The Aurora, a Danish research vessel, had been sailing for over five years when it hove-to West of Swansea Free Port. Kaj Lydafspiller stood on the bridge looking at the structure in the distance through his binoculars.
Only a few times since fortune had favoured him with a right place, right time confluence after the “Big Splosh” had he found habitation. Mostly they were primitive, hostile or both, until now.
His route from Chatham Island had taken numerous circumnavigations, but there was little left: an encampment atop the Himalayas poking out of the never ending sea, villages in the upper reaches of the Andes, and a ranch in the Rockies where he had been fired on. There were plenty of corpses, but few signs of life, mostly radio signals from scattered groups across the globe bouncing off the remaining satellites in the Lagrange points.
He found no sign of his father, with whom he had been Skyping when the Earth merged slowly with a small, roaming water-world. His last words were, “I’ll get to the (static)”.
This far North the sun was weak and his batteries charged slowly, but he had enough to sail to port, so he ordered his repurposed exploration bots to start the motors.
As he drew closer, he could see the bustle of activity on the deck of what looked like a series of oilrigs festooned with huts. A pier jutted out from one side and at the end was a young woman waving at him, a big grin breaking across her face.
Lydia christened him “Backwards Jak” when she stumbled over Kaj Lydafspiller once too often. In the weeks since his arrival they became inseparable; this raised hackles amongst the youths who were keen to get to know Lydia better, but Kaj accepted it with good grace and within a year the envy and his old name were forgotten.
There was still no sign of his father, but he kept searching the airwaves in the radio-shack. He never gave up.
It was on New Year’s Eve two years later that Lydia came sprinting out of the shack shouting, “It’s your father…”
Kaj’s father had taken the restored Nautilus rescued from its grave in the bay of Køge. In search of his son he headed south and was now berthed next to Mount Cook.
Lydia could see the look on Kaj’s face and she knew even though his search was over, his quest was unfinished. They argued: it was too dangerous, there might be pirates and who knew what else in this wild new world. She would have to stay.
The next day Kaj kissed Lydia a sad goodbye and prepared to sail.
“We make resolutions on New Year’s Day,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“I will come back,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“We will wait,” she replied rubbing her slightly swollen belly. Backwards Jak stepped onto the deck of the Aurora, an unknowing father in search of his father out in the unknown.
