Ransom nodded appreciably. “A story leaked to the public, no doubt.”
“Meanwhile…”
“His true mission is to deliver those water-cooled machine guns to the U.S. Army. The picture comes clear.”
The Vickers was a British made, belt fed machine gun that entered service in 1912. Firearm technology made huge leaps from single shot style rifles and revolvers to semi and fully automatic in just a few short years, and Ransom had kept up with developments. Within the span of five to ten years this huge technological leap just happened seemingly overnight. The Vickers would be a hell of a new, if somewhat horrifying item in any army’s arsenal—quite the invention for its time.
Ransom had no illusions about the Brits selling thousands to the U.S. military in the event of war.
“Will you two shut up about guns and help us get the bodies into the freezers! Now!” Declan shouted, grabbing hold of O’Laughlin’s body first as the sacs in him were quivering more strongly than in the other two. Thomas grabbed the other end of the former Chief Surgeon of
After Lightoller shoved Declan’s journal into the captain’s hands, he helped Ransom to heft Burnes’ body into the freezer, placing him on the floor.
None of the others dared touch Davenport’s body, holding back, still in shock. Declan and Thomas removed Davenport and his egg-sacs to the same freezer.
They closed the freezer door on the bodies, and looked across at the newly initiated. “Perhaps now you will listen to reason,” said Ransom, going to Smith. “You cannot let this ship dock in New York harbor, sir.”
“What do you propose?”
“We find the carrier, destroy him—or it—at the source, and we search the ship high and low for any additional bodies like these here—and we put them all on ice, freeze the bastard things, and then send them all over the side.”
“Sounds like a start,” added Declan, “but suppose we can’t determine who the carrier is at this point?”
“You have no idea who he is?” asked Smith, eyes wide, in rapt attention now.
“Afraid not. It infiltrates a human, uses him up. For a time, apparently, it goes for the weakest links first, Burnes, Davenport, then your surgeon. In fact, I suspect O’Laughlin was being controlled by it the entire time we were trying to convince you of the reality of this parasite, Captain Smith.”
“He was acting rather oddly of late,” muttered Smith. “He was a fine surgeon and a good man… hard to believe or that this thing inhabiting him might now be residing in someone else. And who might that be?” Smith looked suddenly tired, a cloud of depression deepening his eyes. “We must act fast. We must locate any and all victims like these three you put away, gentlemen and destroy these confounded eggs, and their mother! Short of that… well, what will we do? What can we do?”
“I can mobilize the crew, sir.” Murdoch held the firearm at his side, feet set apart. “We can search the entire ship top to bottom, stem to stern. Get that much underway.”
“How do we quarantine a ship at sea, gentlemen?” Smith looked defeated and confused. “We’ll have to enlist the help of Dr. Simpson.”
Dr. Johnny Simpson was O’Laughlin’s chief assistant, his right-hand man. Ransom suggested he be looked at ‘closely—extremely closely’.
Smith and the others stared at Ransom as if he might be mad. Lightoller said, “Hell, Johnny’s one of the finest men I know.”
“We are at war, Captain,” Ransom told them. “We must fight and our strategy must be to outwit this thing and destroy it or contain it one way or another—even if it means sacrificing good men to do it.”
Smith gave Murdoch a nod, setting him on the course he proposed. Murdoch nodded at Lightoller and Wilde. “Come with me gentlemen, now!”
“You need to put a guard on this compartment, sir,” suggested Ransom. “An armed guard with orders to shoot anyone trying to forcibly enter. I suspect this thing will come back for its progeny, sir, sir… do you hear me?”
“Done… done, Constable and please… accept my apologies for being… for not being… that is for disbelieving you… for not listening when I might have saved O’Laughlin. He was a good officer and a fine doctor,” he repeated, befuddled and dazed, looking in shock.
“And a friend. I could see that clearly.”
“I was hoping my last voyage before retirement would be uneventful.”
“For that, sir, I’m sorry; seems trouble and events have a way of finding men like you and I. I would hope that under different circumstances that we may well’ve been friends, Captain.”
Declan shook the captain’s hand. “Sir, I’ve read about your career in detail. I am honored to be in your presence.”
“No, young man… I am the one who should be honored by the three of you.”
“Where do we start in search of finding the disease carrier?” asked Thomas.
“Other than you men here, I have only one ally I trust,” replied Ransom.
“And who might that be? Lightoller?”
“Varmint.”
“The dog?”
“The dog, yes. His nose may be our last hope, gentlemen.” Ransom had reclaimed his cane, and with a little twirl of the silver wolf’s head, he recalled the gift of the cane; it’d come from his best friend in Chicago, Philo Keane, a professional photographer and sometime police photographer, always a willing listener. He thought of his other close friends and acquaintances back in America as well and simultaneously wished them here with him now and happy that they were not.
“Varmint wherever he and Farley’ve gotten off to.”
We need to get that dog back. He just might be able to point out the alien among us,” Declan was saying, but Ransom only half heard as his weary mind wandered.
Declan repeated himself, and then Alastair whispered, “The dog may be our last hope.”
With the blessings of Captain Smith, and with Lightoller and Mr. Farley and Varmint, along with a hundred crewmen working in pairs, the hunt for the monster began in earnest. This time other dogs from the kennels were pressed into service as well, and each team searched for the scent of the carrier. Everyone agreed their best hope lay with Varmint or one of the other dogs, but time was fast running out.
The captain had located the ship’s architect, Andrews, who’d provided the latest blueprints. Captain Smith then set a hundred men scouring in pairs and threes to every nook and cranny. But so far nothing, no results.
With hopes pinned on Varmint, Ransom and his young mates watched the dog for every nuance, any slight change in demeanor as he was led from deck to deck. At one point, he sniffed the air around the Black Gang and exhibited a pained expression but without the kind of results they’d seen in the freezer.
Given that both Burnes and Davenport had been stokers, it made sense to have the dog sniff these men in order to rule them out.
This plan failed; it ended in the various stokers reacting to the dog in every conceivable way, from indifference to kicking out at Varmint to falling to knees and giving the dog a big hug and a ruffle of its fur. But in no instance, not even with the stoker who’d kicked out at the dog and threatened the animal with a shovel did Varmint alert. In all, it seemed a dead end.
All the same, Lightoller intensely disliked the man who’d threatened Varmint, and he whispered to a subordinate, “Keep an eye on this fellow Morrell.”
The parade of searchers behind the dog had steadily grown as they next had Varmint sniff out the cooks, kitchen staff, pantries, pursers, maids, the two fellows who manned the Marconi wireless, officers and their quarters, again to no good end.
As the third body had been that of Dr. O’Laughlin, they followed up by having the dog walk through the officer’s quarters, which turned up nothing significant, although Varmint lingered about Will Murdoch’s personal items. Murdoch merely raised his shoulders and laughed a bit nervously. When Ransom escorted the dog to where Murdoch stood, again the dog did not become agitated. It proved just another dead end.
They moved on to the infirmary and repeated the performance with the assistant ship’s surgeon and what was now his staff of nurses. At this point it was difficult for anyone to believe that their approach was anything but
