either the means or the desire to recruit a new army. Ralaimongo reassured the group that this was the case. General White then sought other information about the survivors across the Mozambique Channel; also the resources—or lack of resources—in that little corner of the world.
When the interrogation session ended and the prisoners were led away, Wil Hardy went up to his father and Captain Nordstrom and confronted them angrily. “Why did you keep us in the dark?” he said, “Herb and Tom and me? If you knew what was going to happen, we should have been called for duty with the militia.” First of all, young Wil wanted to do his share like everyone else. Sec ondly, how could he write about important events if he had not witnessed them himself?
His father looked from Captain Nordstrom to the younger man. “Apologies, son, but we didn’t want to alarm the populace and possibly give aid to the enemy. Also, to tell the truth, we didn’t want to spoil your wedding day.” As he noticed the sun in the East, rising out of the sea, he was almost too tired to smile.
By afternoon the Coordinating Committee was once again in session, this time trying to decide what to do with the members of the defeated army. Pascal Ralaimongo, the intrepid teacher and Malagasy elder, offered to return with them to Madagascar. He contended that without the leadership of the mad queen and her lieutenants, these brutes would not be able to function as an organized force. Besides, he was confident that with a little bit of assistance from their South African neighbors, his countrymen could organize a civil society, and that the erstwhile pirates would soon blend in with the mass of survivors. He suggested that, in a primitive tribal setting, the life of a buccaneer holds few attractions. When there is little that is worth stealing, and when survival depends mainly on group enterprise, a criminal career loses its appeal. This was a fact that the members of the Coordinating Committee had found to be true in their own community. Of course, in the long run—everyone, including Ralaimongo, agreed—as society became wealthier and more complex, human nature would be human nature, and law enforcement would once again become an important aspect of civilized society. But the long run would have to take care of itself. There were more than enough immediate problems with which to cope.
In the end, Pascal Ralaimongo’s suggestion was adopted: The invaders would be allowed to return to Madagascar. With them would go vital foodstuffs and tools, and a party of volunteers from the Ulundi Circle— doctors, engineers, and agricultural specialists. While this flotilla was being readied, an effort would be made, under Ralaimongo’s direction, to “rehabilitate” the scoundrel pirate army and prepare them for a useful life among the decent people of their homeland.
The queen and her three villainous aides would be kept in a makeshift jail in Engineering Village. There were those who wanted them shipped back with their army; but that was considered too risky. Others wanted them executed; but that was considered too barbaric, particularly in the absence of any legal code. Was there to be a limit to their term of imprisonment? Could they ever be paroled or pardoned? These vexing questions, by general consensus, would have to be decided “in the future.”
A few days later, as the time for the fleet’s planned departure was drawing near, Captain Johan Nordstrom walked on the beach studying the dozen craft that were lying at anchor. He admired especially two of them that were beautifully shaped and carefully crafted, obviously built for speedy sailing across rough seas. Suddenly, he was struck with an idea that took hold of him so forcefully that he could scarcely believe it had not occurred to him earlier. He awaited the next day’s scheduled meeting of the Coordinating Committee with great anticipation.
“The outside world!” he said excitedly to the committee when they were gathered together. They were not used to seeing the captain in such a state of animation. “The outside world!” he said again, gesturing with his arms in large circles. “A couple of those yachts from Madagascar are beautiful vessels that can sail anywhere, cross any ocean. They would have to be worked on a bit, fitted out properly and adequately supplied; but it’s almost as if they’ve been sent here to encourage us to go exploring.”
There followed a spirited discussion, which inevitably spilled out beyond the confines of the Coordinating Committee into the community at large. It was amazing how quickly the populace became swept up in a passion for journeys to distant places. The presence of the sailing yachts, plus the invasion of the pirates, had reawakened an interest in other parts of the globe, a curiosity that had been lying dormant since the Event. The earliest reconnaissance, on horseback, had convinced everyone that beyond the Ulundi Circle there was nothing but a burned-out wasteland. Additional exploration, also by horse, carried out by Inlanders determined to look for loved ones in the farthest reaches of South Africa, had revealed the same: total devastation everywhere.
But what about other continents? Theoretically, they were wastelands too. Yet how could one be sure? And no matter what their fate, no matter how bleak their condition, shouldn’t these survivors seek to determine it with their own eyes? Beyond concern for the present—possible fellow survivors, possible resources to be garnered— there was the future to be considered. It might be prudent to establish colonies on distant shores. Or, prudence be damned, there might be those who wanted to migrate to distant shores for whatever reason.
A few people urged that extended voyages be delayed until the boats could be fitted out with steam engines, and even more important, short-wave radios for keeping in touch with home base. But there were no prospects of having such equipment available for a long time—at least several months for the engines, and even by the most optimistic forecast, three years for radios.
Arguments for caution and delay were swept aside, and preparations for a lengthy voyage—perhaps two— were begun. The desire to explore is an endemic fever in the human spirit. The sight of those graceful yachts had set it raging.
FROM THE JOURNAL OF WILSON HARDY, JR.
When the pirate fleet finally set sail for home across the Mozambique Channel, the two most seaworthy yachts were left behind. Nobody claimed that they were the spoils of war. Rather, it seemed a fair trade—a couple of surplus boats in exchange for food, tools, and medical aid, for the necessities of life. The pirates, most of whom had given themselves up for lost, could scarcely believe their good fortune. Free, returning home, and accompanied by a foreign aid mission to boot; they were transformed magically from surly scoundrels to simple seamen, grinning from ear to ear. Nor did they seem to regret being free of their queen’s command.
Millie Fox and a few of her Peace Corps people decided to join the volunteer contingent going to Madagascar; and Millie, along with Captain Nordstrom and Pascal Ralaimongo, arranged a tentative schedule for ferrying people and materials back and forth between the two communities.
“Let’s keep in touch!” shouted my friend, Herb Green, as the last of the vessels hoisted anchor and turned seaward. Then muttering: “But don’t call me; I’ll call you.”
“Oh, come off it, Herb,” I said by way of reprimand. “If there are two human habitations left on the face of the earth, the least they can do is socialize.”
“Okay, if you say so,” he replied. “But no more invasions, please.”
No sooner had the sails disappeared over the horizon than attention turned in earnest to plans for global exploration. Work began on refitting the two sloops with new canvas, and on restoring their woodwork to its original strength and beauty. When the vessels were taken out for trial runs, large crowds gathered to marvel at their speed and grace skimming the waves.
The leaders of this enterprise were the Cortez brothers: Ernesto and Jose. The two young men were put in charge when their credentials were brought to the attention of the Coordinating Committee. The brothers come from Texas, where they were sometime students at the University of Texas at Austin. Their father was a leading petroleum engineer with one of the major oil companies. Ernesto and Jose are accomplished soccer players, skillful rock climbers, and as luck would have it, experienced yachtsmen. They have often sailed with friends up and down the Gulf of Mexico, and on several occasions across the Atlantic to the west coast of Africa. Nobody here can match their experience as oceangoing sailors. Many officers and crewmen of the
The captain had reservations based upon the youth of the two men, and also the fact that they were known
