Titanic 2020: Cannibal City

4 The Campaign

So began the campaign by the Titanic Times to save the life of Babe the Pig. Before very long every passenger and crew member aboard the ship was aware of Babe's plight — the other pigs were conveniently forgotten — even if they didn't immediately have an opinion on whether or not she should be put to the knife. There were news stories with huge headlines and heart-rending photographs on the front page of Babe being playful and nuzzling up to children; if she looked suspiciously clean or there appeared to be an almost human glint in her eye, well, that was just the way she was, and no suspicion that her image had been polished up by a computer program was ever aired. Nor was the campaign confined to the pages of the Times — badges were made, posters were printed, Save the Pig fundraising concerts were held. They had all survived The End of Civilisation As We Know It, the planet was in tatters and everyone's future was uncertain, but for a brief period the fate of Babe the Pig seemed like it was the most important thing in the world. It became what would once have been known as a cause célèbre.

Jimmy, although he didn't really give a fiddler's elbow for what happened to the pig, was full of admiration for Claire and how she had mounted the campaign; he thought that Scoop, the decrepit old journalist who had attempted to teach them how to be good reporters — it seemed like an age ago — would have been surprised and delighted at Claire's progress. Yes, she was still sulky and spoiled, but when she got her teeth into a good story there was no stopping her. Stopping the captain getting his teeth into Babe was not, however, a foregone conclusion.

On the fourth day out of Reunion Gap, word filtered down to the newsroom that the decision had been made to slaughter the pigs at nine p.m. that night. A special edition of the Times, appealing to Captain Smith to spare Babe's life, was rushed out. A candlelit vigil was held on the top deck attended by two hundred and fifty passengers and crew. Babe remained on the makeshift farm below deck, guarded by Mr Benson. He had been personally warned by Captain Smith, by Mr Stanford and by First Officer Jeffers that if the pig happened to just disappear, then so would he. Overboard.

Claire, Jimmy, the rest of the reporting team and half a dozen of the passengers who had been most involved in the campaign gathered in the newspaper office at around six p.m. Their mood was sombre. They had done everything they could think of to convince the captain to spare Babe's life, but he had yet to give any indication that he had any intention of changing his mind.

Claire dragged her eyes away from the clock on the wall. She slapped the top of her desk. 'We have to do something — something else!'

'We've done everything,' said Ty. 'Everything we can think of.'

'Well what haven't we thought of?'

'If we knew that,' Ty replied, 'then we would already have—'

'Quiet! I'm thinking.'

Ty sighed. He looked around the glum faces. 'When the time comes. . . how do you think they'll . . . you know . . . do it?'

Jimmy had an uncle who had once worked in an abattoir — or, he had once had an uncle who had once worked in an abattoir, because the chances were that the plague had killed him. Jimmy drummed his fingers on his desk to get attention. 'In a proper slaughterhouse they'd use a gun,' he said, and all eyes turned towards him. He raised two fingers to the back of his head. 'It actually fires a bolt. . .'

'Is it painful?' one of the younger photographers, Alana, asked.

'Well I'm sure it's not very pleasant, but at least it's quick. Doesn't matter, though — because they're not going to have a bolt-gun down below.'

'So what will they do?'

Jimmy mimed slicing a knife across his throat, then waved his hands around to indicate blood spurting everywhere.

Everyone looked a little paler after that.

Claire stood abruptly. 'We can't allow this to happen. We have to seize control of the radio station.'

The Titanic had a small radio and television centre which, in the days when it was still operating as a cruise ship, had been used to broadcast news about events on the ship to the passengers' rooms. The television station had been lying dormant since the plague had struck, but the radio channel continued to be used by Captain Smith to talk directly to passengers and to monitor the airwaves for plague survivors.

'Why?' Ty asked.

'Because we've done our best with the newspaper — now we have to appeal directly to everyone on board and get them to go to Deck 3. If we get enough of them down there we can overpower the guards and get Babe out of there.'

Instinctively all eyes turned to Jimmy. Nobody had ever quite said it, but he was the boss. He was aware that they were looking expectantly at him. Over the past few months he had matured — he was more responsible, his head was screwed on a bit tighter. But he still liked causing a bit of trouble. He had allowed Claire to run the campaign to save Babe because he wasn't particularly bothered about the fate of the pig, but this kind of direct action appealed to him. He had never liked rules and regulations. He nodded slowly.

'OK,' he said finally, 'that sounds like a plan. We need to lure the radio operator out, then barricade ourselves inside. Anyone know how to operate the radio?'

One of the reporters, Christopher, thirteen years old but already wearing a half-grown moustache, cautiously raised his hand. 'My daddy owns — owned — a radio station. Been around it all my life, I reckon.'

'OK,' said Jimmy, 'no time to lose. Let's get going, we'll work out how to do it on the way...'

Claire was first to the door. She smiled hopefully back at Jimmy as she pulled at the handle — it seemed to be stuck — and then pulled again.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. 'Let me, earthling.' He pulled it hard. And again. But it wouldn't budge. 'It's locked — from the outside!'

Claire looked incredulous. 'But who . . . ?'

Jimmy shook his head. 'Who do you think?'

Realisation dawned on Claire. 'The captain? But why would . . . ?'

'Because he knows what we're like.'

The reporters and photographers and campaigners had crowded in behind Jimmy and Claire to follow them out. Now Claire pushed her way back through them to her desk and lifted her phone. She punched in the number for the bridge and tapped her foot impatiently while she waited for it to be answered.

'I want to speak to Captain Smith, now,' she demanded.

After another minute, the captain came on the line. 'Ah, Claire,' he said pleasantly. 'How are you?'

'I'm mad as hell!' Claire erupted.

'Yes, I imagine you are. However, locking you in seemed a prudent course of action. I really can't have you disrupting the ship, my dear, and although I haven't a clue what you were planning, I'm quite certain that you were planning something and therefore I decided to nip it in the bud. You will stay where you are until the . . . uhm, deed is done.'

'You can't do this!'

'Yes I can.'

'My daddy—'

'Your father has approved my action.'

A tear rolled down Claire's cheek. 'Please, Captain Smith, don't do this. Don't kill my Babe.'

'I'm sorry Claire, but it will be done. I understand your position, and you have mounted an admirable campaign to save the animal. But it is not a precedent I wish to set. I'm sorry.'

Claire felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to find Jimmy standing beside her. He indicated that he wished to speak to the captain himself.

'It's no good, Jimmy,' said Claire, 'he won't change his mind.'

Jimmy nodded, but still held his hand out for the phone. Claire sighed and passed it across. She slumped down at her desk and buried her head in her hands. Jimmy raised the phone to his ear.

'Captain, it's Jimmy.' Captain Smith mmm-hmmed. 'Is there nothing we can do?'

'No, son. Leave it now, all right?'

Jimmy took a deep breath. 'OK. That's your decision.' Claire looked up, fury freshly etched on her tear-stained face. 'But I have to ask your permission to allow a reporter to attend the execution. We've covered the story up until now and it's only right that we should be represented at the end.'

There was a moment's hesitation. Then Captain Smith said, 'Very well. You may send a representative. But I warn you — no funny business.'

'You have my word.'

Jimmy put the receiver down.

Claire looked at him in disbelief. 'You . . . just — gave in! You didn't put up any kind of a fight at all!'

'Claire, there's no point. He's made his mind up.'

Everyone was looking at him now.

Ty punched him lightly on the shoulder. 'You have a plan — don't you . . . ?'

Jimmy shook his head. 'No, Ty. No plan. Now who wants to go?'

There were no volunteers.

'OK then.' Jimmy lifted a camera and pushed his way back through to the door. He knocked on it, and a few moments later it was opened by First Officer Jeffers. He looked warily at the little group. Jimmy glanced back at Claire, gave a little shrug, and stepped into the gap.

The door was locked behind him. The imprisoned campaigners talked quietly or busied themselves with small tasks, trying to block out thoughts of what might be happening in the fake farmyard. But as the hands on the clock moved inexorably towards nine p.m. all work ceased.

Nine o'clock came.

Tears were shed.

Claire stared at her computer.

Nine-thirty arrived without any news. Nobody wanted to phone the bridge because nobody wanted to be the first to hear the bad news.

Finally, at a few minutes before ten a key was turned and the door opened. Jimmy stood there. Claire forced herself to look up from her screen. Jimmy's face was pale, the set of his mouth grim.

'Well?' Ty asked.

Jimmy took a deep breath. 'I have bad news, and I have good news.' He nodded around the news team. 'Which do you want to hear first?'

'The bad.' That was Claire. She was wringing her hands together.

'The bad news is that Babe was slaughtered at five past nine.' There was a communal groan. 'It was over quickly. She made no sound.'

'And the good news?' Claire falteringly asked.

Jimmy hesitated for a moment before producing a brown paper bag from behind his back.

'Fresh sausages!'

It was, he later acknowledged, a spectacular misjudgement. He had thought a joke might lighten the mood. There weren't actually sausages in the bag, he didn't actually walk in with bits of Babe minced up into pork bangers, but there might as well have been, given the instant, revolted reaction from his captive audience. If he hadn't had the presence of mind to realise the extent of his mistake and throw himself back out into the corridor and slam the door shut and lock it, they would have turned him into sausage meat.

Jimmy stood breathing heavily while the door was battered hard by the angry mob inside.

He rubbed at his brow, suddenly aware that his moment of stupidity had quite probably robbed him of all the respect he'd worked so hard to achieve.

Jimmy cautiously approached the door. 'Listen, folks, I'm really sorry — I was only trying to—'

'JIMMY ARMSTRONG.' It was Claire, her voice as cold and hard as he had ever heard it. 'I WILL NEVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN AS LONG AS I LIVE.'