Tsunami

Confusion reigned aboard Seaview. The spacecraft was in flight and the team in the comm centre was monitoring and tracking it. They were also frantically wondering why there was no information coming from the launch compartment and what the medical emergency was.

Dodd arrived at a run passing the MAA and his detail leaving with Morton, none of them seemed able to answer his questions. Then he stepped through the hatch into the launch centre. He watched the pandemonium unfold in astonishment. The team were all busily going about managing the crisis but what had just happened? As he took stock he roared out his demand of no one in particular, "What the hell is going on?"

His commanding voice brought a return of the silence as shocked men shut up and glanced his way.

Then in complete disregard of Dodd's question Doc's own voice of command rang out, "Get him to sick bay on the double."

The corpsmen lifted the stretcher and hustled it past Dodd on their way to the hatch. Dodd grabbed Doc's arm as he jogged by.

"Commander! I asked a question."

Doc turned his thoughts from the triage checklist running through his mind and looked at Admiral Dodd. "I am trying to save a life, sir." He turned and started away.

Dodd tugged on his arm. "Commander … "

Doc straightened up to his full height and glared at the Admiral. "As CMO of this boat I will now attend my patient. By your leave, sir." He turned and ran from the launch centre.

The launch area itself was now in complete disarray as men started to congregate looking at each other in confusion and concern.

Dodd realised there were no officers in the compartment, here in the thick of the crisis. Nelson had left to regions unknown, Crane was dead or close to it, Morton was under arrest. Admiral Cary Dodd knew this was the moment. It was justified. This was a Navy mission in conjunction with SEA so a Navy officer needed to take control of the situation. Nelson was retired he wasn't an option.

He placed himself in command and started to issue his orders.

Dodd swept into the control room like a tidal wave displacing all in his path. "Who has the conn?"

O'Brien looked up from a chart at the plot table. "I do, sir."

"Note in the ship's log that I am now in command of this boat."

"Sir?"

"Captain Crane is in sick bay and Mr. Morton in the brig. This is a Navy mission and as the ranking actively serving officer aboard I have assumed command. Note that in the ship's log and carry on."

"What about Admiral Nelson, sir?" O'Brien asked very respectfully.

"He is retired. I am in command. Do I make myself clear, sailor?"

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Good. One officer in the brig is enough." Dodd's threat to the men on duty was very clear.

Doc tried to understand. He and his corpsmen were efficiently accessing and prepping the Skipper for diagnosis and treatment while Kowalski gave his report.

"He was shot, Doc." Kowalski cringed at the memory of his Skipper screaming in supplication. Begging the Admiral to shoot him. "Full in his chest, sir."

Doc glanced up briefly at Kowalski with compassion, Ski was a self-appointed guard dog when it came to the Skipper, he would be feeling this. Doc spoke while never stopping his work on the Skipper.

"Ok. Thanks, Ski. Why don't you go and get a coffee and tell Cookie I prescribed a sweet snack for you."

Ski knew a gentle dismissal when he heard one. "Aye, sir. Do you think … "

"I don't know. In due course, Ski."

Ski nodded and turned to go, at the threshold he paused, glancing back before closing the sick bay door.

As Thompson prepped the Skipper for radiographs he checked for watches, rings and other personal effects; he lifted his head abruptly to meet Doc's eyes. He glanced down at his lifted hand and opened his fingers to show Doc the spent bullet he had just wrested from the Skipper's right hand resting there on his palm.

"It was in the Skipper's hand, sir." The two men's eyes met in stunned surprise.

"Okay, bag it and I'll lock it up with the rest of his effects. Thank you."

Dodd swept into Nelson's cabin like perfect storm ready to quash any objections to his taking command of Seaview. He found Nelson bent huddled over the desk, head in his hands and immobilised by distress.

Dodd took a look, scoffed and exited the cabin. He would get no battle from that quarter for a while.

Back in sick bay Doc took stock of the situation. There was significant damage to the Captain's chest including an open wound consistent with a gunshot wound but no catastrophic damage under it. There was no bullet in there. X-rays proved it.

There were five broken ribs. It was a wonder the Skipper could breathe but somehow despite the multiple breaks and the condition of his ribs he didn't have a flail chest. Strangely the X-ray showed ribs with callus formation consistent with about three to four weeks of healing.

Crane was in deep shock and was being treated aggressively to get his blood pressure up and stable.

Although few of the men could claim to have identified the phantoms, scuttlebutt already proclaimed Krueger and Farrell had been in the launch compartment. So now Doc was awaiting blood test results and had called for the first unit of blood as a precaution. Doc shook his head; he already anticipated inexplicable weakness and anemia. He thought he must be the only Doc in the world right now who was proactively treating a patient for ghost-induced blood cell damage.

A while later Doc looked at the concise report he had prepped for the Admiral then suddenly pulled up short. Normally he had to shoo Nelson and Morton away. Scuttlebutt told him where Morton was, but … where was the Admiral?

Nelson sat at his desk wreathed in cigarette smoke. The desktop was covered with damp ring marks from various drinking glasses. He had had made serious inroads on the bottle of whiskey since … well since he hadn't shot Lee. He sat with his head in one hand and lifted the other to his lips to take a drag on the umpteenth cigarette this hour. He didn't care that Chip was in the brig, that Dr. Brand was sequestered in the lab, or that Creager's dead body was sitting in Doc's morgue. He didn't care. He only saw the look of terror and betrayal in Lee's eyes; the treachery of a chosen brother who would not save him, would let him be exiled from Earth, let him face a solitary hell, alone. Uncomforted.

Kowalski and Patterson were sitting in crew's quarters. Sitting with heads down. Taking comfort in having the other nearby while quietly contemplating. Pat lifted his head to look over at Ski.

"Ski?" His voice was quavering. Soft.

"Yeah?"

"It was Farrell." Patterson looked troubled.

"Yeah." Ski's voice was subdued.

"But … for the past three years I thought he was … well … a … " Pat choked on the word. " … well … a coward." He ducked his head. It was a horrible thing to say about a shipmate, especially a dead one.

"Yeah. Me too."

"But he was … I don't know … Valiant. Brave."

Ski nodded, not sure of his voice.

Patterson continued, "But the Skipper … he was the one … screaming … " His voice stopped abruptly.

"Don't think about it, Pat. You can't change what happened." Ski's head nodded vigorously. "And you won't change my mind about it, if the Skipper was screaming there was a reason. It had to be the worst. Worse than the worst."

Ski jerked to his feet and walked to the bulkhead. Leaned into it and jammed his fist to his mouth to cover the trembling of his chin.

Dr. Brand was in the lab going over his notes. He was shaking with barely contained joy at the success of the launch.

Mary was also shaky but from the trauma of the assaults. She was trying to be professional and transcribe notes but found herself eyeing Brand with disfavour. The shooting and whatever that tornado had been were downright terrifying. She couldn't focus on her work. How could Dr. Brand carry on as if everything was normal?

"Dr. Brand, you realize that Dr. Creager is dead?"

"What does that matter now?"

"But … because of the launch?"

Brand sounded exasperated with her, "What difference does that make? He was terminally ill. He told me months ago." Brand was ready to move forward, on to the next improvement to his androids.

Nelson stayed in the shelter of his cabin. He remonstrated with himself unceasingly. He had been a quisling listening to and supporting Dr. Brand and Dr. Creager despite Lee's warnings. Lee had known something was wrong and he hadn't listened, hadn't paid heed and then when Lee was proved right he hadn't given Lee the only thing that would have saved him from violation and exile. He hadn't shot him dead.

He couldn't face it. Couldn't comprehend that abject failure.

Morton sat in the brig. He had sat here for hours. Nobody was telling him anything. Other than the crewmen who delivered his meals and took the trays afterwards he had no visitors.

He figured that Lee hadn't died yet because the men didn't have black armbands or that look of empty grief that settled over them when someone in the boat's complement died. They simply looked rudderless and forlorn. And angry.

He asked, but his questions were not answered. They just glared at him wordlessly or ducked their heads depending on their inner thoughts. The men were obviously instructed to just deliver the meals and not talk to him.

He felt like flotsam cast off and drifting on unending ocean swells after a crushing tsunami.

He was antsy from not knowing what was going on. The Admiral didn't come to see him. Neither Admiral. He felt completely disconnected and alone.

Crane drifted on waves of fatigue that relentlessly washed over him, ceaseless waves of lethargy. Tossed like jetsam. There was no strength to battle those waves. No vitality to try. More than weary, more than drained. He was too spent to move. He drifted, not discerning the rippling changes from sedation to deep sleep to semi-aware exhaustion.

Pain seared his chest. Ached, throbbed and burned in ceaseless rollers draining his strength. No strength. He had nothing left.

Someone sat beside him. He was aware of that but was too weary to wonder whom. There were soft voices by times. He knew the different voices but was too apathetic to care. Too exhausted to respond. He drifted.

Time passed.

Nelson cringed at his failure. It was a betrayal worse than shooting Lee at the periscope. At least that time it was to save the men. This time he failed … to save his friend. He rubbed the back of his neck. Stood up to pace, angry with himself. Took a turn about the cabin and sat back down in defeat and laid his head down on his folded arms.

For some unexplainable, non-scientific reason Lee wasn't lost and wasn't dead. But he could never face Lee again.

Oh, Lee.

Doc sat down beside Sparks in the wardroom.

"How's the Skipper, sir?"

Doc shook his head doubtfully. "The injury is healing well but … well he sleeps all the time. He only rouses when we really stimulate him."

"Well he was exhausted from the refit before we ever sailed … " Sparks wanted to see the good side.

"Yeah." Doc sighed. The blood work was improving but it was taking time. "I guess I really just want to talk to him. I miss … " his voice trailed off.

"What about the Admiral?" Sparks asked perceptively.

"He won't speak to me. Just tells me to go away." He sighed again. "I miss all three of them."

"Yeah. I get that, Doc. The Control Room feels pretty cold right now, like we've all been tossed into an arctic sea, if you know what I mean." Sparks sighed as well.

Doc nodded. The two men sipped their coffee.

He heard a moan; a harsh groaning that woke him. He fought to open his eyes but they were far too heavy. They seemed sealed shut.

He heard footsteps getting nearer. "Chip?" His voice came out too weak, too raspy, and too breathy soft to hear surely.

"Mr. Morton isn't here at the moment, Captain." Doc's voice came from nearby. It was not loud but clear.

"Mm." A sound like another groan vibrated in his throat. He tried again. "Uh. Doc?" He lifted a hand, wanting to scrub at his eyes, but it was too much effort. He let it fall back to the bed.

"Yes, Captain. You're in sick bay. I'm here and so is Patterson." There was a soft sound of water running into a sink and a cloth being wrung out. "I'm going to put a warm cloth on your eyes, sir. You'll want to open them soon and this will help." He could hear Doc's steady voice right beside him again. "I'm putting the cloth on your eyes now."

He felt the warm moist cloth in gentle hands. It felt like heaven on the pain-taut skin of his face.

After a while the cloth was removed. He tried to open his eyes. They were still heavy but he managed a squint. He felt too weak to move anything but his eyelids. Another moan slid out without his intending it to.

"You're safe, Captain." Doc's blurry face was there. "The boat and crew are fine."

Assuaged Crane sank back into oblivion.

Doc breathed a small sigh of relief as the Skipper eased back to sleep. He thought, 'Fine' that was usually the Captain's lie.

Dodd snorted in contempt. This crew seemed to think he wanted their opinions on every matter. What kind of boat was Crane running here? If Crane stopped to get his sailor's opinions on everything before he acted it was no wonder he had sunk this boat twice. Well he had Seaview now and he intended that it stay in commission with the Navy from here on in. He'd squashed the men a few times when they offered unwanted information and opinions. He wasn't like Crane, fawning over the men, listening to their opinions.

As for Crane, Doc had reported some broken ribs and a laceration but the Commander was malingering down in sick bay. Sleeping! With his boat in crisis! What kind of captain needed his beauty sleep during a crisis? Dodd snorted again.

Dodd smiled to himself as he watched the crew in the control room. Nelson wasn't even arguing with him about this. Nelson, the mighty, tempestuous Nelson, was sitting in his cabin, refusing to talk, smoking and getting drunk on whiskey. The man didn't even have the sense to get drunk on the sailor's drink, rum. Dodd eyed the subdued men and let the inward smile expand outward to curve his lips. With all three senior officers out of action and not protesting in the slightest he'd succeeded. He had gotten Seaview for the Navy. Possession was nine tenths of the law wasn't it? He was sure the Navy would find a way to keep it now.

Mary Smith watched Dr. Brand with growing misgivings. He was completely focussed on the mission even after all the chaos of the launch. She supposed someone had to be but it didn't seem to even register with him that things had not gone to plan. He just shrugged it off and carried on. She thought that there had been something in that smoky mist in the launch centre. Something not explainable but she was just the secretary. Her observations didn't register with anyone here. She realized that perhaps she needed to be something more than a secretary, so she could have a voice, so her thoughts counted with others. She looked at Dr. Brand again and then thought about the rest of her life.

Crane was lying propped up in the sick bay bunk. He was tired and his ribs hurt. He knew from experience that ribs took weeks to get better but these didn't hurt as much as he expected. At least with his head raised it was easier to breathe but moving from any one position to another was still very uncomfortable.

The only information Doc had offered was that he had severe anemia to go along with the broken ribs and the stitched up wound on his chest. Apparently that explained the relentless fatigue. Yesterday Doc had given him an iron transfusion to help treat that anemia.

He gathered he had been in sick bay for a week or so. He was too weary to sort out what day it was. No one was telling him much except that he had broken ribs. He didn't understand, he had felt the bullet enter his chest. After that things got really fuzzy and confused in his memory. There was another horrific memory … he vaguely recalled a hand inside his open chest squeezing … it didn't make sense.

When he was awake enough to ponder he found he was too tired to talk. He tried to think but his thoughts wandered away on a meandering path of fatigue. When he thought of something he wanted to ask he couldn't remember it long enough to question Doc. He just didn't have the mental focus to work things out.

Forming words was exhausting and Doc was obfuscating whenever he did manage to get a question out. He was too tired to ask any question twice. Too tired to think it through. He drifted on rolling waves of exhaustion.

At some point he woke and wondered where the Admiral was because he hadn't seen him. Chip either. Were they here?

Sure, he had lots of visitors: Patterson, Kowalski, Sparks, Sharkey, O'Brien, Ron, Phil and many others. It seemed there was a constant stream of visitors to camouflage the fact that Nelson and Morton never crossed the sick bay threshold, but no one ever said anything except that Seaview was fine, he shouldn't worry, they had everything running just fine, Seaview was fine …

Eventually he had managed to focus long enough to ask about Nelson and Doc simply said the Admiral was busy.

Now finally he found he could think better. He asked about Chip and Doc told him he was on a TDY.

Crane thought about that with a puzzled frown. Chip on TDY? It didn't make sense … unless … it was with SEA. Those people had probably jumped ship as soon as they finished up their launch and taken Chip with them to one of the land-based spacecraft tracking facilities to write up their project reports.

Launch? What happened with the launch? Was the Admiral working with Dr. Brand still on the android telemetry? On their analysis and report for that? Was that why he hadn't seen him?

And what had happened to Creager? The man had looked like death warmed over and he seemed to remember … Dammit! Now he did remember. He remembered Krueger! Krueger had been there. Had been using Creager the whole time. That thought made his blood run cold. He remembered.

With a sense of doom hovering in his mind he sank back against the pillows oh so carefully because of the ribs. Remembering took his strength away. His eyes drooped. He couldn't stay awake. He dozed off to evil dreams.

Seaview slipped into her berth. O'Brien managed the docking perfectly. O'Brien wanted Admiral Dodd to know that the crew knew their jobs. That they really were the best of the best but Dodd wasn't buying it. Dodd had just sniffed when O'Brien reported the completion of the manoeuvre. The man was just plain obnoxious.

The Lieutenant watched from the bridge as Nelson disembarked. The Admiral simply walked down the gangway to his waiting car without a look around or backward glance.

O'Brien sighed sadly then carried on with the rest of his orders; loading the Skipper into the patient transfer vehicle waiting at dockside, the transfer of Mr. Morton to onshore custody, plus all the post mission SOP. He wondered what would happen to Seaview now.