It wasn’t everyday a lightship was decommissioned. Seven Stars was the last of her kind, a relic from another age when lightships warned of narrow channels, sand banks, reefs and shoals in areas too precarious for the construction of a lighthouse. LV 12 SVN 097¾or in more common lingo¾the lightship Seven Stars had reached the end of her long and noble service life. Retired from duty like 178 other ships before her, she was a reminder of a bygone era.
Lee Crane stood looking at an artist’s rendition of the vessel, a strange sense of nostalgia tugging at his senses. In 1909, the heyday of the United States Lighthouse Service, there had been 51 lightships in commission, most on the eastern seaboard. Admittedly his fascination with the antiquated vessels was a strange obsession for a man who spent the majority of his time commanding a high-tech submarine. Maybe it was just the romanticism that went hand-in-hand with archaic vessels; the poetic idealism of man against the sea, magnified to glory by writers and artists alike.
The artist of this particular painting had managed to capture the sad magnificence of the Seven Stars. Like most 20th century lightships, her hull was painted red, emblazoned with white letters proclaiming her station name. Time and the ravaging elements of a brutal sea had pitted her sides, pocketing her with brine and the crusted white silt of unforgiving ocean waves. Few people would ever know she existed. But for the countless ships she saw to safety and the long-ago crews who had faithfully manned her day-after-day, keeping her burning brightly, she was a treasure like none other. Not only a navigational aid and meteorological station eventually replaced by modern technology, but an element of the sea itself.
Lee sighed, casting a glance down into his scotch and soda. Should have had the Chardonnay. It was more to his taste. He normally didn’t care for hard liquor but every now and then mood spurred him in that direction. He’d been out of sorts lately, not quite ready to head back under the water. Maybe it was the change of scenery¾Santa Barbara to West Rye Dock, tucked along the rugged Oregon coast. Off shore, the Seaview hovered in deep water while he, his XO Chip Morton, and Admiral Harriman Nelson had boated in to meet with Dr. Simon Kaida.
In two days Seaview would set out for the Kaida Trench, named for the man who had discovered it in the early 1900s¾Simon Kaida’s grandfather. An underwater area prone to occasional seismic activity, the region had recently experienced increased readings, prompting the US Geological Survey to request an in-depth study. The current Dr. Kaida would be on board Seaview with a handful of his geologists. Lee didn’t normally mind playing host to guests, especially when the head man was a personal friend of his boss, Admiral Nelson, but poking around fissures in the sea bottom wasn’t his idea of a noteworthy excursion. There were other vessels that could have been tagged for the assignment, leaving Seaview’s advanced computers and technical systems free for other more difficult tasks.
He didn’t know why he felt aggravated by the assignment. Kaida was part of it, a man who played the game well and was highly adept at divulging only minimal information. And minimal anything rubbed Lee the wrong way when Seaview was involved. Then again, maybe it was simply the demise of the Seven Stars that worked on his nerves.
Between 1820 and 1952, 179 lightships had been built to man 116 stations. Those same ships were now a dying breed. Like the dinosaur, they had become an imprint of another time. While he had no fears the same would ever happen to Seaview, the highly advanced systems of his boat made him feel part of the cause.
Need to study underwater seismic vibrations? No problem for a state-of-the-art technologically developed submarine. Need to replace an antiquated lightship? No problem. Just drop the latest high-priced-ultrasonic-scientific-thingamajiggy in its place and¾voila!¾problem solved.
He knew he shouldn’t be so cynical. Manning a lightship had been no easy task for the small crews responsible for keeping her lamp apparatus and signaling devices working. Despite being moored with special mushroom anchors, lightships were subject to fierce gales and torrential storms without opportunity for escape. Winds on the Great Lakes could be exceptionally turbulent. For safety and efficiency’s sake, Lee knew he should be thankful for the advancements that allowed light vessels to be replaced with modern technology. All the logic in the world however, couldn’t replace his melancholy for a bygone era.
“There you are. I thought I’d find you staring doe-eyed at that old ship.” Chip Morton appeared at his shoulder, scotch-and-soda in hand.
Clearly the drink of the night, Lee thought, or just the beverage of choice when naval personnel, historians, scientists and culture addicts flocked together. He had to admit the West Rye Dock Historical Society had done a remarkable job hosting the event. A black tie affair held at a bayside country club, the gala had even attracted the attention of the local newspaper. An inquisitive reporter had been circulating among the guests all night, trailed by her photographer. Lee only hoped the story wouldn’t be cut to a few short paragraphs, sandwiched between household tips and a review of the high school drama club’s most recent production.
“You really do romanticize these old ships, don’t you Lee?”
Lee glanced aside at his friend. With Chip there was no need to maintain a professional façade. Playing Commander went hand-in-hand when chatting up dignitaries, scientists, Kaida’s young and upwardly mobile geologists, or even other naval personnel, but Chip was different. He could be himself with his Executive Officer, confident his friend would safeguard those feelings from others.
“Don’t you ever stop to think what it might have been like manning an old lightship?” he asked. His eyes tracked back to the painting and he realized it wasn’t just this vessel, or even type of vessel that sang to him. It was the past, raw and untamed, whispering of forgotten glory and faded yesteryears. The strange sense of melancholy washed over him again. “Sometimes I wonder what it might have been like to command one of the old clippers out of Fells Point.”
“You want to play Old Man and the Sea, Lee?” Chip raised a brow, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Or better yet chase after white whales?”
Lee gave a short snort of laughter. Leave it to his friend to bring him crashing back to earth when his head was off in the clouds. “No.” He whisked the ice around the inside of his glass, smiling ruefully. For the most part he was a practical man, rooted in the logical and mundane. He’d made peace with science, benefited from technology. “I belong under the waves, Chip. Sometimes I just forget the ocean bottom is a frontier too.”
“Good. Because if you even thought about shipping out to the Navy and prancing around on the deck of some super-carrier, I’d have to do something totally out of character.”
“Oh?” Lee was intrigued. “Like what?”
“Like catching you off duty and forgetting I’m your XO. I used to be pretty good in street scrapes.”
Lee chuckled. “Still are.” The melancholy washed away replaced by a feeling of warmth. There was something to be said for the closeness of his crew. Despite the Navy regulations they maintained, Lee had never run a by-the-book operation. There was room for leniency on his boat, even a measure of familiarity. That was nowhere more apparent than the close relationship he shared with his second-in-command. Friends since their days at Annapolis, the casual informality he allowed Chip Morton often crossed the line of Commander and subordinate, but Lee didn’t care. He wouldn’t have it any other way. When necessity dictated, he knew Chip would toe the line, XO deferring to Captain. For now they were simply two friends sharing a drink and casual conversation.
He glanced across the room thinking again of the Seven Stars. The ship had been officially retired earlier in the week with local historians, community artists, city officials and naval personnel planning the retirement event for the last three months. It wasn’t every lightship that got such a big sendoff, attended by the mayor and naval brass, but the Seven Stars was the last of her kind. That alone warranted more than just a footnote in some soon-to-be-published textbook.
There were plenty of people in the room, all chatting in small groups, the women looking elegant in off-the-shoulder gowns, the men in black-tie-tuxedos or military dress. Hors d'oeuvres were circulated on silver platters¾crab-stuffed mushroom caps, smoked salmon with cucumber and dill on pumpernickel, even barbquettes of lamb with fresh rosemary and goat cheese. Lee had never been overly fond of goat cheese. Basic sharp cheddar, colby, even montery jack he could handle, but gourmet cheese was a little too smelly for him. He’d had a few of the mushroom caps to wash down the scotch, all the while feeling strangely out of place.
As captain of the Seaview he was accustomed to upscale receptions, political dinners, even ceremonial galas. Over the years he’d rubbed elbows with the highest branches of government not only in the US, but also abroad. He dealt with the professional elite and high-end brass on a daily basis, but for some reason tonight’s reception left him cold. Maybe it was the presence of Dr. Simon Kaida and his crew. He’d expected geologists to be soft-spoken and low-key, but Kaida’s crew adored the spotlight. From the time they’d entered the room, the two men and one woman had made a point of seeking out those guests most likely to advance their careers. Ass kissing, plain and simple. Some things stank worse than goat cheese.
“What do you think of Dr. Kaida?” he asked Chip.
His friend turned a glance over his shoulder to survey the room. Tall, blond-haired, with striking blue eyes, and wearing fitted military dress, Chip drew his fair share of attention. Lee smiled, amused to see more than one woman unobtrusively casting lingering glances in his friend’s direction.
“He’s okay,” Chip said simply, watching as Kaida conversed with Admiral Nelson and two local academics. “A little . . . absorbed . . . in his project, but I guess most scientists are.”
“Don’t you mean driven?” Lee shook his head. “I know he’s the Admiral’s friend, but I’ll be glad when this mission’s over and he’s off my boat. I’m not even sure why he bothered coming tonight. I thought he’d be off compiling data, cramming more of his high-tech gizmos into the cargo load for transport back to Seaview. He’s got a one track mind and it’s got nothing to do with Lightships.”
“Getting a little cynical, aren’t you Lee?” Chip grinned when his friend shot him a dark look. As a Commander, Lee was flawless¾ethical, confident, intelligent, gifted with a highly developed sense of right and wrong. There was no better man to head a seafaring vessel, in Chip’s opinion. Which is probably why he’d willingly stayed XO when anyone else would have sought a solo command years ago.
He respected Lee. More than that, he clicked with his captain on a personal level. That unfailing connection allowed him the freedom of pointing out Lee’s shortcomings. “You wouldn’t just happen to dislike him, would you?”
Lee eyed him suspiciously. “Why would I dislike him?”
“You really want me to tell you?”
“Yeah, Chip. Educate me.” A trace of humor lingered in Lee’s hazel eyes, but it was underscored by subtle challenge.
There had always been a hint of rivalry in their relationship. It was what had first drawn them together at Annapolis; that sometimes made their roles in the command-chain hard to bear. There were many times Chip had bitten his tongue, answering with a clipped “Yes, Sir!” when what he’d really wanted to do was take Lee’s head off. But Lee was simply fencing now, or maybe fishing.
Chip took a swallow of his scotch. “Kaida’s a bureaucrat with his own agenda. Yeah, he’s a personal friend of the Admiral’s, and he’s part of the US Geological Survey, but he’s also tied to Harrington University. He’s deep in research grants. Half of that crew he’s letting tag along is doing graduate work. The Kaida Trench is a legacy for him. His grandfather discovered it, his father spent his life researching it, and now he’s following suit. I know you, Lee. You don’t think he just wants to look at seismic readouts, do you?”
Lee grunted, absently rotating his glass, clinking the ice against the sides. Chip recognized the movement for what it was¾a nervous twitch and delaying tactic. Lee didn’t want to answer, which meant Chip had come dangerously close to the truth. Reading the captain was like navigating uncharted waters. One moment the path was blissfully clear, the next it was sealed like a drum, with no sight of resolution in place.
“All I’ve got to go on are my orders,” Lee muttered.
Definitely a delaying tactic.
Chip sighed. He looked across the room. Kaida’s crew was easy to spot, young, fashionably dressed, looking much like they had stepped off the pages of an upscale magazine. Grad students had definitely changed since his day.
The woman was model-thin with a sleek bob of blonde hair and dark eyes that were near black. Chip was sure she had to be wearing colored contacts with eyes like that. Not just coffee-dark, but black as coal. From the moment she’d first seen Lee Crane, she’d sent all the signals she’d could, short of actually inviting him into her bedroom.
Chip smirked into his glass. It wasn’t the first time a young, attractive woman had fallen head-over-heels for the dark-haired captain. Tall and thin, with long-lashed hazel eyes and elegant features, Lee was more than simply handsome. He had the kind of classical looks befitting a Grecian sculpture¾wholly masculine but with an edge of refined beauty. Chip knew plenty of women who would have done cartwheels to have the dark, lush eyelashes Lee did.
It isn’t fair for a man to look like that, a woman acquaintance had once complained to him. In the next heartbeat she’d promptly asked for Lee’s phone number.
Apparently Simon Kaida’s protégé had noticed the captain as well. Chip couldn’t remember her name . . . something contemporary and artsy like Shannon or Paris. Mentally, he snapped his fingers. Salem, that was it. Salem Painter. No one had simple names any more, like Jane or Mary.
Or Chip.
He glanced aside at his friend. Lee still seemed silently engrossed in debating Kaida’s concealed qualities. Deciding to distract him, Chip leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Okay, forget Kaida for the moment. What about Salem Painter? You can’t tell me you aren’t a little anxious about having her on Seaview. She’s been flirting with you from the moment she laid eyes on you.”
“We’ve barely spoken.”
“Exactly my point. Why is that?”
“Because she’s all of 27 or 28, and it would be an unethical breach of protocol for me to act on her impulses. I’m the commander of Seaview. She’s a guest on my boat.”
Chip chuckled. A few more minutes of this and he’d have Lee grinding his teeth. “So you don’t have impulses of your own?”
“No.” The word came a little too tight, informing Chip he was starting to push the right buttons. “I don’t trust her anymore than I do Kaida.”
“Ah, ha!” Though he kept his voice low, Chip couldn’t help a giddy note of victory. “So you don’t trust Kaida! And if you don’t trust him, I’m betting you don’t like him either.”
Lee glowered. “Mr. Morton…”
Uh-oh. Command tone was never good.
“…don’t you have other socializing to do? I’d hate to send you back to Seaview simply to occupy your time. I’m sure I can find a task for you . . . like manually counting each piece of silverware in the galley.”
“That won’t be necessary, Sir.” Chip flashed a quick smile. “Message received loud and clear.”
“I thought it would be.” Lee gave a crisp nod and moved away.
Chip watched him a moment, noting how easily he fell into socializing mode. As if to prove a point, he sought out Admiral Nelson and Dr. Kaida, smiling congenially as he joined their discussion. That was Lee. Tell him something was black, and he’d have to prove it was white. Tell him he disliked someone and he’d go out of his way to prove he didn’t.
“Hi, Mr. Morton.”
Chip glanced aside to find a young blonde at his elbow. He inclined his head politely. “Ms. Painter, how nice to see you.”
She offered a dazzling smile, a little too smooth, as if it was a skill she’d perfected with use. “Call me Salem.” She tilted her head slightly, the silky bob of her hair sliding slowly across her neck. Like her smile, it was a calculated move, one that sent clear signals. Unfortunately the quarry she was really after had moved out of range. “Captain Crane looks bothered by something.”
“No.” Chip shook his head. “He just has a fascination for old ships. Seeing the Seven Stars retired is sad for someone like that. And knowing Lee, he’s already thinking ahead to the next mission.”
Salem laughed. “I guess he’s a little like Simon . . . obsessed with his work.” She swirled her finger around the inside of her glass. Chip noticed she was drinking something fruity and blue, laced with alcohol. She sucked on her bottom lip. “Does Lee, um . . . I mean, Captain Crane . . . does he have a steady girlfriend?”
Bingo, there it was! Quarry sighted and aligned for targeting. Lee would kill him if he didn’t use the opportunity to flag off the overly enamored co-ed. “Uh, yeah . . . I guess you could say that.” It wasn’t an out-and-out lie. Lee’s first love was Seaview, and in a roundabout way, she was like a girlfriend. Just as demanding for certain.
“Oh.” Salem’s face fell. She pouted a moment, looking sulky, studying the captain across the room. There was no doubt Lee made a picture in his smartly tailored dress blues. Salem wasn’t the only woman eyeing up Seaview’s captain at the moment, but Chip was used to that. Lee routinely turned heads wherever he went. He chuckled silently. It came with the territory when you were thirty-five, in command of a nuclear sub, and devastatingly handsome.
Salem frowned. “So if he has a steady girl, why isn’t she here?”
“Huh? Oh…” Caught off guard, Chip groped for an answer. “Well, she’s sort of out of town right now.” It made sense. After all, Seaview was sitting offshore deep in the Pacific. “Lee lives in Santa Barbara.”
“So his girlfriend is there? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Chip sighed. “It means, Ms. Painter, that maybe you should concentrate on the Kaida Trench instead of Seaview’s captain. Lee’s got his hands full with Simon’s team. He doesn’t need you distracting him.”
She smiled, not the least offended. “Wow.” Her gaze was direct, brightly animated. “You must have played football at that naval academy. You run interference really well.”
Chip shook his head, deciding he’d done what he could. Lee was on his own. It wasn’t like he’d never had to fend off amorous advances before. If anything, he should be damned skilled at it, female magnet that he was. He gave Salem a parting smile and wandered off on his own. Two more days and Lee could pack everyone onto Seaview.
Two more days and things should start to get interesting.
***********
Lee walked down the corridor listening to the click of his polished black shoes against the metal deck. Everything felt and sounded different on a submarine, magnified into a tight tunnel of barely-there motion. The low-level hum of the aft engines became a comforting trickle of white noise relegated to the background, the constant ghost vibration of metal, hydraulics and ocean-pressure as commonplace as the ticking of a clock. The Seaview was his element, his domain, a mistress who comforted as easily below water as above. Instead of feeling anxiety over the thousand tons of pressure bearing down on the fragile hull, he felt intrigue and exhilaration. The same, however, couldn’t be said for Dr. Kaida or his crew.
A brilliant geologist, Kaida had no qualms about crawling around underground. Crawling around under the ocean however, was apparently a different matter. Since boarding the sub yesterday, he and his crew had exhibited the usual claustrophobic reactions normal for those accustomed to fresh air and sunlight. Adjusting to close quarters, narrow passageways and a complete lack of daylight was no menial feat. Over his career, Lee had seen more than a few promising crewman wash out simply because they couldn’t cope with the suffocating nuances of submarine life. He would have thought geologists would adjust easily enough, based upon the amount of time they spent cramped in caves and narrow fissures, but it was the presence of all that water that unnerved them. Dark water.
Simon Kaida fared better than most, but two of his assistants, Doug Martin and Norman Rineman, had spent their time thus far hugging their bunks. Of the third, Salem Painter, Lee had seen little. He was personally thankful for that, knowing that sooner or later he’d have to address the girl’s flirtatious advances. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy a little diversion now and then, but she was too bold for his taste, not to mention a few years too young. He liked his women refined. Intelligent yes, even confident, but not so brazenly forward that he was made to feel shy by comparison. Aside from which, his position as commander of the Seaview dictated his behavior had to be above reproach. Chip had teased him about her flirting, but he also knew his second-in-command understood why business had to be kept separate from pleasure.
He was barely aware when his steps led him in the direction of the guest quarters. Regular routine made him check engineering, sick bay and the science lab before taking the stairs to his own quarters in preparation of ending his duty shift. It felt good to be back at sea again, even if it was simply to usher around a handful of geologists. He rounded the corridor to the guest quarters, a connecting hallway shy of his own modest chamber, when he saw a door open from the corner of his eye.
“Oh! Captain Crane.” Salem Painter stood framed in the doorway, surprised to see him. Dressed modestly in jeans and a tomato red, slip-on knit top she looked the part of typical grad student . . . slightly frazzled by circumstance and not very threatening. “What perfect timing.” Her full lips split with a grin and she motioned over her shoulder, indicating the room behind her. “This is kind of embarrassing, but the door to the bathroom . . . or whatever you military types call it, is stuck. Do you think maybe...?” The sentence trailed away, her smile broadening.
“Of course.” Lee moved past her into the cabin, not bothering to think. He stepped immediately to the head, testing the latch. It hung for a moment, resisting pressure, then popped when he applied force. The door swung easily inward and he tested it a second time, fiddling with the locking mechanism to make sure it was unencumbered. “I think it’s fine now, Ms. Painter. It must have gotten stuck from the—” He smiled over his shoulder, his words trailing away abruptly when he realized she’d stepped into the chamber, closing the door behind her. For the first time in his life he realized how small it was on a sub.
“Uh . . . Ms. Painter.” She was smiling at him and not in a way that conveyed gratitude.
“Salem,” she corrected. “I’m glad I finally have you alone. I wanted the chance to talk with you.”
He doubted talking was what she had in mind. She stepped closer and the cramped quarters shrank a dynasty in size. Lee drew a breath trying to decide if he should be flattered, intrigued or simply annoyed. At the moment, frustrated and panicky was winning out. He flashed his most congenial smile. “Maybe it’s best you and I set some ground rules.”
“I’d like that.” She was close enough now he could feel the heat from her body, see the toasted highlights in her wheat-colored hair. There really was nowhere to move, the bunk on one side of him, a small desk and dresser on the other. For a moment he longed to be on the sprawling deck of a lightship, standing in blessedly open air. And then her hand slid onto his shoulder and she was pushing up on tiptoes, her lips questing against his.
It happened so quickly he found himself responding. For one quicksilver instant his mouth opened to hers, tasting the forgotten sweetness of youth wrapped in the guise of bold sophistication. Just as quickly reality tumbled down. He tugged her arms from around his neck, pushing her away.
“Ms. Painter . . . Salem . . . you’ve got the wrong idea.”
She looked wounded. “Am I that unappealing, Captain?”
He shook his head. “That’s got nothing to do with it. You’re a guest on my sub, nothing more. The sooner you accept that, the easier life will be for both of us.” He moved past her, no longer hesitant about invading her space. Their bodies brushed as he moved past, the contact sending an involuntary tingle deep into his groin. Hell, yes, she was good-looking. He’d have to be a stone to remain unaffected, especially when it was obvious all she wanted was a no-strings attached fling under the sheets.
Had he become antiquated to think there should be more to a relationship than hormones and sexual pleasure? Was he, like the lightship, becoming a relic of another time? There was probably no more than eight or nine years difference in age between them, yet it was clear they were miles apart. He paused at the door before stepping into the corridor.
“We should reach the Kaida Trench tomorrow, Ms. Painter. I suggest you focus your attention there.” Hell, he even sounded like some stick-in-the-mud fossil. The kind of short-sighted, out-of-touch instructor he and Chip used to make fun of at Annapolis. Maybe that was just part of getting old. Thirty-five and suddenly he had himself lined up for retirement.
He gave a snort of laughter as he headed down the corridor. The admiral would tell him he was in the prime of his life. He’d always felt that way, but apparently all it took was one decommissioned lightship and a free-thinking, sexually forward grad student to have him re-evaluating his beliefs.
Lee yawned.
Maybe all he really needed was sleep.
***********
Lee was at the planning table with Chip when Admiral Nelson entered the control room the next day. The Seaview had come within a few meters of the Kaida Trench, an event that motivated the geological crew to finally drag themselves from their bunks. Martin and Rineman were in the observation nose, charts and maps scattered over the circular table in the center. Salem Painter stood off to the side, busily checking readings on a portable electronic device. Every now and then she’d call out excitedly conveying a new set of coordinates that had the two men scrambling for charts, eagerly comparing data.
Kaida hovered in the control room, fidgeting with nervous energy, pacing now and again behind the sonar station. There was an air of excitement, even tension among the crew. Lee asked for a new set of coordinates, instructing the helm to maneuver closer to the trench. The depth was precarious, but nothing they hadn’t withstood before. Through the observation windows he could see a deep fissure in the ocean floor, ink-black at this distance, seemingly bottomless. The Seaview’s exterior lights picked out surrounding spines and crevasses, creating the illusion of peaks and valleys.
“Is that your trench, Dr. Kaida?”
A rotund man with thinning gray hair and a spade beard, Kaida nodded. Lee knew he was only a few years older than the Admiral, but time had not been kind, etching deep lines in his face. “Yes. My trench,” he whispered. There was something almost reverent in his expression. “My grandfather Milton Kaida discovered it in the early 1900s using a prototype submersible. It’s been the focus of research in my family ever since.”
Nelson smiled as he walked into the control room. With a brief nod for Lee, he clapped Kaida on the back. “I told you Lee would get you here.”
“Dr. Kaida!” Doug Martin’s voice rose in alarm from the observation nose. “Sir, something’s happening in the trench.”
Lee looked through the open crash doors and out through the nose. A faint glimmer of light had begun at the farthest visible point of the trench, spreading slowly.
“Sonar,” Lee said quickly.
“Nothing, Sir,” Seaman Kowalski responded. Pacing to the console, Lee paused to bend over Kowalski’s shoulder, studying the screen himself.
“Refine your sweep,” he ordered.
“There’s nothing, Lee.” Chip said behind him where he was monitoring a bank of consoles. He moved from one to the other, adjusting a switch here, fine tuning a dial there. “No seismic activity . . . no energy fluctuation, no disturbance of any kind. According to the sensors, there’s nothing out there. It’s like whatever it is, doesn’t exist.”
Outside the observation nose the glow continued to spread, seeping in a diaphanous white web across the uneven sea floor. Oddly luminous, it was tinged with shifting bands of color at the edges—flickers of sapphire, apricot and plum blending with pulsing threads of grape-purple and deep gold.
“Admiral?” Lee shot his friend and commanding officer a sideways glance. The older man had moved forward into the nose, intrigued by the strange manifestation outside the hull. There was no question it was beautiful, but to Lee, responsible for the safety of ship, crew and guests, it was an unknown element.
“Simon?” Nelson called over his shoulder. “Simon, have you seen anything like this before?”
Dr. Kaida swallowed. “No.”
“Helm, back one-third, ten degrees port,” Lee ordered.
“What are you doing?” Alarmed, Nelson returned to the control room.
“Isn’t it obvious, Admiral? I’m taking Seaview to a safe distance until we determine what we’re facing.”
“It’s some sort of light phenomena,” Salem said from the nose. She manipulated the electronic device, one hand frenziedly jabbing keys as she spoke. “I thought this was a research vessel. Why is everyone getting so bent out of shape about a little light show?”
Nelson frowned. He knew the helmsman, like every crewman on board, responded immediately when ordered by their captain. He felt a subtle shift in the metal decking beneath his feet, telling him the boat was moving. From the corner of his eye he saw Lee mark a course change on the navigational map, then turn quickly to the controls for the exterior cams.
“It’s growing,” Kaida said in awe, his attention riveted outside.
Drawn by the reverence in his voice, Nelson turned. The sea floor was engulfed in bands of shifting color, a display so bright and incandescent, he squinted against the glare. The manifestation rose in the water, floating disembodied, tendrils of light and color snaking forward to feather the hull. The sub lurched.
“All back full,” Lee commanded.
“Skipper, she’s not responding,” Seaman Patterson said.
Nelson heard the engines whine, felt the sub shudder again. Chip barked an order into the intercom, demanding more power from engineering, but the boat refused to budge. All around him systems started to shut down, monitors going haywire. The consoles overhead were off the chart.
“Chip,” Lee ordered. “Get those people out of the nose. O’Brien, stand by on the crash doors. Engineering, give me a status report.”
“She’s not responding, Skipper,” came a disembodied voice over the mic.
“Draw on auxiliary. Divert power if you have to, but get this boat moving!”
“Aye, Sir!”
Nelson moved to the nearest monitor, only half aware of the din behind him. If the outside cameras were functioning properly the sub was completely engulfed, swaddled in pulsing bands of light. Suddenly that same dazzling array of color invaded the control room, seeping through metal walls and floors as if those barriers didn’t exist. It brought all motion to a stunned halt.
The sub lurched and Lee shifted, off balance. He struck out a hand against the nearest console to steady himself. Nelson heard a crack like thunder, felt it rattle ominously through his bones. In the span of a single heartbeat, something sun-white snaked from the console, streaking the length of Lee’s arm. Nelson saw him jerk, his body going rigid and taut, all color leeched from his face. A second later the entire room was plunged into darkness.
“Lee!” Nelson groped blindly in his direction. The emergency lightning kicked in and he felt his foot bump up against something soft.
It took him a moment to realize Seaview’s captain lay prone and unconscious at his feet.
***********
Something prodded Lee’s shoulder, dragging him back to consciousness. For a moment he only wanted the darkness to remain, a blissful limbo free of thought and pain. Memory was the worst. Images that didn’t belong to him, fleeting glimpses of another time so ancient in scope his mind reeled.
He groaned, snagged in the void of something icy and dark. His eyelashes felt weighted with glue, his throat blistered and raw, so dry he started to choke. He rolled to the side, jarred back to reality by the cold press of metal decking against his cheek. Someone touched his shoulder, spoke sharply near his ear. His body started to convulse . . . small tremors that began in his fingertips, exploding into his limbs with razor-edged fire. Liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth. It was like dying from the inside out, caught in a vortex of mental and physical agony.
He opened his mouth to scream. In that quicksilver millisecond of time the pain died, snuffed from existence as if it had never been. His body went limp, released from a punishing stasis.
“Lee!” Someone prodded his shoulder again. A voice boomed over his head: “Get Jamieson up here, on the double!”
He tried to turn to the voice, felt a hand touch his face. “Admiral.” The thought formed in his mind, but never made it to his lips. The strange darkness was fading. Pain, like the flotsam of a dream drifted beyond his reach, a shadow-memory so vague it was hard to recall.
“Admiral.” This time he made his tongue move. With effort, Lee pushed to a sitting position, his back supported against an unmanned station. He dragged the back of one hand across his mouth, shakily wiping away saliva. He felt light-headed, barely able to focus. Belatedly he realized full power had yet to kick in. The emergency lighting was still active, the entire control room bathed in a surreal amber glow. Clearing his throat, he forced words past his tongue. “What’s . . . what’s our status?”
Chip squatted at his side, the Admiral at his opposite shoulder. “Take it easy, Lee.” Chip laid a hand on his shoulder and gave a brief squeeze. “Whatever that thing was, it’s gone. We’re crippled but we’re not helpless. I sent Kowalski to check the main reactor and Sharkey and Coller are refitting engineering. There’s no immediate danger to the boat. Just rest until Jamieson gets here. You took a heavy-duty hit.”
Lee tried to recall what had happened. “Of what?”
“That’s just it . . .” Chip exchanged an unsettled glance with the Admiral. “. . . we’re not sure.”
Lee sighed. Bowing his head, he massaged the bridge of his nose. Ripples of returning pain pinged around the inside of his skull, trying to root in his temples. In a few hours he’d probably have a colossal headache. He was vaguely aware of activity and motion continuing around him. He prided himself on the efficiency of his crew. Even now they faithfully performed their duties with only an occasional worried glance tossed in his direction as testament of unease. Every so often someone higher up in the command chain called out an order and a crewman responded with a prompt, “Aye, Sir!”
“What about our guests?” Lee asked.
“Hustled off the bridge,” Nelson supplied. “Down below decks, which is where I’m going to send you.” He scowled, eyeing Lee doubtfully. “You need to spend some time in sick bay, Lee, have Jamie check you over.”
Exactly what he didn’t want, at least not now. “Not while Seaview’s dead in the water. I’m fine, Admiral.” As if to prove the point, he tried to stand. He managed to get one leg under him, but Nelson clamped a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.
“Don’t make me order you, Commander.” He smiled to ease the sting. Then with a glance at Chip, he relaxed his grip. “Let’s get him on his feet.”
Lee felt firm hands grip him below the arms. With the aid of his two friends he was able to stand. He tried to get his bearing, smarting a little that Nelson had threatened to pull rank. He knew the Admiral was right. He belonged in sick bay, for a short time anyway. But the knowledge didn’t make having his command taken away¾even if only temporarily¾easier to swallow.
Nelson released him to make room for Jamieson who had just come onto the deck. Fatigued, Lee leaned into Chip, relying on his Exec to keep him upright. Okay, so maybe sick bay’s not such a bad idea after all. At least he could get something for the headache. It was growing, gnawing at his temples, showing all the signs of morphing into something truly ugly. And now that he thought about it, his left arm was sore, splinters of residual pain shooting from a tender spot on the underside of his wrist.
Chip seemed reluctant to let him go even when Jamieson maneuvered into the space beside him. But that was Chip . . . always worrying, hovering protectively, a role he’d perfected since they’d first become friends at Annapolis. Even Lee had to admit he’d grown used to it. Over time he’d come to rely on it. Lee could command his boat, no question of that. Okay, so he might waffle a little just now . . . maybe need an aspirin or two for that soon-to-be-godawful headache; probably even a hand under his elbow to hold him upright, but Chip could do that. Then again, Chip could run the whole bloody shooting match without him because he was just that damn good. Which meant¾try as he wanted to escape the logic¾he should be in sick bay.
Lee sighed.
“All right, Mr. Morton, I’ve got him.”
He felt Jamie’s hand on his arm. Chip released him reluctantly and he had the strange sensation of being passed like a piece of diving equipment. “Here, Skipper¾sit down.” He was guided to the periscope well where he sat obediently, his mind still muddled and layered with the ash of someone else’s memories. Some thing’s memories. He shivered.
“Lee?” Chip wandered back to his side. Lee glanced up into his friend’s worried blue eyes, his own expression blank.
“Are you cold?” Chip asked.
“Really, Mr. Morton.” With an exasperated sigh, Jamie stepped between them. “I think I’m uniquely qualified to ask the questions here. You see to the boat and I’ll take care of the captain.”
“I, um . . .” Lee spoke quietly “. . . have a headache.” He flinched, surprised to find he’d spoken the words aloud. Thinking them was one matter, admitting them, something entirely different. The two men looked at each other as though he’d just confessed to a terminal illness. Okay, so he normally didn’t admit when he wasn’t feeling well. Correction¾he usually went out of his way to avoid any mention of physical duress. Unnerved by Chip and Jamieson’s stunned stares, Lee lowered his eyes. “I just need some aspirin,” he muttered.
“Captain, do you think you can walk to sick bay?” Jamieson asked.
Lee nodded. He shot Chip a sideways glance. “Updates every half hour, Mr. Morton, and I want this boat out of here the moment engine power’s restored.”
“Aye, Sir,” Chip said quietly.
Lee hated leaving the control room. As competent as Chip was, as skilled and intelligent as the admiral was, walking away from the situation still felt like personal failure. But by the time he reached sickbay, he knew he would have been useless in command. The further they walked, the heavier he leaned on Jamie, until the doctor was practically holding him upright. The headache reduced his eyes to light-sensitive slits and the pain in his wrist made his left arm practically useless. Once in sickbay, he gratefully tumbled into a bunk, no longer able to maintain a charade of strength. Unable to stop himself, he moaned aloud.
Everything was growing fuzzy again, coal-dark at the edges. Impressions and feelings flickered through his mind, gone before he could really grasp them. . . cold earth and dark water, the bitter tang of separation, hollow-tombed emptiness, bleak despondency. Unnerved, he sucked down a ragged breath, burying his face in the crook of his arm.
“Lee.” Jamie tugged on his arm, trying to pull him around. “Come on, Lee. I need you to take this for me.”
He turned; propped himself on one elbow long enough to accept two pills and a glass a water from Jamie. He didn’t ask what the medication was, but figured it was a lot stronger than aspirin. It didn’t make a difference as long as the pain and the emptiness would go away. He swallowed obediently then folded back against the bunk, layering his arm over his eyes. Jamie worked at his right side, checking his pulse, listening to his heart. He didn’t even flinch when the doctor rolled back his sleeve and drew blood from his arm. Instead he felt himself spiraling down into a soft sleep, where the blissful fog of oblivion replaced conscious thought.
************
Chip walked crisply down the corridor. He knew he should feel better now that power had been restored and Seaview had altered course, putting her a safe distance from the Kaida Trench. The admiral had been poring over system logs and data reads from nearly every department, trying to find an explanation for the phenomenon they’d encountered. Thus far he’d come up empty. But Chip knew if anyone could solve the mystery, it was Admiral Harriman Nelson.
Simon Kaida had been helping as well, contributing what information he had on the trench, relaying bits of research data he’d gathered through the years. His team was absent again, sequestered in their cabins, shaken by the near mishap. To the uninitiated a submarine was a terrifying place. All it took was a few startling groans from the hull, a vivid imagination and a mechanical problem or two, before guests started channeling Dorothy, reciting “there’s no place like home.”
Seaview was home to Chip. He was normally as comfortable on the boat as he was above water, but things were different now. He felt edgy. Anxious. Those emotions and ten-score more were all rooted in deep concern for Lee. “I have a headache.”
Such a simple, quietly spoken statement. Yet Lee might as well have said, “I have pneumonia” or “I can’t breathe.” The man just didn’t admit to physical ailments. Getting him to confess to something as simple as a hangnail was like pulling teeth. Completely out of character and yet he’d said it¾“I have a headache.” So why did that unnerve Chip so much?
He straightened his tie, mentally telling himself he was being silly. True, he hadn’t been able to give Lee those half-hour updates as ordered because the usually unflagging captain hadn’t moved since he’d crumpled in sickbay five hours ago. Chip knew he should be glad Lee was resting, but he couldn’t help fretting. He’d made it his job to worry about Lee ever since Annapolis. It was strange if he thought about it¾two unlikely people, opposites in many ways, yet they’d forged a long-standing unshakable friendship. Lee didn’t seek trouble, but it had a way of finding him. He seemed to have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He usually came out clean, a few scrapes and bruises along the way, Chip being the one to feed his ever growing, “what’s-he-gotten-himself-into-now?” ulcer.
Of all the people in the control room, that thing, whatever it was¾electromagnetic charge, astral projection, or even newly discovered life-form¾had zeroed in on Lee.
Typical.
For all his highly evolved command skills and natural aptitude for espionage, Lee somehow always managed to dip into his cache of cat-inherited nine lives when they were on assignment. It was a habit that frequently had Chip gnawing his nails and seething inside. There were plenty of times he’d wanted to take Lee’s head off for actions he considered reckless, even selflessly foolhardy. Stupid, if he came right down to it. Lee always let him rant for the most part, patiently waiting while he exhausted every name-calling expletive in the book. Eventually he’d run out of steam and Lee would quietly suggest he get his blood pressure checked.
Chip snorted. Even now, angry and concerned, the memory of the quip made him smile. This time he’d hold his tongue. This time at least, Lee had gone to sick bay more or less voluntarily.
He opened the door and stepped inside, finding the lighting muted to low levels. Jamieson was nowhere in sight. A number of bunks, most with portable curtained partitions rolled aside, took up one half of the room. A single bed was occupied, someone bent over the side. Chip frowned, recognizing the sleek bob of Salem Painter’s blonde hair.
“Hey.” A trace of annoyance slipped into his voice. He hadn’t even had a chance to see Lee, yet here was this overly amorous grad student bent over his friend like she intended to crawl into bed with him. “What are you doing?” he asked sharply.
Caught unaware, Salem jerked upright, flushing guiltily. “Mr.—Mr. Morton. I. . . I was just . . .” Flustered she tucked her hair behind her ear. Chip noticed she had the same portable electronic device she’d used in the observation nose earlier, looped over her shoulder. “I just wanted to see how Captain Crane was feeling.”
“Really?” Chip had a hard time keeping sarcasm from his voice. He stepped closer to the bed, noting Lee was asleep. Something about Salem’s presence didn’t add up, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Yes, she’d made it clear she was infatuated with Lee, but would she really slip into sickbay when Jamieson wasn’t around? And why drag equipment? “You should probably go, Ms. Painter.” He eyed the electronic device skeptically. “It looks like you’re already planning work anyway.”
She flashed a shaky smile. “This? It’s just an enhancer to measure seismic activity. I know we’re out of the area, but I thought I’d head up to the observation nose and see if I can pick up any residual spikes.”
Chip frowned. “Our instruments showed no sign of seismic activity at the trench.”
“Yes, I know but . . .” She shrugged. “There really isn’t much more for me to do. To be honest, I’m just kind of bored.” She cast a final glance at Lee. “Tell the captain I stopped by to say hello, okay?”
Chip waited until she left, then dragged a chair close to Lee’s bed. He wasn’t certain where Jamie was, but guessed the doctor had stepped out only momentarily. Certainly he wouldn’t leave Lee unattended for long unless he was sure there was no danger and the captain would sleep undisturbed.
Color had returned to Lee’s face. The lush line of his jet lashes rested against his cheeks, his features relaxed and smooth. Chip felt the tension he’d been harboring since the incident in the control room begin to fade. Lightly he laid his hand over the captain’s wrist, compelled by a need for physical contact. Slowly his fingers tightened, curling around the crisp sleeve of Lee’s shirt. How many times had he done this—sat at his friend and commander’s side while Lee recovered from some ailment or injury?
“Chip?”
With a start he realized Lee’s eyes were open, more brown than amber in the muted lighting, his pupils dilated to large black spheres. Relief washed through Chip, a smile dancing across his lips. “About time, Captain. I was starting to think the only way you were going to wake up was if I found a princess to kiss you. I was all set to put Sharkey in a tiara.”
Lee chuckled. “You would.” He scrunched his shoulders to the side, trying to leverage himself up on his pillow. Standing, Chip grabbed a second from another bunk and slipped it behind his back, adjusting both so he could lie more comfortably.
“What’s our current status?” Lee asked.
“Systems are back on line.” Chip sat forward on the edge of his chair, forearms braced against his knees. He should have known the first thing Lee would request on waking was an update. “You’ve been out for about five hours. Full power’s restored. The reactor is functioning at peak efficiency and engineering reports no visible problems. Whatever sidelined us has been resolved. I’ve pulled the boat back to our previous set of coordinates until you decide what course you want to lay. For all his motivation in getting here, Dr. Kaida hasn’t made any noise about returning to the trench. He and the admiral are still trying to decipher what that light mass was.”
Lee frowned, his brow drawing into a crease. Absently he massaged his left wrist, rubbing his fingers over the skin as if it were tender. “Five hours? Jamie must have given me a mild sedative. I vaguely remember what happened in the control room but it isn’t clear.” He shot a sideways glance at Chip. “What about the rest of Kaida’s crew?”
“Rineman and Martin are keeping to their quarters. Salem Painter was in here awhile ago.” Chip hedged, uncertain how far he wanted to go with his comments. Was he just being cynical, his concern for Lee outweighing reason, or did he really have a basis to distrust her? “She said she was worried about you.”
Lee heard the hesitation in his voice. He continued to rub his wrist. “But you don’t believe her?”
“Maybe.” Chip exhaled. “She’s interested in you, no question, but is it just harmless infatuation or something else?”
“Like what?”
Annoyed by his inability to explain gut instinct, Chip shook his head. “I guess I’m just fishing.” He nodded toward Lee’s arm. “What’s wrong with your wrist?”
“What?” As if only then realizing what he’d been doing, Lee stopped suddenly. He frowned, looking at his arm as if seeing it for the first time. He pushed his sleeve back until the buttons caught, preventing it from going further. Beneath the cuff, the underside of his wrist looked red. “It’s just sore.” Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “Where’s Jamieson? I want to get out of here.”
Chip glanced over his shoulder, half expecting the doctor to appear on command. “He must have stepped out for a few minutes.”
“Fine.” Lee sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. “I’ve wasted enough time. He can find me in the control room.”
He started to stand, but Chip planted a hand in the center of his chest and pushed him back into the bunk. “I don’t think so. Orders are you stay here until you’re officially sprung.” He raised a brow to make the point. “As in medical release.”
Lee’s face darkened. “Whose orders?”
“Who do you think? The only man who can push you around on this boat—the admiral.”
“Seems to me you do a fairly good job of pushing me around yourself,” he muttered.
Chip grinned. Ten minutes later Jamieson returned and after a bit of persuasive coercion from Lee, penned an official medical release. Lee headed immediately to the control room, Chip trailing patiently behind. After a complete analysis of all systems both men stopped by Admiral Nelson’s lab, where he was engaged in reviewing recent data with Dr. Kaida. Neither man was able to provide any new information on the light manifestation, but both showed relief that Lee was back on his feet. Since Kaida made no mention of returning to the trench, Lee didn’t bother addressing the issue. Twice during their discussion he found himself absently rubbing his wrist and stopped abruptly both times. The underside still felt tender but he couldn’t find a mark on it other than a slight overall red discoloration.
The next day when he stopped for breakfast in the wardroom it was still troubling him. Enough so that he only bothered with a fraction of the pancakes on his plate, leaving a sizeable portion untouched. Worse, yesterday’s headache had returned, flirting at his temples, threatening to root behind his eyes. Alone at the breakfast table, he propped his elbow on the edge and bowed his face into his hand.
The images came again . . . swift, fleeting impressions of darkness and water, loneliness and separation. Something cold and intangible sliced through him, knife-sharp, barbed at the edges. He felt a tug on his senses, cumulating in an insistent pull to visit a place he’d never seen. A set of coordinates popped into his head like markers on a map. The urge to redirect course was overpowering, a compelling, nearly punishing desire. Unnerved, he left the wardroom before someone could discover him and ferret out his mood. He ordered helm control to alter course as he saw fit, then stopped by the admiral’s cabin to relay his intentions.
“Seaview needs a clean run to make sure everything is functioning properly after that incident at the trench. I’m going to take her out to deep water then circle back toward the Alaskan coast. We’ll have a few days to see how she responds before doing another sweep of Dr. Kaida’s trench.”
“Good idea, Lee.” Nelson was obviously too engrossed in the piles of printouts and data littering his desk to give the course change more than a passing thought. Lee stood rubbing his wrist, trying to decide if he should elaborate on his mood. In the end, restless and needing something detailed to occupy his mind, he climbed into FS1 intending to do a full systems check. He’d no sooner taken a seat in the navigation chair then he heard a noise behind him.
“Captain Crane. I need to talk with you.”
Lee swiveled in his seat, experiencing a twinge of anxiety to find Salem Painter in the cramped space with him. Before he could protest, she eased into the co-pilot’s seat, her knee bumping up against his as she pivoted to face him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but Seaman Patterson told me you were down here and I was . . . concerned about you.”
Lee retrieved a clipboard from beneath the main console and gave the latest diagnostics a brief glance. He felt uncomfortable, confined in the small space. “I’m sorry, Ms. Painter. I’m busy right now.” He thumbed back a page, trying to concentrate on the series of numbers and grids. Something thrummed in the back of his skull, kindling bursts of horribly melancholy emotions¾loneliness, despair, and misery for something that had been and gone. He didn’t understand any of it, only knew the sadness, the need, intensified every moment Salem Painter remained near him.
“Lee . . .” She leaned forward, laying a hand over his wrist. The use of his first name drew his attention from the report. Their eyes met and locked, and in that fragile half span of time the bleak emptiness inside swelled into physical pain. Cold-fire snaked up his arm from his wrist. His fingers convulsed, crippled as though beset by sudden arthritis. The clipboard fell from his hand and thudded mutely against the deck. Raw emotion slammed through him, ballooning into devastating need.
Alone. Darkness . . . desperation . . . eons and eons of solitude. To be touched . . . to have consciousness . . . to connect with another living soul.
His hand snaked possessively over hers, unwilling to let go. He stood, drawing her to her feet, no longer concerned about protocol or antiquated mandates of professionalism. Ethics suddenly had no meaning. She was here, she was willing, and the emptiness inside of him was a blunt, ravaging hunger waiting to be filled. His mouth closed over hers, eager for the forgotten sweetness of youth, the heat-to-heat intoxication of smoldering passion. No promise, no romance, just ignoble desire in its basest form.
She responded eagerly enough, opening her mouth beneath his, slipping her hands into the precisely trimmed ends of his dark hair. He deepened his kiss, molding her body to his, every nerve keyed to heightened awareness. The melancholy came again . . . deeper, darker, spreading roots in his soul. The more he hungered, the more he kissed her. And the more he kissed her, the more he hungered. Nothing satisfied him. The heat of her lips, the tantalizing press of her body, even the exquisite thought of naked flesh to naked flesh, left him tormented and cold. Crippling pain spiked in his head, an unidentified presence that grew angry when it couldn’t be satisfied, deliberately punishing him for the failed attempt.
With a sharp cry, Lee stumbled backward. He bumped up against the access stair, crumbling against the railing. Gasping, he clung to the side, fighting to hold himself upright. The thing inside of him lashed out in crackling fury. Fingers of pain rocketed down his spine, ripped through his abdomen and boomeranged back into his skull. He doubled over with an audible groan.
“Lee?” A note of panic colored Salem’s voice.
He tried to shove it aside. Tried to reconcile the man who had just pawed her with the respected captain who ran an upstanding boat. “Go away,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.”
“Lee . . .” She stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on his back. “I can help you. Take Seaview where it tells you and the pain will end.”
. . . where it tells you . . .
The thing inside of him. The thing that was/was not a sentient being, that flooded him with tortured impressions, feelings of remorse and despair. And loneliness.
That was the worse. Just the feather-touch of that devastating bleakness was enough to make him want to curl up and die. He raised his head. “How . . . how do you know?”
She flinched away, anxiety blooming in her coal-dark eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I’m sorry. Simon never meant for anyone to be hurt.” She drew back another step, her expression a puzzling mixture of sympathy and determination. “Just do what it wants you to do, Commander. Go where it directs you, and I promise it will be over.”
Before he could utter a word, she barreled up the steps. The pain grew glittering and sharp, exploding in a lethal conflagration of white-knuckle agony. Nausea washed over him, driving him to his knees. He hung his head, hands pressed to the decking, sucking down ragged, greedy gulps of air. Pain flared in his left wrist, so magma-hot it wrenched a cry from his lips. He crumbled, folding to the deck on one shoulder, his right hand locked over his left wrist. Beneath his fingers, his skin bubbled, rising and falling in fleshy pockets as though possessed. Horrified, he moved his hand to the side. Something blue-white and gelatinous trailed from a small hole in his wrist, writhing back and forth like the twitching tail of a predatory cat. But unlike a mammal, it felt cold and fish-dead where it rested against his palm.
In the span of a heartbeat it was gone, sucked inside his flesh, the hole in his skin sealed as though it had never been. His eyes rolled into his head and he passed out.
***********
“Lee.” Somebody touched his face. He felt gentle pressure against his cheek, a brush of fingertips, almost inquisitive in nature. “Come on, Lee . . . open your eyes.”
It was the voice of his friend more than the command itself that made him comply. Groggily he forced his muddled mind to comply. Chip was standing over him, but he wasn’t in the Flying Sub any longer. He was in his own cabin, lying in his bunk. Gripping the edges, he tried to sit up.
“Lie still.” Chip placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back against the mattress. “General consensus is you’ve passed out enough to warrant an extended duty leave. The admiral doesn’t want you anywhere near the Con¾or any operations area¾until you’ve been fully cleared by Jamieson. What happened in FS1, Lee?”
He blinked, trying to put the pieces together: Salem; a need for physical contact that was/was not his own; anger, pain and punishment when passion didn’t fill the agonizing void. A void that belonged to some one else. Some thing else.
“I . . .” Lee wet his lips. He had a vague recollection of a hole in his wrist, the sight of something alien and repulsive protruding from his skin. The memory sickened him. Whatever it was, Salem Painter knew something about it. Odds were Dr. Kaida did too. “I, um . . . I was with Salem Painter.”
“The grad student?” Chip shook his head. “Damn it, Lee. You didn’t do anything stupid did you?”
“That depends on what you consider stupid.” He tried to sit up again and this time Chip let him. With a sigh, Lee leaned back against the wall of his bunk. “Something happened when that light manifestation entered Seaview.” He hedged, unsure how much he wanted to divulge. His wrist was hurting again, not as badly as before, but enough to make him wince. He lowered his eyes, reminding himself this was Chip¾not just his executive officer, but his best friend. If he couldn’t confide in the man who had stood by him since Annapolis, whom could he confide in?
“Something’s happening to me, Chip. It’s like . . . there’s a presence inside of me. Sometimes it’s angry, other times it’s just despondent, full of despair. I think everything happened when I passed out in the Con. Salem said a few things that make me think she knows what’s going on. Whatever it is . . .” He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the pain seep through him. “. . . it’s getting harder to tolerate.”
Chip looked at him astounded. “Lee, Jamieson examined you the first time you were out, and again just now. A full barrage of tests. He can’t find a thing wrong with you.”
“So you’re saying this is all in my head?”
“No, of course not.” Scowling Chip paced a short distance away, pausing by Lee’s desk before glancing back. “You’ve been pushing yourself lately, prepping for this mission. Is it possible you’re just experiencing fatigue?”
Lee lips thinned in a tight line. “It wasn’t fatigue that had some alien . . . appendage . . . snaking from my wrist on FS1. If you don’t want to believe me, Mr. Morton, that’s fine. The admiral’s already given you command of my boat. You might as well add ridicule on top of it.” Irked, he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and stood. Walking quickly to the cabin door, he wrenched it open. “If you don’t mind I’d like some privacy.”
Chip scowled. “Lee, you’re being a damn idiot.”
“That’s no way to talk to your CO. I can have you up for insubordination.”
“Now you’re being pig-headed.”
Lee shot him a baleful glare. “That will be all, Mr. Morton.”
Glowering, muttering, Chip walked from the room. Lee swung the door shut behind him, a soft oath leaving his lips. He hated being at odds with Chip. It rankled him to be at cross purposes with his exec, even more with his friend. The admiral expected him to play ailing crewmember, but the safety of Seaview was at stake. Whatever had infected him could very well infect the rest of the boat. Logically, until he knew what he was dealing with, he should insist a guard be placed on his door. There was always the chance of him turning violent, attempting to take over Seaview.
Unbuttoning his sleeve, he cuffed the material back and examined his wrist. There was nothing to indicate damage of any kind. The skin was smooth and unblemished, not even a tinge of red to indicate tenderness. Frowning, he pressed two fingers against his skin. Had he imagined that snaking blue-white tail, cold as fish scales against his palm?
Determined, Lee pulled open the door. The admiral might have relieved him of command, but he hadn’t confined him to quarters. There was one person on Seaview who might be able to explain what was happening to him. Resolved to get to the bottom of the situation, Lee went in search of Salem Painter.
***********
Lee found Salem in Science Lab 2. She sat at a worktable, busily scrawling notes on a yellow legal tablet, the electronic device she had used in the observation nose resting at her elbow. An LCD display revealed a scrolling graph that peaked and dipped every few seconds, streaming into an irregular line. A cup of coffee, cold by the looks of it, and a half eaten turkey sandwich sat amid balled-up pieces of paper, open textbooks and a stack of well-thumbed steno pads.
“Salem.”
Her head came up with a jerk when Lee entered the room. He closed the hatch behind him, thankful for the privacy. For a moment she looked stunned to see him. The shock faded quickly, replaced by a mixture of guilt and embarrassment over what had happened between them.
“Captain Crane. I . . . I’m sorry about what happened earlier¾”
“No you’re not, and neither am I.” He stepped to the table, tired of fencing, tired of being polite. “You know something about what happened in the control room. You know something about this thing inside of me.”
She flushed. Clearly she hadn’t expected him to come straight to the point and admit to being possessed by an alien life form. It wasn’t the first time he’d encountered the unknown and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Any skepticism he’d once held for the otherworldly and fantastical had been crushed ages ago. Most naval commanders had to battle obstacles like insurgency, drug trafficking and illicit operations. He got hostile E.T.’s, things-that-went-bump-in-the-night and assorted sea creatures.
“Well?” His voice came clipped, edged with command. “You told me to do what it wanted. Are you going to tell me what ‘it’ is?”
“You have to understand it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.” There was a pleading quality to her voice, her dark eyes appealing for understanding. She nodded aside to the portable device on the table. “It was supposed to be contained in the PRASA.”
Lee’s eyes tracked to the side. The mechanism looked innocent enough, as ordinary as any piece of scientific or geological equipment he’d seen, but he was beginning to think it was much more. Certainly Salem had rarely been without it since the incident in the observation nose.
She sensed his question. “PRASA stands for Portable Restraining Apparatus for Sentient Anomalies. It isn’t an alien life force that infected you, Captain Crane. It’s something earthbound. Something very old. Dr. Kaida believes it predates the dinosaurs. It’s been lying in that trench for a thousand yesteryears. It existed in a time when the earth was different, when the sea itself might not have been formed. My uncle believes¾”
“Your uncle?”
“My uncle, yes.” She nodded, saddened by the deception. “I’m sorry he felt the need to trick you, but he thought if you and I . . .” She looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “I guess you could say I was nice to you for a reason. It was back-up insurance in case we needed you to maneuver Seaview somewhere you wouldn’t normally go.”
“That does wonders for my ego.” He frowned, unsure if he was angry or stupefied by her foolishness. “Do you really think I would jeopardize my boat . . .my crew for a one night stand?”
“No.” She stood, pacing from the table. “It was a dumb plan. It’s just my uncle’s worked so hard on this. His entire family has spent years researching that trench, ever since his grandfather first suspected it might harbor a living entity. My uncle believes it was there before the oceans formed. He thinks shifting in the earth’s crust and underwater seismic activity has resulted in the entity being separated from others of its kind. We’ve done detailed studies of the ocean bottom. Over eons, recessed fault lines have caused fissures and breaks where none were before. We don’t know that the creature is truly aquatic. It could have been amphibious at one time and merely adapted by necessity.”
She leaned forward, anxious to make him understand. “My uncle believes the creature is unable to transport itself. The documentation is too detailed, Captain, but the long and short of it is, we planned to use PRASA to contain and move the entity. Based on theory, we believed it would respond to Seaview’s reactor, drawing energy and levitating from the trench. It’s why you lost helm control and your engines died once the creature became visible. It was effectively draining the nucleus of your submarine to free itself. Once that happened, PRASA was programmed to emit a signal on a frequency we believed would attract it. The unit itself is a restraining apparatus, a holding cell if you will, where the creature would be contained. We hoped to learn from it . . . perhaps find others of its kind. But something went wrong, and the creature entered through the command console, into you. I was able to verify that when I visited you in sickbay while you were sleeping. Readings on the PRASA clearly indicated the creature had inhabited your body.”
And mind. Lee exhaled. He swiped a hand through his hair. Yeah it was crazy, but he’d fought lobstermen, been seduced by mermaids and nearly killed by creatures from outer space. Stacked against that, what was one ancient earth-bound thingamajig? And PRASA? Hell, the admiral probably had a dozen of them lying around in coordinating colors.
“Does this thing have a name?” Lee asked. If something was sharing space in his body, he wanted to know what it was.
Salem shrugged. “For reference we call it The Void, because my uncle thinks that’s what it must be experiencing . . . a horrible kind of emptiness and isolation. It’s like Ying and Yang. To have balance, to be complete, it must commune with others of its kind. Imagine someone who’s suicidal and magnify those emotions a thousand fold. I told you, Lee¾it’s ancient. Can you imagine what it must be like to be severed from everything?”
“Yeah.” He slumped onto a stool, bowing his face into his hand. “I think I can. I’m living with it, remember?”
She bit her lip.
“What about Rineman and Martin?” he asked. “Do they know about this?”
She nodded.
“And the reason your uncle requested Seaview for the assignment was because of the reactor?” Tired, he shook his head. The thing inside of him was stirring, snaking against his temples in annoyance. He massaged the bridge of his nose, none too happy himself. “So all this time he’s just been pretending to help the admiral? He knows damn well what went wrong. I wondered why he didn’t demand to go back to the trench. It’s because he knows the creature has inhabited me.” He shook his head, wearying of the complications. Would he become violent . . . suicidal? Would the pain continue to increase, or would he gradually adjust to the presence of another life form in his body? “What happens when we get to the place where this . . . void . . . is directing me? What then?”
“Hopefully it will join with another of its kind.”
“And your uncle becomes rich and famous . . . cover of Newseek, cover of Time, article in Science Journal.” Cynicism was kicking in. “If he’s really lucky, maybe a guest stint on Merv.”
“You don’t have to be so angry.”
“Excuse me?” Lee snorted, unable to believe he’d heard the words. “I’m the one who’s sharing his body with some ancient . . . who-knows-what. Suppose it doesn’t want to leave? What then?”
She swallowed hard. “I think you should talk to my uncle.”
“You mean the highly ethical scientist who wasn’t going to tell me about this? Who was going to let me walk around wondering why I keep passing out, suffering from splitting headaches and bouts of melancholy?” He sent her a pointed glance. “Not to mention being sidelined by an overwhelming desire for meaningless sex. Which, by the way, has thankfully gone the way of your uncle’s scruples.”
“Okay, so I deserved that.”
Lee stood. “Ms. Painter, I haven’t even gotten started. Fortunately for you, I’m going to bed. Alone.”
Irritated, he stepped into the corridor. How could anybody be so self-absorbed as to put his crew and boat in jeopardy? The admiral had devoted his life to science, but even he knew where to draw the line. Lee had no doubt if he took the whole sordid story to Nelson, the older man would rake Kaida over the coals, friend or no friend.
But he was tired, more than he wanted to admit, and his arm was throbbing painfully. He rubbed his wrist, wishing the thing inside of him would stay quiet until they reached their destination. Perhaps like any sentient being removed from its habitat, it was suffering for the absence.
A thousand yesteryears.
Like the lightship, it was a relic of another time. A wave of melancholy buffeted him, dragging splinters of pain in its wake. Deciding sleep could wait another hour or so, he rounded up Jamieson, the admiral and Chip, relaying all he’d learned from Salem Painter. As expected there was a measure of incredulity, but when Kaida was summoned, reluctantly confirming his niece’s story it had to be taken at face value.
Lee decided to let the rest of the group decipher the mess. It was getting too hard to concentrate, his mind growing sluggish as episodes of pain increased in frequency and intensity. There was nothing Jamieson could do for him short of sedating him, an alternative Lee was dead set against. He might not be reasoning up to par, but at least he could reason, a capacity he wasn’t ready to abandon. The course he’d set would take them to the northern most fringe of the Alaskan coastline. From there he would have to rely on the entity to direct him. As it stood, their destination was still a good twelve hours away, the Kaida Trench being located in warmer ocean climates.
Lee excused himself and retreated to his cabin on the pretext of needing rest. It wasn’t entirely a lie. The simple truth was he found it harder and harder to function, a debilitating state he had no desire to display among peers. Once in his cabin, he eased into the chair behind his desk and drew out his logbook. He stared at the last entry for a good ten minutes, trying to formulate a new one, but it was just too hard to concentrate. His left hand trembled where it rested on the surface of the desk, wrist to elbow enflamed by undulating waves of sporadic pain.
The images came again, tangled with emotions that didn’t belong¾plundering and fierce, jackhammer-hard, cold as creek water. Gritting his teeth, Lee dropped his pen. He clamped his right hand over his left wrist, exerting pressure. A knot of agony exploded beneath his skin, razor-sharp and sun-hot. He felt blood seep beneath his fingers. Sticky and wet, it soaked into the cuff of his uniform shirt and dribbled from his wrist, puddling onto the desk. Something foreign and cold blundered through his skin, cracking flesh like the fragile shell of an egg. He felt it slither into his palm, snake-sleek and scaled, soft as the underbelly of a fish. His blood gushed heavier and faster, laced with the reek of metal and sulfur. Overhead the ceiling spun, telescoping down into a dizzying pit of bloated right angles.
Lee felt himself sliding sideways, weightless for a moment, before he crashed to the floor. Dazed, he lay on his back, the ceiling reeling helter-skelter overhead. The tail-like appendage rooted in his mangled wrist, writhed sluggishly against his thigh. Slick with blood and pulsing organ-hot, it fouled his pants with a sticky secretion of fluid and pus. Repulsed, he rolled to the side and vomited. Pain spiked in his head, flaring like a rocket.
Mercifully he passed out.
***********
0400 and Chip couldn’t sleep. He’d ended a late duty shift three hours ago, then crawled into his bunk, fully intending to be asleep within minutes He dozed off and on, drifting through a fragmented sleep, waking more restless each time. He knew it was Lee and that damn alien whatsithuzzit preying on his mind. How could he possibly rest knowing some thing had inhabitated his friend’s body? Lee still wasn’t talking to him, preferring to keep his distance, uncharacteristic temper and cynicism fimly in place. Given that he was playing host to a unknown and potentially hostile element, Chip supposed his friend had every right to be a little irritable. Maybe even downright nasty.
He sighed and draped an arm across his eyes. It was dark in the cabin, a faint crack of light seeping beneath the door, the only illumination in the shadow-heavy room. He had hoped the darkness would help him sleep, but he might as well have been lying beneath a sunlamp for all the good it did. Maybe if he counted sheep. Or whales. Whales were always good.
One blue. Two gray. Three killer¾
The door popped open. Chip half rose at the intrusion, seeing a tall silhouette frame