the vent hovered into view.
He saw four men, all wearing maintenance uniforms that he recognised as belonging aboard the Oceanus. Engineering staff, he thought, though he couldn't be absolutely sure. Most of the uniforms the staff aboard the ship wore were nearly identical, with only small insignias on the chest and tiny variations in colour differentiating between officers or maintenance or entertainment staff.
There was something off about the men, though, and it took Mark a few seconds to work out what it was: they all looked alike; their facial features similar enough that Mark was certain they had to be related, and were most probably brothers.
Mark didn't know all the people who worked on the ship, not even close, but he thought he would have been aware of four brothers working among the staff. It was the kind of odd detail that stuck in the mind.
What was really strange, though, was what the men were doing: the four of them were sweaty and oil-stained, and surrounded by tools that were casually strewn across the floor around their feet. Through the narrow slit in the vent, Mark saw wrenches and screwdrivers, and even something that appeared to be a welding torch. It looked like they had been hard at work on building something. That something, Mark thought, could only be the strange device that sat on the floor between them.
It was metallic, roughly the size of a large suitcase, and Mark didn't have the first idea what it was. What he did know was that despite its mechanical appearance, it was not part of the Climate Control Centre. The air conditioning unit behind the men looked untouched. Judging by the tools and the dishevelled, weary state of the four men, the strange object looked like something that they had only just constructed.
He waited a moment, until one of the men moved aside and gave him a clearer view. Mark focused on the device, and felt clammy fear grip his mind.
A large cylinder formed the bulk of the machine, surrounded by lots of exposed wiring and circuitry, wrapped in a skeletal metallic casing that looked to have been hastily welded together. It was ugly and functional; definitely not in keeping with the Oceanus. There was only one thing it could possibly be.
A bomb.
Mark hadn't seen a bomb in his life, but he'd seen plenty of them in the movies, and the exposed wires particularly brought back memories of frantic races to cut the correct wire before the timer ticked to zero and killed the star. Mark couldn't see a timer, but once he saw the wires, bomb was all he could see.
In a world gripped by fear of terrorism, there was no way to get such a device aboard a cruise ship. The days of minimal security were long gone, even on a boat that expected to play host to wealthy people who planned only to spend weeks lazing by a pool and drinking champagne.
The men had circumvented the security checks at the terminus by building the bomb once the Oceanus was at sea.
Terrorists , Mark thought dimly.
His mind raced. He carried no weapon other than the heavy flashlight, and all of the men looked physically imposing. All were surrounded by tools that could easily become weapons if the need arose.
Fighting the men was not an option, yet still it was the urge that came to Mark’s mind first, despite the fact that he had not inherited what his father called the Ledger family’s talent for violence .
His father had taught Mark never to run; never to back down from a confrontation, and that virtually any problem could be solved by swinging fists at it until it went away. But then, Mark’s father had been a violent drunkard, living on faded memories of his time as a semi-successful boxer. The only useful lesson he had ever taught Mark was how to throw a punch, but Mark could never forget the disappointment in Paul the hammer Ledger’s eyes when it became clear that learning how to step into a swing, how to drive from the hips to increase power and how to follow an uppercut with a well-timed hook
He saw four men, all wearing maintenance uniforms that he recognised as belonging aboard the Oceanus. Engineering staff, he thought, though he couldn't be absolutely sure. Most of the uniforms the staff aboard the ship wore were nearly identical, with only small insignias on the chest and tiny variations in colour differentiating between officers or maintenance or entertainment staff.
There was something off about the men, though, and it took Mark a few seconds to work out what it was: they all looked alike; their facial features similar enough that Mark was certain they had to be related, and were most probably brothers.
Mark didn't know all the people who worked on the ship, not even close, but he thought he would have been aware of four brothers working among the staff. It was the kind of odd detail that stuck in the mind.
What was really strange, though, was what the men were doing: the four of them were sweaty and oil-stained, and surrounded by tools that were casually strewn across the floor around their feet. Through the narrow slit in the vent, Mark saw wrenches and screwdrivers, and even something that appeared to be a welding torch. It looked like they had been hard at work on building something. That something, Mark thought, could only be the strange device that sat on the floor between them.
It was metallic, roughly the size of a large suitcase, and Mark didn't have the first idea what it was. What he did know was that despite its mechanical appearance, it was not part of the Climate Control Centre. The air conditioning unit behind the men looked untouched. Judging by the tools and the dishevelled, weary state of the four men, the strange object looked like something that they had only just constructed.
He waited a moment, until one of the men moved aside and gave him a clearer view. Mark focused on the device, and felt clammy fear grip his mind.
A large cylinder formed the bulk of the machine, surrounded by lots of exposed wiring and circuitry, wrapped in a skeletal metallic casing that looked to have been hastily welded together. It was ugly and functional; definitely not in keeping with the Oceanus. There was only one thing it could possibly be.
A bomb.
Mark hadn't seen a bomb in his life, but he'd seen plenty of them in the movies, and the exposed wires particularly brought back memories of frantic races to cut the correct wire before the timer ticked to zero and killed the star. Mark couldn't see a timer, but once he saw the wires, bomb was all he could see.
In a world gripped by fear of terrorism, there was no way to get such a device aboard a cruise ship. The days of minimal security were long gone, even on a boat that expected to play host to wealthy people who planned only to spend weeks lazing by a pool and drinking champagne.
The men had circumvented the security checks at the terminus by building the bomb once the Oceanus was at sea.
Terrorists , Mark thought dimly.
His mind raced. He carried no weapon other than the heavy flashlight, and all of the men looked physically imposing. All were surrounded by tools that could easily become weapons if the need arose.
Fighting the men was not an option, yet still it was the urge that came to Mark’s mind first, despite the fact that he had not inherited what his father called the Ledger family’s talent for violence .
His father had taught Mark never to run; never to back down from a confrontation, and that virtually any problem could be solved by swinging fists at it until it went away. But then, Mark’s father had been a violent drunkard, living on faded memories of his time as a semi-successful boxer. The only useful lesson he had ever taught Mark was how to throw a punch, but Mark could never forget the disappointment in Paul the hammer Ledger’s eyes when it became clear that learning how to step into a swing, how to drive from the hips to increase power and how to follow an uppercut with a well-timed hook
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