The Brave New World 77 A Perilous Journey

Rafi Susanto stood on the edge of the beach feeling as sad as if he was attending the funeral of someone very close and very dear. This was highly unusual, because Rafi Susanto wasn't close to anyone, and there was no one that he held dear. Being fabulously wealthy meant everyone tried to f.u.c.k him all the time. As a result, he wasn't very fond of other people.

Susanto's low spirits were caused by Gabriel Cruz's imminent departure. He was watching Cruz supervise the loading of supplies into the boat which Cruz and six hand-picked crew were to sail to Adamstown on Pitcairn Island. It felt as if Cruz was abandoning him. For a moment Susanto wished he had volunteered to captain the boat on its perilous voyage. He quickly reminded himself there was a fair chance Cruz would miss Pitcairn - it was a tiny island, smaller than Henderson Island on which they were presently. And the next landfall after Pitcairn was in the Antarctic, unless Cruz changed his course and tried to reach Gambier Islands, several hundred kilometers to the west.

No, it was better to stay put, even though Cruz was taking more than half of the remaining packaged food - the food that had been taken off Susanto's yacht, the Golden Dawn, before it sank. Susanto wasn't scared of dying of hunger and thirst. There was a spring with salty but drinkable water on the island. There were tons of coconuts, and the crewmen of the Golden Dawn turned out to be pretty good at catching fish with the professional deep-sea fishing tackles salvaged from the Golden Dawn. They'd survive somehow even if Cruz perished at sea and failed to fetch help. But Susanto still regretted insisting that Cruz take with him all the remaining chocolate bars. He liked chocolate, and wondered what had made him so generous earlier on.

He felt a fresh urge to ask Cruz to postpone the journey. Surely any day now, a ship or an airplane would show up, spot the castaways, and rescue them! But he knew Cruz would refuse to delay his departure any longer.

"We don't know what's going on in the world," he'd told Susanto that very morning. "What if everyone's smartphones and computers are broken, just like ours? Can you imagine the chaos that would cause? No one is going to look for us under such circ.u.mstances. We must take the initiative."

Besides, Cruz's departure had already been delayed by a number of days. Their first plan had been to move the base to the southern coast of the island, and launch the boat from there. It turned out that the entire southern coast was composed of steep cliffs that made accessing the ocean impossible. They'd wasted four days looking for a safe way to get down to the water. Then there was another day spent on a dejected trek back to their original base on the north sh.o.r.e of the island.

The failure of that plan had put Susanto in a despondent mood. He could see nothing but doom and gloom ahead. He could also see that Cruz and his crew were done loading the boat. Cruz said something to the crewmen and walked up to Susanto, kicking up sand with his bare feet. He was wearing a canvas jacket over a floral Hawaiian shirt and long, floppy shorts whose side pockets were bulging with the various odds and ends Cruz thought could come useful on the journey.

"Well, Rafi," Cruz said, coming to a stop and putting his hand on Susanto's shoulder. "This is it. Don't look so worried. We'll make it. You'll see me again in a week, at most."

"I hope so. I really hope so. But there are so many things that could go wrong."

"Rafi, it's not that complicated. Your mate is a good sailor and navigator, very dependable. He thinks we can do it. All we have to do is stick to the course for twenty hours. With the wind we've got today, we could see Pitcairn before nightfall. We probably will, with binoculars."

"What if the current carries you sideways? You could be sticking to your course and miss the island anyway."

"We've got it all worked out. Don't worry. Listen, I've got to get going. It's already past seven. You sure we can take all that food?"

"Of course I'm sure. You will need it if you miss Pitcairn, and have to sail west to Gambier Islands. That could take a week or more."

"We'll be back in a few days. Trust me."

Susanto didn't like being told to trust someone or something. As an American business acquaintance of his had put it: 'trust me' was how they said 'f.u.c.k you' in Los Angeles. So he shook his head and smiled sadly and then embraced Cruz as if he was seeing him for the last time in his life.

He watched Cruz walk up to the group gathered by the camp and say goodbye, then join the sailors who were already busy pushing the boat off the beach. It kept tilting and bouncing on the incoming waves and it took a while before all seven men were inside - a couple of times, it looked the boat would capsize as they clambered over its gunwales. But finally they were all in, rowing the boat away from the sh.o.r.e and hoisting the homemade sail they'd made onto the emergency beacon mast.

Susanto watched the boat sail along the sh.o.r.e - it had to go around half the island before setting course for Adamstown. He felt so sad as it got smaller that he decided he'd walk along the coast and follow its progress. But before he could do that, there were duties to be discharged. He was in command of the remaining castaways: six crew from the Golden Dawn, and four wh.o.r.es. Cruz had taken six of the best men, and the ones that stayed would need firm leadership. He'd have to think of something to keep them busy.

He walked up to the group under the awning that had formerly graced the swimming pool deck on the Golden Dawn. As he drew near, he noticed that two of the wh.o.r.es were crying. One was the wh.o.r.e Cruz had brought with him for the cruise; the other was the one Susanto had procured for Cruz in case Cruz came without a bedmate. The two wh.o.r.es Susanto had brought for himself were dry-eyed but solemn, as were the sailors from the Golden Dawn.

They weren't really sailors and that was the problem, Susanto thought. The chef and his helper, two stewards, two cabin boys - that bunch would have trouble taking a pontoon across a pond. They were easily scared, too. They had all been to the New World at least once, and they'd been extra nervous and apprehensive ever since.

The chef and one of the cabin boys were the best anglers. He pointed at them in turn, saying:

"Juan and Pico, get the tackles and see how many fish you can catch before dinner. Girls, you go and gather as many coconuts as you can. James, you'll come with me. And you three get going on the cube. Remember the proportions: ten implant kits for every mat and scroll. Dump everything next to the cube, we'll move it together with the rest later. Everything clear? Any questions?"

"How many coconuts do you want?" one of the wh.o.r.es asked.

"All that you can find between now and dinner. I'll be disappointed if there are less than a hundred."

The moment he said that there was a thump as a nut from one of the nearby palm trees. .h.i.t the ground. He added quickly:

"That's a hundred apiece, two hundred total. Okay. Any other questions?"

But there were none, just a sulky silence. He nodded to James, his personal steward on the Golden Dawn. They both picked up a bottle of water, with Susanto slinging the strap of his binoculars around his neck. Then they started walking along the beach, following the boat.

It was already so far away Susanto couldn't make out the men inside without the help of his binoculars. Even then, they were hard to tell apart; they were all huddled down in their seats except for the two oarsmen. The wet blades of the oars flashed in the sun as they rose and fell, rose and fell again in perfect harmony: Susanto guessed someone aboard, the mate or maybe even Cruz himself, was calling time to the oarsmen. It looked good, and he felt some of his fears recede.

Aboard the boat, Cruz was experiencing the opposite. If he had been calling time to the oarsmen, his voice would have been hoa.r.s.e with fear. He felt none of the confidence he had earlier displayed to Susanto, and he was afraid the others might see it. Fortunately, all the men in the boat seemed to be busy with private thoughts: even the mate, calling time to the oarsmen, somehow sounded wistful.

He had told Cruz earlier that they could count on twenty four hours of good weather, but no more than that. This set a firm deadline for finding Pitcairn Island. With fresh pairs of hands at the oars every half an hour and a continuing stern wind, they could hope to see land before nightfall. If they didn't... The moon was just a quarter full, and was gone by midnight.

Each life contains one or more watersheds: milestone moments that can completely turn that life around. When such a moment comes, everything that has happened up to that point ceases to count, and nothing is ever the same again. Cruz was aware his life had reached one of those life-changing milestones that mercilessly separate the past from the future.

The next twenty four hours would determine whether it wouldn't be his last.

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