“The sky over the sea is truly magnificent!” Jack Dawson lay on the deck bench, gazing at the stars overhead, a soft exclamation escaping his lips.
Britain now stands as the world’s hegemon, yet simultaneously holds the dubious title of the world’s greatest polluter.
London is famously called the “Fog City”—a consequence of rampant coal use that paints the entire sky a perpetual gray.
If PM2.5 detectors existed in this era, London’s readings would surely be off the charts.
As a wandering artist, Jack had witnessed countless beautiful scenes, but never before had he seen a starry night quite like tonight’s.
Truth be told, despite his boasting and bravado, he was nothing but a penniless pauper.
Aside from his handsome face, he possessed no real advantages whatsoever.
The reason he had fled Europe for America this time, beyond his dreams of striking it rich, was fundamentally to escape the romantic entanglements he’d left behind.
Word had it that several English gentlemen, the kind who wore bowler hats, were preparing to do him serious harm.
With no other choice, Jack had decided to flee his troubles.
Speaking of those English gentlemen, they utterly lacked any semblance of gentlemanly spirit.
When he had offered to repair household appliances for others in France, even the husbands who returned home unexpectedly would at most gently suggest he remember to wear insulated gloves.
But these English fellows?
They actually had the audacity to shout at him!
If you don’t use appliances regularly, various minor problems naturally develop.
He fixed them for free, never charging a fee, like some legendary savior.
Those people didn’t know the first thing about gratitude, instead treating him with utter disrespect.
It was beyond comprehension.
Thinking of this, Jack suddenly recalled the beautiful girl he’d spotted on the deck that afternoon.
Though separated by two decks, he would swear on his years of appliance repair experience that she was still factory-original… untouched.
If circumstances were different, he would move to approach that girl.
After all, with his appliance repair expertise, aristocratic girls of the sweet, naive variety were the easiest to charm.
His reputation as the Little Silver Gun of Western Europe had been earned through sheer persuasive talent!
What a pity, the girl appeared to be a first-class passenger, while he was consigned to third-class.
The Titanic strictly enforced class divisions.
First-class passengers could wander anywhere on the ship at will, but third-class passengers weren’t even permitted to set foot on the second deck.
Unless that girl descended with the good sense God gave a goose, the two of them would never have a chance to exchange so much as a word.
“The sky really is beautiful!” Just as Jack was contemplating whether he should venture below deck to charm some Gypsy girl and pass the time during this lengthy voyage, a figure materialized beside him.
“Hello, I’m Luca Quinn.
What’s your name?” Luca smiled warmly at the slightly startled young man, offering a friendly greeting.
After sorting through his thoughts in the cabin, he had prepared himself to properly complete his mission.
Yet when the moment came to actually begin, he found himself with no clear direction.
In the original story, the Titanic sank after striking an iceberg.
Later scientific analysis suggested that if the ship’s main structure hadn’t been compromised upon impact, it might have remained afloat.
So now he had two primary objectives.
First, obtain the ship’s structural blueprints and identify its critical structural points.
Second, determine if any black market merchants were aboard and acquire sufficiently powerful explosives from them.
The structural plans shouldn’t be difficult to obtain, this being the Titanic’s maiden voyage, its chief designer Thomas Andrews was also on board, and he certainly possessed the blueprints.
As for explosives, the black market merchants aboard certainly have them, the question is how much inventory they’re carrying.
However, despite having clearly analyzed his objectives, actually achieving these two points would be no simple task.
Andrews, the chief designer, was a renowned genius throughout Europe.
Naturally, he resided in first class.
Even if he’d been in second class, approaching him would have presented considerable difficulty.
After all, given Luca’s status, even if he’d been willing to pay for a first-class ticket, they likely wouldn’t have sold him one.
And while black market merchants theoretically cared only about money and not identities, without an introduction, showing up blindly in the lower decks would be asking for trouble or worse.
So after pondering for half the afternoon, Luca decided to seek out the story’s catalyst, that is, the scoundrel named Jack Dawson currently standing before him.
“Jack Dawson.
And you’re Luca Quinn?
From the East?” The scoundrel Jack sprang up from his chair with an impressive display of core strength.
His eyes appraising the stranger before him.
Those in first and second class might look down on Luca’s Eastern features, but as a penniless drifter.
Jack had neither the standing nor the inclination to sneer at what appeared to be a wealthy gentleman.
Even if Easterners were currently regarded as second-class citizens in Europe, he was just a wandering painter who survived by charming money from women, hardly in a position to look down on anyone.
Besides, rumor had it that some Easterners possessed extraordinary wealth.
If he could siphon even a small amount from this man’s pockets, it might cover his entire passage to America.
“Jack, I can tell you’re a man with stories to tell,” Luca extended his hand, shaking the other’s firmly as he began implementing his strategic plan.
According to the plot, in a short while, the heroine Rose would storm down from first class over some trivial matter and race to the stern with the intention of jumping into the sea.
God only knew what went through that privileged girl’s mind… someone born into wealth and comfort contemplating suicide.
What did that say to the working masses struggling to survive?
Then again, the more foolish the heroine, the more advantageous for his purposes.
If she’d been sharp and capable, Luca doubted he could deceive her so easily.
But before he could charm that naive rich girl, he needed to remove the obstacle standing in his way, the very man before him.
“Absolutely!
I can say with confidence that I’m the most story-rich person in all of London.” “Would you like to hear some of my tales?” Jack’s face lit up at Luca’s flattery.
Normally, he couldn’t be bothered chatting with men.
In his free time, he’d rather use his handsome face to charm some naive young thing or a neglected wife whose husband spent all year abroad, women desperate for the kind of “repairs” only he could provide.
But considering this Easterner appeared quite wealthy, Jack decided to make an exception and endure a brief conversation.
“Not particularly, to be honest.” “But Jack, I do have something I’d like to discuss with you.” Luca had absolutely no interest in swapping stories with this womanizer… his only goal was to recruit him.
“Jack, I’m a businessman hoping to acquire certain…
restricted goods.
But because I’m Eastern, no one will sell to me directly.” “Do you happen to know where I might find the black market aboard?” Maintaining connections with all sorts of people was Jack’s survival mechanism.
If anyone could locate the ship’s underworld, it would be him.