Emerging Tendrils
Three and a half years ago
Patterson and Kowalski were huddled miserably in the crew's quarters. They hadn't talked much about it yet. They had just got back, seen Doc, and been released to quarters.
Patterson was feeling pretty nauseous from the Lethion still, but Doc had understood he needed to be with his crewmates not alone in sick bay.
The two men sat with bowed heads cradling cups of hot coffee that they didn't want to drink but the warmth of the cup felt good on their hands. Warmth meant life to them right now.
"Ski?" Patterson's voice broke a bit.
"Yeah?"
"He was screaming. Screaming for help. Begging … "
"Yeah. I know." Ski's voice was subdued.
"I always thought you were supposed to be brave … be dignified … "
Kowalski scoffed almost silently. "Don't worry, Pat. You were brave. You weren't screaming your head off."
"But … "
"Don't think about it, Pat. It's done. You can't change it." Ski offered a very harsh comfort, "You were brave. That's what counts."
Pat blinked hard. He just felt so empty. Farrell had been terrified. His screeching and scrabbling had been anything but brave and dignified. Now Farrell was dead and could never live it down.
It was so dark. Completely dark. Not an iota of light.
It was silent. Utter complete silence.
No odours to smell.
There was nothing to touch, nothing to feel. Nothing to ground one to time and place.
How long had this been going on? One couldn't track time without sensory information. One might sense time by feeling the beat of one's heart but he had no heartbeat. There was nothing to feel, no pulsing of warm blood coursing through pliant arteries and veins. No breath in lungs. Nothing. Time was meaningless.
Where was this place? Why was he here?
The nothingness seemed to go on forever, last forever, be forever.
He had thought death was reward or punishment not … nothing.
He had always known he needed courage to die. Courage to face his father, to face that cruelty he always associated with what a father was. Courage to face that other place.
Suddenly he knew. He knew why he was here. He wasn't ready. He wasn't brave enough yet. He was in limbo until he found the courage to move forward, to face the man who engendered him … hated him. How did one find courage here? Find bravery and fortitude in … nothing?
After what seemed forever. How could one tell the passage of time here? Did time exist here anyway? After an eternity, or perhaps a moment, there was no way to tell, a faint glimmer cracked the totality of darkness. A thin faint ghostly pale line. A sliver of something that wasn't nothing. It drew his attention. Of course it would.
He focussed his attention on it. It wouldn't be correct to say he focussed his eyes because that part of him was done. Gone. Nevertheless, he focussed on the crack between this nothingness and the world he had once lived in, the crack that let the faint pearly-grey light in.
He thought he somehow squeezed through that tiny narrow crack. It was far, far too small to squeeze through, but he did. He was in the foggy world of the living. The fog swirled and eddied around him making it so hard to see. He focussed.
He could see as if through mist Seaview's missile room. He could see … sense … the torpedoes in their rack hanging in front of him. The Captain was at his right side just a mere half step ahead of him. He almost felt as if he arrived here at the level of the Captain's hand. Like he had squeezed through a crack in the worlds between the Captain's fingers. That made no sense but then nothing did.
He sensed the Captain's feelings. Feelings! There was searing rage, crushing grief, unassuaged guilt. If he had possessed eyes he would have blinked in confusion. The Captain didn't have feelings like that. He was cold and heartless; a man who could look you in the eye then let you die.
But no! The Captain was afraid! He feared! Feared that Patterson would die.
This somehow changed things.
He heard the words, muffled, muted, but so intense and urgent. 'Patterson, look out!' Suddenly he knew that the Captain would kill himself to save Pat. So brave! So courageous! But also, in the same moment, so heart-broken, so fragile. A man who right now wanted nothing more from life than to save Patterson.
He suddenly wanted to help but he didn't know how. He couldn't find a way. It was too nebulous. He didn't know how to touch the world of the living.
He seemed to see Patterson looking at him, but no, not at him, it was the Captain that Patterson was looking at. He seemed to be seeing Patterson from the level of the Captain's left shoulder. He heard … sensed … Patterson's voice faint and distant 'Sir, you're hurt'. He saw Patterson's hands reaching forward to search his Skipper's injuries.
He felt the blackness shutting him out but he could still see the misty shape of Patterson frantically trying to help and he could feel the intense wrenching grief of the Captain. Suddenly he understood. The Captain was grieving for him.
That brave man was grieving for the lost life of a man with no courage. How could that be?
The thin crack he had climbed into this sphere through was fading, closing. Now he was shrinking. Shrinking to fit through the space between the Captain's fingers, through the thin, thin crack between the living and the nothing.
The nothingness took him back but he now felt just a tiny bit of the Captain's courage inside himself.
Three years ago
Three men stood in the bridge of the conning tower meditatively looking at the sky and the ocean. One was pensive, one prognostic, one grave.
Nelson spoke softly, "Well, it's gone now, all its information with it. What are you going to do now, Doctor?"
Dr. Brand was almost shocked by the question. "Do? Create another one, Admiral, send it up there."
The oft-serious Captain was especially solemn at the moment. His eyes slid fleetingly sidelong at the other two men and then away. He compressed his lips as he blinked. He had lost too many men. "Maybe with a prayer next time," he murmured.
"For the robot, Captain, or for us?" Brand asked.
Nelson almost chuckled, ready to move on. "Maybe for both, Doctor. Maybe for both."
Crane sombrely regarded the other men. With his jaw set, he gave a nod in leave taking and started toward the hatch, listening to the two men as their conversation moved to the future and its possibilities. He pondered the resilience of scientific researchers. They were already keen to move forward, to learn more.
As he sadly descended the ladder he sighed softly. His heart hurt. He needed solitude to reflect, to order his churning thoughts, and to steel his mind to his next task: the notification of the families of his dead crewmen.
Eighteen months ago
"Doctor Creager, I have been waiting for you." Creager startled severely. He had just unlocked his front door and stepped into his front foyer to be greeted by this total stranger wearing black pants and black turtleneck.
"Who are you?" It was a question that the man in black got a lot and rarely bothered to answer.
"Who I am is not important. What I can do for you is."
Creager was terribly afraid of this stranger in his home, but any fear for his life and liberty at this moment paled in comparison to the news his physician had just delivered.
Creager scoffed, "What you can do for me?" Then he almost laughed. "No one can help me." Despite all his brilliance in linguistic academics, all his social connections, all his personal fortune there was nothing to stop the inevitable with all its associated decline and indignity.
"Ah, but I can. I know, you see, what you are facing." The man in dark clothing looked at him with an intensity that was truly disturbing. "Stage four, yes? Six months at most, perhaps only two good ones … then a rapid decline with nothing to be done."
Creager sighed in despairing grief, "No nothing to be done."
"But I can help you. I can help you live longer than that. All you need to do is let me help you."
Ten months ago
Mary Smith sat at her desk very contented with life. She had taken a secretarial course and surprised herself by passing with flying colours. She wasn't supposed to know that Admiral Nelson had financed her education to prepare her to work here in her new country but she had figured it out. She was much smarter than anyone had expected her to be. Then she had aced the interview and landed this job as Dr. Brand's secretary. This was so much better than being part of a typing pool. She got to do important work here. Managing Dr. Brand was pretty easy for someone as organized as she had turned out to be. All it had taken was opportunity, the support to acquire new skills, and her dedication to learning.
Once she completed her training courses Admiral Nelson had continued to champion her development and with his kind reference had gotten her a foot in the door here with Dr. Brand and it was working out beautifully.
Mary was very pleased to have Brand's office running smoothly and far more efficiently than it must have in the past. Oh, the old filing system had really been substandard but she had quickly licked it into shape. That was something scientists seemed to need help with, the everyday running of things. She was pleased to say that she excelled at it.
Mary typed up a letter Dr. Brand had dictated then fingered her ribbon choker as she proofread her work. She took pride in perfection.
"Mary!" Dr. Brand called from his office.
"Yes, Dr. Brand." She stood up and walked to the doorway that joined her anteroom office to his inner sanctum.
"Dr. Creager will be coming here to meet with me this afternoon at 2:00. Could you please have coffee and cookies or pastries sent in?" Brand's not quite hidden excitement was contagious. "He's hinted at a possible funding source for our ongoing work." Brand was practically beside himself with anticipation.
"Of course, Dr. Brand. Consider it done." She smiled; her secretarial smile which was much more subdued and cool than the one she used in her former profession, under a different name, back on a Pacific island.
She stepped back to her desk to make the arrangements.
Dr. Creager was intrigued by Dr. Brand's work. "You mean that the robots you make have human-like senses?"
"Yes indeed," Dr. Brand was thrilled to explain his work. Dr. Creager's own work and research was not in this field at all, but Brand was elated by his keen interest. "They have all the sensory faculties that humans have. I had developed that function in my earlier work, but have perfected it in the past few months. One of my robots can sense everything a human can sense and 'remember' the sensations in its data banks. I am quite proud of the progress made, especially in the last six months. It's quite incredible."
"You have the ability to make your robot human looking?"
"Happily, yes. That has been a big part of the work this past year. I was fortunate enough to acquire the rights to Dr. Ulrich's work done for International Bionics and also the research notes of Dr. Paul Ward's work on androids. That has vastly improved both my feedback systems and the chassis for the robotic mind. My robots now look not just agreeably attractive but also remarkably human-like although unlike Dr. Ulrich I don't use organic materials. My robots are androids not cyborgs."
"I am most intrigued, Doctor. I understand that your research has progressed to the point that you can give the robot emotions?" Creager sounded slightly sceptical.
"Yes again. I program a robot to have emotional reactions that closely duplicate human reactions. Again, I also have Dr. Ulrich's work on memory sensors to draw from, although we are very careful regarding the sensory data that is assimilated into the memory bank. We don't want our android or robotic minds to develop autonomy too quickly."
"Your robots go into space. How durable are they for that environment?"
Brand gave a short laugh. "Almost indestructible. Past experience taught us that it pretty much takes an explosive force to shut one down."
"I see. I must learn more, especially the communication aspects of your robots. As you no doubt have gathered, I may be in way of sponsoring your research into the future."
"Dr. Creager I am more than willing to go over the research materials with you in detail provided you are willing to sign the appropriate non-disclosure agreements."
"I am more than happy to do that Dr. Brand." Creager smiled a professional smile that never reached his eyes.
The spirit dwelling inside Creager looked at Dr. Brand. If a robot of his making could withstand the rigours of outer space, could house the equivalent of sensory organs, could have emotional reactions, and could look like an attractive human it could be the answer to his dilemma.
It was a dilemma that Nelson, Maria, and Crane had caused. And Lani. Oh, Lani! He should have known. Should have remembered what her name meant. Should have realized that although freed now from that cursed island of Mulayo, he was not ready to follow her to the heavens. He was still stuck. Stuck here on the wretched planet Earth while his love, his Lani, freed from his vow tying her to Mulayo, went on to the heavens before him.
Damn Nelson for destroying Mulayo freeing Lani to continue on. Damn Maria in association for helping Nelson steal Crane from him. He was bitterly angry with Maria. Damn Crane for having loyal friends who would not give him up when his body would have been a perfect solution.
Gerald Creager was a body he could work with for a while yet but not indefinitely. It was a body that had the educational qualifications and identification papers to make moving and working among the living possible, but now Creager's body was weakening, decaying from the inside of the pestilent disease it harboured.
The fact that his body's name was Gerald Creager just proved it was there for him to use, to possess. He hid in that body filling it full of hatred, spite, and a vengeful spirit while keeping the pestilence from progressing at the usual pace. He would have his way yet. He would get to the heavens. He would follow his love. Ah, his love, Lani.
When Dr. Creager came out of Brand's office Mary smiled her professional half smile at him as she stood to open the door for him. He smiled a friendly half-wattage smile back at her. She would never recognize him the way he looked now but he wanted to verify something.
"Ah. Miss?"
"Yes, Dr. Creager."
"That is an interesting necklace. It looks rather old-fashioned for one of your age."
"Well, it is a bit old, sir. It belonged to my grandmother."
"I see. So, it has sentimental value."
"Yes, it does. It's a reminder of my family and my earlier life."
Dr. Creager smiled a rather unnerving smile, as if he knew what her earlier life entailed. "I make a study of heirlooms. Might I take a closer look?"
Mary was a bit uncertain but he was a possible paying client or even better yet a financial sponsor for the work Dr. Brand was doing so she hesitantly agreed.
Creager approached respectfully and raised his hand. "May I?"
"Of course."
He reached up and lightly touched the necklace. Mary was immediately engulfed by a very subtle tingling sensation. She looked at him in sudden apprehension and dread.
"My pardon. I must have built up some static electricity from the carpet. My apologies."
"It's all right." Mary said but she wondered.
Five months ago
While time was meaningless here in the nothingness for some reason he seemed to know that time had gone by. The darkness never varied. How was he ever going to move on? Hopefully there was actually somewhere else to go.
More 'time' seemed to pass.
And more.
There!
There was something!
A faint minuscule slit, an almost intangible crack. Not enough to even really sense but there! He pressed up to where the faintest of grey line was forming. Almost like the spreading crack in a glass windshield when a stone hit and made a mark. A mark that spread as the glass fractured in an expanding line. He pressed against that pearly-grey fracture line. Although he had no eyes it was as if he could see through the crack back to the world that had once been his.
He could see … sense … his friend Kowalski kneeling. Ski's eyes were looking questioningly in his direction with an intensity of fear that meant life or death. Kowalski was about to ask a question but he wasn't looking at him. He was looking at … the Captain.
He was once again at the Captain's left side. He had crawled through the crack into the world with the living. Once again just barely behind the Captain. Seeing what the Captain saw. Feeling what the Captain felt.
In a flash of understanding he knew! The Captain was afraid! Feared for Kowalski. Feared that Kowalski would die in the next moment. The Captain right now wanted nothing more from life than to keep Kowalski alive. He somehow felt the faint vibrations of the sound, heard the voice he had no ears to hear as the Captain yelled out 'sir'. If he'd had eyes, he would have blinked them in confusion 'sir'? What was happening? Then he knew. The Captain was saving Kowalski by taking the death for himself.
Suddenly he sensed it all, the men around them, the cinquedea behind him, the evil intention. He thought he could help this time not just watch it happen. He stepped behind the Captain. How had a misty body formed to let him do that? Even without senses he somehow felt the blade pass through him. He hoped that what he had done was enough.
Then he knew it wasn't. The courageous Captain was saying his goodbyes. His goodbyes to friends, crew, and boat. No! Not yet Captain. Stay.
The wielder of the blade was going to withdraw it. That would kill the Captain. No! He reached without arms toward the Captain. He didn't have a body nevertheless he was holding the Captain in his remembered arms, bracing against the tug of the blade as it was pulled back and out.
The Captain was dying. He could sense that. That brave man was losing too much blood. No! The Captain's courage couldn't be lost to the living world yet. He needed the Captain to live so he could learn how to have courage like that himself. Suddenly he knew how to help. It would be hard. He couldn't hold this form but he could still help. His misty presence settled over the Captain. Enshrouding and sheltering him. It was so hard. So hard to keep the Captain alive.
He enveloped the Captain. It took all his effort to keep him from bleeding to death but he tried.
Then Patterson was there, he disengaged from the Captain, just barely keeping a tentative touch on the dying man. To keep his life force intact. He thought he should leave now. He knew the crack between here and nothing was near the Captain's left hand.
Then Patterson looked up at him. Thanked him. In that moment he knew that Patterson couldn't save the Captain although Pat would try his utmost to do so. Patterson's intention seemed to give him strength. His misty presence descended to help Patterson and Ron. He could help them with what was impossible for them but not for him.
There the Doctor had finished. Sewn the Captain up, filled him with what plasma and blood was available. He couldn't help with blood. In fact, he intuitively knew he damaged that life force; blood.
He knew he couldn't stay. He knew that the longer he stayed now the weaker the Captain would get. He didn't understand how he could help someone in the land of the living but still suck the life from the one he touched. Giving that one spectre sickness as if it were a consequence for being here where he no longer belonged.
He needed the Captain to live, to be courageous. He had felt the courage building within himself as he helped. He could learn courage from the Captain but he couldn't stay. It would kill the Captain to stay. He slipped through the closing crack between the living and the nothingness. Maybe he could get back another time. Maybe he could get more courage. The courage he needed to face the next …
He moved back through the thin layers of the onyx back to the blackness of nothing.
Three months ago
"He's back from your prescribed visit to Mr. Welwyn." Doc had the grace to let a tiny twinkle show in his eye at the word 'prescribed'. "Thank you, Admiral for championing that visit. It seems to have done a world of good." Doc paused just long enough to confirm that Nelson was listening, as he seemed enthralled by the slide rule in his hand. "I've completed my assessment and I have approved him for full duty, sir." Doc smiled slightly. It was good news he was giving Nelson after all.
"Good. Thanks, Doc." Nelson rubbed his thumb over his chin and looked up at Doc. "No restrictions?"
"No, sir. He's well." Doc hesitated slightly.
"What is it?"
"Well as you know, we were both concerned about the extraordinary weakness after the injury." Doc looked at the Admiral. "That extreme lethargy lasted far longer than one would expect even considering the severity of the wound."
"Yes, I recall." Nelson gave a slight grimace. They had been very worried about Lee indeed.
"Well, I did a bit of looking back through his records, since that had been a similar concern also after … well … after Krueger, sir."
"And you found something?"
"Yes, his blood work after both incidents was out of wack, so to speak, but in the same way. The injuries themselves, however don't account for it."
"So, what exactly are you trying to say, Doc?"
"I think that when each 'ghost' possessed him or touched him the ghost damaged his red blood cells." Doc was careful to clarify. "It's just supposition. I can't prove it without controlled experimentation, and as you can imagine it isn't possible to control such an experiment." Doc smiled grimly; one couldn't just summon up a ghost for an experiment. "But it would perhaps explain why he hasn't experienced such incredibly debilitating lethargy with other injuries he's sustained." Doc paused, "In fact his blood cells were damaged enough both of those times that if he hadn't received transfusions, I now believe he might not have survived. Not because of the trauma but because of the damage to his blood."
"So, are you saying that contact with 'ghosts' damages his blood cells, and we need to keep him away from ghosts?"
"Yes, sir. For lack of a better way to express it, I think that's exactly what I am saying."
Nelson gave a mocking humph. "How do we keep Lee Crane from anything? Let alone something supernatural and out of our control, huh?"
"Well considering all the rather unusual things we see and do here on Seaview, I can honestly say that I don't know how to protect him from ghosts, sir. I will however ensure we always have a couple of units of compatible blood on hand for any cruise in the future. At least we can start that way; longer missions would have storage constraints of course so I will also keep a list of crewmen with compatible blood types who are willing to donate."
"Yes, Doc good idea. Let's add that to the stock supply for sick bay."
Doc left and Nelson pondered. What kind of boat were they running when they needed to stock extra blood because of ghosts damaging the Captain's blood cells? He looked down slightly perplexed at the slide rule in his hand; he'd completely forgotten the complex calculation he had been working on.