Fragment. Warren Fahy
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the NOAA records are out of date?’ Glyn suggested.
‘Not likely.’
Samir held the Satphone to his ear. ‘LUT reports that we’re the nearest vessel, Captain. Since it’s too far from an airstrip to get a search plane out here, they’re asking us to respond, if able.’
‘How soon can we reach it, Carl?’
‘Around fourteen hundred hours, tomorrow.’
‘Bring her about, due south. Sam, let the LUT station know we’re responding.’
‘Aye, sir!’
‘And try hailing her on VHF.’
‘On it!’
Captain Sol pushed a button and spoke into the ship’s intercom. ‘All hands, as you can see, we are now making a course adjustment. We will be landing sooner than planned, tomorrow afternoon, on an unexplored island. There will be a more detailed announcement at dinner. As you were!’
Faint cheers rose from the deck outside.
Captain Sol turned to Glyn. ‘Mutiny averted. That should hold them for a while. Well, Nell. It looks like the wind keeps blowing your way.’
The southern horizon swung into view in the wide windows as the Trident came about. Captain Sol pointed to the left edge of the navigation monitor, where a small white circle rose on an arc toward the top of the screen.
Warburton smiled. ‘There it is, Nell.’
Nell ran to see the plotting monitor as the men stepped to each side.
‘If you want to find an untouched ecosystem, you certainly came to the right place,’ Glyn conceded.
‘It must be twelve hundred miles from the nearest speck of land, I reckon,’ Samir said.
‘Fourteen hundred.’ Nell’s heart pounded so loudly she feared the others could hear it. ‘Every plant pollinated by insects on this island should be a new species,’ she explained.
Glyn nodded. ‘If your theory holds up.’
The motors revved as the Turbosail rotated over the bridge.
As Nell’s eyes brimmed, the others wondered whether she was looking for more than a new flower on Henders Island.
They all cringed as a voice blasted from a speaker by the camera over the forward window: ‘Tell me this is not a joke, please!’
‘This is not a joke, Cynthea,’ Captain Sol answered.
‘You mean we actually got a distress signal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Captain Sol, you’re my hero! How bad is it?’
Captain Sol looked wearily at Warburton. ‘It’s probably just a derelict sailboat. But the beacon was activated, so we have to check it out.’
‘God, that’s gold! Nell–tell me you’re excited!’
Nell looked up at the speaker over the window, surprised. ‘Yes, it’ll be nice to do a little actual scientific research.’
‘Tell me more about the island, Glyn!’ screeched the electronic voice.
‘Well, according to Nell, it was discovered by a British sea captain in 1791. He landed but couldn’t find a way to the island’s interior. There’s no other record of anyone landing, and there are only three recorded sightings of it in the last 220—’
The starboard hatch slammed open and Cynthea Leeds power-walked onto the bridge wearing a fitted black Newport jumpsuit with white racing stripes.
Everyone froze.
‘I like that. I like that a lot,’ Cynthea announced. ‘Peach, did you get that? Great! Gentlemen–and lady–congratulations!’
Cynthea smiled wide, flashing her expensive teeth as she tossed back her bangs in girlish joy. A thin black wireless headset arched over her black hair, which was cut in a razor-sharp pageboy.
Cynthea was a dauntingly well-preserved woman, sexy at fifty. Her mother had insisted on strict ballet training from the age of five–the only thing she considered a kindness on her mother’s part. At five feet eleven inches without heels she still had the posture of a ballerina, though her imposing stature was better suited to the high-testosterone arena she had chosen to enter than to ballet.
Like a hermit crab out of its shell, Cynthea looked laughably out of place at sea, or even outside a city. But she couldn’t help noticing lately that she was being herded out to pasture in the youth-centric jungle she inhabited.
Cynthea had produced two number-one reality shows for MTV. But the cutthroat environment she lived in would not tolerate a single misstep. After her last network reality show, the misbegotten Butcher Shop, had cratered, her only offer was the job every other producer in town had passed on: a round-the-world sea voyage with none of the comforts of home.
Sensing that she had to adapt or go extinct, and in the midst of an acute panic attack, she told her manager to take the offer.
She knew she had won the SeaLife gig because of her talent for spicing up a show’s content, which the show’s producers were painfully aware could be a problem if the science stuff got dull. Over the last three weeks, however, her efforts to get seasick scientists to mate had been a gruesome debacle.
If this show was killed, she was convinced it would be the end of her career. No husband, no kids, and no career: all of her mother’s prophecies checked off. Which would be much easier to bear if Cynthea’s mother were dead, but she wasn’t–not by a long shot.
Cynthea pressed her hands together in a gesture of thanks to the powers-that-be. ‘This could not have come at a better time, people! I think we would have killed and eaten each other before we ever got to Pitcairn. Tell me more about this island, Glyn!’
‘Well, it’s never actually been explored, is the neat thing. According to Nell—’
‘When can we land?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ Glyn answered. ‘If we can find a place to put ashore. And if the captain grants permission to go ashore, of course…’
‘You mean we can shoot our landing on an unexplored island for the anything-can-happen segment of tomorrow’s broadcast at five-fifty? Glyn, you will be my superhero if you say yes!’
‘It’s possible, I should think, providing the captain agrees.’ The Englishman shrugged. ‘Yes—’
‘Glyn, Glyn, Glyn!’ Cynthea actually jumped for joy. ‘What was it you were saying about a British sea captain?’
‘The island was discovered in 1791 by Captain Ambrose Spencer Henders…’
Nell was amused to see Glyn’s vanity flattered by Cynthea’s spotlight.
Glyn looked at Nell. ‘However, Nell is the one who—’
‘That’s just gold, Glyn! Do me a favor and make the announcement to the crew?’ Cynthea interrupted. ‘At sunset–right after dinner–and really build it up? Oh, pretty, pretty please?’
Glyn looked apologetically at Nell. She nodded, relieved to have him do the honors. ‘Well, all right.’
‘You know Dawn? The tan, leggy brunette with the tattoo?’ Cynthea gestured in the vicinity of her tailbone. ‘Yes? She was just remarking to me how she thought British scientists were the sexiest men alive.’ Cynthea leaned forward and crooned in Glyn’s ear: ‘I think she was talking about YOU!’
Glyn’s eyes widened as Cynthea turned to Captain Sol. ‘Captain Sol, can we land?’ She jumped up and down like a little girl pleading with her grandfather. ‘Can we, can we, can we?’
‘Yes, we can land, Cynthea. After we check out