15
Helen
The next day.
The port of Civitavecchia welcomes us with a sky suspended between the leaden blue of night and a golden light that is just beginning to peek through.
The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, as if it, too, needed a strong cup of coffee before taking on its nautical responsibilities. For an absurd second, I envy the sun.
I’ve been at the gangway station for half an hour now, the clipboard pressed tightly against my chest, the operations device in my hand, and the uncomfortable certainty that I slept with my eyes open.
In fact, I don’t even know if I managed to fall asleep.
I spent the night wide awake, pacing back and forth, going over every detail of all the protocols ad nauseam.
Anything can happen when three thousand people disembark. And that is precisely the thought that has kept me from getting a wink of sleep.
“You’ll see, everything will turn out fine,” I try to reassure myself.
I breathe in the morning air, which is filled with the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting from the exhaust vents in the kitchen on Deck Three.
The gangway lobby isn’t crowded yet. The most impatient passengers are already lining up in front of the turnstiles with backpacks slung over their shoulders: sleepy couples checking their group stickers between yawns and children who, mysteriously, have more pent-up energy than the ship’s generators. Business as usual, basically.
The little twitch in my left eyelid is attacking me again with humiliating persistence.
“Don’t you start too,” I mutter under my breath, pressing my eye with two fingers.
But my body has never understood rules.
I peer out the hatch by the gangway to look at the pier.
The Transmarine buses are already parked, perfectly lined up in their assigned bay.
From here they look harmless, but I see them for what they really are: forty-eight seats per unit; forty-eight opportunities for a passenger to lose their pass, get delayed at the Trevi Fountain, faint, complain about the air conditioning, or decide that five minutes of courtesy time equals half an hour on the clock.
Maika will be with group three. I don’t know why my gaze is fixed on her name with such intensity, but it is. Of course it is. As if my brain were incapable of obeying such a simple command: “Don’t think about her.”
Great, Helen. Very mature of you to focus on the distractions in the cabin when the company audit is about to arrive.
“You’re so stiff it looks like someone stuck a stick up your…” Gonzalo blurts out, appearing beside me in the ground control room with a plastic folder and a complete lack of survival instinct plastered on his smile.
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He falls silent as soon as he catches my expression, and for once in his career, his prudence moves me. Almost.
“I’m asking you, please, to save the jokes for the afternoon shift,” I reply without taking my eyes off the vehicles. “I’m not in the mood for group dynamics.”
He tilts his head, his expression twisting with irony.
“And when have you ever been in the mood for that?”
I glare at him.
“Gonzalo…”
“Okay, message received. No messing with the officer today, no touching the security beast, and no nautical analogies allowed. Got it and agreed.”
“Thanks for proving that your larynx can stay silent for more than three seconds,” I snap sarcastically.
“Don’t get used to it; it takes a lot of effort for me,” he replies with a mischievous smile.
Despite the knot in my stomach, a tiny part of me is grateful for his presence.
But I force myself to keep a stern expression.
If I relax my features for even a moment, I fear my anxiety will get the better of me in front of my subordinates, and this isn’t the right place to turn into a bundle of nerves.
Gonzalo leans against the access control counter and watches the local guides at work.
“It looks to me like the operation is going wonderfully,” he remarks in an analytical tone.
“Just because it looks that way doesn’t mean it’s safe. It means nothing has gone wrong yet, which is quite different.”
He lets out a sigh.
“Seriously, Helen, someday you should try sailing with the wind at your back.”
“I’d rather calculate the force of that wind, check if the hull has any leaks, and make sure no one throws a rope at the company auditor’s head,” I reply coldly.
“What technical poetry you have,” he says, bursting out laughing.
“You have no sense of humor.”
Gonzalo just smiles wryly, but decides not to push his luck any further. He knows full well what’s at stake.
The first tour groups are starting to crowd the bus boarding area. From my position on the gangway, I watch the cruise passengers move forward with that typical lack of coordination of early risers.
Then Maika appears on the pier with her entertainment team.
I don’t know if the air pressure suddenly changes or if it’s just me, but I become stupidly sensitive to the light the moment she enters my field of vision. I can already feel how hard it is to breathe.
Maika is wearing the formal Transmarine uniform, though she has the exasperating gift of making the company blazer look like a comfortable Italian-designed garment on her body.
Walking beside her are Leo, Iván, Lara, and Nico.
All are properly identified with their badges and assigned to their tasks.
Lara raises her hand and offers a genuine smile to a couple dragging along twins.
Leo checks the names on his tablet with infectious calm.
Iván leans respectfully toward an elderly couple to listen to their concerns.
Nico is handing out emergency brochures next to bus number one.
And Maika… Maika moves through the midst of this human machinery as if she were controlling the ocean currents without needing to consult the radar.
It’s beyond my control; I can’t take my eyes off her. It drives me crazy to have to admit it, but her leadership is impeccable.
“It seems the entertainment department knows what a company inspection is all about,” says Gonzalo, watching the same scene.
I clench my jaw until it hurts.
“I’ve never questioned their ability,” I lie in a monotone voice.
“At least, not for show,” he insists.
“Are you trying to get me to take you off duty today, Gonzalo?”
He raises his hands.
“I’m just pointing out that the entertainment coordinator has the situation under control. And that should calm you down, Helen.”
It should. But the conflict with Maika has never been limited to the ship’s schedule. Or maybe it has.
Suddenly, Maika looks up toward the gangway.
Our eyes meet across the distance, and I feel the entire port go quiet.
Her eyes hold mine with an overwhelming calm.
She doesn’t quite smile, but I recognize that tension at the corners of her lips; I know she’s holding back.
I start reading her pauses. And that terrifies me more than the auditors, because having that level of intimacy with her in the middle of an official stopover is a lapse I can’t afford.
The words we exchanged last night, right after Lara told her I was looking for her, echo in my head again:
“Don’t let it give you a heart attack,” Maika told me, crossing her arms with a seriousness uncharacteristic of her. “As professionals, everything is going to be fine.”
I remember taking a step toward her, feeling attacked.
“I didn’t say you’re doing things wrong,” I replied, defensively.
“You don’t need to file a complaint, Helen. The look of contempt on your face says it all.”
The reproach stung because it contained a half-truth. And half-truths in this business are what cause the worst disasters.
“I’m just demanding that things go according to the rules,” I retorted, clutching the tablet against my uniform. “I won’t tolerate any unforeseen events, and I want headquarters to verify that we officers maintain absolute control of the Marine IV.”
Maika held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, her expression devoid of irony.
“No, Helen. What you want is for everything to be perfect so you can secure that promotion you lost the last time we were on the same contract.”
Maika knew exactly which wound she was touching.
“That’s not fair, Maika,” I whispered.
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But it’s not a lie either. Tomorrow I won’t step out of line, I promise.”
I should have said something. A sincere apology, a technical argument, a simple, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” But I was caught between pride and the fear of showing weakness.
“Helen?” Gonzalo’s voice yanks me out of my memory with a jolt.
I blink repeatedly, and the twitch in my left eye sends an annoying jolt through my eyelid.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to regain my composure.
Gonzalo watches me for a moment in silence.
“Nothing. The first bus has already been cleared by the guide. We should start calling out the numbers over the radio.”
I nod stiffly.
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
I force myself to break eye contact with the dock and fix my gaze on the lists. The numbers don’t look at me as if they know what I’m hiding beneath the stripes. They don’t remind me that behind them is an exhausted woman, scared to death, and far less ruthless than she appears to the crew.
We get to work, and once everything is ready, I dive headfirst into the next step.
“I’m heading down to the pier.”
I walk down the ramp and greet the hired tour guide. Then I make sure everything is in order on each bus before the tour begins.
And I’m surprised to see that things are going wonderfully. Until her voice comes from a distance, and I realize—of course—that there are problems on one of the buses.
“Your left eyelid is twitching, Helen,” Maika observes.
“It’s just muscle fatigue from lack of rest,” I explain.
“That’s why it’s twitching,” she insists, and a faint smile appears at the corner of her mouth.
As soon as I glare at her, she raises her hands.
“It’s just a preventive wellness check on board. Nothing more.”
“I don’t recall requesting the entertainment department’s services for my health.”
“I know. What you need is eight hours of sleep in a bed that doesn’t move, to take a deep breath without thinking about the inspectors, and to stop analyzing the lists as if they were an imminent execution order.”
I try to force my best look of indignation, but a sigh escapes my chest that almost, for a split second, turns into a laugh. Almost. Maika picks up on the nuance, and her eyes shine with a new intensity.
“Don’t start with your games,” I warn her.
“I’m just following orders. I haven’t started anything,” she replies with feigned submission.
“Yeah, right.”
“Nico is already looking for the missing partner,” Maika assures me. “Everything’s going smoothly.”
“Whatever. Notify the Rome checkpoint of your arrival as soon as you get there.”
“Done.”
“And if there are any changes to the itinerary…”
“I’ll send you a priority alert on the internal frequency before you hear about it over the terminal PA system or through a complaint,” Maika concludes, with a subtle touch of humor.
Before I can add another instruction, Nico appears in the terminal passageway, escorting a straggling couple.
“Bus three is full and verified,” Nico announces, breathing a sigh of relief.
Maika nods, crossing the names off her tablet.
“Excellent. Good work, Nico.” Then she fixes her eyes on me again. “Forty-eight out of forty-eight. See? Totally under control.”
“Then you can all go now.”
Maika turns toward the bus doors and raises her voice just enough to cut through the noise of the engines.
“All right, group three. Have your cards ready in your hands and follow Nico to the steps. Rome has been standing for two thousand years, so it’s not going anywhere; we don’t need to run or disrupt the order of the line.”
Several tourists laugh, relieved. The rest obey the order without complaint. The line of passengers begins to move toward the bus with astonishing fluidity, allowing me to breathe a little easier, though the tension still pulses strongly through me.
Gonzalo comes over to my side as soon as the bus closes its doors.
“Admit it already, Müller,” he says with a hint of amusement.
“No,” I reply without taking my eyes off the pier.
“I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“I don’t care. My answer is still no.”
“That woman knows what she’s doing.”
I look ahead, watching as bus number three begins to move toward the exit of the port of Civitavecchia. Maika waves from the passenger-side window with an insulting calm.
“I can see that,” I admit reluctantly.
“Wow… coming from you, that’s almost like a marriage proposal,” Gonzalo jokes.
“Gonzalo, you’re one comment away from me sending you out to check the lifeboats on the promenade deck under the sun,” I warn him.
“Okay, okay. No humor allowed today. Although, technically, that fell into the category of sociological analysis.”
“Well, shove it up your ass,” I reply.
He smiles, but his face takes on an unusual seriousness a second later.
Throughout my entire career, I’ve worked by the same rule: if a goal matters, you have to carry it on your own shoulders.
If something can go wrong, check it until your eyes bleed.
If the crew hesitates, show them you’re made of iron.
If the inspectors underestimate you, work twice as hard.
If you miss a promotion, it’s entirely your fault for not having foreseen the storm.
The last time I missed out on a promotion, I knew the blame was shared, but a part of me still carries that as an unforgivable personal failure.
That’s why today I need everything to go smoothly.