Chapter 4: "seaQuest DSV 4800-III"

Thirteen Months Earlier - 18 September 2022

Her keel had been laid just ten months earlier, and the inner hull was complete. Now, the outer hull was finally beginning to take shape around it, although five or six more months more would pass before the bio-skin was installed. Inside, she was still just a skeleton; her transverse bulkheads were there, but not much else. Only a handful of non-critical spaces even existed, and if there were more than four hatches installed on the entire boat, Bridger would have been surprised.

To the naked eye, she looked just like her destroyed sister, but her designer's practiced eye could pick out the differences. Fifty-two feet longer than seaQuest I and II's 1,007 feet, she was also a bit wider at the beam (no more than eight feet at her widest, though), although her lines were much the same as her predecessors'. If a casual viewer had made it past the multiple layers of security guarding her, they might have been excused for thinking that she was an exact copy of the late seaQuest II.

Thinking about the last boat made Nathan grimace. She had been so close to complete, so damn close, and the UEO still had not figured out who had been behind her destruction. The official report read that a disgruntled shipyard worker had smuggled the required ton of C-84 on board over the span of several weeks, but the worker the security types fingered had conveniently died in the blast. Personally, Nathan was not entirely sold on the idea that seaQuest II had been destroyed by a man with four children at home and no one to care for them—but the case was officially closed.

With seaQuest's destruction, however, came a rapid disintegration of the tentative peace the UEO had hammered out following Livingston Trench. Short-sighted as ever, the politicians running the UEO had declined to build another "overgrown metal squid" after, as they pointed out, her designer had destroyed the first one and a ton of explosives had shattered the second one, along with the 128 workers who were on board at the time.

There weren't even enough parts to salvage. Just very small pieces that people took home for souvenirs.

Nathan had been lucky. He'd been stuck in yet another meeting discussing (arguing about, more like) the eventual makeup of the boat's crew when his baby had exploded, and although every window in the building had shattered, he hadn't even been wounded. But he didn't think he would ever forget that day, either—nor the one when he had to call every single one of the returning crew members to tell them that the UEO would not build another seaQuest. 19.3 billion tax dollars had gone down the drain between the first two, and the UEO did not care if they were shattering the crews' dreams; the bottom line was more important, and $19.3 billion was a lot of money to spend and still wind up with nothing to show for it.

But her crews' dreams had not been the only thing shattered; the peace had wound up in as many pieces as their submarine had, and before too long, UEO Command knew that the world was teetering on the brink of war once more. The politicians smiled, waved, and swore up and down that they had every confidence in the UEO's current fleet, that so many top-of-the-line submarines could easily pick up where seaQuest left off in May of 2019, but even they started to understand that something was seriously wrong when every other confederation in the world ganged up on the UEO to push the planned economic summit forward from 2026 to 2022.

In November of 2021, just two months before the conference, Bridger had gotten the call. They needed to build another seaQuest, and fast. Her keel was laid within the week.

A lot had changed in just ten months, though. The likelihood of war had moved from "probable" to "ongoing and we just haven't admitted it yet", which explained why Admiral Noyce had come all the way to Pearl Harbor's Building Slip 4A from the new UEO Headquarters in New Cape Quest. And that explained why Nathan was standing here on the scaffolding next to his newest baby, watching workers swarm all over her hull.

"Hello, Bill." Most captains would have popped to attention when an Admiral approached, even if they were in doors and thus shouldn't salute him. Nathan didn't even take his hands out of his pockets.

"Good to see you, Nathan," his old friend replied cheerfully. "She looks good."

Nathan snorted. "Good is relative. I could list about eighteen major issues we're dealing with at the moment, but I doubt you came just to listen to a production report."

"I'm sure you've got a handle on that," was the breezy reply.

"Yeah, and you never read past the executive summary, anyway."

"Why should I?" Bill asked with a shrug. "It's not like you write the entire report, Nathan. And I do have plenty of other things on my mind—more than usual, now. Much more than I'd like."

"Macronesia?" Nathan asked, noticing the strain in his old friend's expression.

"I thought you were too wrapped up in your work to notice anything else," the admiral replied, half-jokingly—but Nathan could hear the seriousness buried in his casual tone.

Things must be even worse than I thought.

"I do get message traffic," he replied softly, deciding that he really ought not tease Bill any further. Nathan did offer a lopsided smile, though. "And I even read it. We've lost four boats in the last three months—two without any survivors. I know it's bad, Bill."

"Bad doesn't begin to cover it, Nathan," Bill replied. It struck Nathan suddenly how old he sounded. Old wasn't an adjective he'd ever been able to apply to his friend, even if his age might warrant it.

"Then what are you doing here instead of running things in New Cape Quest?"

"I'm here because we need to talk about her." The admiral jerked his head towards the newborn submarine. "The politicians are in negotiations again, so things should be quiet for a month or so…but I doubt it'll last long. You're sure about the February 2024 launch date?"

"Unfortunately," Nathan admitted. "We might be able to push it, but probably not by much…building a boat like this takes time, Bill. The first boat was six years from keel to commissioning, and the only reason the last one was going to be done so quickly was because the UEO had started building her as a sister ship for seaQuest a year before the boat was destroyed, not as a replacement."

"I know, I know… It's just—we need to talk, Nathan. About her, and about everything else. This mess with Macronesia is going to blow up in our faces before too long, and I wouldn't be surprised if it turns into all-out war."

Nathan swallowed, and as much as he didn't want to say the words, he had to. "Yeah. Neither would I."

"Usually you have a lot more to say on the topic of war," his friend said after a moment, throwing him a significant glance.

He shrugged helplessly. "What do you want me to say, Bill? That I hate war? That I wish we, as humanity, could figure out how to talk to each other instead of killing each other? That's nothing new. I learned to hate war the first time I fought one. I still, as you put it so succinctly a few years back, 'could shoot when I needed to'."

"What about now?" Bill wanted to know. "Can you still shoot when you need to? Will you, if it comes down to war?"

Of course Bill was going to ask the question. As Nathan's friend, he might not want to, but as the Chief of Naval Operations, he had to. Nathan had signed on to build the second seaQuest because she was designed with a primarily scientific mission in mind. And he'd stuck around for this one because…well, because she was seaQuest. He couldn't imagine being anywhere else. Not any more.

But what Bill wanted to know, what Bill had to know, was what Nathan planned to do if there was a war on when seaQuest's commissioning rolled around. He knew about the promise Nathan had made Carol eleven years ago, and he remembered that Nathan hadn't wanted to come back into the service in the first place, even as a peacekeeper.

When Nathan remained quiet, his friend spoke softly:

"If you don't want to stay on as her captain, just say the word. I'll find someone else. Hell, once word gets out that we're building a new one, qualified commanding officers will be beating the door down. We might even be able to give her to Commander—excuse me, Captain—Ford, if you want."

Now that was tempting. If he could leave her in Jonathan's hands, Nathan might be able to leave with a clear conscience…

No. No, he couldn't.

Besides, he had already made his decision. Had made it some time ago, in fact, right around the time that he'd gotten word that Dalton Phillips, seaQuest's old Weapons Officer, had been killed in action. Hearing about that had made Nathan start wondering how he'd feel if he got word that Jonathan, or Katie, or any of seaQuest's other officers or crew had been killed…and especially about how he would feel if it happened while he was sitting high, dry, and safe on shore, avoiding war because his principles told him to.

Nathan shook his head.

"I'll stay," he said softly.

Bill started. "Are you—?"

"Yeah," he cut him off. "Let's go to my office, Bill. I've got something to show you."

When they reached Nathan's office, after passing through three separate security checkpoints—the one really annoying part about building a boat in absolute secrecy was the multiple layers of security wrapped around the entire process—he pulled up the plans he had been working on for the past month, and watched Bill's eyes grow wider and wider.

"You've taken out all of the science sections," his old friend said softly.

Nathan smiled sadly. "We either do it now or do it later. Doing it now is cheaper…and we can always put them back when the war's over."

Bill, however, was still staring at the blueprints, his mouth drooping open slightly.

"This is a…major change, Nathan."

"I know. But if we're going to build a warship, Bill, we might as well build a warship. With these changes, nothing on or under the water will be able to touch her—no matter how many Lysanders the Macronesians punch out."

"You have been paying attention." Bill's smile was still somewhat stunned, but pleased.

Nathan laughed, surprising even himself by how light his voice was. "I'm a weapons and warship designer by trade. Of course I'm paying attention to everyone's new toys. And if it's all right with you, I prefer mine to be better than theirs."

"I know that feeling," his friend said feelingly, and then turned to the practical heart of the matter. "How much time will this add to her construction schedule?"

"If we implement the changes now, not much at all. Construction is still at the point where we won't have to rip anything out to put the new spaces and equipment in." Nathan gestured at a section of the plans on E Deck. "But it will be more expensive. The Torpedo Handling System alone is going to require a lot of funding."

"Ah, screw the money." Bill grinned suddenly. "It's all coming from non-military funds anyway because the project is so secret, so it's not like anyone's going to notice. Consider the changes approved."

"You don't want to see the rest?" Nathan knew that Bill had been known to shoot from the hip, but a two or three additional billion dollars was nothing to laugh about.

"Do I need to?"

Nathan snorted. Some people never change. "You might like them," he pointed out.

"Well, in that case, let show and tell commence."

The Present - 28 October 2023

"Captain, Sonar, I think I may have something, sir."

Jonathan was out of his rack and moving towards the door before the words coming from the speaker on his cabin's bulkhead even sank in. Although he had been catching a catnap in the early afternoon to balance out several nights of two or three hours' sleep, hearing Miguel's voice immediately jerked him into full consciousness. His feet carried him down the passageway and towards the bridge almost on their own.

"What's up?" he asked, arriving on the bridge amidst the traditional announcement of:

"Captain on the bridge!" his Officer of the Deck called.

Jonathan ignored it; so did Miguel. "I've got something intermittent on the towed array. The computer thinks it's a biologic, but I'm not so sure. The sound is too rhythmic to be a whale," his sonar officer answered.

"You think it's our friend?"

"It's definitely nothing in the UEO's Navy," Miguel replied immediately. "Or any of our allies. It could be nothing."

Jonathan managed not to smile, but it was hard. He was tired enough that containing his emotions was difficult, no matter how much he knew a captain should do so. "But you don't think so."

"Not really, no."

Miguel shut his mouth with a snap, listening closely. Jonathan remained silent, refusing to bother him—sonarmen were a strange breed in general, and Miguel was the best one he had ever worked with. He'd said as much to the Warrant Officers' Board a year before, and flattered himself to think that he was one of the reasons Miguel had finally accepted a commission. Miguel Ortiz was the best, and Atlantis really needed him now.

Still on the way back from the incident at Rochefort Station, Jonathan's boat had received a distress call from the UEO supply ship USNS Medgar Evers, which had been torpedoed by an unknown submarine deep in UEO waters. He'd rushed to their assistance and wound up helping the giant surface ship stay afloat until several tugs could arrive a week later—and then, only then, had the mystery submarine shown up again.

It had announced its presence with a huge torpedo strike, putting fourteen fish in the water within the span of thirty seconds, a firing rate no boat in the UEO's arsenal could match. Atlantis had managed to avoid the ten thrown her way, but two had struck one of the tugs towing Medgar Evers, blowing her up with all hands on board.

Worse yet, the mystery sub, Atlantis' so-called "friend", had reached firing range without any of the five UEO ships in the area noticing her. They'd started hunting for her immediately, of course, but except for a few elusive hits here and there, the sub might as well have been invisible. Even replaying the sonar tapes did not enable Miguel or Jonathan's other sonarmen to find her.

Their friend was simply…silent.

Miguel had determined that she was Macronesian from the sound of the torpedoes the enemy boat sent their way from time to time before disappearing again. So far, Jonathan had managed to avoid all of the potshots thrown at them, but only thanks to the brand-new Mark 209 Interceptor. Atlantis' departure for her current patrol had been delayed in order to on load the Navy's newest version of the intercept torpedo. At the time, Jonathan had been frustrated by the days it took to swap out her entire intercept loadout, but now he was grateful for them. The old Mark 206s would not have stopped whatever torpedoes the Macronesian boat was carrying, and Atlantis would have been on the bottom of the ocean by now.

But despite that new ability to defend themselves, Atlantis had yet to be able to take an effective shot at her enemy. They couldn't even get a firing solution on them, let alone manage to hit her! Twenty days after moving to Medgar Evers' assistance and thirteen after leaving her to commence a search for this stealth submarine, Jonathan was no closer to finding her than he had been before.

He had a bad feeling that the CO of the Macronesian boat was playing with him, giving Atlantis a sniff every time that the UEO boat might be starting to lose hope of finding her. He didn't like that feeling, but he wasn't about to lie to himself about it, either. Things were getting bad if a Macronesian sub could sneak around in UEO waters without anyone managing to pinpoint its location.

"Anything?" he finally prompted Miguel.

"Um…" A long moment of silence passed. "I think so. Not enough to do a complete workup on her signature, but enough to follow her. Probably."

"But have they heard us?" Jonathan had to know.

Miguel shook his head. "I don't think so."

A smile split Jonathan's face, and he squeezed his sonar officer's shoulder. "Good job, Miguel."

"Thanks, sir." The answer was distracted; Ortiz was listening closely. "Best guess…she bears two-four-nine, moving at about fifteen knots. TMA indicates course of about…one-four-five. Maybe one-four-zero. Range is about one mile. Her depth is about one thousand feet—she's above the layer, which is probably why she hasn't heard us yet."

Swinging to face his Officer of the Deck, Jonathan ordered: "Let's get in behind her. Come around to one-eight zero for an intercept course, but I want you to come around slowly, Lucy. Don't let her hear us."

His officer of the deck nodded tensely. "Aye, sir," she replied, nodding to her conning officer to relay the necessary orders to the two sailors on Atlantis' helm. She glanced at Ford questioningly. "Do you want to go to General Quarters, Captain?"

"Not yet," he replied, taking a calculated risk. "Let's see if we can't hold her, first."

His crew was worn out; their patrol should have already been over, and they'd been tracking an elusive enemy for days now. Everyone was exhausted, and if the Macronesian was just going to disappear again, Jonathan refused to wear them down further for a false alarm. Of course, if the Macronesian noticed them and opened fire, things could get cute in a hurry, but Jonathan trusted his watch standers. They would handle the pressure, if necessary.

It turned out to be the right decision. Two hours later, Atlantis lost contact with the mystery boat, and despite several days of fruitless searching, never found her again. When Jonathan turned his boat back towards Pearl Harbor, though, at least it was with the knowledge that he had uncovered information that the UEO needed—even if that boat was still out there somewhere.

Dragging Lucas out of bed was a bit challenging, but Nathan was willing to give him a pass, particularly since Lucas had been in five different time zones over the past two days, and his body was probably still trying to figure out which direction was up. Of course, that did put Nathan well behind the schedule he usually liked to keep, but since he'd been at the shipyard so late the night before, he didn't really mind going in a bit later.

Lucas did, however, give him the strangest look when they walked out of the apartment complex to the waiting car.

"One too many speeding tickets, Captain?" Lucas asked, climbing into the backseat of the car.

"Funny," Nathan replied dryly, also climbing into the backseat as Petty Officer Riley, his driver, tried rather too obviously not to laugh. "But no."

"Oh. I figured having your license revoked would be the only way you'd agree to having a driver. Not really your style," Lucas said.

"No, it isn't. But security on this 'project' of ours is so tight that I don't get an option." He shrugged. "At least it means that I don't get in bleary-eyed accidents when I drive home after working too late."

Riley half-twisted around, speaking as he eased the car onto the highway. His expression was innocently sincere, as if he and Nathan had not had this discussion a half hundred times before. "And it keeps you from getting yourself shot, Captain, which might just be important."

"Shot?" Lucas asked, clearly surprised and worried. "There was a chance of you getting shot?"

"Not really, no," he sighed, pausing to glare at his driver. "But the security types—like Riley here—seem to think so. Honestly, Lucas, it's just how black projects work. Someone decides there's a threat, and everyone else overreacts."

Riley ignored the glare—he was accustomed to Bridger's impatience where security restrictions were concerned—but Lucas seemed at least a little mollified. And it wasn't like anyone had actually threatened Bridger; no one knew they were building the new boat, so why target him? Nathan changed the subject.

"We'd best drop by your Q room and pick you up a uniform before we head to the shipyard."

"Yeah, sure," Lucas said, and then made a face. "You know, as much as I want to go see the boat, it really could wait until Monday. Or at least later in the day, you know."

Bridger chuckled. Teenagers! Except Lucas wasn't a teenager, now, and unless Nathan missed his guess, he was going to get a very rude awakening when he encountered the typical Navy lifestyle. "This is late in the day, kiddo; it's after nine. I usually get in at seven."

The expression on Lucas' face would have made college students and teenagers everywhere proud. "Some of us like to sleep until more civilized hours, on the weekend, anyway."

"Some of us have twelve billion dollar submarines to build."

Yeah, there was definitely going to be a rude awakening coming up soon. Bridger suppressed a smile at the thought. Lucas had been like a son to him for a long time, now, and the kid meant the world to him—but he'd made his choice, and Nathan had no intention of giving Lucas any special treatment because of his emotional attachment to him. Besides, it'd be good for the kid.

Lucas let out a low whistle. "Twelve billion? Not bad. Not bad at all."

"Eleven-point-nine, anyway, at last estimate. And she's slightly behind schedule. When the contractors work Saturdays, so do the people supervising them." Nathan gave him a pointed look. "Nowadays, that includes you, Lucas."

"You don't need to keep reminding me, Captain. I was just expecting to have had a little more sleep," Lucas said.

Sure I don't, Nathan thought to himself, but he smiled. "Right."

Fortunately, Nathan's apartment was located less than a mile from the base's main gate, and the "Q," or Bachelor Officers' Quarters, was not too far from there. It wasn't precisely on the way to the yards, but at least the trip would not take much longer than usual. That, and Nathan actually owned a mini comp these days, and could get some work done while he waited for Lucas.

He was already checking email by the time Lucas got out of the car, finding that he had a disturbing number of messages from one of the sub-contractors concerning parts availability. Fortunately, he now had himself a Supply Officer who could deal with such concerns, so he forwarded all twelve of the emails to Krieg.

Unfortunately, that didn't cover the other forty-six emails that he'd received since he left the yards the night before, and they kept him plenty busy while Lucas showered and changed. He did, however, possess the presence of mind to look up from the mini-comp as soon as Lucas got back into the car. He'd gained a rather unpleasant amount of experience in the consequences of ignoring other passengers, thanks to Kristin, and the habit was finally broken. Mostly.

Something strange caught his eye the moment Lucas slid into the seat next to him. At first, Nathan thought it was just the sight of Lucas in a uniform that was throwing him off, and then he saw the rank insignia on Lucas' khakis. "Wait a minute. When did you say you graduated from OCS?"

"End of August. Why?" Lucas asked.

"Unless something changed while I wasn't paying attention, you should be an ensign. Not a Lieutenant Junior Grade."

Lucas smirked. "I'm just that high-speed, Captain."

"Let me guess. This was Admiral Noyce's idea." He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. I bet you think you're being cute, don't you, Bill?

"Not just his idea. You should have seen the looks on my classmates' faces when the CNO pinned my rank on and promoted me," Lucas replied, still smirking.

"I bet," Nathan said dryly. Typical Bill Noyce, that. But it was useful, at least. Lucas was in a department head billet, and it would help him to be a little higher on the food chain than an ensign was.

That was especially true because the Bureau of Personnel, in all of their infinite wisdom, had decided to leave Chris Schafer on board despite the fact that they'd given Lucas his job. Schafer was now the Communications Officer, working for Tim, and though that job was probably a better fit than making him EWO would have been, it was still going to make things interesting. And if Lucas was an ensign, it would only have made matters worse, Nathan thought to himself. At least this way he's not too far behind Schafer in seniority.

Five minutes later, they had reached the Naval Shipyards and were threading their way through the security checkpoints. Doing so left Nathan more frustrated than he would have liked to admit; his security pass would see him waved through, but he had to get Lucas a badge, which meant almost another hour passed before they entered the giant sheltering "shed" in which seaQuest lived.

It was hardened against almost any attack the UEO could conceivably predict, and actually had a floating drydock installed for when the boat was finally ready to be launched. The entire shed was dry right now, though the pair still entered on the main level, which left them even with seaQuest's centerline.

The wait had been worth it, though, to see Lucas' expression of awe and amazement at seeing this new seaQuest for the first time. Now, Bridger did not even attempt to suppress his smile.

"What do you think, kiddo?"

"She's..." He gestured a little towards the boat.

He took that to mean she was amazing, if even Lucas was left speechless.

"Yeah," Nathan agreed quietly, feeling the same rush of pride he did every time he looked at seaQuest. "Yeah, she is."

"She looks almost done," Lucas said, finding his voice.

"Almost is relative, unfortunately," he admitted. "We finished installing the bio-skin a week ago, which is why she looks so good from the outside, but there's still a lot of interior work going on. Most of the main systems are in place, but we've got a bit over four months until launching is scheduled."

"Oh. Will that be long enough?" Lucas asked. For some people, Bridger would have had to explain all of the issues involved, but Lucas was a genius, and he'd been involved enough in the building of the last seaQuest that he understood the multitude of moving parts and things that could go wrong in shipbuilding.

"It'll have to be," Nathan grunted. "The world isn't getting any quieter, though having seaQuest in the water might change that."

"It worked before, didn't it?"

"Only after everything went to hell first," he answered, running his eyes over his boat again. "I hope we can prevent that this time…but if not, well, you'll see shortly that this seaQuest is a bit different from the last one, Lucas."

"Did you get that sauna you wanted, this time?" Lucas joked, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

Nathan chuckled. "No, not this time. I did get a whole lot more torpedo and missile tubes, though, so it's a good trade off." He smiled. "And I did get clearance to have a few additional dolphins on board, too."

Lucas' eyes lit up. "I bet Darwin's glad he'll be having some friends."

"He seems eager, yeah. Now, care for a tour?"

"I'd love one."

"Come on, then," he said, grinning. Technically, Bridger had work to do—enough to keep him busy on Sunday, too, if he came in—but he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to give Lucas his first tour on seaQuest. He tried to do that for all of the original crew members who came back; he'd done so for Ben and for Tim, and for Chief Crocker, as well. Busy though he might be, Nathan refused to give up the fun parts of his job, even if it meant working weekends.

He led Lucas into the boat, unable to ignore the fact that the young lieutenant was grinning like a schoolchild on his first trip to the zoo. Nathan was hardly able to contain the same kind of excitement; every time he showed seaQuest off to someone, he felt the same rush of wonder. It was something he hoped he would never lose, no matter how rough the years to come might be.

Ben strolled through a half-finished passageway on seaQuest's main deck, whistling a jaunty tune as he avoided a group of welding shipyard workers. Life was good—the captain had given him his lieutenant commander rank back, he was on the best boat in the Navy, with people he considered friends, doing the work he loved the most. Nothing could ruin his good mood right now.

Even the fact that the return of the rank wasn't technically a promotion couldn't dull Ben's mood. He'd received what the Navy called a "spot promotion" because he was filling a job usually detailed to someone of higher rank, but the pay was the same and he got to wear the rank, which made it real enough for him. Sure, he might have to give it back when he left seaQuest if he had not been promoted for real by then, but that was a problem to face a couple of years down the road. Today was too good for worries.

Except…Tim O'Neill stood in the middle of the passageway, hands on his hips, glaring at Ben and doing his best to ruin a perfectly good afternoon.

"Commander Krieg, I'd like to have a word with you," Tim said, spitting out Ben's new rank with obvious distaste. Ben wasn't sure why he had his briefs in a twist, since the captain had made sure he received a spot promote to lieutenant commander months ago, which actually made Tim senior to him, now. But as much as that rankled, Ben wasn't about to delve too deeply into the mind of seaQuest's old Communications Officer, especially since he now bore the highfaluting title of Operations Officer.

"What can your friendly Supply and Morale officer do for you today, Lieutenant?" Ben asked, flashing Charming Grin Number Sixteen. If possible, Tim's glare increased in intensity, and Ben scaled his grin down to Helpful Smile Number Nine.

Tim brandished a sheaf of papers at Ben. "Do you know what these are?" Ben tried to catch a look, but Tim wasn't making it easy on him.

"Ah, they appear to be requisition forms. Is there a problem with them?"

"Yes, there's a problem with them!" Tim exploded. Ben raised his eyebrows in surprise. Tim O'Neill just wasn't the type of person to lose his temper like this, even with someone like Ben.

"Why don't we head back to the building, go to my office and you can tell me what's wrong with them, so we can get this all straightened out?" Ben said in his most placating tone possible. If Tim was going to act like a wild animal ready to attack, Ben would treat him like one. He'd had lots of practice with Katie over the years. Besides, getting him off the boat would get Tim away from any metal odds and ends he might try to bash Ben over the head with, given his current mood. "I just got a load of supplies in, I think there's some nice, soothing herbal tea in there you'd like. Caffeine free."

"That's exactly the problem, Krieg. You didn't requisition any herbal tea, and yet you have it anyway," Tim said, brandishing the papers again. "You've got three crates worth of supplies that you shouldn't."

Understanding dawned on Ben. Clearly, stress was getting to the younger officer, because normally he would have noticed that there were a lot more than three crates that he hadn't officially ordered. "Look, uh, Tim, don't worry about what the forms say. I'm sure you've got plenty of other things to worry about, what with how Captain Bridger has made you his acting executive officer. Trust me."

"I wouldn't trust you if you were the last person left on Earth," Tim retorted. Ben winced, both for effect and because the words really did sting.

"You wound me, Tim. I thought we were friends. The captain has trusted me to do my job, and you should too. By the time we get underway, we'll be stocked and ready to go with all of the essentials," Ben replied. "And then some."

He couldn't resist adding the last part, even if common sense told him he probably shouldn't.

Tim looked like he would have physically thrown himself at Ben at that point, had Chief Crocker not come by at just the right moment to save him.

"Chief Crocker! Just the man I was looking for!" Ben lied through his teeth, flashing a large grin at the older man.

"Somethin' I can do for you, Commander?" Crocker looked like he remembered Ben all too well from the first seaQuest tour; his expression was wary. "And it's Master Chief, sir. But you can still call me Chief, if you want."

"Right, of course, Master Chief. I needed to talk to you about that... thing." Not one of your better plans, Ben...

"Thing, sir?" Crocker was throwing him one of those looks only Navy chiefs could manage, the ones that told officers that they knew said officer was full of bull, and there was no way this side of Hell a chief was going to help him dig his way out.

Ben wracked his mind desperately for something, anything he could say to convince Crocker to help him. "Yeah, you know, the thing you asked me about the other day. In private."

"Riiight. Oh, but that reminds me. Mister O'Neill, did you see the orders that just popped in message traffic? I was over in Admin, and the yeoman wanted me to let you know. We've got a new Sonar Officer coming—one a bunch of us should recognize. Though I can't imagine that it's made Captain Ford all that happy, us stealing him. He should be here in about a week. "

Tim was faster on the uptake than Ben, but only by a second. "We got Miguel?"

"Yes, sir," Crocker grinned. "Though he's Chief Warrant Officer Ortiz these days, so he'll hang out with all you officers and gentlemen instead of us lowly and dirty chiefs."

"Lots of promotions going around lately, seems like," Ben said.

"Sorry to disappoint you that you ain't the only one," was Crocker's quick retort. But the Master Chief was still smiling, and Tim seemed to be trying hard not to snicker.

"Next thing you know, Darwin will be getting promoted to a junior grade," Ben said, as mock woefully as he could manage. "What's this Navy coming to?"

"Tell me about it. They promoted you," Tim chimed in, rolling his eyes. "Twice."

Ben grinned and shrugged. "They were out of admiral stars at the Exchange, so I had to settle with this."

Tim and Crocker both laughed, and suddenly it felt like old times.

"Master Chief here is Chief of the Boat, now," Tim explained after a moment of chuckling. "Apparently, since we did away with the science contingent, we're also doing away with the strange rank structure the UEO forced on us to go with it."

"That's COB to you, sir, in case you've forgotten how these Navy things work," Crocker added with an innocent smile.

"I'll keep that in mind. Now if you two fine gentlemen will excuse me, I've got some work to do," Ben said, sidestepping around them as quickly as he could in his attempt to make a hasty retreat before Tim remembered to yell at him again.

Thankfully, Crocker's appearance seemed to have cooled Tim's temper, because the other officer only yelled after him: "Fill out the damn forms, next time, will you? I'm getting sick of covering for you with the squadron!"

Ben waved a hand in appeasement, though they both knew the supplies seaQuest took in wouldn't necessarily match the forms Ben filled out. If they had, Ben wouldn't be as good a Supply Officer as he was.

He started whistling again, picking up where he left off. Yes, today really is a good day.

30 October 2023

Tim had known they would be getting a replacement EWO at some point, after he had seen the ORDMOD shifting Lieutenant Schafer to Tim's old position as Communications Officer. The change meant that Schafer would be working for Tim, which made things a bit interesting; technically, Tim wasn't much more senior than his new division officer, although the spot promote to Lieutenant Commander that he had received a few months ago neatly rectified that situation. He did expect a few problems from Schafer, but Chris was a good officer, overall, so Tim figured that he could deal with them. What he hadn't been expecting was for the captain to call him on a Sunday to inform Tim he would be acting as a mentor for their new officer.

He'd been confused, anxious, and flattered by the captain's decision, but then Bridger had gone on to explain that Schafer's replacement would be Lucas, of all people. Lucas in the Navy. Tim had been shocked, of course, but sure enough, there was a message waiting for him containing Lucas' orders.

The better part of yesterday had been spent preparing for the meeting he had scheduled with Lucas for today, remembering back to all of the things he had struggled with during his own first experience as a department head. Tim could admit he had been nervous, but working under Captain Bridger and Commander Ford had helped him grow as an officer.

He was still nervous, especially with the idea of taking Lucas under his metaphorical wing, but he was learning to accept the faith the captain put in him as not being misplaced. Sometimes his fear of failure got the best of him, but lately he had barely had time to worry about messing something up, with all of the work he was doing both as Operations Officer and acting XO.

Tim didn't anticipate that adding Lucas to the mix would be too difficult. They had served together before, and Tim would even go so far as to consider the younger man his friend, even if they had lost touch over the last few years. He remembered Lucas as being dedicated to his work and always eager to learn new things, qualities Tim could appreciate in anyone. Knowing Lucas, he would have all of the ins and outs of being a department head figured out within a few weeks.

Checking his watch, Tim frowned. Lucas was five minutes late. He shuffled his papers around, telling himself there was no reason to worry. Lucas probably just got lost trying to find Tim's office. He would give the younger officer a few more minutes.

He was just about to call Lucas' comm device when there was a knock at his door. "Enter," he called out. Lucas came in, looking flustered.

"Hey, Tim, sorry I'm late. I got caught up in work. Captain Bridger's got me running diagnostics on everything already," Lucas said, dropping into a seat without invitation. Tim was shocked, both by Lucas' uniform and short haircut, and his casual manner in greeting a senior officer. "What's up?"

Oh boy, he thought. This is going to be harder than I thought.

"The captain told you I'd be acting as your mentor?" Tim asked. Lucas nodded, grinning. Tim gave him a small frown in return.

"Let me give you some advice…"

A/N: Thanks again for the lovely reviews! A few of you made us blush with happiness. Stay tuned for Chapter 5 "Smoke and Mirrors", in which Macronesia flexes their military muscles, Ford and Hudson have an explosive encounter, and Ben tries to be responsible. In the meantime, please let us know what you think-we finished writing chapter 17 today, and are definitely open to encouragement to update sooner.