his prerogative of absolute command, he felt that the existing circumstances called for a different approach. He had asked Hardy to join him as co-chairman of a leadership assembly. He invited a few of his senior officers to join and asked Hardy to call upon leaders from several of the constituent engineering societies. General White of the Army Corps of Engineers was enlisted, as was Harold Carson, director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), who was also part of the traveling seminar.
Carson, especially, had been distressed not to be in Washington when the comet struck. He had told Hardy that he was responsible for a staff of nearly three thousand in ten regional offices and had oversight of emergency response activities of twenty-eight federal agencies and departments, plus the Red Cross and other volunteer organizations. He and some of his key aides, who had accompanied him on the trip, had presented a session early in the voyage devoted to the mitigation of such disasters as earthquakes, floods, fires, and a variety of storms. He very much regretted not being at his post when the ultimate disaster struck. But, as it turned out, no amount of preparedness and resourcefulness would have helped.
The captain of the
Hardy considered this proposal and deemed it essentially sound. He was skeptical—thinking of some of his more opinionated colleagues—but agreed to support Nordstrom’s strategy.
“As long as we can channel their special talents, get them to buy into the plan…”
“Well, we’ll know soon enough,” Nordstrom said. “We can’t afford a minute’s delay. Let’s get our people together—we might call them the Governing Council—and meet this evening.”
At 1900 hours (the old “time zone” designation was being retained), the Governing Council convened for its first session. The fifteen members sat on makeshift chairs or on the sand, facing a sawhorse table that resembled something from a western movie set. For overhead protection, pieces of canvas had been spread on a framework improvised from scrap lumber and pieces of bamboo. Hardy’s son, Wilson Junior, sat at one end of the table, serving as recording secretary. There was much to be done, and little time was wasted on idle conversation.
With Nordstrom the consensus chairman and Hardy his elected co-chair, the Council quickly decided to move ahead on three fronts: First, continue to improve the camp on the beach, most immediately by providing shelter from sun and rain. To help achieve this, several military engineers would be asked to design simple lean-to structures, using wooden debris scavenged from the area, along with such canvas, tablecloths, blankets, or other fabrics as could be found among the supplies. The sand dunes, some of which were tall and steep, served well as a wall against which to rest the sundry structural supports. As for assembling the rudimentary shelters, General White’s officers and Harold Carson’s FEMA people would direct the effort, with passengers and crew expected to pitch in as best they could. At the same time, a cadre of civil engineers was assigned the task of designing a “next-generation” structure, employing thatch or other natural materials that might make for more comfortable and durable shelters.
Second, it was vital that a survey team seek out potential sites for a more permanent settlement away from the ocean’s edge. The responsibility for this work was also assigned to General White and his team.
Third, and most important for long-term survival, a scouting party would be sent inland to see who and what might have survived the holocaust, and what the prospects were for finding sources of food. The logical objective for this expeditionary force was the city of Ulundi, fifty miles distant—seventy-five by winding road—perched in the promisingly green hills at an altitude of about two thousand feet. The Ulundi decision was unanimous, although more than a few of the members of the governing group admitted that they had never heard of the place and had only the vaguest idea of its location.
“Just where the hell are we?” The question was raised by Donald Ruffin, president of the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, an acknowledged whiz-bang with fiber optics, but rather inscrutable when it came to non-technical subjects. Lumpy and bespectacled, he sometimes chose to act the country bumpkin, implying not that he was dim-witted, but rather that the world about him was run by dimwits. In the current situation, however, he was genuinely perplexed. There had been a few shipboard lectures about African geography, history, and culture, but Ruffin—along with many other engineer passengers—had chosen not to attend.
“We’re in Africa, Donald,” Wilson Hardy responded drily.
“I know,” retorted Ruffin, “but exactly where in Africa, and what can we expect to find here other than a bunch of angry elephants?”
“We are in the Republic of South Africa,” said Captain Nordstrom. Then, after a slight hesitation, he elaborated: “The province in which we find ourselves is called KwaZulu Natal.”
KwaZulu Natal! Wilson Hardy, Jr., who up to that point had been dutifully recording the minutes in his own makeshift shorthand, looked up from his notepad. The announcement evoked in him a thrill of excitement and apprehension. The word “Zulu” is the embodiment of heroic ferocity, the incarnation of Africa’s bold resistance to colonial adventurers. KwaZulu, he knew from a lecture he had heard on shipboard, meant home of the Zulus, whereas Natal was the Portuguese word for Christmas, a name selected by Vasco da Gama when he sighted this coast on Christmas Day in 1497—512 years before the fateful Christmas just past. And, from the part of the lecture that dealt with modern South Africa, Wilson had learned that this was the area where disorder and violence had reigned just half a generation earlier, during the transition to a new government after the end of apartheid.
For excitement, mystery, and symbolic implication—along with the hint of new dangers—the fates could hardly have made a more fanciful choice.
“Who do you propose for this exploration team?” asked John Hertzler, a blue-jeaned computer genius from Seattle. He had been included on the Council at Dr. Hardy’s suggestion not only because of his technical brilliance, but because he had been the designated representative of Bill Gates and the other financial sponsors of the trip. Even in death, Hardy thought, they deserved to have a voice.
Nordstrom had a ready answer. There were several South African engineers on board and the captain had recruited two of them for the scouting party. They were fluent in Afrikaans, one of the official languages of the nation, and familiar with the territory to be explored. One of them was also conversant in Zulu. The expedition was to be led by the senior deck officer, Carl Gustafsson, accompanied by the security officer, two of his masters at arms, and six seamen. In addition, Hardy had asked two prominent agricultural engineers to go along, as well as a half dozen specialists in mining, construction, manufacturing, and metallurgy. “Of course, our first interest is food,” he said to the assembled Council. “But assuming we find a world in which we can live, we will quickly want to make it as comfortable a world as possible.”
There was general agreement with the plan, and with the composition of the scouting party. So Nordstrom turned to the next item on the hurriedly prepared agenda, a discussion of governance. Wilson Hardy, Jr., who had scribbled down the details of the expedition plan as best he could, expected a debate about political organization, chains of command, lines of authority, or possibly a constitutional convention… but this was not to be.
Again it was Hertzler who interjected his opinion. “Governance be damned,” he said emphatically. “As we say in Seattle, let’s not waste time allocating parking places in the company lot. The product comes first.” He had the group’s attention. “We’ve got to provide our people with food and shelter, a feeling of security, and expectations of improved living conditions. Later, if we draw up a political plan—a rational plan—everybody will be with us, and administration will take care of itself. On the other hand, if we begin by debating bureaucracy and fail to hold out hope for material progress, people will lose faith in the future and discontent will breed chaos. We’ll be in
A murmur of agreement and smattering of applause came from the engineers in the council. This was an approach to the politics of survival that they could endorse: Let’s get to it, not the talking, but the real work. Let’s consider what materials are available to us and how we can put them to use.
The secretary, Wilson Junior, had an almost irresistible impulse to speak up. This strategy struck him as somewhat simplistic. Who says that good technology is an adequate safeguard against bad government? Well, he
