A/N — pretty sure this will be the last update of 2021 since I have Holiday Fest stories to finish. Also, I am now caught up to Bookworms and will start updating that again as well. So Happy Holidays and Happy New Year! See you all in 2022. xoxo — tmtcltb

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Chapter 4

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"Mrs. Granderson," Tom said, keeping his face expressionless as the Vice-Chair of the President's Defense Policy Board appeared on the computer screen before him.

Amy Granderson smiled at Tom but her eyes remained cold — calculating. "Captain Chandler, it's good to see you safe and sound. Unfortunately, there have been some changes since the last time that the Nathan James made contact. Secretary of Defense Marcus contracted the Red Flu and died yesterday. I was sworn in as his replacement this morning."

Despite everything that had happened since the Nathan James left Norfolk three months earlier, Tom still found himself stunned to learn that a member of the Cabinet — one of the most protected people on the planet — had been infected. As the shock dissipated, it was replaced with a sense of sadness. Owen Marcus had been a good man. He had served a tour in Vietnam before moving into first business and then public service, the path that eventually led to him being selected as the Secretary of Defense. Jed knew Marcus, the two having met back in the jungles when they were both kids, and liked him. That, above all else, gave Tom faith that Marcus could be trusted to do the right thing for both the country and the men and women who served it.

Unfortunately, Tom did not feel that way about Marcus's replacement.

Although Lieutenant Granderson was an excellent sailor who Tom would, and did, trust with his life, Tom assumed that happened in spite of, rather than because of, her mother. Tom had heard whispers over the years about the strain between mother and daughter but nothing prepared him to see Amy Granderson walk by Alisha at the Navy Ball without saying a word rather than acknowledge her daughter's girlfriend. It was a stance Tom simply couldn't understand.

And one that made him cautious.

Uncertain whether to offer condolences or congratulations, Tom went with a safer question. "Was the President or anyone else in the Cabinet exposed, ma'am? I'm sure Doctor Scott would be willing to make a short detour to provide you with the cure."

"That will be unnecessary, Captain," Mrs. Granderson replied, although Tom noticed that she didn't actually answer his question. "Because the United States is currently operating under martial law and the military will be tasked with leading the effort to distribute the vaccine, the President has given me full authority to act on his behalf. But before we get into details, I understand that Doctor Scott was conducting a preliminary vaccine trial on the Nathan James. Was it successful?"

"Yes, it was. Assuming this line is secure, I will send you Doctor Scott's full report." Tom waited and, at Mrs. Granderson's nod, he clicked send on the email he prepared prior to logging on for this call.

She was smiling now. "Excellent work, Captain. I understand that you are currently headed to Savannah with the intent of delivering Doctor Scott and her work to the CDC laboratories in Atlanta. Although I agree that it is the best option, I have to warn you that there has been some unrest in the area. After the President vacated Washington, D.C., military command relocated to Camp Lejeune. I have instructed them to provide you with any assistance you may require."

"We appreciate the support, ma'am."

Tom was waiting, expecting to be dismissed, when Amy Granderson spoke again. "Just one other question, Captain. Have you shared the vaccine or the cure with anyone else? The British, perhaps?"

There was something about the way she asked the question that gave Tom pause and he chose his words carefully. "We transferred samples of the vaccine and the cure to the Hayward, along with all of Doctor Scott's research. It seemed prudent since we were unable to verify whether the Vyerni had been destroyed. We did not discuss their proposed route back to the States."

Amy Granderson's face grew pinched but her smile didn't falter. "Of course. That is understandable under the circumstances. But I want to stress, Captain, that you are coming back to a very different world than the one that you left. Many governments have already collapsed and we are facing threats both at home and abroad. It is therefore imperative that the primordial, the vaccine, and the cure are delivered to the CDC as soon as possible to ensure that they remain in safe hands. That is a direct order and should remain your priority no matter what happens as you approach the coast."

Tom made a mental note to have Alisha pull satellite images immediately. "I understand, ma'am."

"Good." Amy Granderson nodded sharply. "I'll be back in touch once you arrive in Savannah."

She disappeared before Tom could respond.

xxxxx

Tom located Mike on the bridge. He approached, confirming that everything appeared calm before addressing his XO. "We may be looking at some trouble once we hit the coast. Let's get satellite images of Savannah and the surrounding shorelines. Also, we need to make contact with Lejeune. Ideally they can get us some boots on the ground in both Savannah and Atlanta."

Mike glanced over, an eyebrow raising. "As soon as we make that call, someone's bound to find us."

Tom nodded. "We're on borrowed time at this point. With the media coverage, they'll have a good idea of where we are headed in any event." He hesitated, checking to make sure nobody could overhear, before adding. "The Secretary of Defense is dead. Granderson's mother is his replacement."

"Rough break there." Mike noted. Tom's dislike of the woman was no secret. "I, ah, heard that Doctor Scott released the trial participants."

"Yup," Tom didn't look over, keeping his gaze on the horizon. "She deemed the trial a complete success. We need to start vaccinating the crew."

This time Mike turned to face Tom, although he kept his voice low. "We agreed to wait until we made port. Wohl was out of commission for five days with the shits and we currently only have twenty working lavatories. We have many people with that reaction and we're going to have people begging to take watch just to get away from the smell."

Tom stopped pretending to study the horizon, turning towards Mike. "Something about this feels off. I don't want to take the chance that the crew is forced off the ship without some protection against this thing."

Mike frowned. "You worried about the teams getting infected during the run to Atlanta?"

"I'm worried that the country we're heading towards isn't the same one that we left behind," Tom replied.

"Think we should be setting aside a few of those doses that Doctor Scott is stockpiling for our families?" Mike asked bluntly.

Tom blew out a short breath. "That's not a bad idea. See if the woman is willing to hand out some of the doses and then start handing them out."

After a minute, Mike nodded. "We have roughly thirty hours before we make port. I say we divide the crew into groups of twenty and wait three hours between groups to see how many of them react before moving on to the next group. If too many people get the shits, we pull the plug."

Tom nodded. "Get Garnett to help with the logistics. Oh, and Mike, this is completely voluntary. Anyone who wants to pass is excused, no questions asked."

Mike snorted. "As if that will happen."

"They should still have the option," Tom pressed.

Mike shrugged, then the corners of his lips curled, the way they did when he was trying not to smile. "It might help if you checked on the trial participants individually. You could comment on how healthy they look. That sort of thing. And while you're at it, you could update Cooper."

Tom glanced sideways. "You might actually be worse than my father."

Mike chuckled. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

xxxxx

Tom closed the cabin door behind him, leaning back against it. Sasha was curled up on the small couch that occupied one wall of the cabin, a gray blanket covering her from head to foot. The glowing tablet in her hand indicating that she hadn't been sleeping. "Strange, I don't recall giving you a key."

Sasha's lips curled, but she didn't move from her position. "Funny. I could have sworn the door wasn't locked."

Only Sasha. Nobody else would have dared show up here and make herself at home — especially when the door was definitely locked. He should have known to look for her here before he traipsed all over the ship. He had spoken to the Master Chief first, after Russ made his way to the bridge to check in. O'Connor and Gibson were both down in engineering and seemed confused, but pleased, by Tom's appearance. Wohl was in sick bay getting an IV to combat dehydration due to chronic diarrhea so Tom kept his distance, and he was somewhat relieved when there was no response when he knocked on Green's door since Green and Foster were presumably in the process of breaking every frat rule in existence. At least the two of them attempted to be discreet, which was something that Tom couldn't say for Benz and Mir.

"I went by your cabin," Tom commented, moving in the direction of his desk, snapping on the coffee maker.

There was the briefest of pauses. "How was Nina?"

"Apparently she wasn't feeling great. Some delayed side effects. Benz was there to help her, though." When the green light came on, indicating that the water was heated, he turned back to Sasha. "Coffee?"

"Of course." Sasha sat up, twisting her legs underneath her and waiting until he handed her a mug that said XO in large letters. She gazed at him over the brim. "Benz told me that you've been in a shit mood all week. I asked what he did to piss you off. He has a knack for annoying people. It's useful."

"Benz will be eighty before he's served all the extra watch that Slattery handed out." Tom leaned against his desk, allowing his gaze to linger on Sasha. She actually looked better than she had when she entered the tent last week. The shadows under her eyes lighter and the lingering bruises on her neck from the Russian attack finally gone. "Doctor Scott assured me that the vaccine trial was a success."

Sasha sipped at her coffee. "I heard. Rachel was ... animated when I swung by sick bay earlier. She said something about you wanting to wait to vaccinate the crew due to concerns about side effects."

"I had concerns, yes," Tom hedged. "But after considering the matter further, I changed my mind. Slattery and Garnett are coordinating the process as we speak."

"You changed your mind?" Sasha asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Yes." Tom grinned. "That's been known to happen."

But Sasha didn't respond to his teasing tone. She sat up, studying him. "What aren't you telling me?"

Tom took another sip of his coffee. "Off the books?"

There was a flicker of something in Sasha's eyes before she nodded. "Off the books."

"We received a message from Amy Granderson earlier today. Owen Marcus is dead," Tom said baldly, watching the shock that rippled across her face. "Granderson is now the Secretary of Defense."

Sasha's head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing. He could almost hear her mind whirling as she processed this new information. "Is anyone else in the Cabinet infected?"

"Not that I know of," Tom replied, still irritated by Granderson's failure to give a straight answer to that question.

"Marcus's death is unfortunate but not entirely unexpected with how fast this thing spread," Sasha pointed out. "What's the problem?"

Tom wavered for a second, wondering again if his personal bias was pushing him to see an issue where none existed. "The problem is that I don't trust Granderson."

"Why?" The question was blunt, pure Sasha.

"Because of how she treats Alisha," Tom said simply.

Sasha blinked, then she set down her coffee. "Because of John, you mean."

Tom wasn't surprised that Sasha made the connection. After all, she was at the Chandler house the night John announced that he was leaving the Army, giving her a first row seat to the resulting fireworks. Tom had never been certain whether someone turned his brother in or if John was simply tired of living a double life, but after an hour of fending off Jed's demands to know what the valedictorian of his West Point class could possibly have done to get an other-than-honorable discharge, John finally admitted that he was gay. Yelled it, more accurately, his face mere inches from Jed. The first and only time that Tom ever remembered his brother losing his cool with their father, a response usually reserved for Tom.

Silence had fallen, broken only when their mother, Sylvia, pulled John in for a bear hug and assured him that she couldn't wait to meet the lucky man. Men, as Tom corrected under his breath, earning an elbow in the ribs from Sasha. Jed took a bit longer to collect himself, snarling something about at least you didn't join the Navy before taking himself off to the porch for a smoke break. Thirty minutes later they all sat down for dinner, the only hint of the earlier blow-out when Jed told John that he knew some contractors who were looking for good men and didn't give a rat's ass about who you were screwing if John wanted him to make some calls.

Years later, one weekend when the kids were with Darien and Tom was fishing with his father, he asked Jed what he had really thought about John's discharge. Jed shrugged, tossing out the lure before speaking.

You don't get to pick your kids. You just have to love them for who they are and hope they forgive you for all the times that you screw things up.

For Jed, the answer had been simple. Tom strongly suspected that, for Amy Granderson, it was not.

"I don't trust anyone who can treat their child that way," Tom said after a moment.

Sasha nodded. She picked up her mug again, turning it absently between her hands. "Amy mentioned Alisha frequently during our discussions this spring. She seems very proud of her daughter. And protective. She was insistent that Alisha be on whatever ship was going to the Arctic. That was rather convenient, actually."

"Granderson is proud of the Alisha she's invented in her head," Tom corrected. "Not the Alisha who actually exists. Granderson conveniently ignores the things she doesn't like."

Sasha nodded, acknowledging the distinction, even if she didn't agree. "What did Amy say that bothered you?"

"Nothing overt," Tom admitted. "But she was ..." He paused. "She seemed overly concerned with getting the vaccine to US soil and, more importantly, making sure we didn't pass samples out to anyone else along the way. I think that Tophet was right. Granderson doesn't plan to share the vaccine with the rest of the world. Not without a quid pro quo, anyway."

Sasha was silent for a moment, drinking her coffee. "That's why you changed your mind about vaccinating the crew. You're worried that Granderson is going to hoard the vaccines."

"Yes," Tom confirmed. "I've also asked Doctor Scott to give anyone who requests them doses for their families."

"How many doses does Rachel have in the helo bay?" Sasha asked.

"Roughly five thousand," Tom replied.

"I know some people who might be able to ...," Sasha paused, staring down into her cup. "Correct the situation that you are concerned about."

"Sasha," Tom stopped, jaw clenching. "Granderson gave us a direct order."

She smiled then, chuckling ruefully. "You mean that she gave you an order. I have no way of knowing that the friend I gave a dose of the vaccine to was going to share it with the Japanese. Besides, if you're wrong, nobody will care and if you're right, well, we have much bigger problems. Once you lift EMCON, I'll make some calls."

"We broke EMCON two hours ago," Tom replied, fighting the urge to tell her — no, to order her — not to do anything. But he knew that Sasha wouldn't listen. More importantly, she was right. If Tom's gut feeling about Granderson was wrong, slipping the cure to a few foreign nationals wouldn't matter. But he wasn't wrong, and Sasha was the only person he could ask for help. The only person he trusted enough. "Lejeune is sending teams to Savannah and Atlanta to scope out the situation as we speak."

"You really don't trust her at all, do you?" Sasha noted, a question that wasn't a question. When Tom didn't answer, Sasha stood. "Time for me to get to work then."

Sasha was at the door when Tom moved, palm pressing into the cool metal to stop her from leaving. A stray hair teased across his cheek, smelling of some flower. Uniquely Sasha. His voice was low, hardly more than a whisper. "Are you going to disappear again? Once we hit Savannah?"

"I can't promise to stay but..." She glanced over her shoulder. "I promise that I won't leave without saying goodbye."