This story was written as an introduction to the Spring ASSD Orgy,
hosted by Lord Malinov at his web site. If you are an erotic writer or a
regular poster to <assd> you may very well see yourself mentioned.
Please keep in mind that this is a light-hearted farce!
- DG (dionysian1@hotmail.com)
========================================================
The following piece of fiction contains strong sexual
content and is meant to be read only by adults. If you
are not at least 18 years old, or if you are offended by
this type of material, please do not read any further.
========================================================
"A Cruise to Remember"
by DG
(With lots of help from The Bear
and good-natured encouragement from Kim)
Day 1
The small harbor of Antuahuaoc, on the west coast of Mexico,
had not been designed for anything as large as a cruise ship, and
the white behemoth now nestled against the quay dwarfed the
fishing boats and pleasure yachts that surrounded it. From a
distance, the S.S. Sybarus, with her multiple decks, hundreds of
portholes, and three huge smokestacks, appeared a paragon of
modern shipbuilding technology. Up close, those who knew ships
and the sea might have frowned at the rust stains and peeling
paint along her sides. The condition of her fittings, lifeboats,
and rigging were also, for want of a better term, less than
shipshape.
The cruise director of the Sybarus leafed through the
passenger manifest as she walked along the main deck, and her
pretty face wrinkled in confusion. It was impossible to memorize
all two hundred and seventeen names, of course, but she was
supposed to familiarize herself with the passengers as much as
possible before they came on board. She was three weeks into her
summer job with the ValuShip cruise line, and she had never seen
so many odd names on a manifest. Jubjub? MC Woodsmoke? Uther
Pendragon?
Not that she was complaining - it was going to be very
interesting, having an Erotic Writers Workshop on the upcoming
cruise. Maybe even educational. And with any luck it would give
her something exciting to tell her high school classmates next
fall.
As she approached the gangway that connected the ship to the
dock, she saw that a line of people were already waiting behind
the velvet rope. Putting on her best cruise-director smile, she
called out "Hi everybody! I'm Julia, your cruise director.
Like...welcome to the S.S. Sybarus!"
The first person in line was an attractive woman with
chestnut hair and a mischievous, devil-may-care gleam in her eyes.
"Can I have your name?" asked Julia.
"It's Kim."
"OK, and your last name?"
"If I told you, then I'd have to kill you," said Kim with a
wink. "Seriously, it's just Kim."
"Oh. Let me see..." Sure enough, there it was. "You're in
Cabin 341, on the right side of the ship. Oops - I mean
starboard, sorry."
"Great," said Kim. "Hey, could you tell me if Taria is on
board yet? We've arranged to, um, get together. First thing."
"Nope, you're the very first passenger to come on board,"
said Julia, smiling and cracking her gum. "I'm sure she'll be
here soon."
"She better be," said Kim with a frown. "When she shows up,
give her my cabin number and tell her to get her cute little butt
in there on the double."
Julia's eyes widened slightly. "Certainly, Ms....er, Kim."
The next person in line was a blond surfer type. "The name
is Poison Ivan," he said. "And this is my buddy Tom Carvett.
Hey, is this the uh..." he looked at a scrap of paper "S.S.
Sybarus?"
"Yes it is. Welcome aboard, Mr. Ivan and Mr. Carvett."
"And this is the right cruise for the org- I mean, the Erotic
Writers Workshop?" asked Tom.
"That's right," said Julia. "Exciting, isn't it?"
Poison Ivan slapped Tom on the back. "Looks like you made
the party this time, Tommy Boy!"
Calling out for Kim to wait up, they ran on board.
A stout, gray-haired man approached. "Good morning, Lass,"
he said in an Irish brogue. "My name is Sven."
Julia leafed through the manifest. "Let's see...Sven the
Younger?"
The man's brow wrinkled in confusion. "No, Sven the Elder."
"Oh, like...here it is. Cabin 323, Mr. Elder."
"Thank you. Now, could you be telling me where Kim's cabin
is, young lady?"
After Julia gave Sven directions, a nervous-looking young man
stepped forward. "Hi, I'm Brian Mueller. I'm twenty years old,
and I live ten miles south of San Jose, California."
"Well hello, Mr. Mueller. Nice to have you aboard." Julia
found his name and checked it off. "You're in Cabin 231."
Brian lowered his voice and said "Hey, you wouldn't happen to
know which cabin Kim is in, would you?" Julia felt him pressing
something into her hand.
"Of course I do. Let's see...Kim is in cabin 341. She's
already on board."
"Thanks." He gave her a conspiratorial nod and headed on
board.
Julia looked to see what he had pressed into her hand, and
saw it was a twenty dollar bill. "Hey! Thanks, Mr. Mueller!"
She waved the bill at him with a wide smile on her face, ignoring
his look of horrified embarrassment. "This is my very first tip!"
On the next deck up, two of the Sybarus's officers were
leaning against the rail, smoking and watching the passengers as
they walked up the gangway and boarded the ship below them.
"Pretty strange bunch of passengers, sir," ventured the
younger officer. He was a thin man with a scraggly beard who's
nameplate read "Farnsworth."
First Officer Milton, a chubby man with thick glasses,
shrugged and said "I've seen worse. You should have been here a
couple months ago when the Christian Morals Commission was on
board. Now that was a creepy crowd."
They watched as a large, bearded man shuffled up the gangway.
His barrellike physique and unseasonable fur coat gave him a
startling resemblance to a bear. When he reached the cruise
director, they heard him ask about his sister. "Cabin 341,"
answered the girl, without referring to the manifest. "It must be
getting crowded in there by now."
Above them, Farnsworth said "The cruise director mentioned
something about erotic writers, sir. Some sort of annual meeting.
I suppose that's who these odd passengers are."
"Right, right, I heard about that too. Bunch of sex-crazed
technogeeks, no doubt. By the way, Farnsworth, you can skip the
sir stuff, this isn't the Navy."
"Thanks. Um, I was wondering...how's the Captain?"
Farnsworth gave his superior a nervous, sidelong look.
"Hazelwood? Locked in his cabin, as usual."
"Drunk?"
"I imagine. Listen, don't worry about it, this ship pretty
much sails herself." The first officer's eyes were riveted to a
group of five gorgeous young girls in sorority t-shirts who were
coming up the gangway, laughing and talking.
Farnsworth shook his head. "I guess. But if you ask me,
ValuShip must be pretty hard up, hiring a guy like that."
Milton took off his glasses, gave them a quick polish, and
resumed scoping out the sorority girls. "It bothered me a little,
too. But I'm on the fast track to becoming a captain myself, so
you won't see me making any waves. I started out two years ago
shoveling coal in the boiler room, and here I am First Officer."
"Not bad! How'd you manage that?"
"Just normal attrition. Lotta turnover here at ValuShip."
"There must be," said Farnsworth. "I applied for a job
waiting tables in the main dining room, and they made me the chief
navigator instead. I'm a little nervous, actually. I've never
been to sea before."
"Relax, I'm sure you'll fit right in."
"I don't know, I still haven't figured out how to work that
damn computer navigation system. In fact, I better go take
another crack at it before we shove out."
"Shove off."
"Right, shove off. Jeez, all the lingo we gotta learn, eh?"
"Don't worry, it comes with experience," said Milton with a
condescending smile. "You'll be a credit to the ship before you
know it." As Farnsworth made his way forward toward the bridge,
he dropped his cigarette onto the deck and ground it out with his
foot.
All of the cabins on the S.S. Sybarus were small and sparsely
furnished with a twin bed, a chest of drawers, and a halogen
floor lamp. Cabin 341 seemed especially cramped, because it was
occupied by a dozen or so erotic writers and their guests,
laughing, shouting, and groping each other shamelessly.
Some of them were chatting and catching up on the latest
gossip, while others were huddled around laptop computers having
slightly more serious discussions involving their latest stories.
JohnnyD had backed a pair of sorority girls into a corner of the
room, where he was mesmerizing them with a rapid-fire series of
pickup lines. The pleasantly plump form of Morgan Preece was
wedged into another corner of the room. Morgan was chatting with
Kitty Kat and Janey, who were trying unsuccessfully to solve the
mystery of Morgan's gender. The tiny bathroom was in constant
use. Interestingly, people went into it in groups of two and
three rather than one at a time, suggesting that it was being used
for more than just freshening up.
A good-looking man with dark hair appeared at the open door.
His erect bearing and piercing blue eyes would have given him the
aura of an aristocrat, were it not for the loud, wide-collared
cabana shirt he was wearing. "Libertines!" he shouted. "Together
again!"
The noise in the cabin rose another few notches, for this was
their leader, Lord Malinov himself. Just four months ago, they
had all attended a winter solstice party at his sprawling castle
on the North Sea. That party, which had lasted the better part of
a week, had been an unqualified success, resulting in dozens of
new erotic tales, several new love affairs, and at least four
illegitimate children. The only complaint had been the lack of
central heating in the castle, so the hedonistic writers had
decided to reconvene in a warmer climate.
"My Lord, how's it hanging?" said Poison Ivan, who had his
arm around Daphne Xu.
"Malinov, you old dog, how's it going?" called out Ole Joe,
who was comparing story lists with Commander Jameson.
With an ear-to-ear grin, Malinov greeted his old friends.
"Did I get us a great rate on this cruise, or what," he enthused.
"Carnival wanted more than twice as much per person, with no open
bar. And you don't even want to know what Royal Norwegian is
charging these days."
There was a general roar of assent. Then a few alternate
viewpoints were tentatively raised...
"It's kind of rusty for a cruise ship, isn't it? Looks more
like an oil tanker," said Pulp Fan.
"And did anyone else notice that all the fire extinguishers
have been replaced with ice buckets?" asked Losgud.
Before these issues could be addressed, the door to the
bathroom flew open and Kim came hopping out, still pulling up her
shorts. "Mal baby! I thought I heard your voice!" She leapt
into Malinov's arms and gave him a wet, sloppy kiss. Then Taria
came out of the bathroom, looking flushed and a little
embarrassed, followed by Uther Pendragon, who's heavy breathing
and tented slacks suggested that he was less than thrilled by the
interruption. There was a brief scuffle as several people tried
to go into the empty bathroom at once.
Kristen Becker switched on a powerful boombox, and a
pulsating reggae beat filled the small cabin. There were several
loud pops, and some screams as champagne corks bounced crazily off
the metal walls. The first annual Spring Workshop of the Internet
Erotic Author's Guild was officially underway. When the giant
foghorn announcing the departure of the S.S. Sybarus boomed out,
no one even noticed.
As the last echoes of the foghorn rolled around the harbor,
Julia checked the passenger manifest one last time. Only two no-
shows for this cruise, not too bad. She slid the moveable section
of railing across the opening to the gangway, and started to
loosen the bolts connecting the gangway to the ship.
"Wait...wait!" A man and a woman came running across the the
dock toward the Sybarus. The man was heavily laden with packages,
and was lagging behind.
"You must be Mrs. Cindy," said Julia to the woman as she came
up the gangway. "And that must be Mr. DG."
"Close enough," said Cindy with a smile. She was a slender
brunette with long hair and perfect features. Julia had noticed
that many of the female passengers on this cruise were extremely
attractive, and Cindy was no exception.
"Come on honey, almost there," called out Cindy. "DG's a
little upset with me," she confided to the cruise director. "I
sort of got carried away at the duty-free shop."
"Been there, done that. I'm Julia, the cruise director.
Welcome aboard!"
"Aren't you a little young to be a cruise director?"
"Not in Mexico, I'm not."
DG came stumbling up up the gangway, mumbling something about
melted credit cards and debtor's prison. He was carrying so many
packages that Julia couldn't really see what he looked like, just
that he was quite tall. But if he was married to Cindy, he
couldn't be too bad.
"Are you both erotic writers?" she asked, reconnecting the
railing.
"I am," said DG, catching his breath. "Cindy is a
professional shopper."
"Cool! Those both sound like interesting careers. You folks
are in cabin 265. I'll take you down there myself, since you're
the last ones to come on board."
As the huge ship started to move away from the dock, the
still-connected gangway groaned in protest. With a tearing sound,
it pulled out a section of the wooden decking and dropped into the
harbor.
Day 2
First Officer Milton leaned casually against the side of the
control console of the S.S. Sybarus, drumming his fingers
annoyingly on the polished wood and staring into the distance. He
was trying, perhaps a bit too hard, to project an aura of relaxed
competence. With Captain Hazelwood locked in his cabin, most
likely for the duration of the cruise, Milton was effectively in
charge of the ship. The feeling of power was almost intoxicating.
He had a sudden urge to give an order.
"What's our heading?" he barked, startling the dozing second
officer.
"Er...let's see...West. No, wait, more like Southwest."
"Speed?"
"Full speed ahead, sir. Thirty knots or so. The speedometer
thingy is broken."
Milton turned to the young, bearded Farnsworth to ask their
position. But the navigator was staring angrily at his computer
screen, shaking his fist and muttering under his breath, and he
decided to leave him be.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully, as if making an important
decision, and said "Very well, carry on." Then he returned his
gaze to the huge bank of windows that spanned the width of the
bridge. Straight ahead there was nothing to be seen but light
blue sky and dark blue ocean, the latter dotted here and there
with little flecks of white foam. Lowering his gaze just a tad,
the main deck of the Sybarus came into view. There was a line of
people at the bow, each waiting their turn to lean forward over
the railing with their arms spread wide.
Lowering his gaze even further, Milton had a panoramic view
of the large, outdoor pool. It was late afternoon, and the pool
and the chairs and two open bars surrounding it were finally
starting to fill up with people. The erotic writers had partied
until the wee hours last night, and the ship had been deathly
quiet all morning.
Suddenly Milton leaned forward and adjusted his glasses. Was
he dreaming, or were some of the female passengers sunbathing
topless? Yes! And right below him, in the shallow end of the
pool, two couples were horsing around, the women perched on the
men's shoulders while shrieking and clawing at each other. As he
watched, first one bikini top and then the other was torn off,
revealing bouncing wet globes of female flesh.
Trying to move quietly and casually, Milton went over to a
wooden cabinet and took out a pair of binoculars. Then he
returned to his position and settled in to enjoy a few hours of
voyeurism before dinner.
Down by the pool, some of the writers were also enjoying the
view as they recovered from the previous night's festivities.
"Good call on inviting the cheerleaders, Bear," said DG,
taking a sip of his margarita. "They're really quite good.
Terrific entertainment." DG was a picture of relaxation, with his
long body draped along a chaise lounge. His friend Bear was next
to him, his burly form parked in a deck chair. On the deck in
front of them, five topless young women were performing spirited
cheers. They had obviously been working together for quite some
time, since every jump and every jiggle was in perfect unison.
Bear nodded. "They take their cheerleading very seriously.
I thought they would add a certain...enthusiasm to the
atmosphere."
There was a snort from a nearby chair, and Taria said "Five
half-naked college girls cavorting under your noses - you guys
must be in heaven. Are we going to do anything on this cruise
besides drink, ogle each other, and have sex?" There was a hint
of a smile on the corner of her mouth, which took the sting from
her words.
"Sorry if we're not providing enough intellectual
stimulation, Professor," said DG lazily. "I happen to be enjoying
myself thoroughly."
"Me too," said Bear. He finished his Mountain Dew and then
crushed the can in his huge paw. "But that reminds me, there's a
printed agenda for the workshop. Maybe we should check it out."
He unfolded a sheet of paper and shifted his body to let some
shade fall on it. "Let's see...Day One, that's today. Eight am -
coffee and donuts in the conference room, introductory speech by
Lord Malinov."
DG and Taria laughed. "It's four in the afternoon," said
Taria. "I guess we've missed some stuff."
"At eight am Malinov was introducing his stomach contents to
the Pacific Ocean," said DG. "What else did we miss?"
Bear read on: "Eight thirty - The Role of the Point of View
in Drawing the Reader into the Story, an open discussion moderated
by Antaeus Feldspar and Greybeard. Nine am - The Rules of
Grammar, a lecture by Eric Skilton."
"Ouch - that sounds pretty brutal for the first thing in the
morning," said DG.
"Nine-thirty: Reviewing Stories - Should The Reviewer's
Personal Preference Affect the Rating? Discussion to be moderated
by Bronwen and Vickie Tern."
"Yowza," said DG. "Hope they had some riot police on hand."
"Eleven am: Mat Twassel will read his latest work, a series
of erotic poems based on the Koran."
"Cool!" said Taria.
"At eleven forty-five, Kim will issue a heartfelt apology to
the group, on a topic to be determined later," continued Bear.
"There's a lunch break at noon, and then at one pm...this looks
interesting - the writer Imma Scared will stage a live theater
performance reenacting her fantasy of being raped by several large
bald men. Follically challenged men in the audience are
encouraged to participate."
"Sounds like just the thing to wake people up after lunch,"
said Taria.
"Uh-oh," said Bear. "Better listen to the next one. Two pm
- Culturally Relevant Erotica - Introducing Literary Elements
into Erotic Storytelling, a lecture by Taria."
"Shit!" said Taria. She grabbed the sheet from the Bear and
stared at it. "Double shit! I missed my lecture!"
"Taria's in troooouble," crooned DG in a mocking falsetto.
"I worked on that lecture for days!" cried Taria, slapping
her forehead. "I have detailed notes, overhead slides, I even
brought my laser pointer! Damn Malinov and his stupid jello
shots."
The commotion woke up the writer Sandman from his nap.
Normally an outgoing fellow, he was looking a bit morose and hung
over. "What's going on?" he asked blearily, squinting against the
bright sun. "Can't a guy get a little sleep?"
"Taria blew off her lecture."
"Oh, didn't you hear? All the stuff scheduled for today was
moved to tomorrow. Nobody was in any shape for a workshop this
morning." Sandman put a towel over his unshaven face and went
back to sleep.
"Thank God," said Taria. She noticed that Bear and DG were
elbowing each other and laughing. "Hey! You guys knew that all
along didn't you?"
"Sorry about that," said Bear. "It was DG's idea."
Taria, good sport that she was, laughed and looked back down
at the schedule. "Let's see what else is on the agenda...wow, all
sorts of good stuff. Uther Pendragon is going to present and
defend his latest list of story codes at three, then at four LEo M
is going to present his proposed changes to the U.S. copywright
laws."
"Lord have mercy," said Bear. "That should generate some
discussion."
"Oh, and this should be educational - at five Eli-the-Bearded
is going to speak on the subject of hard drive repair and
maintainence. After that we go to dinner."
DG shook his head. "Sounds like an awfully full day
tomorrow. When am I supposed to have sex with Cindy?"
"Don't be crude," said Taria. "It doesn't even end there.
After dinner, Celeste is going to lead a seance. Oh, neat! We're
going to sit around a table, hold hands, and try to contact Mike
Hunt."
"Woo woo!" said DG, perking up. "Now you're talking."
"That's Mike, space, Hunt, you moron," replied Taria, as Bear
cracked up. "No one has heard from him in months."
"Oh...sorry."
Back up on the bridge, the famous erotic writer Mark Aster
knocked on the doorway and asked politely if he might look around.
As always, Mark was accompanied by the beautiful Allen sisters,
Pat and Julie. All three of them were dressed for dinner; Aster
in an elegant tuxedo and the ladies in stunning evening gowns.
Naturally, the request was quickly granted by the young second
officer. Even Milton was able to tear himself away from his
binoculars when Julie pressed up against him, cooing that she
loved a man in uniform.
The only crew member who was annoyed by the interruption was
Farnsworth, the navigator. His problems with the guidance system
were, if anything, getting worse. Mark Aster and Pat Allen sidled
up behind him and watched curiously as he punched a series of
commands into his computer and then sat back, glaring at the
screen and tugging on his scraggly beard. The screen blinked a
few times, then flashed: "Please input current position."
"If I knew where the fuck we were, I wouldn't need a fucking
computer guidance sys-" Farnsworth broke off when he saw Mark and
Pat.
"How's it going?" asked Mark, raising an eyebrow.
"Fine, fine..." Farnsworth glanced up at them with a forced
smile and then buried his nose in a thick technical manual.
Pat elbowed Mark discretely and nodded towards a large map on
the wall above the navigator's head. Three dotted lines started
together on the west coast of Mexico and then diverged rapidly out
into the Pacific. Near the end of each dotted line were several
crosses and question marks, many of them erased or crossed out.
"So..." began Mark cheerfully. "Which course is it, then?"
Farnsworth gave him a fierce look, then followed his gaze to
the map, which he stared at as if seeing it for the first time.
"The one in the middle," he said, in a voice that brooked no
further discussion.
"Ah."
Mark and Pat glanced at each other, then Pat moved a little
closer and slipped her hand into his.
"I'm sure everything is fine, darling," whispered Mark.
"Shall we go to dinner?"
Before Pat could answer, there was a shout and the sounds of
a scuffle. Then Kim ran onto the bridge, holding an open bottle
of champagne and wearing only the bottom half of a bikini.
"Iceberg, dead ahead!" she shouted gleefully. "We're all going
down!"
Milton jerked his head around so suddenly that his glasses
slid off his nose and fell to the floor. "Hard to port!" he
shrieked. "Full reverse!"
He dropped to his knees and felt around for his glasses.
The second officer was frozen with indecision. On the one
hand, he could see perfectly well that there were no icebergs in
sight, and besides that the drunk, half-naked woman was obviously
joking. On the other hand, an order was an order. He yanked the
throttle all the way back to full reverse and spun the wheel hard
to port. The Sybarus shuddered gently and then heeled over to the
right, causing everyone on the ship to stagger and grab onto
something. On the main deck, many of the male writers chose
cheerleaders to grab onto.
Far below them in an empty cabin, number 341 to be exact, a
still-lit floor lamp rocked back and forth and finally tipped
over, landing with the halogen bulb resting on an untidy pile of
female underthings.
On the bridge, Kim was sprawled awkwardly on the deck in a
puddle of champagne. "Hey, what's the deal, it was just a joke!"
she said. She got to her feet and scurried off the bridge.
"That was certainly uncalled for," said Aster, helping Pat to
her feet. "Now I know why they scheduled her apology ahead of
time."
Julie Allen found Milton's glasses and handed them over. The
first officer put them on and stared angrily out of the windows,
breathing heavily.
"All right," he said finally. "Nobody panic."
There was a moment of silence, as no one chose to point out
that Milton himself had been the only one to panic.
"Resume forward speed, and previous heading."
"Yes sir," said the pale second officer." The ship shuddered
and heeled to the left, more gently this time, and then
straightened out.
Realizing that everyone was staring at him, Milton flushed
and barked out "Farnsworth!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you have our current course and position worked out yet?"
"Not quite."
"Then I suggest you remain at your station until you do.
Everyone else, let's go to dinner. Farnsworth obviously needs to
concentrate."
"Whatever you say, you lard-assed, four-eyed, momma's boy,"
muttered Farnsworth under his breath.
The dining room of the S.S. Sybarus was easily the ship's
best feature. No expense had been spared on the decor or on the
food itself. For the first hour or so after the doors opened for
dinner, the only sounds in the large, wood-paneled room were the
tinkling of silverware against fine china and the muted smacks and
slurps of underpaid writers taking full advantage of the bountiful
buffet.
After everyone had loaded up their plates for the second
time, the elegant room began to fill with the pleasant babble of
conversation. Above the tables, graceful manners and sparkling
repartee were the rule. Underneath, conveniently shielded by the
heavy linen tablecloths, the social interaction was more
primitive. Hands were held and squeezed, stockinged feet rubbed
against calves, and more than one lucky passenger had someone
else's busy foot wedged between their legs.
If the passengers had known what was happening in cabin 341,
the mood would not have been so gay. The white-hot halogen bulb
had ignited the underwear on which it rested, and the fire had
spread to the carpet. Thick, acrid smoke filled the small room
and drifted underneath the door into the hallway.
First Officer Milton, taking full advantage of Captain
Hazelwood's continued absence, was sitting at the head of the
Captain's table. Since the captain of a ship traditionally
chooses his dining companions, there was a preponderance of
beautiful, vivacious women at his table. To his credit, Milton
had completely recovered from the embarrassing incident on the
bridge. At the moment, he was telling a war story that he had
heard from one of his Navy friends, substituting himself as the
hero.
"...so there I was, clinging to the conning tower of the
German submarine, armed with only my Bowie knife and a couple of
concussion grenades, losing blood at an alarming rate..."
His guests were starting to wonder how Milton could possibly
finish the ridiculous story with a straight face, when the room
was suddenly filled with an obnoxious clanging sound.
"What is that?" shouted Taria, her hands over her ears.
"The fire alarm," shouted Milton. "Probably just a drill.
Let's ignore it for a while, see if it stops."
"If it was a drill, wouldn't you know about it?"
Milton thought this over for a few seconds. "Maybe you're
right." He got up and headed for the door, and the rest of the
officers and crew members followed his lead. After a few minutes
the fire alarm stopped, and the passengers filled the sudden
silence with nervous speculation. When the crew members didn't
reappear, the mood became increasingly tense.
Finally there was an announcement over the ship's
loudspeaker:
"Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please.
There is a small fire on the lower deck. Please remain calm -
everything is under control, and there is absolutely nothing to
worry about. We apologize for the inconvenience. Enjoy the rest
of your dinner."
There was a smattering of relieved laughter, and the tension
in the dining room eased somewhat. Several erotic writers headed
for the dessert buffet, and the sharper wits on board began making
jokes at ValuShip's expense.
A short time later there was a second loudspeaker
announcement:
"Ladies and gentlemen...very sorry to bother you again. If
anyone has seen a fire extinguisher anywhere, please let us know
right away. I repeat, if anyone has seen any sort of fire
extinguishing device anywhere on the ship, please notify a crew
member immediately. Thank you for your cooperation, and once
again there is absolutely nothing to worry about."
There was a stunned silence. At that very moment, with
unfortunate timing, the first wisps of smoke drifted into the
dining room.
"Fire!" shouted a few people near the door.
Pandemonium broke out. There was a mad rush for the exits,
as everyone headed for the relative safety of the outside deck.
It was a clear, moonlit night, and the passengers found themselves
under a gorgeous canopy of stars. First Officer Milton had given
the order to stop all engines, and the Sybarus lay motionless on
the calm ocean. Everyone could smell the faint odor of smoke,
however, and the passengers were still extremely worried.
"The lifeboats!" shouted someone. "We need to launch the
lifeboats!"
"Women and children first!" screamed some women and children.
A few industrious men began turning the cranks that lowered
the lifeboats down to the water. This seemed like such a useful,
manly thing to do that almost immediately each lifeboat station
had a cluster of men gathered around it working the cranks. A
calm analysis of the situation would have shown that the there was
enough room in the boats to hold all of the passengers several
times over. However, calm analysis was in short supply.
A few passengers, many of them erotic writers who had seen
the movie "Titanic" more than once, began leaping off the side and
swimming for the boats. Naturally no one wanted to be left
behind, and so this triggered a lemming-like exodus. Before long,
most of the passengers were treading water in the milk-warm
Pacific, looking for the nearest lifeboat.
Once everyone was in the boats, there was some discussion
that perhaps they had been a little too hasty. The smoke didn't
seem to be getting any thicker, and the towering, brightly-lit
Sybarus, despite its faults, began looking like a much more
sensible place to be than a small, open boat.
All alone on the bridge, Farnsworth was typing commands into
the navigation computer with a savage gleam in his eyes. In a
conflict that was, at least on his side, getting rather personal,
he sensed that he was finally gaining the upper hand.
"I've got you now, you cocksucking heap of silicon," he
growled.
He stabbed his finger down on the "Enter" key, and waited
impatiently for the computer to respond.
"Calculating current position..." appeared on the screen.
"Yes!" hissed Farnsworth gleefully.
"Adjusting parameters for preprogrammed course..."
Farnsworth jumped out of his chair and did a little jig.
The navigation computer, which was really quite
sophisticated, determined that the Sybarus was hundreds of miles
off course, and that she was motionless when she should really be
moving along under full steam. Several electronic commands were
sent out, and there was a grumbling, muted roar as the engines
started up. The giant ship began to move, slowly at first, and
then faster and faster towards her top speed.
"Well all-fucking-right," said Farnsworth, with quiet
satisfaction.
Back in the lifeboats, the mood was rather more grim, as the
passengers watched the lights of the Sybarus grow smaller and
dimmer and then finally wink out.
Day 3
The sun pushed its way up over the horizon, illuminating a
motley flotilla of small boats floating aimlessly on the calm,
desolate ocean. In the bow of one of the boats, Lord Malinov woke
from a restless sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, and then
carefully surveyed all 360 degrees of horizon. Nothing.
"I should have gone with Carnival," he said with a sigh.
He turned his gaze to the lifeboats. Most of them were quiet
and still, but two or three were rocking gently and rhythmically,
and a waft of breeze brought a faint cry of pleasure to his ears.
"Ah, the resiliency of the Human Spirit," he mused, deeply
moved.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, the passengers awoke one
by one and learned of their grim plight. When it seemed that
everyone had come to terms with the situation, Malinov stood up
and began to speak, his strong voice carrying well over the water:
"Comrades...I know things look pretty grim right now, and a
lot of you folks are pretty down. If you'll all bear with me for
a minute, I'd like to tell you a story, about an old buddy of mine
named Bob Ball. Bob was the best friend a man could ever hope to
have, and he was a hell of soldier, too. But one day while he was
out on patrol, Bob took a bullet in the chest. The doctors told
me it was pretty bad..."
In one of the other boats, Bear and DG turned back to the map
spread out on the seat in front of them.
"According to Mark Aster, things were pretty confused up on
the bridge," said Bear. "He said it looked like the ship was way
off course."
"In that case, we can't count on being rescued any time
soon," said DG. "We need to start heading for land."
Bear shook his head. "We'll never make it back to the
mainland. And unless we can figure out our exact position,
there's no way to head for an island." He waved at a huge blue
area on the map. "We could be anywhere in here."
"...when things look bad, and the guys are really up against
it, tell them to get back out there and win one for the Baller,"
finished Malinov.
In the ensuing silence, DG stood up and said "Does anyone
have any idea what our position is?"
From the confused muttering and grumbling, it appeared not.
"DG, honey?" It was Cindy, DG's wife.
"Yes?"
"I was going to tell you this later, while we having really
great sex, but..." She took a small black device out of her
purse. "I bought this at the gift shop before we left. It's a
global positioning device."
"What!" said DG. "Those things cost a fortune!"
"It was on sale. Since you hate asking for directions, I
thought it would come in handy when we get lost."
"Like now, for instance," said Bear. He took the device and
switched it on. A few seconds later it beeped, and their position
appeared on the readout.
"Guess what everyone," roared Bear. "We now know our exact
position! 120 degrees 13 minutes west, by 24 degrees 3 minutes
north.
"Who gives a crap?" said Kim, who was nursing a wicked
hangover.
A strange look appeared on Malinov's face. "That
position...it sounds oddly familiar." He snapped his fingers.
"I've got it!"
He rose to his feet again, and said "Fellow wordsmiths...as
fate would have it, I own a small island not far south of our
current position!"
Wild cheering broke out at this incredible news. When it
finally died down, Malinov continued: "If we break out the oars
and pull like heroes, we should reach the sun-kissed shores of
Malinov Island within, oh, a week or so."
There was a moment of silence. "A week?" said several people
at once.
Malinov laughed. "Suckers! No, it shouldn't take more than
a few hours."
The oars were quickly fitted into the oarlocks, and the
castaways took turns at the backbreaking task of propelling the
boats southward. Just after noon, when the blazing sun was at its
most merciless and spirits were starting to falter, land was
finally spotted on the southern horizon.
As the island slowly drew closer, those who were not rowing
examined it closely. The island was not large, perhaps five miles
across, and was banded by an inviting white ring of sand. The
dark green color of the interior suggested significant vegetation
and therefore a source of fresh water.
"Tell us of Malinov Island!" shouted someone.
Malinov shook his head. "The island has been in my family
for generations, but I myself have never set foot on it. My
information is based on stories passed down to me, and on an old,
yellowed map in the basement of Castle Malinov, which may be
inaccurate. The island is roughly round, with a sheltered cove on
the northern side from which we are approaching. The interior is
rugged and hilly, with thick, tropical jungle in the low-lying
regions. It is uninhabited, as far as I know. In fact, I don't
believe the island has ever been fully explored."
With this tantalizingly vague information fresh in their
minds, the castaways passed through the narrow entrance to the
cove, and Malinov Island welcomed them into its embrace. They
were surrounded on three sides by a pristine white beach, behind
which they could see palm trees and then a dense wall of tangled
vegetation. Looking down through the shallow, crystal-clear
water, they could see schools of colorful fish and odd coral
formations.
One by one, the sturdy lifeboats hissed up onto the beach,
and the marooned passengers from the S.S. Sybarus leapt out and
joyfully kissed the soft white sand.
The End, "A Cruise to Remember"
©1998 by DG. All rights reserved.
Author's notes
1) As always, I'd enjoy hearing what you thought of the
story - my email is dionysian1@hotmail.com.
2) Thanks to Baird Allen, I have a nice web page with all my
stories on it. Please drop by and check it out some time:
http://baird.pair.com/dg.htm