"Oh!"

In that single syllable, half gasp, half sob, mamma gave air to the entire sum of her desperation.

It came at the very moment when Ludvig - and mamma and everyone else who had gathered at the starboard railing - saw the end of the last of the hawsers, after rushing around the stone pollard on the quayside, slip off the edge and into the water. Their last hold on land. Gone.

He knew what her face looked like and didn't dare turn around. It was enough seeing the white knuckles of her hands, cramped around the wooden railing, one on either side of his face. To feel the spasm that twisted her body behind him.

He reached up with his own hands, grabbing her wrists to reassure both her and him. It was no help though, against the wringing fear he could feel filling up the hollow pit in his stomach at mamma's anguish.

"Are you sure we can't come back later, mamma?" he tried without a smidgen of hope. She gave no answer, too locked in grief to speak, but he could hear and feel her shaking her head. He could feel pappa moving closer, putting one arm around mamma and one hand on Ludvig's head, stroking it through the woolen cap.

"There's nothing to come back to, Ludvig. You know it. Remember the lake."

Ludvig knew it. They had explained it over and over. This wasn't their land anymore. Not the one where they all had been born and raised. The one where you could spend summer weeks in the little house by the lake, learning to swim amongst water lily leaves, water striders and dragonflies. Vague memories of a distant childhood, seeming now more like a fairytale. The last time they had been to the lake, two years ago, it had been turned into a swamp by all the droughts, its verdant life replaced by choking, smelly weeds and angry mosquitoes.

Invasive species. Menacing words that had become too well known for a then ten year old, only understanding that it was the same place because the floating jetty that grandpa had once made was still half visible, a wreck slowly turning back into mud. Nothing to come back to. The little cottage, utterly and finally forsaken. In years to come it would be invaded like the lake, then crumble and fall.

It had all happened so fast...

The image of the hawser slipping over the edge of the quayside came back to him. That's how it had slipped away, their country, slipping between the hands of squabbling politicians blaming each other, between the hands of desperate activists trying to salvage something, anything, to keep it a country you could live in. He looked down into the widening moat between ship and land and mamma's cry finally penetrated his heart.

Their land was abandoned. Left to die. No one could live there anymore. And they were climate refugees now, homeless, landless.

Ludvig turned around and buried his face in mamma's shaking belly.

Even the bitterest tears run dry in the end. Pappa herded mamma, Ludvig and his sisters into the relative warmth indoors. In huddling groups and families, as well as the occasional single straggler, the other passengers - Ludvig liked that word better than refugees - slunk through the heavy iron doors as well, taking shelter from the chilling gusts as the ship turned prow to the west, into the wind, out to sea. All were bleak, sullen, dispirited. Occasional, muted talk defied the whining howl of the gales outside. Then a loudspeaker crackled alive.

"All passengers of section A, please come to the mess hall. Section A to the mess hall, please. Briefing begins in five minutes."

Ludvig rose expectantly, glad for the distraction, but pappa shook his head.

"We're in B. We'll be next. I guess."

Morosely, he sat down again, arms about his knees, leaning against mamma who drew him into her warm embrace next to Linnéa, Ludvig's younger sister.

"How many sections are there, pappa?" asked Hanna, the elder sister, pulling pappa's arm around her shoulders.

"There's C as well.", he replied. "I was told that on the earlier ships, there were D as well as E, sometimes even F. About two hundred passengers to a section. They crammed the boats then. But we're the last, and there's not enough of us to fill the ship."

He stretched and yawned. It soon caught on as they could all feel fatigue replacing tension.

"Can't we go to our rooms now, pappa?" asked Linnéa in mid-yawn. "I'm tired."

"Soon, my heart," said mamma, kissing her blonde hair. "We're all tired. But we might as well wait until we've been briefed."

"What's briefed?" Ludvig asked, shuddering. To him, it sounded like some hygienic process involving getting undressed. He hoped that it was at least not done in front of everybody else.

"It's just when they tell us what we're supposed to do."

"Oh." Relieved by mamma's answer, he snuggled closer to her, drew her arm tighter around him and kissed her wrist, deeply drawing her smell into his nostrils.

Linnéa was almost asleep before their turn came, even though it was barely a quarter of an hour. Pappa carried her on his back to the mess, her sturdy boots dangling in time with his steps. They filed wearily through double iron doors into a wide space, spanning the width of the ship, with windows showing the upset North sea on both sides and on the right - starboard, Ludvig reminded himself - a dim glimpse of the receding coast in the fading daylight. The ceiling was maybe three meters high, which was actually quite roomy but felt low to the width of the room.

Ludvig looked around curiously but the place looked rather well-ordered and tidy, nothing messy about it at all. Then pappa pulled him along to a table where mamma and the sisters were already seating themselves. Still more passengers were spilling in - there was another set of doors apart from the one they had entered, in the same wall but on the port side. Those that stopped just inside the doors, too confused or intimidated to move further in, were gently ushered to tables by stewards in uniforms looking more practical than neat.

One steward, a woman who looked only a little older than mamma but a lot darker, waved another family past them, talking in a language Ludvig didn't understand. A girl who looked about Ludvig's age glanced at him, hugging a toy rabbit closely to her chest. Ludvig smiled and waved. She first looked away, then looked back and drew her mouth into a strained semblance of a smile, waving back with her fingertips without letting go of her rabbit by even an inch.

When all were seated at last - pappa guessed it might be about a hundred people all told and wondered if that was really everyone in section B - a woman in a slightly more decorated uniform, with short, sandy hair and a square, weathered face, stepped up and cleared her throat. She needn't call for attention beyond that, since everybody was more or less silent already. Those that didn't notice her were soon alerted by their neighbours.

"Dear passengers," she began, her voice curt and steely, not exactly friendly but the closest thing possible without warmth. Ludvig pricked up his ears. After the dark steward speaking in some foreign tongue, it was a relief to hear that the captain spoke his own language. "I am captain Stern," the woman continued. "Welcome aboard the UHS Steadfast. I hope your journey with us will be as short and free of unpleasantness as possible. There's not much you can do to make it any shorter, but you can be of assistance by keeping the unpleasantness amongst yourselves to a minimum. First Steward Jakobs will tell you how. First Steward, if you please."

Captain Stern backed a few steps to let a brawny man with dark, curly hair and eyes alight with mischief take the floor. His uniform was just like all the others, except for some little yellow mark on his shoulders, but when he stepped up and planted his feet a half metre apart, he radiated authority.

"Right," he said, smiling and rubbing his hands. "Like cap'n said, we want to keep it all nice and friendly during our trip together. If we're lucky, we'll reach port in a little over two weeks. What with weather conditions deteriorating all the time, as well you know, don't count on it. Bets on the duration of the trip can be placed with me..." he waved to the captain, who had frowned and opened her mouth. "Sorry cap'n, couldn't resist." He turned back to the passengers, spread his arms in an apologetic gesture. "No betting on board. You don't have any currency I'd accept anyway."

Some faint chuckling was heard around the mess. Ludvig could see the corners of pappa's mouth twitching slightly and mamma huffed noncommittally. Then the first steward turned a more sombre face.

"Now, we're stocked for a journey of six weeks. That includes solid rations and spare fuel. Our chief propulsion is solar power, but as you all know, solar is scarce up north these days, so we'll need the extra hydrogen we brought. It will be better as we come further south. Fresh water we have aplenty and more is provided by desalination so we won't lack that. Anyway, we shouldn't be longer at sea than those six weeks and hopefully shorter, but we do want the rations to last for that duration just in case. So." He cocked his fists on his hips and sent a glare around the congregation. "Rule number one. Respect the rations. I don't care what diet you were on while on land. Here, you eat what you get, no more, no less. You will be allotted rations according to your estimated basal metabolism plus what you're expected to need in order to move about the ship, calculated on your height and age. If you carried any extra kilos aboard, kiss them goodbye. You won't starve, but you won't eat your fill. Requests for extra will be politely ignored the first time and then rudely ignored. We will notice in time if anyone is getting undernourished and needs extra rations."

Then he smiled again.

"Luckily, you won't want to eat your fill anyway, since these rations don't exactly tickle your palate. I won't say that they taste bad and we do have some variety of flavouring. But you'll be heartily sick of them before we are halfway there. The upside of that is that you'll find the provender in the H-zone a feast by comparison."

"What's the H-zone?" Ludvig asked pappa, tugging at his sleeve, but was hushed. Hanna answered him, hissing in his ear.

"The habitable zone. Where it's still OK to live. Where we're going."

Ludvig nodded. Meanwhile Jakobs went on.

"Rule number two: no fighting. In case of conflict of any kind, either you settle it nicely yourselves or you talk to your nearest steward and we will settle the issue for you. We will be as fair as we can. If you think our settlement is unfair, that's your problem. If anyone insists on making it our problem, we have tranquilisers on board. We will use them if needed. You have been warned."

A shocked silence fell, which was ignored by Jakobs who promptly went on to rule number three.

"Most of you were on deck, waving goodbye to your old land, while still in port. You were not wearing life jackets then. That's fine. However, we are now heading to the open sea. No stepping outdoors whatsoever without a life jacket. Even on a fine day. You will also be instructed on how to use safety straps and, in case of anyone falling overboard, how to throw a line to the unlucky one. But please remember that rescuing someone out of the sea, even in a life jacket, is very difficult in hard weather. There's no guarantee we can actually do it, no matter how hard we try. There will be no helicopters. And if we do manage to rescue you, you will be very, very ashamed for causing a delay for all of us, who really want to reach our destination as soon as possible. We will inform you when it is safe to go outside. At all other times, stay indoors."

He sent his glare around the room again like the opposite of a light-house.

"And children, that means you, too. I tell you this because you might think these are some tedious grownup rules that you can safely ignore. Well, the day you find yourself splashing around in the ocean, you'll realise that it's not. This is for real. If you want to go outdoors, ask a steward first and respect a no. Got it?"

Ludvig thought Jakobs was looking straight at him and shrank under the gaze, nodding fervently. He'd got it. This was for real.

"So," the first steward sighed, looking for a moment tired but then shrugging and perking up in his former smile. "There are other rules but I'll sum them up in one. Rule number four: use your common sense and if you're told by a crew member to do something or not to, then promptly do as you're told. If you have any complaints about these rules, we will accept them in writing on a special form that you will find hanging on the walls in little rooms all around the ship. The complaint forms look like this."

He held up a roll of toilet paper. After a stunned silence, people started laughing here and there around the room. Not everybody joined in, but at least people seemed to relax a little.

"I suppose that's as good as I'll get out of this jolly lot," Jakobs said amiably and saluted the captain. "Over to you, cap'n."

"Thank you, first steward." As Jakobs stepped back, captain Stern came forth again. Her arms were at her back and she rocked a little on the balls of her feet as she looked out over the multitude of weary faces.

"Just a few more words before you can go find your bunks and get that rest you all must be dying for. This place is called the mess hall. Back when this was an ocean liner in regular traffic, it was called the dining room. Or even cafeteria. The mess used to signify the place where the officers hung out to eat and socialise. But this is the place where we will all hang out to eat and socialise. Passengers and crew alike, including myself."

She looked around again and for the first time, something like a smile softened her face.

"This is to remind ourselves that we're all in this together. We're all in charge. We are all on duty. You must obey the crew simply because we know what to do, so it's safest that way. Once you get to the H-zone, nobody will take care of you - you will all help take care of things as best you can. The place is run by a council called United Humanity, where the people who make decisions do so because they have proven to be good decision-makers. You will all have duties, whether making decisions or handling renewables - and yes, that's what you used to call trash. No one will think better or worse of you whatever your lot turns out to be, and no one gets any bonuses because we simply can't afford any. Better get used to it from now. We're all in the same boat. Not just literally."

She let it sink in before speaking again.

"Now, there's one little thing that always needs sorting out. I know there are several of you who have doubts about one of the rules, so we might as well have it out right away. Would anyone like to share any doubts? Now is the time. After we're finished here, you'll have to resort to first steward Jakobs' so-called complaint forms."

Jakobs helpfully waved the toilet roll around, grinning from ear to ear. Captain Stern looked around expectantly but nobody spoke.

"Oh, come on! I know there are at least a few of you having doubts about something that Jakobs said. You, sir, you look like you have things on your mind!"

She pointed her hand straight at pappa and Ludvig shrank by his side as everybody turned their eyes towards them. But pappa seemed undaunted, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

"Well," he admitted, "I did wonder, but..."

"Did?" The captain blinked. "You don't anymore?"

"Well," pappa continued and sighed. "I just realised, especially since you guess our minds, that you've done this trip quite a few times and seen a thing or two. I was wondering if forcing tranquilisers should really be necessary, but..."

Around the hall, several people hummed, nodded and shifted attentively.

"But...?" the captain prompted.

"I think I can see the reason for it." He rose, looking around at his fellow passengers. "You see, we have all been under terrible stress. We've seen our world collapse around us. We've survived by scrounging, teaming up, travelling by whatever means still worked through failing infrastructure and an economy gone to pieces. I don't know all your stories..." he made a gesture including all the gathered passengers, refugees... "but I know it's a tale of hardship and loss. Now we finally come aboard a ship that will take us to a better place, to whatever safety is left. Perhaps we begin to relax. But now we are told that the hardships aren't over."

He shook his head slowly.

"We will still be under stress on this ship, though our strength is sapped, perhaps almost depleted. And even if we have strength, we may be struggling to reorient ourselves, find our place in this new, bitter world that no one has prepared us for. Well, people under chronic stress, people in an identity crisis, may begin to behave strangely. Even aggressively. Without even realising it themselves. On a ship where we might be stuck together for weeks, we can't afford that."

He smiled and spread his arms.

"So if you see me start behaving aggressively out-of-character, then please tell me and I will gladly seek out the first steward and ask for tranquilisers myself."

There was a murmur as people looked at each other. Some scowled, but most nodded, some wearily smiling, some quietly crying. Children tugged at parents asking about what the man had said. Pappa turned again to the captain.

"Anywhere near the mark?"

The captain drew a breath.

"You a psychologist by any chance?"

Pappa shook his head.

"Science teacher."

"And author!" mamma added loudly, at which Hanna groaned and covered her face. Pappa laughed.

"Well. Wannabe author, maybe."

The captain shrugged.

"Jakobs, take a note of that man's name."

Then she saluted the crowd, turned smartly about and marched away. Pappa looked a little worried but the first steward beamed as he came towards them, waving his hands placatingly.

"Don't fret there, man," he said loud enough for all to hear. "It's just that we need good thinkers in the H-zone. We'll make sure someone gets in touch with you once you're safely installed."

And pappa, blushing, gave Jakobs his name and sat down under the eyes of the entire section B. Ludvig, still bashfully crouching low, hugged pappa's arm tightly as his heart swelled with pride.