am scribbling notes while he paces about the cabin. When he slows both his pacing and his monologue, I break in.
"What can we do? I mean, we have our moral compasses locked firmly north it appears, but we don’t have any authority to tell others how to behave. Are we supposed to look at them and say, ‘I am ok with not knowing where we are bound, so you should stop hoarding food.’? It sounds like a mob could try to wrest control of this ship when you describe it. That is what you are saying, right? We need to give them all something to chew on, in a figurative sense mind you, to prevent a mob from becoming a corporeal threat?"
"Something like that. If everyone had something to do, the coming chaos would be significantly less. Unfortunately," he looks around with a sigh and slow shrug. "This is a luxury liner, not a warship. People have come here to drink and relax and spend a few days in polite company until they land in Britain for who knows what. Probably business. Point is, nine out of ten of them won’t know how to keep their minds in a safe place, keep busy and all that. There are going to be problems."
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