Shipbuilder (41 page)

Chapter 43

April–May, 1912

Subpoenas awaited the crew and guarantee group at Liverpool, and that meant traveling to London rather than the homes they had been longing for. Many passengers were suing, and the Americans had already begun an inquiry; Britain dared not lag behind. Although the ship was owned by an American company, most of the crew was British. The Wreck Commission was convened immediately, and presided over by Lord Mersey, whose first order of business was to obtain witnesses.

Captain Smith, bridge crew, Bruce Ismay, and the guarantee group, were required immediately. Lord Pirrie, already in London and still in poor health, would no doubt be required to testify at some point.

 I cannot tell you what it means to have the pictures you sent with Ham,
Tom wrote to Casey, as he rode the train to London.
He gave me your package right away and I have devoured it, feeling as if I am starving. The photograph is my constant companion; I must look at it a hundred times a day. To see your precious smiles, the three of you blowing kisses–Casey, how do you think of these things? How do you understand so clearly what my heart needs?

I worry that my little Terry will not even remember me, that when I come home, I'll be a stranger to her. If I am, then I will simply try every day to help her remember. When you write that she sleeps with my shirt and my picture held in her arms, I sit in wonder. How can she understand? But you say it helps her and I know you remind her always how much I love her. Do you know that you are the glue that makes the whole world stay together?

I have Jamie's drawing in my pocket. I am a father drifting loose, but these gifts are like an anchor. I hold them and look at them often, hearing their voices and seeing them in my mind. I can picture Jamie sitting at his desk, drawing his picture, his tongue poking out as he concentrates. He is always so intense when he draws, so careful. I can tell that he actually wrote the message. I’m sure you helped him spell it, but to see the letters in his own hand makes me nearly burst. You see how silly I am? All children learn this, yet I am overcome.  

Casey, I feel so furious, so bitter. All I want is be with you, to hold you and hold our children, and to just be home. I feel that I have reached some limit, that duty no longer holds me under its sway. I am not myself, dear, and that worries me. Have I lost that part of me that holds honor as precious? Have I become selfish and shallow, feeling that I have given all I can, and having it refused, I have nothing more to offer?

I know they need answers. People died. Others lost money and valuables. Some of them lost everything they had. And I remind myself that we have accomplished only half of our goal. It is not enough that we saved most of the lives. The rules must change. People must change and learn that all our lives are precious. These hearings are a necessary part of that, and until I have finished all my part, I cannot rest. So I will set myself to get through this, to get it done and then return to Dunallon, and my heart’s desire as quickly as possible.

I beg you, continue to write. Send me all the little things you can think of. Hold me to the earth a little longer, Casey, and then I will be home and can hold you myself.

I love you,

Tom

~~~

He was in London for two weeks, and had to testify for five days. His first session lasted nearly all day, with questions about the ship's design and construction. He had to explain nomenclature, how to read a blueprint, nautical measurements. It went on and on. And then he'd have to explain it again when someone else stepped up to question him. Tom had always been told he was a patient man, but this was beyond his capacity. Before the first day was over, he was convinced they weren't looking for true answers. Rather, they wanted a particular answer to support their own agendas.

He wanted nothing to do with a whitewash. He did not expect Harland & Wolff to accept accusations of building an inadequate ship. At most, Lord Pirrie was guilty of short-sightedness for rejecting Tom's own scenarios for accidents. But that was for Lord Pirrie to answer, and Tom would not let them trick him into accusations. He explained the designs, he explained how construction proceeded from the designs. In this, he had many supporters. The workforce of Harland & Wolff was held in the highest regard by the shipping industry. The commission would not be able to blame the firm for shoddy workmanship.

He was asked to explain the damage to the ship and the reasons for his prognosis. They spent several hours having him explain why he made no effort to repair the damage, but none of them seemed satisfied with his answers. What would they have wanted him to do? He couldn't understand them by this point–he was tired and depressed with describing the injuries to his ship.
Good Lord, did they actually think that he would not have done everything possible to save her? That he uncaringly let her die?

They finally let him go as they adjourned for the day, but then he had to work his way through the reporters. He had been told to not discuss the collision with them, and could only tell them he was very tired and needed to rest. This was the truth, and they let him go after a few minutes.

After Tom had testified for two days, they put Captain Smith on the stand. He testified all that day. He touched on Tom's actions during the evening of the fourteenth, including their conversation on the boat deck, but he left out any mention of a "premonition." Tom realized this was probably wise. Another experienced sailor might understand about premonitions and the feeling of pending disaster one could get while at sea, but this commission would not understand, and the reporters would create a sensation with it. They would never live it down.

So when they put him back on the stand and had him describe his actions that night, he also left out that part. He was relieved to do so, since he knew it was no premonition he had, but actual foreknowledge. How could he ever tell them that?

Before letting him go, in the middle of his second week there, they asked him what could have been done differently. He was desperate for good to come of this, and he spoke earnestly.

 "Differently? I am on record as asking for a double hull and for higher watertight bulkheads. I fought hard for the number of lifeboats we had, and you all know that number greatly exceeded the requirements in place.

"What do we need to do differently? Sirs, we need to grow up. As industrialists, as traders, as businessmen, we need to act like adults. I have children, sirs, as do many of you. Children do not understand danger. They plunge ahead without regard for their environment because they don't know any better. But we do know the dangers. We have no right to build bigger and bigger ships that carry more and more people, without also putting in place the protections we know are needed. We need to change the rules. We need safer ships."

They let him go home then, although they warned him he might have to return for further questioning. The rest of the guarantee group had been allowed to leave after the first week. He booked his passage and sent a telegram to Casey telling her when he would be home. He had stayed with the Pirries of course, and his last evening in London, he shared a meal with his uncle, who was confined to bed, unless needed to actually testify. They had talked often during the week, and Lord Pirrie was philosophical about the commission's possible verdict.

"I've no doubt they'll put some blame on White Star and possibly myself, since we chose not to heed all of your warnings, son," Lord Pirrie told him. "I expect that poor Captain Smith will take the brunt. But when it comes down to the finish, the real blame will rest with the Board of Trade and the shipping industry as a whole. Your final speech to them was right on mark, Tommy. Already, every line has added more lifeboats to their ships. Bruce plans on sending the
Olympic
and other ships back to the yard to be fitted with a second skin, and certainly the
Britannic
will be built with it. You'll have to handle that, Tommy. It will be a huge job. There are other rules to be changed as well. It will all happen, son. I'm sure of it."

"It's a start, Uncle Will." Tom moved his uncle's empty tray to the bedside table and stretched the kinks out of his back.

His uncle watched him with concern. Tom seemed to look much older than his thirty-nine years. Lines etched around his mouth, the skin around his eyes puffy and drooping, new gray speckled his hair. He was subdued, somehow, as if the joy he usually carried with him had been misplaced. Perhaps he just needed more time to put this all behind him. It would do him good to get home, too.

Lord Pirrie reached for Tom's hand and patted it. "There's a lot to do, lad, but take some time when you get home. I imagine your wife has been through hell these last few weeks. She's a good girl, Tommy. Take care of her for awhile."

Tom's soft smile touched his eyes as he returned the hand pat. "I'll do that, Uncle Will. You follow your doctor's orders and get better, all right? I'll take care of things at the yard."

Chapter 44

May 1915

Tom watched as George signed off on the final paper turning the
Britannic
over to White Star Line. She was every bit as beautiful as her sisters had been. George was confident she would perform well. Despite the
Titanic
tragedy, he was looking forward to heading the guarantee group on this voyage. Handing Tom copies of the reports, he raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Sure you don't want to come along?" he asked, only half joking. "We could use your expertise."

Tom laughed a little, holding up both hands as if to ward him off. "Now you know my wife would have my head if I left on that ship. Not only that, I honestly don't want to go." He reached over to shake George's hand. "She's as safe as we can make her, George. The workers are confident, but even more, I think the world is confident about that. No other ship has been watched as closely as this one has been during her construction, yet she's going off with nearly every berth full."

"They must think we did something right," George agreed, "thanks to all the rule changes since the inquiry. Listen, I appreciate you looking in on Susan while I'm gone. I know you and Casey can understand her nervousness."

"Indeed we do. We'll have her and the children over as often as they want to come. We'll keep her occupied."

The "all ashore!" whistle blew and Tom gathered his papers. "Good voyage, George."

"Thanks, mate. See you soon."

Tom walked down the gangway, meeting Ham at the bottom and handing off the reports. Saxon joined them, as they watched the
Britannic
make her slow way to the river and on to Southampton, before the three of them went back to their duties. Tom sent off a telegram to Lord Pirrie, informing him the ship was off without a hitch.

Back in his office, he pulled out his time travel journal and entered the information, staring thoughtfully at the page as he finished. After a few minutes, he continued writing.

So many changes. Fourteen hundred people that died in another timeline, still walk the earth, still building their dreams, because Sam and Casey chose to act. We now have shipping rules in place that reflect both the reality of the ships we build, and the dangers that nature can throw at us. World War I, as Sam and Casey call it, has been vicious, but is already contained. Sam insists the differences there are enormous. Was it because of someone on Titanic who lived instead of died?

Sam's 'inventions' have begun to appear everywhere, even among the poor. His work to harness the sun's energy is remarkable. I'm going to talk to Uncle Will about using his solar sails in the next ships we build. Sam thinks we're ready to try that. He says if this is the primary energy source for the world, the changes from his future will be astronomical. He's convinced it's a good thing, and I believe him.

We are making real progress in keeping the various factions of Ireland talking to each other. Despite the effort it takes, Sam and I both want to concentrate on bringing our Ireland in this timeline to a peaceful existence, without all the bloodshed that occurred before. There are no guarantees, but ever since that letter, people have been insisting we live together in peace, and they're voting like they mean it. I suspect we won't be part of the UK much longer, but once again, Sam has helped with that. Ireland is the world's technological leader, and we can deal with England from a position of strength, so breaking off will not beggar us. We can make it worthwhile for England, too.

From my point of view, these things are amazing, but I don't see the future as changed. I am just living, with life going along as it always has, except for outside knowledge from a couple of future time travelers.

Tom smiled slightly, at the joy he always felt when thinking of one particular time traveler. His pen continued to move.

I am willing to just let life be. It's good this way.

Epilogue

August 1972, Belfast

Avoiding the busy pedestrian traffic, 26-year-old Sam Altair parked in front of the house known as Dunallon, and waited a moment to gather his nerve, reflecting back over the strange invitation he'd received. He knew who Casey Andrews was, of course. Everyone in Ireland did. The widow of Thomas Andrews, the man who brought Harland & Wolff through the twentieth century with increasingly modern sailing ships, airplanes, and eventually space shuttles. He made Ireland a force in modern industry and gave her a real presence in space. The Andrews had been tireless advocates for a peaceful Ireland, and instrumental in bringing the warring factions together, even if they couldn't always keep them together. They were heroes a hundred times over. But he could not imagine what her interest was in him.

Only one way to find out. He locked the car and approached the house, looking around him at the famous garden. A the door, he was greeted by a middle-aged woman who shook his hand, informing him she was Mrs. Andrews' secretary. She guided him through the parlor and into a library at the back of the house, pausing in the doorway. "Dr. Altair is here, Ma'am."

An old woman balanced on a cane in the center of the room. She turned from her contemplation of a box of books. When she saw him, her face crinkled into what could only be described as a huge grin. She limped toward him, taking his hand and studying his face intently. Sam took the time to study her in return.

He'd seen pictures of her as he was growing up and had even seen her on a television talk show once, but he wasn't prepared for how small she was. Her hair was white, the eyes a vivid green. She was pale and wrinkled, dressed impeccably, and stood straight, supporting herself with the cane. He knew she was nearly ninety, and he was impressed with her bearing. He gripped her hand with care, afraid of hurting her, and bowed briefly. "Mrs. Andrews. How do you do?"

The smile widened. She shook her head as if amazed. "Incredible," she murmured, then gestured to the divan. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?"

He acquiesced, as the tea service was already in place. She poured, her hand shaking a bit. As he took his cup, she sat back in her chair and looked at him. "This will all be very strange to you, Sam," she said, then blinked. "Excuse me, may I call you Sam? I know it seems forward, but it will make sense, shortly."

He smiled at the old world formality and nodded, not without some confusion. "I have no objections, ma'am. I'm honored to meet you, but I don't understand what I can do for you."

Her eyes were bright, as if tears had formed in them. "I read your Ph.D. thesis."

He nearly choked on the tea. "My
thesis
? It's not even published, yet."

Her smile was enigmatic. "I have connections. I understand your hypothesis predicts time travel."

He put the cup down. "Mrs. Andrews, my work is extremely esoteric, even among physicists. What is your interest in it?"

Still that smile. "I'm going to do the same thing to you, that I did to my husband over sixty years ago. I'm going to tell you the bottom line, then we'll go back to fill in the details. I practically had to tackle Tom to keep him in the room after I told him. I'll beg a little more forbearance from you. I'm afraid my tackling days are over."

He couldn't help returning her smile, deciding she was senile and harmless. He spread his hands in submission. "Consider me glued to the chair, ma'am."

She laughed. "I'll remind you of your promise. You see, Sam, in the year 2006, you create an experiment in time travel, with unforeseen results. You end up moving yourself backwards through time to the year 1906. Along with a not very appreciative twenty-year-old American girl who had been attending school at Queens."

He thought of his hypothesis and stared at her. "I know what my hypothesis predicts, but even I don't think that's possible, Mrs. Andrews."

Her lips tightened and she gestured toward the boxes on the floor. "These journals are yours, Sam." She seemed to sense his alarm and smiled briefly. "I don't mean they were all written by you. Some of them were. Some were written by my husband, some by me. But they will be given to you, Sam. For your work."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

She picked up the loose-leaf notebook on the table in front of her. It was very old, the binding cracked and torn, its pages yellow and crumbling. She made no effort to hand it to him.

"This is the first one. I had my backpack with me when we went through time and Sam and I started keeping our notes on these pages. It was all an accident, you see. He couldn't get us back." She rubbed the binder, her expression sad. She looked up at him earnestly. "You must try to accept it, Sam. Try to understand. Read the journals. Sam and I kept a section for memories of our time. We wanted a record of what had happened in our history and of what our world was like in 2006. For comparison, you see."

He shook his head again. "Comparison with what?"

"We changed things, Sam. Some changes were inevitable, just because we existed in 1906. Some things, we changed deliberately. Other changes occurred as a result of the first changes, a domino effect. You realize we had almost no control."

"I don't believe this."

She didn't respond and he continued. "We don't know what travel backwards through time would do. Are there parallel time streams? Tangential time streams? I don't see how we can go back to the same time stream and create a loop, but maybe that's what happens. We just don't know!"

She held out a hand. "You didn't know when it happened, either. We're pretty sure we started a tangential time stream. But we don't know. That's one of things you'll have to work on. But you see," she handed him the book; he wouldn't have taken it, but it was too heavy for her and he didn't want her to hurt herself, "your older self did not want you to waste time redoing his work. He wanted you to have this information so you could begin where he left off."

He closed his eyes, hoping it would all be gone when he opened them. That didn't work, of course. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him. "Your husband was not from the future. I know about the Andrews family. Everyone does."

Her smile was soft. "No, he wasn't. Tom Andrews was born in 1873. I met him in 1906. I loved him almost at once. I didn't know who he was, but Sam did." Her gaze was direct. "I could not have just let him die, Sam. I had to warn him about his future and Sam agreed. It's the first time we deliberately tried to change something."

"Are you saying he died earlier in your history? Before 1961?" Sam struggled to keep up with the changing tenses and her confusing way of calling both him and this older self she said she knew, by the same name.

She thought about it, looking at her hands for a moment, as they rested in her lap, before looking back up at him. "Read the journals. I'm not willing to actually give them to you, yet. I'd like to request that you leave them here for now, but you are welcome to spend as much time here as you wish. You can even move in, if that would help you." She stood, her gaze piercing. "There is a foundation established to provide you with funds for this work, should you decide to pursue it. There will be rules, particularly regarding my children and their descendants. I'm not willing for them to be hurt by this. I'll give you some time, now. Please, look them over."

He stared at the notebook as she made her slow way to the door. His hypothesis predicted this, but it made no conjecture about the consequences. Nothing was in there about the people and the lives affected by time travel. Perhaps it was fitting that his own life was disrupted by this. He looked up to ask her a question, but she was gone, the door closed. His own hand shook a bit, as he reached to turn the cover of the book.