UnAlaska

16. Give Chase

The radio in the bridge crackled to life. There was a brief period of static, then a man's voice came through. "Cecaelia bridge, this is Coast Guard six zero zero three. Requesting permission to land."

Helen, Laura, and the officers had been standing in the bridge. Jacqueline had joined them. They were still in a loose circle. They were nursing half empty mugs of coffee, brought by the hotel team. They had catered the disaster response with a tray of pastries and coffee, which was hilariously on brand, Laura thought. It was now mid-afternoon. Rohit snapped upright. "Granted. Come aboard."

The large Sikorsky helicopter, with crisp red and white livery, touched down a few minutes later on the deck. Four Coast Guardsman stepped out, in matching olive drab flight suits. Two were armed with M4 carbine rifles, slung over their shoulders. They walked easily and confidently.

The four stepped through the sun deck, and all eyes swiveled to face them. The Coast Guard helicopter was a universally recognizable set of colors. Everyone knew who they were, and many guessed about why they were there. Their military rifles and flight suits only added to the mystique.

As they passed, a man sat bolt upright in his lounge chair, knocking his drink off the table next to him. It clattered to the ground in a splash of rum, fruit, and coconut. "Oh shit! It's the Coast Guard." He pointed, and looked at his wife. "They have guns. Jesus. Look! The hell is happening?" She was sunning herself next to him, laying face down. She didn't notice. He slapped her on the shoulder. She shot him a look full of daggers and laid back down.

They stepped through the sliding doors and made their way through the main hallway. The pilot wore a name stripe with 'Gomez' in bold font. They walked by the spa. He whistled a long, low whistle and turned to his co-pilot. "Hell of a lot nicer than a cutter, isn't it? I'd love to have a spa on board." They shared a laugh. Coast Guard cutters had exposed wiring and ductwork on the ceiling between hanging fluorescent tubes, high gloss hard floors, and everything was covered in a million layers of beige institutional paint. A far fry from the wide expanse of hallway with soft carpeting.

They were interrupted by a large, churning mob of passengers. The lunch diners had continued to pace, and others walking through the hall had joined them. The group had a magnetism that caught passers by and agglomerated them. They were aimlessly walking down the hall, full of energy without an outlet, like a headless, multi-cellular organism.

The woman with a tangle of bracelets saw the four officers and her face registered a mix of triumph and shock. "See?! I told you! Something is happening on this ship. We deserve to know the truth." She pointed with her whole arm at the officers, and the mob changed its focus. It began to coalesce around them, more dense and agitated. A large circle formed. "Tell us what is happening, right this instant! I don't like the look of this. None of us do." A murmur of agreement spread. People were milling around, and talking between themselves in a low buzz.

Gomez held up his hand, palm extended. The universal symbol to stop. The circle kept its distance, but others streamed in from behind to tighten the rear. The murmur and buzz died. In its place, an electrically charged quiet settled. Everyone seemed to lean forward, expectantly.

The woman put her hands in the air. "Well? What do you have to tell us? We need some answers. You can't keep us in the dark."

Gomez nodded. He had been in the Coast Guard for a long time. He had seen a lot of things. Hikers mauled by grizzly bears, left in churned up red snow with bodies bent in impossible shapes. Ships capsized in the harsh Alaskan waters, survivors hypothermic and crying out with blue lips. The Kodiak station was not an easy place, to say the least. He hadn't dealt with a gaggle of rich people on a cruise ship. But, it couldn't be that different from any group. Project authority, and keep your answers simple and short.