Ocean On Fire

By Gunnar Alutalu

A natural disaster leads to an unnatural emergency situation on a pleasure cruiser headed for the European Continent.
Helpless and not expecting rescue, the ship’s crew and passengers are forced to fall back on their own resources for survival.
This is a story of how they manage to do it and the lifelong friendships that are forged. Romance and love triumph even under such circumstances, where the very survival of anyone is by no means guaranteed.
Was the Wavemaster III maritime-disaster-prone? And who can give a rational explanation for the strange events experienced when being the object of the second attack?
Could it be true that the after-effects of this second near-disaster linger to this day?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365786105

Book preview

Ocean On Fire

OCEAN ON FIRE

By

Gunnar Alutalu

Three Days Out

He would have just two months to live. Three max.

A rare type of leukemia. They had told him the medical name of it, but he did not remember; did not care to remember. It was not important. A slow-swimming sloth becoming suddenly aware that he was about to have his life-force squeezed out of him by a boa constrictor would not be concerned about the particular species of snake that was about to do the frightful deed. It would not be of importance under the circumstances. All he did remember was the mind-exploding shock he received when he was told that it was incurable. That he remembered and had never got out of his panic-infested consciousness.

Going to bed each night, he remembered that he had spent another precious day of his limited lifespan. Getting up in the morning, waves of indecision assailed him. How to make the most of his remaining days; how to get the most out of his ever-shortening existence ?

For some time he had been planning to take a luxury cruise. But that was for later on in life, maybe even after his retirement. In company of his wife and maybe children. But, the cruel reality was that there would never be a later for him. Now was the time.

He would be alone. He was a few months past thirty years of age and in a way he was glad that things had never worked out for him on the way of marriage. He would not be leaving behind a grieving widow.

He visualized the way his obituary would look.

His picture.

The unfortunate deceased would have a slight smile on his face. A happy face would seem to be out of character, given the occasion. But he couldn’t help it. All the pictures of him ever taken showed a smiling, calm and pleasant face. He had been a happy person since childhood.

The fine-featured face would be topped off with dark, curly, well-trimmed hair.

Victor Viefin, 30, the obituary would read. Plastic surgeon. Fondly remembered by his two brothers and a sister, besides his numerous aunts, uncles and cousins.

Other words would be added, too, depending on how much his elder brother, who would be looking after the matter, would be willing to spend on the announcement.

They had been at sea for three days. For most of the passengers these had been three carefree, pampered, easy, yet action-filled days. But Victor could not relax. He remembered his hard-working mother’s words when she was urged to slow down and rest a little. Eternal rest is coming, she would say. No, he needed action, needed to keep busy, to postpone the inevitable, to wash reality out of his consciousness by an overwhelming flood of activity. There were many sections of this ship that he had not explored as of yet. Not that the boat was that big. In fact, it was one of the smallest in operation, accommodating just under a thousand souls, passengers and crew included. He had opted for this one, since there was an immediate opening. There was no need for a reservation, like liners that carried three or four thousand people usually required. He was not in a position to make long-term reservations for anything. He would live each day fully as it came. He would have to do things now. Today. Less than two months left. Three max? He didn’t believe that he ever had had three. Doctors always try to be encouraging, out of kindness trying to soften the blow. He knew that. He may not even have two. Maybe that, too, had been an exaggeration…

*

Yes, she would pin the plastic card to her jogging outfit. The one that she had obtained at that singles’ club in New York City. The one that said: Hello! I am Dr. Susan Specdoc, 31, and her address. A number of other singles also included their astrological sign, such information being important in their estimation. These had been led to believe that people born under a particular horoscope sign were best suited for someone boasting a different sign. Usually, a choice of two other signs were recommended.

Susan did not limit herself to seeking a marriage mate born at any specific time of the year. She was more interested in spoons than in signs. In finding out if her intended had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. She couldn’t care less if at the time of her husband’s birth the moon was in the house of Cancer, or something to that effect. There were twelve signs, she had learned. She did not remember them all, but she remembered Cancer, or was it Crab? Anyway, Cancer rang a bell with her, since she herself was a medical doctor specializing in cancer.

She had chosen this modest-sized cruise ship since she believed that on a less crowded boat she would stand a better chance of keeping track of the young man she would be pursuing. That she would be serious about searching for a husband, there was no question. Time was running out for her. How many more years before she would be too old to have children? She preferred not to think about it. Thinking, wishing and hoping would not produce a loving husband, a happy home and beautiful children. It was time for action.

There he was again, sitting by himself. He seemed to be about her age. And devastatingly handsome. Susan had always dreamed of a good-looking husband.  Of an athletic man, tall and muscular. Strong, yes, but not strong in the style that sumo wrestlers are strong, like Olympic weight lifters are strong, but strong enough for him to carry her and their two children out of a burning house.

She stopped a decent distance away from him. There was no point in rushing past her object of interest. He would not get out of his deckchair and run after her. She needed to formulate a plan of action. Everything she had achieved in her life up to now she had achieved by following a well-thought-out plan of action.

She would not ogle him. Well-brought-up young ladies did not ogle men. So, she turned to face the far-away horizon and kept her eyes on another distant cruiser. To make her actions seem natural, she kept waving her slim arms in the way that folks who do callisthenics do.

After a minute or so, no new ideas came to her. Maybe all her blood was in her muscles and there was none left for her brain, she thought with some alarm. All she could thing of was the old, over-used, worn-out method. There was no other choice. She would make it as believable as possible. After all, accidents happen even on the best run of pleasure cruisers…

Victor had noticed her before. The jogging track was not very long on this small ship, so, she had passed a few times in front of him.

She was blonde and had her hair arranged in a way that many modern girls did, namely, she had it stream out from behind her cap. He had always found such a sporty, carefree way of hair styling to be so appealing, so clean, so maidenly. With a pang of regret he realized that he was very much interested in meeting her, in getting to know her, in befriending her. But, alas! Such was not possible. Time was running out for him.

She had stopped a short distance from where he was sitting, looking out to sea and keeping up her exercise routine. He forced his eyes away from her.

And then he heard her footsteps and there she was, that vision of youthful loveliness and the next moment she was past him, without even a glance in his direction.

Oh, no! She tripped and fell heavily! Oh, dear. This must really have hurt. Why doesn’t she get up? Is she paralysed?

He was out of his chair in a flash and at her side. What to do? He did not know. He had heard that when someone fell, the person should not be moved, as the injuries sustained may be increased. Medical specialists must be called.

Don’t move, madam! he urged. I’ll call a doctor right away.

That is so kind of you, but before you rush off, let me see if any of my limbs are broken, Susan answered.

But be very careful my dear lady. Move very slowly.

My left arm still moves. See? My right one also. Let me sit up and check my legs. Would you help me up, please?

Like this? Did I hurt you?

Not in the least. My left leg is okay, but my right one seems to be injured. I need to sit in a chair and take stock of the situation.

Let me lift you up. Don’t push with your right leg.

Lift me up? Won’t you hurt your back? I don’t you to become crippled also, kind sir.

Not a chance! I am very athletic and keep myself in shape. And I jog occasionally, like you do.

Do you, really? Maybe we can jog together sometime. But, maybe your wife or significant other would not approve of such a thing.

I am not married and am free to jog with whosoever I wish. How about yourself? Are you free to jog in company of strange men?

If I wasn’t, I would not have proposed such a thing.

There you are. Rest and sit for a while. Does your leg hurt very much?

It’s much better, thank you. But I don’t think I should do any more jogging today. I think I shall sit here for a while. Next to you. Do you mind?

Not in the least. I see you name is Susan and that you are a doctor of some kind. My name is Victor Viefin and I am a plastic surgeon. Also from New York.

Pleased to meet you! Fancy meeting you, accidentally like this.

Yes, fate moves in mysterious ways. Some say that some things are meant to be. Not that it is any of my business, but what brings you to this pleasure cruise, Susan?

Can I be absolutely candid with you, Victor? 

I am used to people lying to me, so your honest confession would be rather refreshing. But first, let me guess. You are running away from the mob? You are really not a doctor, but a private investigator hired by a suspicious wife? You have a crush on the captain and are waiting for an invitation to dine at his table? Time is running out for you and your reason for being here is to find the ideal husband you have not yet met because of your busy study and work schedule? Which is it?  

Amazing! One of these guesses is right.

It’s the last one, right? You are looking for the right man?

Susan nodded.

Do you think me strange, confessing my dreams to a stranger?

Your dreams are perfectly normal, Susan. Can I be honest with you also?

You are looking for a wife?

I would. But, alas! It’s too late for me. Much too late.

What do you mean? Too late in what way? Is the mob catching up with you? Did the gypsy with the crystal ball tell you that were destined to die by drowning very soon? You should have tipped her more over the going rate and lived longer, maybe even happily ever after as a married man.

If it were as simple as that, I would avoid taking even a shower, let alone  a sea cruise. But the matter is rather serious. You see, I have an incurable disease. A rare form of leukemia. I have two months, maybe less.

Susan was taken aback. This really was serious. Too bad. So young, so handsome, so marriageable. Cancer can be so unfair, so cruel.

Leukemia? Are you sure? I don’t detect any symptoms.

Do you know about leukemia?

" I really am a medical doctor. Cancers are my specialty. When were you diagnosed?’

About two weeks ago. They told me I had two months, maybe three. So, you see, romance is out of the picture for me.

Two weeks ago, Susan thought to herself. There should be symptoms. Something doesn’t add up.

I don’t understand. You said you were diagnosed two weeks ago. You look  remarkably good, she noted.

Thank you, Susan. I am trying to preserve my handsome looks. My ambition is to become a beautiful corpse, Victor admitted.

Tell you what, Victor. Your condition is bound to deteriorate and you will need to be under the care of a doctor. Would you mind if I kept my eye on you for the duration of the cruise?

Oh, I would love that, Susan. You would make my last days very happy. But I don’t want you to take up too much of your time. I don’t want to interfere with your project of looking for a husband. In fact, I could give you a hand with it. I could introduce you to certain specimens that you would be interested in. Just point them out to me and I will befriend them. Then I will introduce you to them. That will make it easier for you. A deal?

That’s very considerate of you. You are a real friend. For the moment, I see that it’s lunchtime. Do you need help to get to a restaurant or can you still walk on your own power?

Of course I can walk. And tomorrow we will jog together.

Was he bragging? Was this a dying man’s last fling before a total collapse? Was he carrying on by sheer willpower? He should be bedridden, let alone make plans to go jogging. And yet, he had had all his strength when he had lifted her up. No, something did not add up in Susan’s mind. He had told her that he had a rare form of leukemia. What was it called? He did not remember and Susan could not guess by looking at him.

Yes, she would stay by his side till the sad end, if only out of professional curiosity. She would gain first-hand experience in dealing with a patient stricken with this unusual malady. They found it by analyzing his earwax, he says. Strange.

She would get to the bottom of this…

*

Judging by cruise boat standards, her office was quite roomy. The door was open as usual and Karl Kapin stood there, observing her at work. Being the captain, he had the legal right to go anywhere, observe everything and everybody on this vessel. In fact, he had the obligation