The Fringe of Daylight
This one is a WHN for the episode “Nightmare.” As always, thanks to Theresa, Liz and Diane for the excellent beta work, feedback and suggestions. Comments welcomed at veniceplace12@verizon.net
There was nothing to do but muddle through the mess.
Admiral Harriman Nelson reclined in his desk chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Bureaucrats. Sometimes he couldn’t stomach the thought of them. He understood they were up in arms about the missile launch, but there were no black-and-white answers he could magically produce. All he had at his disposal was the unbelievable . . . extraterrestrials, UFOs, mind conditioning. If it weren’t for Lee Crane, Washington D.C. and a good portion of the east coast would be an ash heap right now. At least U.S. defense radar had picked up “Bentley’s” craft before it vanished off the screen and knew there was truth in his tale.
Washington had already put a spin on the whole thing, calling the missile launch a training exercise gone awry. Harry wasn’t sure the rest of the world would buy it, but he’d leave the snow job to the suits in the capitol. He had enough headaches trying to locate the remains of Bentley’s spaceship. Seaview wasn’t the only vessel scouring the ocean, but she had the best chance of spotting any wreckage if it existed.
Bentley was gone. There was no question the alien life form pretending to be a UFO expert had been destroyed, its body disintegrating moments after Lee killed it. But Washington and the Navy were interested in the craft and wanted to be certain every effort was made to locate it in the event wreckage remained.
They’d only been at the search several hours, but it looked fruitless to Harry. He was sure the craft had vanished, the same way Bentley had after his death, the two tied together by some inexplicable force. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d experienced gut instinct often enough to know when he was right. There was no telling the bureaucrats that though, and so Seaview continued combing the waters while Washington dealt with the missile fallout. Of the two, he’d rather be at sea.
A knock on his cabin door distracted him from his thoughts.
“Come in,” he said, welcoming the intrusion. Anything to take his mind off the mess for a while.
“Admiral.” Dr. Will Jamieson stuck his head in the door, pausing on the threshold. “I know you’ve got your hands full. Can I speak with you a moment?”
Harry motioned him further into the cabin. True, he had his own problems, but Will didn’t look much better. His mouth was compressed in a rigid line, tipped downward at the edges. Whatever he’d come to discuss was not good news.
Harry felt a twinge in his gut. “Is this about Lee?”
Several hours ago, after explaining to Lee how Bentley had manipulated his mind, he’d sent the captain to Sick Bay just to be sure his health wasn’t affected. Lee had balked, insisting he was fine, but Nelson wasn’t going to take any chances with his young commander.
The doctor nodded. A bit morosely in Harry’s opinion. He had a manila file folder tucked under his arm and flipped it open to peer inside. “Test results on Captain Crane.” He shoved the file across the desk for Harry’s inspection. “Everything is exactly as it should be. The man’s in perfect physical health.”
“That’s great news.” Nelson raised his eyes from the file. “I don’t see the problem.”
“That’s just it. There isn’t one. At least not on the surface.” Jamie gave an aggravated shake of his head, distractedly running a hand through his thinning hair. Frustrated, he dropped into the chair across from Harry. “I don’t think Lee is fit for duty, but there’s no medical basis for that belief. If you want facts and statistics, I can’t give you any. All I’ve got is opinion.”
Harry shifted, lacing his hands over his stomach. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who listened to his gut. “Go on,” he urged.
“There’s a slight - - I emphasize slight - - indication that his body has undergone some kind of trauma. You and I know he wasn’t shot, but Lee doesn’t. Or more precisely, he’s having a hard time swallowing what happened to him was done through mind manipulation.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. But think about it, Harry. He was shot by you - - a man he considers a father. Then you put him on trial and he’s betrayed by his best friend and a close crew member. You sentence him to death, hint he’ll be tortured at your leisure for questioning, then order him executed when he escapes. Later, when you’ve got him beaten and on his knees in the circuitry room, you taunt him about friendship, preparing to kill him with a laser blast. In the end he’s forced to kill you to save himself.”
“Will, none of that was me.”
“I know that, Harry. On some level, Lee knows it too, but it isn’t as easy as waking up from a nightmare. He lived those experiences. To him they were every bit as real as that file under your nose. It’s not like some bad dream he can just shrug aside.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that despite what my test results indicate I don’t think he’s in the best shape to assume command. I’m not a psychiatrist, but I’ve got enough medical insight to know he’s torn up emotionally, even if he won’t admit it.” Jamieson shook his head again, stood and gathered up the file. “I ordered him to get a few hours sleep before he heads back to the conn. He wasn’t happy about it, but I told him the alternative was remaining in Sick Bay for more tests.”
“I see.” Harry grew thoughtful. Lee had seemed fine to him when they’d reviewed everything in the observation nose. They’d even joked about the weather balloon/thermal layer Kowalski had picked up on sonar. Originally, they’d planned to return to Santa Barbara, but Washington had put a stop to that with orders to find the UFO. Harry had been the one to suggest Lee report to Jamie, especially given their new orders would keep them from returning to port for several days. Lee had insisted he was fine and an exam was unnecessary, but Harry wanted to be sure.
The order had stood.
That was the last he’d seen of his captain. If Lee was having a rough time adapting after the trauma the alien had inflicted on him, the worst thing Harry could do was to relieve him of command. He knew Lee Crane better than anyone with the exception of possibly Chip. Lee was resilient, and part of that resiliency came from his ability to set aside personal feelings in order to do the job at hand. Yes, Harry hated that Lee so often closed off his emotions, that he’d grown up that way thanks to a cold and uncaring stepfather, but he also knew it was Lee’s way of coping. If burying himself in work would help him ride out whatever emotional conflict he was feeling, Harry was prepared to give him that leeway.
“I appreciate your opinion, Will.” Harry stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But I know Lee and, despite your instinct, you can’t give me a concrete reason why he shouldn’t be in command of this vessel. Right now he needs structure and normalcy. If anything, the routine of command will help him put the incident with Bentley behind him.”
“I hope you’re right, Admiral.” Jamie didn’t look convinced, but he obviously knew when he’d struck out. He paused at the door, hesitating with his hand on the knob. “At the very least, I suggest you keep an eye on Lee. We both know he’s extremely adept at concealing what he’s feeling.”
Harry gave a grunt of acknowledgement, sinking back into his chair as the doctor left. He didn’t remember much about how Bentley had taken over the boat, just a blinding flash of light and a high-pitched whine that had driven him to his knees. Later he awakened, dazed, in the storage hold below, he and the rest of the crew imprisoned by an invisible force field.
But he’d seen everything. Heard everything.
Somehow Bentley had managed to project every second of what happened to Lee from the moment he’d returned in the Flying Sub. Unable to help, unable to escape the force field, he and the crew had watched and listened as Lee’s ordeal was played out before them in a holographic cube of light. He’d seen himself shoot Lee, condemn him and order him executed. He’d watched that sham of a trial . . .watched later as Lee knelt looking up at him in the circuitry room, knowing he was about to die at the hands of the man he considered a father.
Harry grimaced.
It wasn’t me.
Lee had to know that.
Of course he knows it. He has to know I’d never lift a finger to hurt him.
Something sour and acidy trundled into his gut. But he’d also seen Lee one step shy of collapse when he’d hidden like a hunted animal in the stores room. He could vividly recall the younger man slumping against the crates, burying his face in the crook of his arm as he tried to pull it together.
That had been the moment of undoing for Chip.
Watching the scene unfold, Morton had sworn a blue streak and made another vain attempt to break through the barrier that kept them imprisoned. The shock he’d taken from the force field threw him clean off his feet. Even then he was ready to try again until Kowalski reasoned with him and told him he wouldn’t do the skipper any good if he knocked himself unconscious. But it was hard. For all of them. Lee was clearly in pain and hurting. Alone in the stores room, unaware he was being observed, he’d allowed a rare moment of vulnerability to show. It was something the crew wasn’t used to seeing, and Harry knew it had caught them all by surprise. The image Lee presented to others had always been one of strength. To catch him in an unguarded moment of weakness was difficult to perceive much less witness. He’d felt a surge of pride when, to a man, the crew had reacted with the fervent rage to protect their injured captain. But all the shouting, protesting, demands to be released, and swearing hadn’t done any good. If Bentley did hear them he ignored them.
Harry couldn’t remember ever feeling so helpless before, unable to find a way to defuse the force field. For once, ingenuity and intellect had failed him, the alien technology far too sophisticated to neutralize with the limited resources at hand. And so they remained an unwilling audience, forced to watch as Bentley continued to torture Lee with a mock trial, then order his execution. Later, they’d been witness to the confrontation in the circuitry room.
Harry swallowed hard. The look on Lee’s face as he’d knelt staring up at him still ripped his heart out.
He knows it wasn’t me.
The mantra lost conviction each time he recited it. He thought back to what Jamie had said . . . Lee lived those moments, for him they were real. With a curse of aggravation, he shoved back his chair. Might as well poke his nose into the control room and get an update on the search. He knew Lee was sleeping, per Jamie’s orders, but his restless young commander would show up there eventually.
He’d take Jamie’s advice and observe. If there was something troubling Lee, Harry was sure he could spot it.
**********
Lee groaned, jerking awake from the nightmare. Real or imagined? It took him a moment to determine where he was, a moment of having cold sweat drip from his bangs, his body strung tight with tension as he waited for reality to set in.
His cabin. It had only been a dream. A heinous memory squatting in the back of his mind, waiting to goad and terrorize. He should have known. Nelson would never willingly shoot him or coldly order him executed. And yet it had seemed so real, the ugliness of that alternate reality washing over him with a dread chill.
Breathing raggedly, Lee swung his legs off the bunk and stood. He sagged against the bulkhead, swiping a hand across his sweating brow. In his four years on Seaview, how many times had an alien presence invaded his thoughts or twisted his mind to perceive something other than the truth? What did it say about him that he seemed to be routinely singled out? Nicole Rook would tell him he was perceptive, intuitive, keyed to a closer awareness of the metaphysical.
Or maybe I’m just weak-minded.
He’d never thought of himself that way before, but he’d really believed Nelson had shot him, that Chip had turned on him. During the trial, he’d tried to convince himself it was all a nightmare, that others were posing in place of his friends. But even then he’d failed, caught up in a sick reality he couldn’t escape. Throughout the whole hideous ordeal he’d imagined himself sane, his friends the ones who were being manipulated. To realize the exact opposite was true left him shaken and uncertain of his own abilities.
What he needed was structure. Order. And he wasn’t going to get it lying in his rack waiting for the nightmares to return. He’d done as Jamie ordered, resting for a short time as much as he was able. But sleep brought dreams and, right now, the last thing he wanted was to be reminded of the horrific events of the last twenty-four hours.
He’d grab a shower and head to the control room. Maybe with the distraction of updates and reports, he’d be able to forget the man he considered a father had tried to kill him.
**********
Lee paused as he neared the plotting table, aware Nelson was in the observation nose. With a shock, he realized it bothered him to have the admiral so near. Maybe it was just the remnants of his dream, still ping-ponging around inside his head. His hesitation was slight, barely noticeable.
Except to Chip who shot him a quizzical glance.
“Status update, Mister Morton,” Lee said to cover his lapse. From the corner of his eye he saw Nelson turn from the observation windows, noting his arrival.
“Holding course as ordered, Sir.” Chip passed him a clipboard with several reports attached. Lee glanced down, flipping through each, conscious Chip’s voice had been neutral but crisp. Normally he wouldn’t have noticed, but he suddenly found himself reading a little too much into his executive officer’s impeccable professionalism.
He swore silently as he scribbled his initials at the bottom of a page. Hadn’t he already set the tone - - officer to officer rather than friend to friend - - with his ‘Mister Morton’ query?
“Lee?”
Absorbed in his thoughts, Lee gave an unconscious jerk as Nelson approached. He recovered quickly, forcing a smile and balancing the clipboard on its long edge against the plotting table.
“Admiral.”
“Jamie said you were resting.”
“I was.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, ill-at-ease. He’d never been uncomfortable around Nelson before. The damn thing made no sense. “I thought I’d get a status update . . . see if we’ve made any progress in the search for wreckage.”
“None.” Nelson shook his head. “But we’re broadening our sweep.” He pointed at the map indicating a new quadrant. “There are surface ships here and here . . .”
His voice continued but Lee was suddenly focused elsewhere. He was back in the circuitry room on his hands and knees, staring up at Nelson as the man stood over him with a gun. That same face, same eyes, his voice mocking and cold. “You mean you’re so far gone you don’t recognize your best friend?”
Had that been a taunt too? Nelson knew Lee thought of him as a father.
“Lee, are you listening?”
He blinked, shocked to find the admiral and Chip staring at him intently. “Yes. I, uh . . .” He dragged a hand over his face, aware he was sweating. His eyes flicked to the map, to the locations of the ships Nelson had pointed out. He steeled his voice, shrugged away the images. “I understand, Admiral.”
Nelson frowned, unconvinced. Concerned, he reached to touch Lee’s arm, but the younger man flinched backward. The movement was slight but unmistakable. Nelson stopped with his fingers raised in the air, then dropped his hand to his side.
“I see,” he said softly. Just as quickly, he squared his shoulders, dismissing the rebuff. “I’ll be in my cabin, gentlemen. Carry on.”
Lee watched him stride away. A second later he became aware of Chip’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Want to elaborate on that?” his friend asked.
Lee returned his attention to the clipboard. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Okay. So if I try to touch you, are you going to slap my hand away?”
Lee kept his eyes lowered but his mouth tightened. “It was an involuntary reaction, Chip. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Chip gave skeptical grunt. “If you say so.”
An irrational wave of anger swept through Lee. Why was he always the one being dissected under a microscope? He hadn’t asked to be the subject of Bentley’s perverse experiment any more than he’d asked to be left with illogical feelings. He knew Nelson wasn’t at fault for what happened to him but telling himself that and believing it were two different issues. In his head he knew the truth, but rational thought often had little to do with gut reaction.
He’d get over it. He just needed more time. Time and distance. And in the interim what he didn’t need was to have Chip and Nelson breathing down his neck, waiting for him to trip up and do something stupid. At the moment all he wanted to do was occupy himself and forget about what happened. If he were honest, if he dug too deeply, even the fabricated nightmare of Nelson trying to kill him cut to the bone. His real father was gone and Mitchell Blake . . .
He grimaced.
That was one S.O.B. he’d sooner forget.
“This quadrant.” Lee tapped the map. “I was on the edge of this when I spotted Bentley’s craft. It’ll take too long for Seaview to get there. Have Kowalski ready the Flying Sub for me.”
Chip hedged, unable to mask his surprise. “Lee?”
“That’s an order, Mister Morton.”
“Aye, Sir.” This time Chip didn’t hesitate. “Should I have Ski stand by as co-pilot?”
“No. I’ll be going myself. Fifteen minutes, Chip.” He was anxious to leave, eager for the solitude FS1 would bring. The whole ordeal had started with him in the compact yellow sub running tests on its gyroscopic altitude system. In was only fitting that it be his escape too.
As he headed for the spiral stairs that would take him back to Officer’s Country, he never noticed Chip reaching for the microphone.
**********
Fifteen minutes later as agreed, Lee clambered down the stairs, briskly heading for the Flying Sub’s open hatch. “Everything green?” he called to Chip, catching his second-in-command from the corner of his eye.
“As ordered, Sir.”
Why the hell was Chip being so aggravatingly formal? Even as the thought crossed Lee’s mind he realized once again it was his own tone and mannerisms determining the exec’s protocol. Chip approached the hatch with him, his expression neutral. “Good luck, Skipper.”
Lee nodded, acutely aware that Chip did not try to touch him . . . no pat on the back or good-natured grip to the arm. Chip knew him well, could read his moods better than anyone, and right now Lee appreciated that his friend gave him the space he needed. He was in for a shock, however, when he climbed down the ladder into the belly of FS1 and saw Admiral Harriman Nelson sitting in the co-pilot’s seat.
**********
Lee drew to a stunned halt at the bottom of the ladder. “Admiral? Wh-what are you doing here?” He knew his voice was unsteady and cursed himself for allowing the shock to slip through. Overhead he heard the seal click in place as someone dogged the hatch from the control room.
Nelson swiveled around in his seat, a clipboard on his lap. “Just doing a final check before we launch.”
Lee’s hand tightened on the ladder. “We?”
“I decided to make the run with you. It’s a good idea you had re-scouting that quadrant. I happened to be back in the control room when Ski was preparing FS1 for launch.”
Somehow, Lee doubted that. More likely Chip had informed the admiral of his plans on the sly. It didn’t matter, though. Like Seaview, the Flying Sub belonged to Nelson. If he wanted to tag along on Lee’s excursion, Lee didn’t have the authority to override him. Nelson was his boss and commanding officer. Maybe, for the time being at least, it was best to keep their relationship on that level. Strictly business and professional.
Lee nodded without comment and strapped himself into the pilot’s seat. A few minutes later FS1 was streaking through the sky, eating up airspace. The only discussion between them related to instrumentation and readouts. It wasn’t until Lee submerged the craft under water that he felt his grip on the joysticks relax. He’d been holding on so tightly his knuckles were white, his tension related solely to the man seated beside him.
He wondered if Nelson noticed then cursed himself for a fool. Of course he did. But like Chip, he was allowing Lee the space to work it out on his own.
Except he was here. In the cramped quarters of FS1 when Lee had craved solitude and the mindlessness of work. Instead, Nelson’s presence had him mentally resurrecting all the things he wanted to forget - - the bullet wound, the staged trial, the order of execution, his-almost-certain death in the circuitry room.
And from somewhere deep inside came the wretched pang of realization. It wasn’t the first time Nelson had tried to kill him.
It hadn’t been easy to move past Krueger, but they’d managed. Their loyalty to each other and the strength of their relationship had brought them through the ordeal with the German U-Boat captain. This time it hadn’t even been Nelson who pulled the trigger but a robotic replica.
Lee ground his teeth.
So why the hell can’t I put the whole freaking thing behind me?
Because all of that aside, he had tried to kill Nelson. Never mind that he’d been defending himself, or that the thing masquerading as the admiral had really been an android. He hadn’t known that at the time. He’d reacted with the intent to kill, focused on saving his own life. No one could blame him, yet he continued to struggle with a combination of guilt and remorse for actions he’d been forced to undertake.
“Sonar contact, six hundred yards” Nelson said, oblivious to his mental demons. He leaned forward, making an adjustment to the screen. “Closing rapidly.”
“Closing?” Lee was startled from his reverie. He knew there were other subs in the area. “One of ours?”
Nelson shook his head. “Biologic. And large.”
“Probably a whale.” He adjusted course.
“It’s moving with us.”
Lee glanced at him sharply, both men aware a whale wouldn’t shadow them. In a few more minutes Lee saw a dark shape emerge in FS1’s view windows. “Gilligan?” he said incredulously.
“Can’t be.” Nelson scowled as a serpentine shape skimmed their port side. The color of wet sand, the creature had a flat head, shovel-like mouth and protruding eye stalks. “We’re in the wrong ocean.”
They’d crossed paths with the mutant behemoth before, first dubbed ‘Gilligan’ by Stu Riley. On more than one occasion, the massive slime eel had given them grief, before inadvertently saving Lee’s life. He still wasn’t sure if he despised the ugly monstrosity or felt indebted to it. “How many giant hagfish do you know, Admiral?”
“If there’s one, there can be others.” Nelson threw a few switches on the equipment panel, then reached to depress the com-link at his throat. “I’m going to notify Seaview. If this is a different eel - - especially if it’s a different eel - - I don’t want to lose it.”
Lee was about to remind him of their orders to search for wreckage when the bulk of the beast passed in front of them. Too close. Far too close. He wrenched back on the joysticks in a vain attempt to change course, but the behemoth’s tail clipped their nose and sent the small sub spiraling out of control.
Driven toward the ocean floor, Lee tried to add lift to the sub, but FS1’s angle of descent and forced acceleration were insurmountable. Sparks erupted from the instrument panel behind him. He heard Nelson curse, then the port wing burrowed into silt, and he was thrown forward into blackness.
***********
“Lee?”
He groaned, aware of a sticky wetness on the side of his face. It took him a few seconds to realize he was sitting on the deck of FS1, his back propped against the bulkhead, the lighting dimmed to emergency levels. Nelson was crouched beside him, holding a handkerchief pressed to the side of his head.
He grew aware of a sharp sting above his eyebrow at the same time he instinctively flinched backward from the contact.
“Easy. I won’t touch you.” Nelson withdrew his hand, his eyes vivid blue in the weak lighting. “Maybe you’d rather do this,” he suggested and passed Lee the square of linen. He motioned to Lee’s forehead. “You’ve got a deep cut, probably a concussion. Don’t move around too much.”
Lee swallowed dryly, accepting the handkerchief. He could feel blood on the side of his face, trickling from an open gash above his eye. “What happened?”
“The hagfish clipped us. Engines are out, but we’ve got air. I already checked and we’re going to need Seaview for repairs. She’s on her way.”
“What about the eel?” Lee asked. His head was throbbing, sending sharp slivers of pain into his jaw.
“Gone. At least for the moment.” Nelson winced, shifting from his haunches to settle more comfortably across from Lee.
“Are you hurt, Sir?”
Nelson shook his head. “Nothing to concern yourself with. I banged my ribs but it’s nothing compared to that cut. Just feeling my age . . .” He grinned tightly, almost a grimace.
Lee had the sudden inclination he was no longer talking about his bruised ribs. He felt badly for his reactionary flinch when he’d regained consciousness, but once again it had been instinctive, something he had no control over.
“Nothing to do but wait for Seaview to arrive,” Nelson said quietly. He nodded toward the bunk tucked into the back of the sub. “It might not be a bad idea for you to lie down.”
“No, Sir, I’m fine. I’d just like to stay here.” Sitting on the deck wasn’t the most dignified position. He thought about getting up and moving to the pilot’s chair, but the thought of standing made him swallow back nausea. At least the cut had stopped bleeding. If only his head would quit throbbing.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Lee swabbed at his forehead again and folded the soiled handkerchief in his hands. In truth, he’d like nothing better than to close his eyes and rest, but the pounding in his skull made that impossible. That and the almost tangible tension in the air.
“Admiral?” he said softly.
“What is it, lad?”
Lee felt his gut clench. There was always marked affection in Nelson’s voice whenever the older man called him ‘lad.’ “About what happened . . . with Bentley. Jamie told me you saw the whole thing played out in a kind of holographic projection.”
Nelson nodded grimly. “I guess the alien enjoyed taunting us by allowing us to watch what was happening to you.” His eyes slewed to the side, away from Lee. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem worth it,” he muttered irritably.
“What do you mean?”
Nelson’s eyes flashed back to his face. “What we gain from what we do. Sometimes I think the cost is too high. Bentley, Krueger, that damn monster from outer space, the one from the inferno, Dr. King’s plant creature . . . how many others? I hired you to be a sub captain, not some intergalactic or paranormal warrior.”
Lee gave a soft snort. “I think you mean pawn, Sir.” He saw Nelson’s jaw clench. Something else the admiral said abruptly registered. “You did hire me to be Seaview’s commander. Nothing else. Maybe . . .” He struggled to find the words. “Situations like the one with Bentley wouldn’t be so crippling to our working relationship if we’d kept it that way. Admiral and captain.”
“Is that what you want?”
Lee swallowed hard. Of course he didn’t. But right now he was too confused to find a way to explain himself. Especially with his head feeling like it wanted to roll from his shoulders and the vile memory of the circuitry room so fresh in his mind. If only the damn pain would quit knifing behind his eyes.
When he was silent too long Nelson gave a grunt and shoved to his feet. He paced to the co-pilot’s chair, folded his arms on top and stood staring out the window. In the diffused light, his face was plaited with shadow, his expression hidden from Lee. Even so, the younger man could see the corded tension in his shoulders and back.
“Seaview will be here in another twenty minutes, Captain.”
Captain. Not ‘lad.’
Lee struggled to his feet, one hand braced against the bulkhead. Lately, no matter what he did or said it always seemed to be the wrong thing. Once again, he faulted himself for being the one to set the tone. Twice now he’d flinched away from the admiral’s touch, enforced distance and formality between them. What did he expect?
His legs felt weak and unsteady. The pain in his head spiked a level higher, reacquainting him with that flicker of nausea. Nelson’s back was still toward him, his gaze turned resolutely out the window.
“Admiral.” Lee took a faltering step forward, then realized it wasn’t the brightest thing he could have done. The deck heaved, rupturing upward as sudden vertigo buckled his knees.
Nelson caught him before he could fall, forcibly steering him toward the bunk. “Damn it, Lee. You need to stay put. I told you, you’ve got a concussion.”
He grunted something unintelligible and sagged onto the bunk. Sitting upright, his feet braced against the deck brought the sub back into level focus. The nausea was still there, sending an involuntary shudder through him as he willed it silent. It suddenly dawned on him that he was leaning against Nelson, that his friend’s arm was wrapped around his back, keeping him from tottering to the side.
He exhaled wearily and closed his eyes but made no attempt to pull away. “Thank you, Sir,” he said tiredly. He’d been an idiot. It wasn’t Nelson who’d tried to kill him but Bentley. And it had been an android who’d tried to kill him in the circuitry room. He could still recall the horror he’d felt when he’d flung the electrical cable at the thing he’d thought was his friend. For that god-awful infinitesimal second in time, he’d thought he was killing Nelson. The man who’d become a father to him.
Something inside him snapped, and he grew abruptly angry. His own father had been taken from him when he was eight-years-old. He’d been raised by a man who’d despised him, who’d never let a day pass without making Lee feel his contempt. He wasn’t going to let some damn condescending alien snatch away one of the few remaining good things in his life. He’d worked too hard, through too many emotional barriers to shoot it all to hell now.
Gritting his teeth to stifle a groan, he drew back, forcing himself to meet Nelson’s stare. “Admiral . . . about what happened...”
“You don’t have to explain, Lee.”
“You don’t understand, Sir. I was living a nightmare. Living it. Not dreaming, not muddling through some half-catatonic state. It was like being surrounded by perpetual night, unable to reach the fringe of daylight. And the worst part was . . . I was forced to kill you.” He swallowed hard, sweating. But the perspiration trickling down his neck, soaking into his collar was sticky and chill. With effort, he suppressed a shiver. “When I threw that cable . . . for those few seconds before I realized the thing trying to kill me was an android . . . I thought... ”. He shook his head and swore softly, a low savage curse filled with self-loathing as much as anger.
Nelson gripped his shoulder and this time Lee didn’t flinch away. “Listen to me, lad.” His eyes were intently blue like glass cut from seawater. “It was no easier for me . . . watching what that bastard put you through . . . trapped down below, unable to help. How do you think I felt when I saw ‘myself’ shoot you? Taunt you? Order you executed?”
Lee wet his lips. The anger was draining now, bulldozed under by Nelson’s emphatic stare, the heartfelt conviction of his words. He didn’t know how to answer, except for the gratitude and devotion he felt in his heart. “Sir, I appreciate every opportunity you’ve given me. First as your student, then as Seaview’s commander and your friend.”
“And now?” Nelson’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.
Lee struggled to follow, afraid he misinterpreted the question. “I’m not sure I understand, Admiral.”
“Awhile ago you said you thought it was best we keep our relationship on a strictly professional level.” He paused, hesitating just enough for the bitter emptiness of that statement to sink in. “Is that what you want, Lee?”
“No!” God, he didn’t. He’d been an emotional recluse most of his life. The last thing he wanted was to go back to that stilted way of living when everything and everyone was kept at a safe distance. “Sir, I . . .” He bowed his head, looking at his hands. “The whole reason I’ve been struggling with what happened is because of the non-professional relationship we do have.” He didn’t know how else to say it. Forced the words that had always been so wretchedly difficult for him to voice. “. . . because I think of you as my father.”
There. He’d said it. Finally, at long last. Not a father, but my father.
It was silent in the small sub, not a sound, and for a moment Lee feared he had said the wrong thing. Worried, he raised his head.
And was greeted by the sight of Nelson grinning ear-to-ear. “Took you four years to flat out say that.”
Lee felt instant relief snake through him. “I’m sorry, Admiral. You’ve never made it hard. I just...”
“I know.” Nelson raised his hand, briefly cupping Lee’s cheek. “I’m in this for the long haul, lad. I want you to know that.”
“I am too.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear you say that, because there’s something I’ve wanted to share with you for a long time.” His eyes grew bright with a spark of animation and a delighted smile curved his lips. “When we get back to N.I.M.R., I want you to look at some papers I’ve had drawn up. Pending your approval, of course. I’ve been waiting for the right time to share them with you.”
Lee blinked, confused. “Papers?”
“I’m not going to live forever, Lee. And Edith isn’t interested in the Institute. I want you to be the beneficiary. Lock, stock and barrel, with enough inheritance to keep her funded and running long after I’m gone.”
“Sir, I . . .” His throat dried up. He didn’t know what to say. For a second he thought maybe he was dreaming again, only this time it wasn’t a nightmare but something too wondrous to contemplate. “Admiral, I could never . . .” How could anyone have that kind of faith in him? Nelson had already given him more than he could ever ask for - - command of Seaview, his friendship and, most importantly, the cherished forever-closeness of a father and son. How could he possibly accept more? Something so extraordinary the very thought made his head spin? “I couldn’t. How . . . I mean . . . Sir . . . I . . .” And suddenly he realized that Nelson was laughing, the joy in his eyes reflecting contentment and sheer pleasure.
“I’m sorry, lad. But I don’t often get to see you stumble around for words like that. And the expression on your face . . .” He wiped tears from his eyes, shook his head with good humor. “This is a foregone conclusion, Lee, unless you can honestly tell me you don’t want the Institute. That you don’t want to continue my work.”
“Sir, it isn’t that. I’d be honored. You know how I feel. It’s just...”
“What?” Nelson pounced on the opening, his gaze direct now, though a flicker of merriment still lingered beneath the surface. “That you’re not good enough? Not a blood relative? Not worthy?”
Lee looked away again, down at his hands. Strange. His earlier queasiness had completely vanished, replaced by a slowly spreading warmth in his stomach. “You give me too much credit,” he said softly.
“Let me tell you something, Lee Crane.” The sharpness of Nelson’s voice snapped Lee’s head up and around. “The day I met you, fate blessed me with a gift beyond any I could have ever hoped for. I’m not going to get sappy here, and we’re not going to drag this out. You and I both know you’re the ideal candidate to assume my place as head of N.I.M.R. when I’m gone. There’s no arguing the point. What I will tell you is that I want you there, and it would give me great pleasure if you’d just swallow your damn emotional hang-ups and accept that. Just a few minutes ago you told me you thought of me as your father.”
“I do.”
“It’s perfectly normal for a father to leave his son an inheritance, isn’t it?”
Lee swallowed. “Yes, Sir. It is.”
“Then when we go back to the Institute, you’ll look over the papers and, if everything is in order, I’ll have my attorney file them.” He paused, looking at Lee from under his brows. “Agreed?”
He only had one answer for that. An answer that had been there all along. “Agreed.” He breathed deeply, felt the warmth in his stomach creep through his body. “As long as I don’t have to inherit it for a very long time.” The nausea was completely gone now and the pain in his head had faded to a mere flicker. “Thank you, Admiral,” he said softly.
A second later, the beep of sonar broke the stillness. Nelson pushed from the bunk and crossed to the panel, bending over the monitor. “Seaview,” he confirmed. He glanced over his shoulder at Lee. “No more nightmares, Captain. Cavalry’s here to take us back to daylight.”
Lee grinned. “No, Sir.” The nightmare was now firmly behind him. “You did that all on your own.”
*****End*****
“Gilligan” (my reoccurring hagfish/slime eel) is briefly introduced in Free Fall, then has a much larger role in Sea and Sky.
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