THE TARGET loomed, a blue/grey blur on the horizon a little over a mile away. Agent Lightfoot watched intently, tense. They were unarmed. If it was a trap, she knew they’d never get up the ladder.
“Can you hear that?” Agent Lightfoot couldn’t hear much over the sound of the engine and the churning spray. Her partner, Deputy Frost, was adamant though. “Can’t you hear that…?” Lightfoot cupped her ear. She could. “It sounds like… singing” said Agent Frost. Lightfoot frowned and listened harder. There was something tonal going on:
“Music…” Lightfoot agreed. “Maybe they’re having a party?”
“On this…?”
‘This’ was a cruise ship, slowly gaining shape. Lightfoot’s boat passed through the cordon of destroyers and armoured littorals, sequestered from the navy.
“What else is there to do, I suppose?” Deputy Frost shrugged. This was more or less the rationalisation Agent Lightfoot gave the naval commanders when they objected to the new expedition. There was no way the ship could come into port.
“Speaking of which” said Agent Lightfoot, “time to suit up…” she yelled. “Everyone…!” Everyone on the boarding party put their helmets on. “OK?” Agent Lightfoot nodded to the Pilot. “Tell them we’re…” The Pilot pointed at something, a ladder slowly sliding down the side of the ship. “Well, tell them anyway” she added.
The Pilot radioed the ship on the agreed channel.
“Britannia this is DoM Vessel 2530. We are approaching, south-southeast, coming in to board. Over.”
The distant music suddenly blared loud and distorted. There was a voice too:
“THAT’S GOOD. WE WILL SEE…” The Voice had a partly discernible upper-class accent, breaking through the noise. “FIRST OFFICER HERE I LIKE THE COKE, THE DRY COKE… THEN CALL SARAH. OVER.”
The Pilot asked: “Say again?”
“GO ON THEN. WALK FOREVER. PORK PIE…” The Pilot was about to ask one more time when Agent Lightfoot frowned and shook her head. It wasn’t worth it. “WE SHALL WALK FOREVER. LET BRITAIN ROAR. REACH FOR THE DRY COKE. THEN CALL…” The Voice half-sang. The Pilot closed the channel. He looked horrified:
“That’s who we’re negotiating with?”
“That’s who I’m negotiating with” said Agent Lightfoot. She pulled down her visor. The boat pulled up to the ladder at the side of the ship.
***
AS EXPEDITION Leader, Agent Lightfoot was first up the ladder. The music was almost clear enough to hear as they climbed, something familiar, something nostalgic. No time to wonder though. She knew someone would meet her at the top of the ladder.
The ship had been in trouble soon after leaving Bergen. No one knew whether it was a riot or a mutiny or the ‘violent fever’ described by the Staff Doctor in the first emergency message. That wasn’t what brought Department of Metaphysics Field Agent Yara Lightfoot to the scene though. Ten hours after the outbreak the boat was intercepted in international waters, an entire squad of Royal Marines was lost attempting to evacuate the ship and recover the Staff Doctor and his allies, who was maintaining quarantine-area on the bridge.
Video footage of the First Expedition showed men and women with severe-to-fatal injuries on board moving around without apparent difficulty. The passengers and crew responded aggressively to the First Boarding Party. They overwhelmed the soldiers and (apparently) killed them. Six hours after that they overwhelmed a Second Rescue Party. Contact with the Staff Doctor was then lost and control of the ship passed to ‘Doctor Johnson’, AKA the First Officer, who indicated to the Royal Navy that he intended to ‘repatriate’ to the UK. The ship made a hard turn toward the mainland and was only stopped by a cordon of navy ships and the promise to negotiate with the staff/passengers/infected.
***
HAND OVER hand, Agent Lightfoot was almost at the top the ladder. A face appeared over the side, suddenly. It was pale, broad and a little pink. It smiled oddly then disappeared. It came back again, bringing a second face:
“They’re here” it said with a demented, broken-toothed grin. The Second Face waved a union jack flag. Lightfoot stopped on the ladder.
“Don’t worry” said the First Face, smiling. “We’re not going to sacrifice you.” It held out a hand, a bruised hand.
“We don’t need to” said the Second Face, also cheerful. “Not anymore.” With nothing else to do Lightfoot started climbing again. “No response” said the Second Face. “Can you hear us in there?” Lightfoot reached the top of the ladder. “I said” said the Second Face, a large, middle-aged woman in a loose yoga-shirt and swimming costume “can you…?”
“Away…” Lightfoot said, loudly, holding out a hand. The Woman looked a little perturbed. The First Face, a similarly-aged man, wearing short-shirt combo but with cricket pads and a torn cap, seemed like he was objecting:
“How dare you, that’s my…”
Lightfoot didn’t hear anything though. She looked around the deck, which was full of people either sitting or standing, mostly waving union jacks or clapping along to “Come On, Eileen.” The only people not jiggling or waving were those strung up from beams or tied up together, impaled or glued to flat surfaces.
The Cricket Man was squaring up to Agent Lightfoot now “… So if you think you can just come in here and…” Instinct took over. In a single, smooth action she grabbed the man by the back of his head, spun him round and slammed his face into a nearby railing. He landed with a loud ‘clang’.
Everything stopped for a moment, turning to look. The music seemed to quieten. Then there was a sudden, dramatic cheer. Even the people tied up, impaled or glued seemed happy. The Man staggered to his feet holding his nose. He didn’t seem so happy.
“Hang about, you’re a lady…?” he said. Agent Lightfoot did not answer, shocked and still a little adrenalised. Cricket Man let go of his nose and broke out into a holler: “Woo!” Blood flowed down his face. “You’ll be… be… want to… the First Officer, Doctor… um...” He staggered a little and pointed at the bridge, dazed but happy.
“Take us to the bridge” Agent Lightfoot said to The Man, peremptory. The rest of her expedition meanwhile made their way up the ladder. The Man was still somewhat dazed.
“Are you sure about this?” Deputy Frost asked Lightfoot.
“No…” said Lightfoot. “Stick to the plan.”
“The plan…?”
“The plan…”
Deputy Frost nodded, remembering: “Planned accidents...’
***
THE FIRST known case of Farraginous Lyssavirus, aka The Brainworms, was an unprovoked riot in an M1 service station. Agent Lightfoot had briefed the landing party about it. She had been there, after all. The police sent to suppress riot found the rioters willing to follow them in attacking further onlookers. Her first write-up of the disease included the observation, ‘Control achieved through domination and applied violence’. There had been other outbreaks since. The plague ship was just the latest and largest case so far.
Lightfoot prodded The Man to get moving. He staggered toward the bridge.
The Plague Ship had been under observation for 36 hours, not long but enough time to deduce an outbreak of Brainworms, an abnatural disease that spread like a virus but at most only partially existed in a biological sense. Lightfoot and her team were mobilised. The symptoms were usually belligerence, violence and incoherence. There were outbreaks of sporadic violence on board, fights, mini-riots and some ritual violence too. There were two instances of bodies being thrown overboard. They were recovered by Royal Navy units working with the DoM and placed in quarantine where they did not reanimate. There were no fatalities, it seemed, from an outbreak so long as the victims stayed within a 500 metre radius of Patient Zero. The only known ways of containing Farraginous Lyssavirus was to identify Patient Zero and apply The Cure.
Agent Lightfoot walked the Cricket Man along the deck past dozens of onlookers to a door leading to the bridge. There was a small but noticeable rise in fondling, amorous collisions, slapping tides of flesh, though some still stared at the expedition party with glassy ecstasy or foggy resentment most passengers though got back on with waving flags and vibrating stiffly to the music, The Human League, Love Action was playing on the PA system. Lightfoot and her team walked warily. She knew something could go wrong at any point and so probably would. They were almost at the door when someone yelled:
“They don’t walk forever!”
Lightfoot said “Keep going…” to no-one and everyone. She turned to find the new voice, scanning the crowd. The New Voice obliged:
“How do we know they’re not traitors?” Lots of faces were now looking at them. Lightfoot had to think fast. What could she do? She remembered the other, less considered part of the First Case. A number of police officers had joined the rioters, trapping onlookers in the service station food court and taking pot shots at them with rubber bullets.
The incident lasted for thirteen hours before being eventually defused by a joint Army/Department of Metaphysics operation utilising anti-memetic crowd control devices. Lightfoot had an altered megaphone that made anti-sound, neutralising the yells and the noise, subduing the crowd with deafening silence. In the end only a couple of dozen committed rioters were left, fewer than expected, the rest were left injured and bemused.
“Go, get inside” Lightfoot nodded to her team. It came to her. “You” Lightfoot said to the New Voice, halfway across the deck, coming from a pink, hairless man wearing a towel with a football club logo on it. His chest was covered in what looked like lash-marks. “Has anyone really been far even as decided to use even go want to do look more like?” Lightfoot declared loudly.
“You what…?” said the Man. His towel fell down as he shook his head. He caught it in his hands. Lightfoot had used a common anti-memetic, a simple trick. It could only last for so long. After a moment’s confusion Towel Man renewed his objections. “How come we can’t see your face?” He strode forward purposefully. There was some muttering and nods from the crowd. A couple of other men followed behind him as he advanced toward Lightfoot.
“Boss…?” Deputy Frost called anxiously, from the doorway. Agent Lightfoot just held out a hand, pointing. Towel Man was almost upon her:
“Tell Sarah!” Lightfoot said slowly and clearly. Towel Man stopped in his tracks. “Tell Sarah that none of this makes any sense…” This made Towel Man reconsider:
“You’re not going to kick off…?” said Towel Man.
“No” said Lightfoot.
“Hit him!” one of Towel Man’s posse demanded, glowing with enthusiasm, sweat and beer.
“Hush” said Agent Lightfoot, sharply. “Sarah has the football.”
“She has…?” said Towel Man. He suddenly looked hopeful.
Lightfoot raised a gloved hand and waved. “See to it that you all want to do look more like, OK?”
The people surrounding her nodded and walked away, sheepish-looking.
“That’s not in the plan…?” Deputy Frost said as Lightfoot reached the door.
“A planned accident” Lightfoot said, cryptically. “Wait here” she said to the Cricket Man. “Try not to bleed out.”
***
INSIDE THE ship, door closed, the music and the hubbub became softer. Sound was now insinuating down the stairwell. It was dim, little light, and not much in the way of furnishing: a service area perhaps? The bridge was several floors up. There was a muttering and a licking sound happening above Lightfoot and her crew. They found a man slumped in the corner of the stairs, wearing a tattered clown outfit. He was rubbing his hands over his face and head, covered with ice cream mixed with blood from numerous shallow cuts. There were empty cartons strewn around. He saw the party and muttered:
“Walk forever…”
Lightfoot said “Forever walking…” and waved. Ice Cream Man smiling at this, replied:
“Reach for the dead.” He closed his eyes and went into a slump.
“Is he OK?” one of the team asked, immediately regretting it.
“No one here is OK” Agent Lightfoot said, laying it on a bit thick. “If he was unconscious he’d be doing better than most. If…”
Initial testing on the Service Station victim/perpetrators revealed virus-like symptoms, equivalent to a fever but without the raised body temperature. The carrier/sufferer’s acts were theorised as an attempt to purge the virus, hence their enthusiasm at the prospect of pain and relief at the point of unconsciousness. A more speculative observation suggested this was why the virus, working through Patient Zero, tried to sustain carrier/sufferer lives for as long as possible, even beyond death.
“Never mind him” said Lightfoot, “where’s our Patient Zero?” They found him on the bridge. Lightfoot peered through a window pane, “there he is…” He was a man kneeling, wearing a hospital gown and surgical mask. “I bet that’s Sarah too” said Lightfoot about the woman he was kneeling in front. She was sitting in a set of stirrups. “OK, Deputy Frost, please signal the cordon.” Deputy Frost had a device on a pendant round her neck. She pressed a large button on it. There was a small noise:
“Beep!”
Lightfoot took a deep breath and opened the door, then tried again. Something was wedged in the way, spoiling the effect as the Kneeling Man looked up furtively, dropping Sarah’s toes. He saw the Agent. Breathing heavily, he grinned through what was left of his mask and hollered:
“LAND HO….!” He was just audible over muffled music. He walked over to the door and picked up the obstacle, which turned out to be another body, a man, gagged and bound, dressed in a soaking wet bunny costume. He opened the door. The sound of Brotherhood of Man’s “Save Your Kisses for Me” came through clearly now. “DEAL WILL BE EASY!” the Man exclaimed. He was twirling a stethoscope and his medical gown had ‘IAM YR DOCTOR’ written on it in lipstick.
“Are you the Officer?” Lightfoot asked, stepping inside.
“DOCTOR, I AM. LIKE THE DRY COKE.” There was a pained murmur from the Damp Bunny Man. “BE QUIET! PORK PIE!” the Doctor said with emphasis. “YOU ARE HERE. THIS DEAL WILL BE EASY.”
“We have come to help” said Agent Lightfoot.
“THEN WALK FOREVER” said the Doctor. He tried to grapple with Lightfoot’s protective suit, remover her helmet. “DON’T … REACH FOR… DEAD…!”
“Look…!” Lightfoot handed him off then and pointed out the bridge window to the horizon. “They’re going.” The cordon was retreating. The Doctor seemed jubilant:
“THE FOOTBALL…! LET BRITAIN ROAR…!” He punched the air.
“You can’t talk” said Lightfoot. She shook a finger. Just then the song ended. Deputy Frost found hi-fi playing the music and turned it off. A couple of other team members took control of the steering on the bridge. “You can’t even blow a hair dryer. Not anymore. Deputy Frost, run the Silence Programme.” The Deputy pressed another button on her pendant. The Doctor seemed crestfallen.
“Look” one of Lightfoot’s team pointed down to the deck, where people were falling to the floor in waves.
“Nothing is wrong, Doctor” said Agent Lightfoot.
“I’M NOT ILL?”
“No” said Lightfoot, applying The Cure. “If you were ill, if you had the Brainworms running wild on this ship, there would be a cordon around this ship… Sit…” Lightfoot pointed to the captain’s chair. The Doctor sat, unresisting, defeated but almost relieved. He closed his eyes. “Go on, old fella” said Agent Lightfoot, “reach for the dead.”
Social media splash image is artwork by Adam Ray Adkins.