The face looked younger in death, with all the lines of stress smoothed away. The skin had lost that warm olive tone, seeming to be almost gray in death. Admiral Nelson choked back a sobbing gasp as he worked, meticulously boxing medals for the next of kin, straightening the khaki dress jacket, touching each of the ribbons, as if doing so would somehow restore Lee Crane to life… If they had been ashore, he would have insisted on dress blues and full military honors. Lee had looked nice in dress blues, nice enough to turn the heads of most women who saw him. Dress whites had brought out the best in him, a complement to his intensity, but dress blues were in season. Full dress and military honors would at least have put everyone on notice about how important Lee had been… But they were afloat, not ashore, and so the khaki dress jacket would have to do…
Why had he thought he could do this? Patterson and Kowalski had volunteered, but he had secured this task for himself as his obligation to the son that Lee had become to him. He boxed the Silver Star and set it aside, then touched the ribbon that indicated it, on the uniform. A Silver Star was something special… Only a notch or two below Nelson's own Navy Cross… But he had no idea what action had earned it. It shamed him that he hadn't kept tabs on Lee's career like he had on Chip's. But then he hadn't known Lee from the time he was a child, hadn't known what Lee was like until they'd served together briefly during the Gulf War. Then Lee had been extremely junior, only a junior lieutenant, and Captain Nelson, other than doing his FitReps and looking over his training jacket, really hadn't had much to do with him. He couldn't even really remember what Lee's job had been on the boat. Diving officer, he thought… When it had come time to choose a crew for Seaview, John had always been his first choice for captain, and Chip his first choice for XO. There hadn't been room for Lee Crane, even if he'd thought of the man at all.
He found himself staring at the neat stack of medal boxes, all carrying a medal awarded for a particular action, a particular quality. Something no one else had done, something no one else had accomplished… Something that set the wearer apart from everyone else. A Silver Star, a Navy and Marine Corps medal, Meritorious Service, Afghanistan Campaign… He knew what the medals meant, but it shamed him that he didn't know how they'd been earned. They were the symbols of a unique individual, a man whose courage defined him, much as it had defined the boat he'd led…
It seemed odd to him now that he hadn't had Lee in mind from the first. How had it been possible to overlook him? He couldn't have shut John out, and Chip had always been his golden boy, the man he was grooming for success, but how had he not known that Lee Crane existed and would be a fit for his lady? Why had it taken John's death to wake him up to the possibilities? It seemed inconceivable now, given what he knew of the man, that Lee hadn't even been on his radar back then. Instead all his machinations had been geared toward getting Chip Morton aboard his boat. John could have the pick of whatever boat he wanted; getting him to pick Seaview wasn't at all difficult. Getting the Navy brass to agree that Chip belonged on Nelson's boat had been a very different matter…
But if he'd known about Lee, would he have made a different choice? It was difficult to weigh the options. Difficult to admit, even to himself, that he valued one young man above the other. He'd known Chip for some twenty years, since the lad had been twelve years old. But Lee had become the son he would never have… If he'd had it all to do again, would he have chosen one above the other? Would he have chosen Lee, and advanced him to command after John's death?
Unfair, Harry… You couldn't make that choice when you didn't know all the players… And you can't believe that Lee is more valuable to you now…
John, sticking his nose in. Nelson had known John so well, that the man's voice still weighed in occasionally, serving as his conscience, guiding him around the shoals in the water, waiting to sink his boat… But in this case, John couldn't really know. In this case, it was clear that this was just Nelson himself, thinking his way through to unpleasant truths. And the truth was, he had grown closer to Lee over these years, had grown to understand what a Godsend he was to Seaview, had grown to realize that the boat would be lost without him… Why hadn't he even considered Lee all those years ago, when he'd first begun designing Seaview, with his hand-picked men in mind?
Once Lee had come aboard, Nelson had seen the caliber of the man. He'd seen firsthand how someone who was as different from John Phillips as night was from day could still hold a boat together and perform as well… perhaps even better. He had noted how easily Lee had fallen into command of this boat, how easily he had secured a deep and lasting friendship with the man he worked most closely with, how easily he had secured the loyalties of all board… How easily he had fit himself into the life of Seaview and the life of the Institute… How much he had become the son that Nelson would never have…
He had overheard that argument over Chip's tendered and denied resignation, and laughed at the agreement between them. The nickname that had become a scourge to both of the young men had been Nelson's contribution to their legend in Naval circles. Madness and Method… It fit far better than either of them would ever admit… But the admiral had no idea how Method would function without Madness, and wasn't sure he even wanted to know…
You know, Harry. Of course, you know! Or are you saying I was as mad as Lee Crane?
John's voice, warm with amusement, but still holding that undertone of disapproval. John had stepped in as father figure himself, almost as soon as Chip had come aboard, last of the pre-commissioning crew to report. And yes, Nelson did know that Chip could function under any CO, and function effectively and efficiently. The real question was how would he function as CO, instead of XO? And was that a place Nelson really wanted to go?
He crossed the long, pale, slim hands over Lee's still chest and laid the cover over them. Lee had never been as fastidious as Chip as far as appearance. Oh, he was always well within regulations, and his dress would never earn him a black mark, but his sunnier, looser personality showed in everything he did, and even in how he dressed. He hadn't had the rough ride that Chip Morton had had through life. He hadn't had a father who was verbally abusive, or a mother who simply didn't care… He had had the knack of turning even the most unlikely people into friends, while Chip had kept himself to himself, not averse to friendship but endlessly watchful. The contrast between them, their different approaches to life, had made them a formidable team. He couldn't really think of one without the other, and he couldn't see the future without Lee…
For despite his easy manner, Lee had been no pushover… Oh, no… Lee Crane could erupt with the violence of Vesuvius when there was need. He had no qualms arguing with the admiral, and zealously pursued the success of the boat's mission, while at the same time doing his best to insure the safety of boat and men. That meant listening to his XO, and Lee was far better at that than Nelson had ever been… He could also read Chip where Nelson had never quite learned how to see beyond the façade…
Damn it, this loss was unacceptable! What in the hell had Chip been doing that he hadn't been there, hadn't stopped it? Hadn't had his finger on the pulse of this boat as he usually did…
Nelson turned away from his handiwork, satisfied that Lee would go to his rest looking as he had in life, but angry now at what had been done to him. Time to have that conversation with Chip, and he didn't give a damn if the young man were still in Sick Bay, where Will McKenzie had forced him to go, to be treated for shock. Yes, the death had hit them both hard, but the safety of this boat's crew was Chip's responsibility, and he had failed monumentally this time.
Unfair, Harry… You can't take your sorrow out on others.
How he wished John would shut up sometimes. It was damned inconvenient having a dead man as a conscience, a man who had known him intimately most of his life, knew his successes and failures, and all of life's ups and downs, even to the death of a woman who might have been Mrs. Nelson had cancer not claimed her before he could. John hadn't always been right when he was alive, but dead, he was never, ever wrong, no matter how much the admiral raged against him.
You know where he was; you know where he goes when he's off duty. You know the paperwork is crippling, but you've done nothing…
Nelson stalked out of the captain's cabin, saluting the honor guard perfunctorily and rounding the corner toward his own cabin. He had known that not getting another yeoman immediately was a misstep. A tired officer made mistakes, and this mistake was huge. A man had died because of it… The captain had died because of it… Nelson's anger grew as he stormed into his cabin, and hammered the intercom button. "Mr. Morton, report to my cabin immediately!"
He didn't have long to wait. Within five minutes there was a knock on his door. Clearly the XO had been expecting this summons. "Come in."
Chip Morton came in, pale and somewhat less pristine than he usually was, but his mask was firmly in place. He moved to the desk and stood ramrod straight. It wasn't the custom to salute on this boat, but Nelson had the feeling that he would have, perhaps even wanted to. "I'm sorry, sir."
Of course, he would accept that this was his fault. The humble admission of guilt only whipped up the admiral's anger. "I don't believe it!" Nelson barked sharply, noting Chip's flinch with a clinical detachment he was far from feeling. "What the hell were you doing? How did Nash even make it that far?" He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one.
Because, as he thought almost guiltily now, Chip hadn't even been in the control room; he wasn't on watch. John was right again; knowing the XO, he had settled down to work on those damned reports that were drowning him. It was easy enough to twist the events to make all this Chip's fault. He made a convenient scapegoat, because he would take responsibility for it, whether he were to blame or not. But Nelson knew - and forced the knowledge down - that it wasn't his fault. The blame could be laid squarely only at Nash's door. The knowledge only seemed to fan the flames of the admiral's uncontrollable rage at Lee's senseless death. "He shouldn't have been armed, and he shouldn't have been able to make it all the way to the control room. And he absolutely shouldn't have been able to pull that trigger before someone stopped him!" He spun away from his XO, pacing restlessly, trying not to think about the hole left by Lee Crane… "Did you or did you not report to me at the end of your watch that all was well, that all systems were functioning? How could you fail to notice this breach of security?"
Again, Chip flinched; the admiral caught it out of the corner of his eye, and was ashamed of what that flinch revealed; he had always been careful to moderate his tone, to weigh anger with thought before speaking. He knew that Alan Morton had spoken to hurt, and he didn't want to emulate the man… Yet here he was, casting blame unjustly, and taking satisfaction from the evidence that he had struck home. He clenched his fist and slammed it against his desk, not even feeling the pain. "How did he get into the arms locker?"
"We're still investigating, sir." That face was perfectly expressionless, a clean slate. The blue eyes were turned downward, a certain sign that there was something in them that Chip didn't want the admiral to see. He wasn't easily read, something Nelson had often found frustrating. There were times when the admiral wanted desperately to provoke some sort of reaction. This was one of them… Surely the man felt something? Lee Crane had been a friend to them both. How could he stand there, eyes downcast, face emotionless, and tell Nelson that they were still investigating?
Unfair, he knew… Kowalski had had to hold the young man back from Lee's body, because he'd refused to believe there was nothing anyone could do. Will McKenzie had had to force him to Sick Bay to be treated for an emotional shock that hadn't even shown in his face. Of course he felt the loss. But Chip's reaction to any sort of extreme emotion was always to hide it neatly away, so that it didn't mar that unemotional surface… A response internalized and made automatic after years of hiding the feelings churned up by his father's harsh and unforgiving words. But that very facade often infuriated Nelson… He never knew how anything affected his XO.
"Still investigating? You're still investigating? How long is the damned investigation going to take?" The admiral turned away again to avoid seeing the flinch caused by the harsh words. "Nash is alive, why the hell don't you ask him?"
"Nash isn't talking, sir."
"Well make him talk!" Spinning around, Nelson snatched his hands behind his back before he was tempted to strike out at this infuriating young man. If Lee had lived… He closed his eyes and sank into his chair. But Lee hadn't lived and that was the problem. Lee was lying dead in his cabin, prepared for burial in the morning by the admiral's own hands… And tomorrow… Tomorrow, they would commit his body to the sea, and go on with their lives… As if that were even possible… "Damn it, just get out of here. Get out!"
He didn't even watch as Chip went away quickly and quietly. He had been too hard on the young man, and he knew it, but he barely cared anymore. It infuriated him that with Lee gone, Chip Morton, who was so dispassionate, so unemotional, so damned unreadable was now the acting captain of this boat. And he didn't know why that bothered him so much… Chip had been acting captain before, had been in command many times, in fact, and had always performed well. He exceeded expectations, actually, although expectations were generally set very high indeed. As an XO he was easily the best in the Navy, but under John Phillips' tutelage, and then under Lee's, he was showing all the signs of developing into an extraordinary commanding officer as well. There wasn't really anyone else who knew the boat as well as he did, now that Lee was…
But he cut off that thought instantly, for that was the reason why it bothered him that Chip would now be in control; when Chip was in command, Lee wasn't… Always before, Nelson had known that Lee would be back to take up his position again. But now… Now Lee would never again return to command, and that meant that Nelson had to make a decision: did he want to push a promotion for Chip, and make him Seaview's captain, or did he still think Chip too young? And if Chip were indeed still too young, then how would he find someone else who would fit into the command structure seamlessly?
A decision he didn't want to make, and wasn't even sure if he could make… Why the hell couldn't it have been anyone else but Lee? He could have lived with anyone else lying still and silent, cold and dead, but not Lee… Not his captain and friend… Not the son he'd never had… He could replace anyone else… He could never replace Lee… He buried his face in his hands, wishing there were some way to turn back time and fix this…
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Admiral."
The voice jerked his head up. Nelson stared in open-mouthed surprise at the stranger sitting across the desk from him. A small man who radiated power and satisfaction. His features were more than a little rodent-like, but he gave off a sinister aura at odds with his unassuming smile. Nelson reached for the intercom on his desk.
"Oh, you don't want to call security, Admiral. I can't help you if I'm in the brig." The man lifted his hands, spreading his fingers as if to show that he was unarmed, not a threat…
But it was the promise of help that stopped Nelson. "How the hell can you help me? Unless you can raise the dead, man, you're useless to me!" But, oh, how he wanted to believe that someone – anyone, even the devil himself – could help him bring back Lee…
That ingratiating smile broadened. "I can help you, but not by raising the dead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch, a handsome antique, with more buttons than Nelson thought it should have had. "But let me introduce myself first. I am Pem." He gave Nelson an encouraging look, as if he expected the admiral to recognize the name.
Nelson snorted. "Am I supposed to know that name? Who the hell are you, Pem? And where the hell did you come from?"
Pem seemed a bit taken aback by the non-recognition, but he recovered quickly. "I came from the future, Admiral. I traveled back in time, and dropped in on this famous boat and her crew… Only to find that you were undergoing a great sorrow. The poor captain… Such a terrible tragedy…"
Traveled back in time? Nelson was willing to grasp at straws if it would save his captain, but this was too much. "Time travel isn't possible. Good God, man, can you imagine the havoc we'd wreak if we could travel willy-nilly in time? Someone would always be mucking around with the past, and changing the present! It's preposterous!" But the temptation to believe was almost overwhelming… To be able to prevent this death… God, what he wouldn't give to be able to save Lee.
Pem toyed with the pocket watch in his hand. "Oh, but it's not. There are rules, of course. Strict rules…" He assumed an air of sympathy that Nelson didn't believe for a minute. "But it's not your captain's time to go, Admiral. Someone else has already mucked around with the past, and you are suffering the consequences. We can easily go back and put it right." He looked down at the pocket watch. "And this is our avenue… Though, of course, I can't really go back with you and be seen on the boat. Oh, no… That would violate the rules, you know…" He sighed heavily.
Nelson rose, watching the man flinch a bit as if the admiral's presence was intimidating. "You can't help me. I don't know how you got here, but I guarantee you won't be leaving the same way." Personally, he'd like to flush Pem out a torpedo tube, for these ridiculous and oh-so-tempting lies, but that wouldn't solve anything. Pem could languish in the brig with Nash. His presence might even protect Nash from the one hundred and twenty-four men who would very much like to slit Nash's throat for him right now…
Pem tossed the pocket watch on Nelson's desk, and hurriedly withdrew another one from his pocket. "That watch can only take you back in time three days, Admiral. If you want to save your captain, press the left button and you will be amazed. But remember… It will only take you back three days, so don't wait too long." He pressed a button on the twin pocket watch in his hand, and suddenly was gone…
Nelson blinked in surprise and darted his gaze around the room for a moment, before he could bring himself to believe that Pem had vanished… Where? This was a submarine, not an ancient Gothic monstrosity riddled with secret passageways. There was no way into or out of the Admiral's cabin except by the door…
He strode around the room, feeling like a fool, but looking everywhere, including under the bunk and into the vent. Nothing. Pem had vanished as if he had never been. The only souvenir of his presence was the pocket watch sitting silently on Nelson's desk.
The pocket watch Pem had said could take him back in time… Three days. Three days before Nash entered the control room and shot Lee dead.
He picked up the pocket watch, seduced by that promise. Would it work? Could it work?
The watch looked nothing like other pocket watches he'd seen. The numbers on its face didn't look right, and it was a moment before he realized there were far too many of them. Instead of twelve hours, this watch seemed to show thirty-six… Exactly half of the number of hours in three days, just as twelve was exactly half the number of hours in one day…
Three days… What had he been doing three days ago? Nelson closed his eyes trying to remember back, past the tragedy of this morning to three days ago… They had been wrapping up the mission – purely research this time, into the behavior of killer whales. He had been going over the data with Chief Sharkey, their COB, who knew absolutely nothing about scientific research but was a most willing helper. Lee had called him up to the observation nose…
His heart thumped a bit faster at the memory. Lee had called him up to the nose… Quite possibly the last time he had heard Lee's voice actually addressing him, except over dinner in the officers' wardroom…
He looked down at the pocket watch again, and knew he was going to push the left button. Despite all the research that claimed time travel was impossible. Despite his own skepticism… Despite what would undoubtedly be a vigorous protest from his XO… Despite the danger that he was – contrary to what anyone might think – more than able to foresee. He was going to push that button, because even the vain hope that this thing would take him back three days… give him three days to save Lee's life… was better than no hope at all... He would take any chance. Any chance at all…
Quickly, without giving himself time to think any longer, Nelson pushed his thumb down on the left button. A jolt shook him down into his chair, and he watched fascinated as the watch's hands turned, spiraling backward through the hours…
Three days… God, what he wouldn't give for the promise of those three days…