The Flat Earth Society Cruise

As the guests boarded the Southern Awakener cruise ship, Captain Rick Lorton hid in a cramped bathroom near the bridge. In the mirror before him was his reflection: vacant eyes, mouth agape, lifeless but for the sweat on his brow. He knew he couldn’t greet the executive committee this way. So using his pointer fingers he forced the edges of his mouth into a polite smile, an expression that, for a variety of reasons, had to him become alien, not of this world.     

The floor of the ship’s foyer was black and white tiles, a chessboard. As Captain Lorton entered the foyer, a brass band was playing Europe’s The Final Countdown. The next track was to be a reggae version of The Door’s The End. The foyer itself was teeming with young Flat Earth Society members. They were slim and bronze, wearing cut-off Hawaiian shirts and mini skirts, not at all the demographic Lorton had anticipated, not for a cruise like this.   

The Flat Earth Society’s executive committee was gathered between two hanging chandeliers. Lorton waded through the crowd toward them, dodging selfie sticks, group hugs. Halfway, a young woman dropped something so Lorton bent over to pick it up. The item turned out to be a blue condom, but before he could return it, the executive committee was upon him.   

“Captain Lorton,” said Martha Klink-Herring, President of the Flat Earth Society. She was also a Federal Member of Parliament and a firm believer in MMT. 

“Good… ahh, evening,” said Lorton. It was 11:01am. He hid the condom in his fist.     

Klink-Herring’s membership in the Flat Earth Society was always rumoured, never proven. So in the planning phase of this important cruise, she met Lorton in private, disguised in a religious garment not native to her own faith. 

“Captain,” she said. “We need to discuss a change to our arrangement.” 

The change was this: the Flat Earth Society now demanded that one of its executive committee members accompany Captain Lorton on the bridge at all times. This member was to be Con Calimeris, and he stepped forward then, two tiles, a man the shape and size of a castle. 

Lorton shot the burly man a worried glance and asked for an explanation.

“Because we don’t trust you,” explained Klink-Herring. “When it comes time, we don’t think you will drive this ship off the edge of the Earth; why would a non-believer when faced with the truth?”  

“Oh,” replied Lorton, relieved. “Well… that’s not likely to be a problem.” 

 “Don’t get cute, Captain,” said Calimeris, a high-ranking bureaucrat with the Department of Treasury and Finance. “If I can run an economy, then I can drive this ship, with or without you.” 

Lorton nodded to the aggrieved bureaucrat, who stuck out his giant, hairy hand. Lorton shook the hand and attempted his rehearsed smile. Without the scaffolding of his pointer fingers, however, his smile resembled a horse, all teeth, and Calimeris was left confused, holding a blue condom, the meaning of which he feared but failed to understand. 

“To the end of the world then,” said Lorton, addressing them all. 

The Southern Awakener departed Port Phillip Bay and sailed into the Bass Strait. The ship was heading for a fabled gap in Antarctica, a place where this world ends and a new begins. Onboard was a small support crew, and once the ship reached the Tasman Sea, the support crew disembarked onto secondary vessels and floated away like a rocketship’s initial boosters breaking off. From then, Calimeris and Lorton were on the bridge alone. 

Calimeris returned to his laptop. On the screen were a series of Excel spreadsheets: a P&L statement for the Flat Earth Society, invoicing data for the cruise tickets... The bureaucrat used the ship’s console like a standing desk, and beside his laptop was a steaming coffee and his gold watch, which Calimeris took off so he wouldn’t scratch the laptop.

“Strange,” offered Lorton. His eyes fixed on the laptop, not the man. The two had been comfortably silent now for several hours. 

“What do you think is strange, Rick?” asked Calimeris.  

“You: your final days and you’re doing taxes. Do you expect a return beyond the edge?”

Calimeris clicked the mouse, and a formula turned red cells green, debts to credits. He sighed but didn’t look up, not for Lorton. “Rick,” he said. “I want you to know something: I have a gun.” Calimeris then peeled the jacket from his chest and revealed a holster and pistol. If Lorton had any further jokes, he kept them to himself and focused on the lively Tasman Sea. 

Rick Lorton became the captain of the $11,999 AUD cruise by way of a recruitment agency for ex-Navy personnel. He had served in the Royal Australian Navy for twenty years. By all reports he was a fine commander: an excellent technician, diligent. However, he lacked rapport with the other sailors and struggled to be influential, so he was passed over for promotion to captain. 

The highlight of his naval career came when his ship was on high-alert, pressing toward a potential encounter. A fire had tore through a comms room and two sailors were trapped inside. Though Lorton wasn’t the first on scene, he was the only one brave enough to enter. He crossed the curtain of flames, and emerged with his two colleagues, alive. But, less than a month later he resigned, providing no warning, no explanation. Overnight, he became despondent. He disobeyed orders, and was soon discharged, a man with significant burns to his arms and chest.  

“Our shift is over,” said Calimeris, still staring at the screen. “I’ll show you out.” 

The two men exchanged pleasantries with the overnight staff: a collection of semi-trained Flat Earth Society volunteers. They descended the steep metal stairs, and the roar of a celebration grew. Calimeris paced to the bar, where a band was playing Brittany Spears’ Till the World Ends, and Lorton made for the main deck. 

Outside, he was immediately drenched by the pounding rain. He buried his hands in his pockets and marched to the portside railing. He felt the ship sway. Overboard, the moon-lit caps on the waves were inviting, but he crept to a quiet, dry patch halfway along the breezeway and sat down. His shaking hands lit a cigarette and the memory of someone once dear to him accompanied the rush of nicotine. There she was - her face, her eyes - until, with the smoke, he blew her away. Then the light above flickered and died. There was now darkness, and only the ocean to bear witness to the man’s blank expression pulsing in the cigarette’s glow: something cold, dead...   

On the alleged ‘final’ night of the cruise, a formal dinner was held for the Flat Earth Society executive committee. The Southern Awakener had been sailing parallel to Antarctica for over a day now, so through the windows was as bright as midday, because down here the sun sets over months, not hours. Unfortunately, Captain Lorton was contractually obligated to attend the dinner. So instead of his nightly freedom on the breezeway, he was stuffed in a tuxedo. 

The entrée before him was most likely shrimp. The dish had been prepared by a Flat Earth Society member who worked as an online food critic, and who was, for the very first time, feeling sympathy for her website’s victims.

Lorton left the dish untouched and instead focused on the conversation and the drink. 

“Tomorrow,” began Cindy Pham, a management consultant, “we will face brand new horizons. We will leave this world behind and embrace an innovative paradise: a utopia.” 

Arnold Stengle, a bank executive, covertly spat a bite of shrimp into a napkin. “A utopia, indeed,” he said. “It will be a place free from all the isms of our day: a place worthy of humans.”  

Cindy nodded at his poignancy, they held hands. “To think,” she continued, “that the ills of this world, which we have - collectively - worked so hard to cure will no longer be our primary deliverable. We can create something new, in our own image. Imagine: something new.” 

“To a new world,” said Klink-Herring. “One that is how it should be.” 

Everyone clinked their glasses, except Captain Lorton. 

Next, the committee discussed what they will miss about this world: waterfalls, children, dogs… But then the main was served - a carrot and corn soup - and the conversation quickly returned to leaving this wretched place. By dessert, all were intoxicated, and Klink-Herring turned to the captain, who had stayed silent and not touched his food. 

“Tell me, Captain,” she said. Her elbow was planted on the dining cloth, wrinkled cheek melting over her fist. “Do you take us for a bunch of fools, embarking on this cruise?” 

Lorton stared into his red wine and chuckled. “Fools… no,” he said.  

Klink-Herring sprung upright, purple lips, purple teeth. “But you think we are mistaken.” 

“It doesn’t matter what I think; that’s what I think.” 

Across the table sat Peter Hopkins, a journalist nominated for a Walkley Award for his piece on the importance of journalism in a fake-news era. He raised his finger so no one would interrupt and then he gulped his wine. 

“But Rick,” he said, “you are to take us over the edge tomorrow, so it most certainly matters what you think.” Hopkins smirked at his fellow believers. “Tell us: as the only ship captain brave enough to take us, what will you do when you see the truth?”

Lorton comprehended the question. Then he spun his chair so it faced Hopkins and scooted it close. “How about this,” he began. Lorton took a bite of the fruit pizza dessert, and then gripped Hopkins’s hands. “Whatever the truth is, let’s hold each other to account.” 

The two stared at each other. Hopkins laughed nervously and then his smile disappeared. He wiped the residual licorice sauce from the fruit pizza from his lips. “Tomorrow it is,” he said.  

The next morning, Calimeris was on the bridge nursing a significant hangover. The celebrations had continued well into the night, with his final memories being of an asparagus-infused aperitif and an argument with the food critic. After that there are only flashes: Excel docs, macros he can’t recall, formulas he will regret. He was in pain, so when Captain Lorton appeared at the top of the stairs with two coffees, Calimeris nearly wept.  

“You know, Lorton, you’re not that bad,” he said. Lorton stared out the window in his usual fashion, and this only further endeared Calimeris to him. “Did I ever tell you I was in the Navy too, Lorton? I served six years.” 

“Why did you leave?” 

“I wasn’t good at taking orders, I suppose.”

“So you became a bureaucrat.” 

“Ha-ha, shut up. How about you? Why did you leave?” 

Lorton’s gaze slumped into his coffee, at dregs. “Because of my wife,” he said. 

“She pressured you to leave?”

“No,” said Lorton. She came to him then: her soft face, how she would caress his cheek and laugh at his tongue-tied ways. Fifteen years they shared a bed, a name, a life. “She cheated on me,” continued Lorton. “She went outside the marriage, so I left her, and I left the Navy.”

Con sipped his coffee, stared at the man in a new light. But before he could respond there was a call from below. 

“Captain Lorton!” 

He opened the window, stuck out his head. On the deck was Martha Klink-Herring. 

“Yes?” responded Lorton.  

Her hands were cupping her mouth. “What’s that ahead?” she yelled, then pointed. 

Lorton swivelled the bridge binoculars. He stuck his head out the window again. 

“It’s the edge, Martha,” he called.  

“The edge of what?” 

“Of the world,” said Lorton, his voice loud but steady.  

Between two white cliffs, long eroded by the salt water that meets the precipice, the gap in the ice shelf blazed a deep black. There was nothing but a void. And already, though the cricket oval sized gap was some distance away, the current pulled the ship like fate itself.   

When he heard the captain’s declaration, Con Calimeris risked his neck on the stairwell. He appeared out of breath near Klink-Herring and the other executives. They spoke fast, shot glances to the bridge, and then disappeared inside the ship. 

Their footsteps soon rang out on the metal steps. At the top of the stairwell was Lorton, dressed in his pristine white uniform, sipping a coffee. As Calimeris, who was leading the group, approached the top, Lorton disappeared from view. When Caleris entered the bridge, Lorton smashed his hairy face with a fire extinguisher. 

The bureaucrat fell and Lorton stole his pistol. Then he pointed the gun at the others as they entered Martha and Peter helped Con to his feet; blood oozed from his nose. The five executive committee members stood in a row. 

“What the hell, Lorton,” said Peter, attending to Con’s nose with his gloved hand. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Captain Lorton,” said Martha, the politician. “But it’s the exact opposite.” 

“We didn’t come here to force you to take us over,” began Cynthia, the management consultant, “quite the opposite; we wish to stay.” 

“Yes, exactly, “ said Arnold, the banker. “So let’s turn this ship around. We plan to cross the edge another time, now that we know where it is, you see.”

Lorton shifted the gun, one face to the next, ducks in a row. Over his shoulder, the void grew larger, the current stronger.

“I thought you’d be happy,” said Martha. “We… we promise to pay you for the extra seven days' return.” 

Finally, Calimeris was able to stand on his own. He shrugged the others off, jogged to the controls, pulled the lever, and slowed the ship. But it wouldn’t stop, not with the powerful current; only turning it around would suffice. 

Captain Lorton eyed Calimeris and pointed the gun. “But you said you wanted to go over,” he said. “You said you wanted to create a new world. You said, beyond the lip was-” 

“Don’t you see?” interrupted Calimeris. “Lorton wants to go over!” 

“He wants to,” whispered Martha to herself. She stared into the Captain’s eyes which blazed like the void, and was gripped by fear. “Now, Captain.” Her arms extended, palms up, pleading. “Let’s talk about this. The cruise wasn’t even my idea; it was my predecessor’s.”  

“You must understand, Captain: there is context,” said the journalist.  

“Precisely: externalities,” said the banking executive.  

“Yes: unforeseen constraints,” said the consultant. 

“You mean: excuses.” 

Calimeris stood with his hand hovering near the wheel. Beside him: his laptop, gold watch, steaming coffee, their seven days together. But before he could touch the wheel, a shot rang out. Lorton then pointed the gun at the others and calmly approached Calimeris until he was standing over the bureaucrat. Blood sprung from the bureaucrat’s neck and covered Lorton’s white pants, and then life left his eyes as it had for Lorton long ago.

No one moved, no one rushed, except the ship itself.  

“Admit it,” said Lorton. 

“And you’ll turn the ship around?” asked Martha Klink-Herring. 

“Admit it,” he repeated, louder. 

“Okay, okay,” said the journalist. “We never believed there was an edge.” 

Lorton remained still. 

“And, and, and,” added the consultant, “we wanted people to think we believed in something.”

“Yes, exactly, “ said the banker, “but we believe in nothing. The cruise was a self-serving party-” 

“To take people’s money with no intention of paying it back,” interrupted the politician. 

At that last comment Lorton nodded. “Good, thank you,” he said. Then he asked the executive committee to leave the bridge or be shot. They obliged, but stood on the other side of the locked door, banging. Calimeris and Lorton were alone once more, to meet the edge.  

The true believers claim that beyond the lip resides a mirror world, a place where waterfalls climb up and birds soar down. And as the Southern Awakener teetered on the edge, Captain Rick Lorton wondered what becomes of cheats and frauds in this mirror world. He had his own ideas, of course. But the truth is they become less human. For what is more human than seeking something not earned, than masquerading as something one is not… Of the 184 souls aboard the Southern Awakener, none except Lorton were free from this humanity. And as the ship fell it was he who wore the expression of ecstasy. Yet Lorton shouldn’t be so overjoyed. Because in the mirror world he is about to discover what becomes of those not human enough to err nor divine enough to forgive.

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