Lost Republic by Paul B. Thompson Read Free Book Online Page B

days,” Leigh said. He struggled to recall its name. “A compass?” That wasn’t right.
    â€œAn astrolabe?” Linh suggested. Leigh had no idea what an astrolabe was, but the name didn’t spark any recognition.
    â€œIt’s a sextant.”
    Everyone turned to stare at Emile. Looking rumpled and red-eyed, he was by the ship’s rail, out from under the overhang of the bridge deck.
    â€œSextant!” he repeated crossly. “For navigation!”
    Hans came down with the empty box. He was surprised at the crowd waiting for him.
    â€œWhat’s all this?”
    â€œWe were wondering what you were taking to the bridge,” Leigh said awkwardly. He couldn’t believe the weird kid knew what the instrument was, and he didn’t.
    â€œIt’s a sextant, once used on the great sailing ship
Preussen,
” Hans said. It was from his parent’s antiques inventory. The Bachmanns thought it would increase interest (and value) in the old instrument if it crossed the Atlantic on the last steam-powered cargo ship. Captain Viega was old-school enough to know how to use it. Soon enough, he was seen by the rail outside the bridge, aiming the brass sextant at the sun while a mate stood by to record his readings. At lunch, the captain appeared in the lounge to share his findings.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen! I know you’ve all been concerned since we lost communications yesterday. First, let me assure you everything on the
Carleton
is working as it should,” Viega said.
    â€œThen the problem is out there?” said a woman, pointing vaguely out to sea. “Is the world system down?”
    Viega laughed. “No, I don’t think so. Ms. Señales has found traces of the usual carrier signals, but they are too weak to reach us.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” France Martin asked.
    Viega rubbed his hands together. “Something is blocking the signals. They’re not getting through to us.”
    From the lounge door, Jenny Hopkins said, “What would cause that?”
    The captain had no answer. After a long silence, someone called out, “Sunspots?”
    Viega spread his hands wide. “Sunspots! Who knows, it could be! Be assured, my friends, that the ship is well and on its way. Thanks to young Herr Bachmann, I have been able to fix our position this morning.”
    He snapped his fingers and a waiting crewman stepped forward with an old paper chart pinned to a large sheet of cardboard. Captain Viega pushed a pin in a spot in the open sea, southwest of Ireland.
    â€œThis was our position: 49 degrees, 21 minutes, 13 seconds North by 13 degrees, 47 minutes, 55 seconds West.”
    Tension in the room seemed to evaporate like dew on a hot morning. They were not lost. The tiny pin in the map was reassuring. It gave them a place to identify and understand.
    Not everyone was comforted. Eleanor Quarrel tucked her hands into her armpits. A red pin on a paper map? She shuddered.
    Standing close by, Jenny saw her and said, “It’s all right. We’re not lost. It’s the Atlantic! There must be hundreds of ships nearby!”
    â€œYes, hundreds,” Eleanor said. “Are their electronics jammed, too? Maybe next time we see a ship, it will crash into us.”
    Those around her turned to stare. “Don’t mind me!” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just sunspots, after all!”

Chapter 6
    Julie Morrison kicked the footstool away. It was heavy, chrome steel and fell over with a loud thump. If she could, she would have thrown it as far as she could.
    It was the sixth day out from Cherbourg. Overnight the air- conditioning had failed, leaving everyone belowdecks sweltering in their sleep. Julie, who usually slept in an oversize man’s T-shirt, woke before dawn with her shirt stuck to her and her sheets damp with sweat. She went to the bathroom and flicked on the light. She looked like a girl in one of those nasty