Titanic 2020

'So what now?' Jimmy asked.'There's no passengers on board yet, so do you just sit on your arse until we arrive in Miami?' He said it without really thinking. 'I mean, you've no alternative but to sit on your arse, but is this all your work done?'

Scoop exploded in laughter. 'Hardly started, son, hardly started! What we have to do now is make sure it's all working, start making up a few dummy papers, print them up, pass them around, get feedback. Each ship has its own design, you see, its own character, and that has to be reflected in the newspaper, so the sooner we . . .'

Jimmy held up a hand. 'You keep saying we. Who exactly are you talking about?'

'Well, you and me.'

'I opened the boxes, I set up your gear. I thought that was it.'

'Well — I thought you might want to help with putting the paper together.'

'Why?'

Scoop folded his hands in his lap. He looked towards the balcony, and the grey sea beyond. 'Because I can't do it myself. You see, lad—'

There was a sudden sharp rap on the door. Scoop, seeing the panic in Jimmy's eyes, held up a calming hand. 'It's all right,' he said quietly. 'I ordered some food for you. Still — best if you slip into the bathroom until the coast is clear.'

Jimmy hid himself, but kept the door open just a fraction.

Scoop positioned himself at one of the desks, with his back to the door. 'Enter!' As the door opened he said, 'If you just put it down over . . .' but as he glanced around he saw what Jimmy had already seen: Claire, the surly teenager with the pink laces. Her black hair hung down over one eye and she was chewing gum. She hardly even looked at Scoop as she spoke, preferring instead to study her bright pink fingernails.

'Dad ordered me to come down to give you a hand unpack— oh.' She had looked up, finally. 'It's done.'

'Yes, Claire, all finished.'

'You did all this?'

'No. I had a team of elves to help me. Am I right in thinking your dad ordered you to come down yesterday to help me?'

'Yeah, well, I was busy.'

'I'm sure you were.'

'That it then?'

'Yes, Claire.'

'All right. See you.'

She shrugged and turned out of the cabin. Scoop waited until he was sure she was gone, then called Jimmy out of the bathroom. 'Sorry about that. The owner's daughter.' He shook his head and sighed. 'And to think that one day she'll inherit all of this . . .' Scoop waved vaguely. 'She'll probably paint it pink.'

Jimmy sat on the edge of one of the desks and folded his arms. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in hearing about Claire Stanford. 'So why can't you put the paper together yourself?'

'Well. It's like this, Jimmy — this is my final trip for the company, my job is just to set up the newspaper here on the Titanic like I have on every other ship the Stanfords own, then hand over the reins to the new man when we arrive in Miami. There's a nice big company pension waiting for me if I can get through this trip, as I'll have completed my twenty-five years of service. But if for any reason I don't complete the voyage, then I'll get nothing. It's just the way big companies run. Anyway, the thing is, I don't know if I can do it. I'm just not well, son. It's not the legs, I'm used to them being gone, it's the other stuff — my blood pressure's bad, Jimmy, I've a real shake in my hands, and my eyes go all cloudy and I can't concentrate for more than . . . anyway, the truth is, I lied to the doctors before we set off. I told them I was fine, but I'm not. If you don't help me do this then I won't have a leg to stand on.' He thought about that for a moment. 'Or two, for that matter. Jimmy, I want you to help me run the paper. You'll do a bit of everything — find stories, write them up, design the pages, print it. Will you do it, Jimmy, will you help me?'

'No.'

'Aw Jimmy — why not? You could do it, easy.'

'Look, I'm sorry, all right? I'd be . . . useless, you know?'

'But how do you know?'

Jimmy shrugged. 'I just know. All right?'

Scoop rolled a little closer. His voice softened. 'You got expelled, didn't you?'

'How'd . . .?'

'It was on the report they sent with the photo. What'd you get expelled for?'

'For being stupid.'

'Ah, nonsense!' erupted Scoop. 'You're not stupid, Jimmy! Not stupid thick anyway. Stupid headstrong probably; stupid I always know best maybe.'

Jimmy gave the smallest shrug.

'Jimmy, son, that's the kind of stupid that gets things done, that changes things. They call people stupid when they just don't understand them. Guy that came up with the wheel, they probably called him stupid. Guy that invented aspirin, they probably told him he was thick. Photography, there's a stupid mistake, if ever there was one, and where would we be without it? Do you understand what I'm saying? You can do this, Jimmy, I know you can. It's your chance to prove to yourself that you're not the sort of kid they say you are. So are you on, Jimmy? Will we do this together?'

'No,' said Jimmy.

'I'll pay you,' said Scoop.

'OK,' said Jimmy.

6 Earthquake

Thousands of miles away from the Titanic a small earthquake shook the city of San Diego in California. One person was killed, twenty-seven injured, and a dozen buildings collapsed.

'You see,' said Scoop, 'that isn't particularly massive news — but if you were to check with our passenger list, you might find that dozens of them come from San Diego, and you can be sure it'll be big news for them. They'll be worried about relatives, their businesses — do you know what I mean?'

Jimmy had found the story on a newspaper website. Now he proceeded to copy it into the cruise ship newspaper they'd begun to put together that morning. Scoop stopped him. 'No, Jimmy you can't just copy it. You have to make up your own story, based upon what you've read here.'

'Why?'

'Because those words, in that order, belong to that website. You have to take the facts that are there, and rewrite them.'

'So I can steal their facts?'

Scoop sighed. 'Up to a point. You should look at this story on perhaps a dozen different news sites, because each one is going to have their own version of it. One will know the name of the man who died, another will have an interview with the leading expert on earthquakes, yet another might know how long it will take to repair the damaged buildings. Do you see what I'm getting at?'

He did, kind of.

'Any story you write has to answer the five basic rules of journalism, and they're quite simple: you ask who, what, where, when, how. All right?'

'Who, what, where, when, how,' Jimmy repeated.

'That's it — who is who was killed, what is what caused him to die, where is obviously San Diego, when is clearly when did it happen, and how is what caused the earthquake.'

'Who, what, where, when and how,' Jimmy repeated again.

'Exactly.'

'So who is going to get me my lunch? Is that what you mean?' Jimmy asked.

'Well I . . .'

' What are you going to get me? And where are you going to get it from?'

'Jimmy, it's only eleven . . .'

' When are you going to get it then? And how are you going to get it before I starve to death?'

'That's very funny, Jimmy,' Scoop commented dryly.

'It's not funny. I'm starving. Being a journalist is hard work.'

Scoop took a deep breath. 'All right Jimmy, even though we've hardly started, I'll go and get you something.' He turned his wheelchair towards the door. 'Although if you weren't a wanted criminal it would most certainly be the other way around.'