Chip Morton suspected that something was wrong, very wrong on his boat. He knew as surely as he knew he was a plank owner. His boat was not a mechanical vessel of bolts and sheet metal. She was living entity to him, full of temper at times. He was as atuned to his boat as he was to the crew that ran her. And he knew something was wrong.
The Seaview had been experiencing significant operational problems ever since Dr. Lindsay and that damn mysterious 'blob' had come aboard. The latest problem had left them lying helpless on the bottom. The problem had been corrected and the Admiral had ordered him to the circuitry room to ensure that the final step in their recovery was completed.
But even as he raced toward the circuitry room, he was distracted by the various pieces of the puzzle that had led to this latest malfunction. Yes, something was odd, but he could not name it and therefore could not address his concerns with the Captain or the Admiral.
As soon as this current emergency was over he would talk to Lee about it unofficially - offline. But as he thought about it, he was not sure of the reception he would get. Lee had been cold and distant. His hazel eyes, hard, dull, not full of their usual green-flecked mischief. Of course, nothing had been fun the last few days. Not since this latest emergency and the arrival of Dr. Lindsay.
And the Admiral, well the Admiral had assumed his usual persona during the crisis - barking orders and venting his frustration in all directions, much of it landing on Chip Morton. Nothing unusual there.
So, what was wrong? Why was he so uneasy except for the obvious reasons?
All of these thoughts were swirling in his head as he rushed into the circuitry room. These thoughts preoccupied him so that he did not see the shadow cast by the figure behind the door, did not notice that the circuitry room door did not completely open. It was certainly why the slight push from the intruder caused his fall against the panel.
The flash of light, the sparks cascading around him as he lost his balance and crashed into the panel now occupied his mind fully. He smelled the burning cloth of his shirt before he felt the pain. He crashed to the floor, instinctively rolling to his back to douse any flames. Then all was dark.
He heard the murmuring and felt a hand at his throat. It seemed that someone had come to his rescue, but he had no ability, no will to respond. He felt himself being lifted and knew he had to help by moving his legs but that too seemed beyond his ability.
Then there were gentle hands as he felt his shirt being removed. His next realization was that he was on his side. He felt something on his back and the pain flared unbearably. Didn't they know they had to stop the pain? But he couldn't tell them.
Then the gentle hands applied something cool and the pain started to fade. He was rolled onto his back. He heard the murmuring again. Jamie's soft-spoken tones and the Admiral's deep tones. He knew he should make the effort to report to the Admiral. He tried to rally some of his military discipline but to no avail.
His next sensation was the prick of the needle and the lassitude that always followed the injection of a pain-killer. The pain faded and with it all conscious thought.
Embarrassment was at the forefront of his thoughts the next morning. He was certain that he was in Sickbay and even more certain that he was deep trouble. His back was very sore. As he rolled onto his side to relieve the pain, he realized that more than his back was sore. Every muscle ached from the surge of electricity that had flooded his body.
The overwhelming feeling that something was wrong on his boat had been replaced with an overwhelming embarrassment. He had done something worthy of rookie seaman on his first cruise. He suspected there would be some not-so-gentle ribbing from his commanding officer about his lack of attention. And of course there was the Admiral. The chewing out would be a classic event and he deserved it.
Actually, the Admiral does not have to say anything, thought Morton. I can beat myself up sufficiently for both the Admiral and the Captain.
His movements had drawn the attention of Dr. Jamieson, who had been sitting at his desk, reviewing Morton's medical report.
"Good morning Commander. Feeling better?"
Chip cleared his throat and tried not to groan as he attempted to sit up and show Jamie just how much better he was. He was not successful. His throat would not co-operate and a low groan escaped even as he tried to prevent it. He glanced around the cabin to see if they were alone. He had expected that Lee might be there. It was not often that one of them woke up in Sickbay alone. Of course, that was good news. It meant that he was going to be okay. Still it was strange.
"Just as I thought." continued Jamieson. "Well to prevent any arguments, let me tell you how today is going to go. I am releasing you from Sickbay."
At Chip's surprised look, he continued, "Staying here isn't going to make the aches and pains go away. You need to start moving around, but slowly. No heavy lifting, no running, no more circuitry panels." This was said with a hint of humour and confirmed his suspicions that more jokes were yet to come his way. "Light duty for twenty-four hours and then we'll see how you're feeling. I just want to do a few more tests, apply some more ointment to your back and then I'll release you."
"By the way, the Admiral wants to see you in the Control Room after I'm finished with you and you've had breakfast."
I just bet he does, thought Morton as he listened dutifully to the Doctor's orders and decided he was getting off easy. Well at least from the Doctor.
After submitting to the doctor's ministrations, Chip slowly walked to his cabin. A shower was out of the question, as Jamie had warned him about the burns on his back. So he quickly washed as best he could in the sink, donned a clean uniform and decided he had better face the music now. Despite Jamie's orders, breakfast was out of the question. His stomach couldn't tolerate anything as he thought about facing the Admiral's wrath.
With heavy steps, borne not only from his injuries, but his self-imposed punishment, he headed to the Control Room to face the Admiral and the crew. He was somewhat heartened by the well-wishers he met along the way.
He felt foolish about the odd foreboding he had felt yesterday. His irrational, unsubstantiated thoughts had led to a carelessness that had caused the accident. How could he have tripped when he entered that room? He needed to concentrate.
As he entered the Control Room, he noticed that Captain Crane was missing. The Admiral was seated at one of the main control stations, obviously stymied by a malfunctioning device. Chip took a deep breath and announced in his most formal manner "Reporting for duty sir".
Nelson, glanced up distractedly. "Oh, Chip. Glad to see you're up and about. The doctor warned me that you're on light duty today, so I am going to turn this mess over to you to fix. Sitting down of course". If Chip didn't know better, he detected a slight glint in the Admiral's eye and a small twitch to his mouth as he delivered his orders.
With that said, Nelson moved over the to next device and continued working.
Chip, heaved an internal sigh. Well at least he wasn't going to be publicly berated. But it wasn't over yet. He sat down and started working, trying to concentrate.
The Admiral surprised him by breaking his concentration and asking "What happened in the circuitry room Chip?".
"I don't really know sir. I must have brushed up against one of the panels and caused a short circuit. I don't remember much." Morton opened his mouth to continue, to take full responsibility for the accident, when Lee Crane made his appearance. Chip was sure he had overheard his explanation to the Admiral.
"Well here it comes," thought Morton. He expected at least a joke about two left feet or dancing lessons and looked up expectantly, ready to take the comment in his stride.
But the eyes looking back at him were not those of his friend and Captain. The words that indicated his happiness that the Exec had not been more seriously injured were totally at odds with his hard, cold, flinty stare. The smile was artificial – an artificial attempt at looking happy – an alien's version of compassion.
The cold knot in Chip Morton's stomach formed again, as Crane strode off to other regions of the Control Room. He stared, hard and long as the Captain moved on. This was not Lee Crane. Chip Morton knew once again, this time without a shadow of a doubt, that something was wrong on his boat.
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