Shangri-la

Chapter One

From the window he had a broad view of the city with the sun reflecting off the silvery waters of the semi-circular bay below to the gray ramparts of the wall high on the hill enclosing the community.

Between these barriers were the houses, towers in reality because nobody was allowed to occupy low-rise. Their height, standing tightly together like building bricks on end, created gloomy canyons into which the sun never penetrated so narrow were the walkways between. To develop a tan you went up onto the flat water-collecting rooftop or out to the breakwater around the bay.

Adam couldn’t see the port, tucked below the high-rise to his left, but he knew Survivor II was moored at the main wharf and would sail this evening punctually at six with or without him.

He was about to resume packing when there was a tentative knock upon the door of his bed-sit: no more than a room with a bed, a table, two chairs and a small shower recess. No kitchen, he ate at any of the restaurants on the ground floors of the tower blocks.

I haven’t heard anything, Mr. Simon, his neighbour Mrs. Branson said apologetically when he responded. I thought you might have?

The Branson’s lived comfortably next door in a two bedroom apartment with a sitting room and a bathroom. They had two children, a girl and a boy and therein lay the problem. Unmarried at eighteen and seventeen they were too old to be sharing a bedroom.

Plump matronly Ruth Branson might once have hoped Adam would have been interested in Fiona, a tall not unattractive girl with long legs and firm breasts. In his early thirties he found her too young and with a teenager’s obsession with old pop music probably nothing in common.

If her mother was disappointed she also was flexible, so that when Adam’s bed-sit became available due to his good fortune, she moved from chasing the man to chasing his vacated accommodation for her pubescent daughter.

No, sorry Mrs. Branson, he replied as kindly as he could, wondering why she thought he’d know anyway, and then decided to voice the thought: It’s up to the body corporate, as you know.

Indeed, Mr. Simon, I just thought …

I have no say in the matter, he said firmly and walked back to his packing.

There wasn’t much to take and what there was easily fitted into the family suitcase. Bulky items like the

radio-record player would have to be abandoned. Space was at a premium and he guessed the ship would have its own information-entertainment system.

For what was the umpteenth time he checked his wallet. Not for the money, which didn’t amount to much and wasn’t needed anyway because everything was paid for, but the medical and security clearance papers, the new 21st century passport, without which you couldn’t travel anywhere.

You’ll visit us when you’re back here? Mrs. Branson still stood at the open door.

The plea in her voice was painful and he reacted gently, assuring her he would do so, adding: Would you or perhaps Fiona like the player?

We’ve no room, she explained.I don’t suppose you will have either where you’re going?

I doubt it, Mrs. Branson. Anyway, I can’t transport it. This suitcase will be unmanageable enough.

How long will it take you?

To the port? About an hour, I’d reckon. We’re quite high up here but at least it’s downhill.

However the streets were narrow and would be crowded with workers walking home. He’d be wise

to leave before the evening rush hour.

You’ve got everything? Motherly and then: Do you know what your cabin’s like?

No idea.

Gordon had read his grandfather’s will a week ago aboard his sailboat office-home as it rocked gently at berth in the marina. The ship had not yet arrived for its fuel, water and stores take-up so there was no way of checking out the words of the solicitor. Words which bequeathed the old man’s accommodation upon Survivor II to his grandson and heir whom he had never met.

Subsequently there’d been no time to inspect either. The ship docked for only two days and the entire week had been taken up transferring the cabin’s ownership to Adam and obtaining the essential documents which confirmed he was not diseased, disabled or even suffering from the common cold. Of equal importance, he was not a security risk in league with pirates or TOW’s.

* * * * *

Chapter Two

He was glad he’d allowed plenty of time to reach the port. The steep walk down had been difficult, dodging people and trying to control the maverick suitcase which either raced ahead of him and his attempts to slow the runaway or impatiently bumped him from behind when he took to dragging it.

Obviously with no cars there were no taxis so although the sun was only warm Adam arrived at the wharf gates wet from perspiration and sorry he’d packed his other handkerchiefs. His appearance did nothing to improve his reception from the police at the gate’s checkpoint.

Papers! snapped the sergeant behind the desk, eying the dishevelled man perhaps suspicious his condition was caused by fear rather than his exertions getting here.

Adam stood silent while the woman compared his photograph with his face. Younger, her bulging stomach might have announced a pregnancy, now the face wrinkles and double chins revealed middle-age, probably menopause, and deep distrust.

He understood the policewoman. Since his windfall had become public even among the limited circle of friends and bureaucrats in on the information he had noticed this reaction. How could someone single obtain such a coveted berth? Surely there was something questionable?

Either that suspicion or plain simple envy.

Boarding pass.

I’m getting on.

This interested her. Clearly people did disembark at some ports to see friends like the Branson’s or perhaps to buy something or seek medical or dental treatment not available aboard. To forestall further questions Adam explained his unusual circumstances.

The sergeant’s response was to pull a telephone toward her, turning her back as she did so. The two male constables watched him impassively.

Adam heard a grunt then the woman turned back to him. You can go through, she said, glumly he thought.

The ship was further down the otherwise empty pier and moored stern first. Opposite was a long low building he guessed once was used for storing cargo. Its large sliding doors were locked and the rust on the iron clamps holding them together suggested this had been the situation for some time.

The dirty white vessel grew larger and revealed more intimate details of itself as he drew nearer. Balconies ran along five decks above two lines of portholes with the top two decks enclosed at the stern, those below open. There seemed nobody about until he saw people looking down at the quay where loading was taking place from a couple of flat-topped trolleys pulled by a tractor.

He was approaching a gangway leading up at a 45 degree angle to a higher deck when the sun’s rays shone brightly on something in between. It was a wire cage: extra security before boarding, this time manned by some of the ship’s crew.

Mr. Simon? said an officer with gold braid on the epaulets of his summer uniform. A telephone similar to that at the police post sat on a small table.

We’ve been expecting you, the man confirmed, glancing through Adam’s papers.Purser wants to see you. Ask for him when you get to the head of the gangway.

Nobody helped him with his suitcase until he arrived on deck and a sailor wordlessly took over and led him inside the ship and down a wide staircase to a foyer.

Mr. Simon to see the purser, the young man told the woman behind a scratched polished curved counter, just as Adam was beginning to wonder if his

request made upstairs had been heard.

Small, glasses, hair in a bun, the receptionist turned away and went through an open door set into the wall behind the counter. Very soon afterwards a tall thin man wearing whites and with a shock of red hair appeared from Adam’s left.

I’m Fleming, come inside. Your baggage will be taken to your cabin.

The purser’s office was small and the man himself of tidy habits. Two desk trays, a telephone probably for internal communication and a large planning map upon the wall beside two four-drawer filing cabinets.

Welcome aboard, Fleming said after Adam sat down.You’re a fortunate man. May I see your papers, please?

To be coming with you, you mean? Adam asked as the officer efficiently checked through the documentation.

Precisely. Your grandfather, wasn’t it, has been very generous.

There was nobody else to inherit, his parents were both dead in an unexplained accident, nevertheless he was fortunate.

We don’t get many passengers of your age - they

don’t have the money, Adam interpreted - they’re much older. I trust you’ll find living on Survivor Two to your liking.

I’m sure I will.

Fleming looked at him sceptically.

I hope so. This is not a cruise, Mr. Simon. It’s home to about twelve hundred people, as diverse in attitude and behaviour as you’d find in any society. We’re a smaller version of the gated communities existing ashore. The one common denominator aboard is our guests have money to buy more space.

There’s no television, of course, but there are deck competitions and sports. When we visit a port you can go ashore, although very few do - Adam recalled the empty wharf - the library, well, we do our best but new books are rare. Most people make their own amusement. Your cabin steward will give you information about meals - taken in your cabin, by the way - and will answer any detailed questions you might have.

There’s no dining room?

No. Would you want to eat with the same people day after day, Mr. Simon? As I said, it’s not a cruise. Now, is there anything further?

Adam wanted to ask what had happened to his

grandfather of whom he knew so little. How did he die and how did he end up on this floating suburb for the last years of his life? Instead he asked for his documents.

We keep them, the purser explained and called Rebecca, the receptionist, to take charge of the papers. Perhaps he caught something in Adam’s gaze as the woman left the office because Fleming added: Leave the crew, both sexes, alone. Most are spoken for one way or another an’ accidents have happened.

My grandfather how did he –

Your grandfather died of old age.

What happened to the -

Buried at sea, what else?

Indeed. There wasn’t an alternative. Land cemeteries didn’t exist anymore, no room, and nobody would risk going into TOW territory to dig a grave.

We’re always followed by sharks, Fleming explained without embarrassment. There’s no other way of disposing of the dead. Fortunately even without shrouds or ballast - neither of which we have in quantity - there’s only but always the eternal sea.

And the sharks, thought Adam, wondering if it was

the dead alone which fed their voracious appetite.

Fleming stood and extended his hand.

Rebecca will arrange for you to be taken to your accommodation. Again, welcome aboard!

* * * * *

Chapter Three

His cabin, portside, slightly aft of mid-ships on B deck below the presumably superior A deck accommodation was more accurately a suite: bedroom, sitting room and bathroom with shower and toilet. The sitting room with a round table and two chairs looked out onto a balcony also furnished with two wooden seats which could be ratcheted back to what airlines once called a flat bed. These days you could scan the skies forever without seeing either.

You phone thirty minutes before you want your meal, the young woman explained. The menu’s delivered by me the night before for the next day when I come to turn down your bed.

She’d been waiting with his suitcase in the cabin and seemed incurious why a relatively young man should be the sole occupant of space which was generous by current Australian land standards. Even Adam initially was surprised before remembering Survivor II had been a luxury cruise liner sailing the world.

You can have guests for dinner, she added and, with a nod to the two chairs, buffets are popular.

Evie, as her name-tag upon a firm bosom identified, was about twenty-eight maybe thirty. Tall, with long corn coloured hair, she looked smart in her stewardess outfit, although having always been attracted to women in uniform Adam thought he might be biased. The flat shoes did nothing for her legs, giving them a stunted truncated-at-the-ankles appearance, while the high neckline seemed a waste upon such a well-built body. However, he remembered Purser Fleming’s caution when he noticed the wedding ring.

How long have you been aboard? he asked. If she was looking after him they might as well be friendly.

Two months now, she replied, unpacking his suitcase but placing its contents on the bed for him to stow away.

Your husband aboard too? With an acknowledging glance at the ring hand.

He’s in the engine room, she confirmed and on call the ship gave a slight shudder.

We’re away, he observed, glancing through the glass doors past the balcony to below where a growing gap separated the ship from shore. There were