“Hello, my name is Nadia… ”
The young woman was good looking, even beautiful, with a strong Slavic accent. She also was noticeably pregnant. So were the two Indonesian waitresses. Thomas figured even if humanity was mostly wiped out, there was about to be one hell of a baby boom.
“I’m to be your guide for a short time as you get acquainted to Wolf Squadron. The first step being to get you some food and answer any questions. But the food, first. If you could follow me, please?”
They were led into the main saloon of the yacht. It was showing definite signs of wear but it was still more luxurious than any of the compartments on the cruise ship.
“So this is how the other half lives,” the fortyish woman said. Thomas could tell she was bristling a bit at the Russian girl. She wasn’t pregnant which meant she was either fixed or no one in the compartment was interested. Given that there were four other men with her, she was probably fixed.
“There is soup,” Nadia said, pouring a cup and handing it to the woman. “There will be more in a moment but some people have not had much to eat and this helps their stomach. There are three kinds, tomato, chicken and lamb. The Americans generally prefer the tomato or the chicken. Help yourself.”
“Can you… what’s going on?” one of the men said.
“This is always the problem,” the girl said, smiling. “Do you feed the questions or your stomach first. Here is a pamphlet,” she said, picking one up and handing it to the man. “Please to read. Then ask questions.”
Thomas read the pamphlet while sipping a cup of tomato soup. There had been tomato soup in the compartment but hot soup was delicious. Most of the information he wanted was in the first section. Given what his compartment had been like, he could see why there was a waiver on UCMJ actionable offenses. It was probably on a case by case basis, though, he’d have to read the reg.
It brought up the question, though, if he should make contact. The problem being, the most the Hole would have had was a two star Flag Duty Officer. And if he popped up, they’d expect him to take over this jugfuck retired or not. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. There was a reason he’d retired. If he wanted to do anything, it was kill freaking zombies or cruise around on a boat. Not sit in an office and figure logistics. On the other hand, he was getting a little long in the tooth for that. It looked, however, like this was a legitimate operation, if a bit cock-eyed, not a pre-Westphalian militia.
“What about Britain?” one of the men from the group asked.
“There is currently no contact with the British government or any government organizations other than those listed. We recently freed some people from the Canary Islands including a policeman. He is the closest we have to a member of the government of Spain. There is a group called Sons and Daughters of Britain in Exile which meets regularly on Wednesday nights. Their chairman is a former Member of Parliament and is, more or less, the Prime Minister in exile. Although he is quick to point out that all he is is the chairman. There are similar groups that meet on other nights from other countries. On the bulletin board there is a list.”
“So we’re still trapped on these boats,” the woman said.
“Yes,” Nadia said. “For the time being. There have been some small towns partially cleared here in the Canary Islands. The next objective is to clear the US Navy base at Guantanamo Bay in Cuba. The purpose of that is obtaining supplies, equipment and, hopefully, additional trained personnel. Beyond that, the Commodore has said that ‘it depends.’ The eventual goal is to free both the United States and Europe from infected so that we can… restart, yes?”
“How the hell is he going to free up the entire United States?” one of the men asked.
“Again, that depends,” Nadia said. “Right now, in the south harbor, there are what are called ‘mechanical clearance devices.’ Zombie traps is what most people call them. They are containers that have been turned into essentially, pardon, sausage grinders.”
“Oh, my God,” the woman said, putting her hand over her mouth.
“Light and sound to draw the zombies in?” Thomas asked.
“Yes,” Nadia said. “And one way gates, yes? Then, well, blades driven by a motor. All very efficient. The Commodore has said that there are other plans for interior areas. But we are still few. And he prefers not to detail them as they will change, yes? It all depends upon what we find. Who we find who are willing to help.”
“Three days off,” Thomas said. “With nothing to do?”
“There are books,” Nadia said. “There are TVs in the rooms and there are channels that play movies. Eat, rest. Get back your strength. On the third day there will be an orientation and you can choose to help or not. After that, you see a human resources counselor. I will warn you that in most cases, you must first be part of the forensics cleaning teams. These are teams that clean out the boats and compartments. It is… At first it is quite unpleasant. I still do it. But it is important. We have to have somewhere to live that is not filled with the filth that the zombies leave. And after a while you get used to it. We wear a sort of plastic coverall and masks. It is not the worst thing in the world.”
“So to get any of the better jobs, we have to muck out compartments?” one of the men said, angrily.
“Unless you have specific skills, yes,” Nadia said. “There is a shortage of persons with trained skills in engineering, electrical systems, plumbing, welding and boat handling. For those you must either have proof, such as a master’s ticket, or pass a test that shows you have the skills. Are you an electrical or mechanical engineer, sir?”
“No,” the man said. “I’m a solicitor.”
“There is, unfortunately, an overabundance of those, sir,” Nadia said, drily.
“And if we tell them to fuck off?” the solicitor asked. “What then?”
“There are interior staterooms on the Boadicea,” Nadia said, smiling. “Six to a stateroom, sometimes eight. Minimal rations and water to drink. Bit like being back in the compartment, yes? Some people choose that. At least for a time. If you choose to help, the most you spend on cleaning is a week. It, again, helps out and it has to be done. Someone has to do it.”
“Do we have to take the three days or can we just see the counselor?” Thomas asked.
“You can see the counselor at any time, sir,” Nadia said, her brow wrinkling. “But generally people take a few days off before getting to work.”
“Where’s the HR office?” Thomas said. “I mean, you said any time.”
“Well,” Nadia said, frowning. “The next thing we were going to do was get you registered. You have to do that before going to the counselor’s office, I think.”
“Where do I register?” Thomas asked.
“Over here,” Nadia said. She led him to a computer terminal and gestured to the seat.
“Were you ever in the United States military?” she asked.
“A long time ago,” Thomas said. “But my personnel files got burned up in a fire in St. Louis. You probably don’t have them.” They’d better not have them.
“Well, type in your social security number,” Nadia said. “That has many records associated with it.”
Thomas typed in a totally bogus social security number. He knew it was bogus because he’d had it “issued” to him at one point. If they had that one, they were really connected. And to more than the Hole.
A screen asking for personal information came up.
“Okay, I guess they don’t have it,” Nadia said. “What did you do? They’re looking for security and clearance people.”
“I was a truck driver in the Army,” Thomas said. Which was only a little white lie. He’d driven trucks plenty of times.
“Fill in the information then go forward in the saloon and follow the signs,” Nadia said, pointing. “If you change your mind, we’ll be here in the saloon for about an hour. We were going to have lunch. It is tuna.”