Discovery

 

by Kate

 

This is set very early season one, shortly after “Eleven Days to Zero.” Initially, the title was meant to reflect the characters learning about and adjusting to each other but, as the story progressed, it ended up having a double meaning. Thanks to my stellar beta readers, Theresa, Liz and Diane. Comments can be sent to veniceplace12@verizon.net

 

Will Jamieson stopped outside Admiral Nelson’s cabin door, pausing before he knocked. He hadn’t quite decided if he was irritated, puzzled or amused. One thing was certain. He wasn’t accustomed to having his orders questioned by Seaview’s crew, even her senior officers.

 

Not questioned, exactly, he mentally corrected. It was more like his recommendation had been overlooked or twisted around to mean something entirely different. He had to give their new young captain credit for that. He was clever - - polite too - - which made it hard to be angry. Still . . .

 

He rapped firmly on Nelson’s door, stepping into the cabin when he heard the command to enter. It was late but the admiral was still at his desk, scribbling out a report on what was likely to become a mound of red tape when it hit Washington. Their assignments seemed to run in that direction lately - - secretive and political. The Office of Naval Intelligence clearly had a golden boy in Lee Crane. Put him in command of a sub like Seaview and the powers-that-be were foaming at the mouth fighting over where to utilize him. 

 

Except Nelson had a say in that too. An even bigger say, considering he held Seaview’s reins and was independently solvent. As a retired Navy man, the admiral had nothing against throwing his hand in with ONI - - he’d done it more than once - - but lately cloak-and-dagger was taking precedence over science. At least since Lee B. Crane had been made captain of Nelson’s pride and joy.

 

“Jamie.” Nelson attempted a grin, but it was more a wince given the hour. “You’re up awfully late.”

 

“I’m not the only one.”

 

“It’s just these blasted reports.” Nelson waved a hand over the scattered papers on his desk. “I thought I’d better get the whole thing down in black and white while it’s still fresh in my head.”

 

“Hmm.” Jamie made a vague sound and settled into a chair across from the admiral. “I was talking about Captain Crane.”

 

“Lee?” Nelson was surprised. “He’s still up? I thought you ordered him to get some rest hours ago?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Then what’s the problem?”

 

“Your new captain seems to think he’s more qualified as a doctor than I am.”

 

Nelson frowned. “Where is he?”

 

“That depends. For a man who’s recovering from several injuries, he moves faster than I can keep up. The last time I saw him he was leaving engineering and headed for the control room.”

 

“What was he doing in engineering?”

 

Jamie shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Admiral. The man seems to think the boat won’t run unless he personally oversees every detail of its operation. He’s making the crew nervous.”

 

The admiral’s scowl deepened. “That’s not what Lee’s about. He’s just  . . . different  . . . than John was. Granted, it will take time for the crew to get use to his style, but they’ll adjust.”

 

“Hmm.” Jamie made that vague sound again. He was inclined to agree with the admiral, but he knew the adjustment wasn’t going to happen overnight. Lee Crane was a brilliant sub commander - - their first mission out of the gate had proven that - - but he was assuming the place of a well-loved captain who had met with a tragic and premature end. Toss in the fact he had a “hands on” command-style, had only just turned thirty-two (while looking considerably younger), and had already lead them in several covert missions, and tongues were wagging all over the boat. Only yesterday, Jamie had stumbled over two of his corpsmen trading guesses - - in their words - - on their new commander’s “ridiculously young age.”

 

“The crew might adjust,” he said finally, reluctantly, “but I’m not sure I will.” 

 

He liked Crane. The young man seemed earnest enough, and he was certainly competent. Jamie knew he’d roomed with Seaview’s executive officer, Chip Morton, when they were both at Annapolis and had previously served with Nelson on the Nautilus. But compared to John Phillips, the man he’d replaced, Crane was a high-octane, high-maintenance, wake-up call. To make it worse, he was also intensely private, sometimes coming across as aloof.

 

Yet, despite his professionalism and control, he possessed an underlying rashness. Maybe it was his connection to ONI that made him so reckless and willing to take risks. Their last assignment had left the young commander physically battered after he’d been captured by the militia of a hostile dictator. Jamie didn’t know exactly what had happened during that incarceration, but it was obvious Lee had been beaten. 

 

Fortunately, the captain had managed to escape and complete his mission. He’d made a daredevil run into a burning building to rescue the kidnapped daughter of a foreign diplomat, barely getting out alive before the building collapsed. The beating had taken its toll, and smoke inhalation had left him weak and exhausted. He’d had to have several glass fragments removed from his arm. Jamie had kept him on oxygen the entire time he was stitching him up, but his order for Lee to get some sleep when he eventually released him from Sick Bay had amounted to so much hot air. At least in the mind of their headstrong new captain.

 

On the plus side, the mission had been successful. The diplomat’s daughter was back where she belonged, Seaview was headed to Santa Barbara, and Nelson was writing his report after several video conferences with the State Department. No one had suffered life-threatening injuries, an international incident had been averted and, somewhere in ONI, pats on the back were being exchanged. On the surface all seemed as it should be, except...

 

“Do you know he told me he’d get around to resting ‘later’?” Jamie spread his hands, finding the idea incomprehensible. “When I asked him what that translated to in terms of minutes and hours he just grinned and thanked me for worrying about him.”

 

Nelson hid a grin of his own, bumping a finger beneath his nose. “You know, Jamie . . . you could have ordered him.”

 

That much was true, but there was nothing worse than a CMO pulling medical rank on his commander. He had a feeling he might eventually have to resort to such strong-arm tactics with Crane, but he wasn’t anxious to start their relationship off on the wrong foot. It was something he’d rarely, if ever, had to resort to with John Phillips.

 

“I’m aware of that, Admiral. But for the time being I’ll let our new captain be the judge of his own health. In a few days we’ll be in back in Santa Barbara...”

 

“... and if I know Lee, he’ll bury himself in the Institute. Has it occurred to you, Jamie, he’s just as uncomfortable as the crew? The difference is he’s far more adept at hiding it.”

 

Jamie blinked, surprised. “What reason does he have to be...”

 

“Because he is replacing John,” Nelson stressed. “He’s still learning Seaview’s rhythms . . . the way she moves, the way she feels, the way the crew reacts to the boat and to him. He wants to learn everything, know everything, do everything.”

 

Jamie scowled. “That’s absurd. He’s the captain.”

 

“Yes.” Nelson leaned back in his chair, absently tapping the point of his pencil on the edge of his desk. “But he’s never been content just giving orders. The Lee Crane I knew always had to be in the thick of things as much as his position allowed.”

 

“But here . . .” Jamie spread his hands, at a loss.

 

“Here it’s even worse. He understands I had to fight to get him. Not only was the Navy reluctant to put someone so young in command of a boat like Seaview, but ONI battled tooth-and-nail to ensure they’d still have access to their star pupil. Lee knows others see his age as a stumbling block - - both the brass and the men under his command. It makes him strive harder at what he does. You’ll see, Jamie.” He grinned lightly. “Everyone’s adjusting to a settling in period, including you. Trust me, I know how frustrating Lee can be - - not always intentionally - - but I also know how talented he is.”

 

Jamie exhaled and stood. “All right. Thanks for listening. I just thought I might gain a co-conspirator in keeping watch on our new commander’s health.”

 

“You still might.” Nelson’s eyes twinkled. “I have a sudden interest to visit the control room.”

 

*********

 

Harry had just stepped from his cabin when he heard Lee’s command over the intercom ordering the sub to full stop. Rather than pick up the nearest hand mic and question the order, he walked briskly for the control room where he found Lee hunched over the plotting table, intently studying the chart. Chip Morton, Seaview’s first officer, (whom Harry knew was also Lee’s closest friend), stood beside the captain, the two quietly conversing over the map. Together, they looked like a recruiting poster - - both tall and slender, one sun-fair, the other dark. The only imperfection to mar the image was the mottling of bruises and cuts on Lee’s face. 

 

“Captain,” Harry said, approaching the plotting table. “I was under the impression this was Mister Morton’s watch.”

 

Lee straightened immediately, an almost guilty flush crossing his face. “Admiral.” 

 

Up close, Harry noted a large bruise splayed over his left cheekbone, a dark cut on his bottom lip and another on the outer side of his eyebrow. No wonder Jamieson had been to see him. Lee looked like hell. It was obvious by the stealthy side glances from the watch crew that they weren’t accustomed to having a captain who looked like he’d just been through a brawl. Which, or course, he had.

 

“Why are we stopped?” he asked.

 

Lee turned, indicating the forward monitor. “Because of that.”

 

Harry’s gaze shifted to the grainy screen. His eyes widened when he spied a large banded chest nestled on the ocean floor. “What the devil?” 

 

Intrigued, he stepped closer to the monitor, aware Lee followed him. Chip hovered a step behind. The chest looked like something that might have been found on an old pirate ship or dredged up from the Spanish Armada. Half-buried in bottom silt, it was surrounded by a thick screening of underwater plants and tall sea fronds.

 

“Chip and I checked the charts for any known shipwrecks in the area but there aren’t any,” Lee explained. His voice sounded hoarse, weakened and gravelly from the smoke he’d inhaled during his ONI mission. “I was about to send divers out to bring it aboard.”

 

Harry nodded. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fascinated. While the ocean held countless natural treasures, stumbling over something manmade was always cause for curiosity. Already his mind was swirling through an endless series of questions . . . how had it come to be there? What did it contain? Why hadn’t it been discovered before?

“Any sign of other debris nearby?”

 

“No, Sir.”

 

“Captain Crane,” Rick Kowalski’s hail interrupted the conversation. “We’re getting that reading again . . . the same vibration as before.”

 

The rating was manning the hydrophone station rather than his usual post at sonar. Harry had come to know him as one of the most outspoken of the crew. Capable and dedicated to a fault, he was also someone who frequently let his tongue land him in trouble. As with many others aboard, Kowalski had yet to become comfortable with his new commanding officer. It probably didn’t help they were barely five years apart in age, and John Phillip’s tragic death was not yet a month in the past.

 

Reacting quickly, Lee abandoned Seaview’s forward monitor for the rating’s post. Claiming the headset from Kowalski, he held it against his ear. After a few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder. “Sonar.”

 

“Nothing, Captain.” Seaman Adams glanced up briefly from the sonar station. Returning his attention to the screen, he adjusted the dials. “Same as before.”

 

Harry stepped closer. “Lee?”

 

The younger man returned the headset to Kowalski. “An anomaly, Sir.” Breaking off abruptly, he turned away, coughing into his hand. The rattle was harsh and abrasive.

 

Still hacking up smoke, Nelson thought. Jamie’s right. He should be in Sick Bay or, at the very least, in his bunk.

 

“We’ve been picking up low-level vibrations for the last half hour,” Lee continued, once he’d recovered. “I thought it might be an echo from our turbines, but I spoke with engineering myself and everything checks out clean.” He cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of hoarseness. “There’s no indication of another vessel or even a biologic. Whatever it is appears to be natural.”

 

“A seismic disturbance?” Harry guessed.

 

“That would seem the most logical, Sir, but nothing registers.” Lee exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair.

 

Harry recognized it as a habitual gesture when he was frustrated or baffled, but the crew was still learning to read his mannerisms. Coupled with his battered appearance it was hard not to interpret it as a sign of fidgety exhaustion. He gave another weak cough then moved between stations - - bending over sonar before walking back to peer at the monitor. Each move telegraphed restlessness to the crew. Harry watched the eyes of more than one seaman follow him.

 

Lee raised an arm above the monitor, bracing his hand against the bulkhead as he stared at the screen. Thoughtful a moment, he spoke without turning. “Kowalski, I need someone to help me bring that chest aboard. Suit up and meet me in the missile room. Pick two other divers to go with us.”

 

“Aye . . .” Kowalski hesitated, not quite managing “sir.” Confused, he looked to Harry. The rating wasn’t the only one who’d turned a stunned gaze in the direction of the command trio. Harry didn’t want to make a scene, but he also wasn’t going to stand idle for Lee’s order. 

 

“Captain,” he said, lowering his voice. “I think it’s probably best if you send someone else with Seaman Kowalski. We have plenty of able divers on Seaview.”

 

“Sir?” Lee appeared baffled.

 

Harry frowned, uncertain if the younger man was simply being stubborn or really didn’t see the danger. Knowing Lee as he did, it was probably the latter. “Divers who don’t have compromised breathing capacity,” he elaborated. “Dr. Jamieson would keelhaul us both if I let you dive after the smoke you swallowed.”

 

“Not to mention the beating you took,” Chip mumbled darkly. Though his voice was pitched low, Harry knew several of the ratings, including Kowalski, had overheard. The seaman hovered by his chair, uncertain of his orders.

 

Finally, Lee nodded. He shot a glance at the rating. “Continue as ordered Kowalski, but round up three crewmen. You’ll lead the dive party in my place. I’ll meet you in the missile room in fifteen minutes.”

 

“Aye, Sir.” Looking relieved that Lee would not be undertaking a risky dive and more than mildly pleased that he was to head the retrieval, Kowalski headed from the control room. 

 

“Mister Morton,” Harry said, turning his attention to Seaview’s executive officer. “You have the conn. Captain Crane and I will be in the observation nose.”

 

Lee shot him a frowning glance. “Admiral?”

 

“Now, Captain,” Harry ordered, leaving no room for argument.

 

**********

 

The observation nose was the part of the boat Harry favored most for contemplation. Even so, he was already rethinking the design, disliking that he’d made it separate from, and on a different level, than the control room. He’d already drafted some initial schematics with both areas joined on the same level. It would open up the control room and allow a clear view from the plotting table out the nose. In a way it would be like standing on the deck of a surface ship with a bow view. Submarines relied on sonar for navigation, but there was nothing wrong with adding a visual element to aid in course plotting. Even more, who wouldn’t want to see the underwater landscape? He’d already created a glass-like material called herculite, which was able to withstand the same pressure as the hull and which had been used in constructing Seaview’s vast observation windows. The only trick remaining was to redesign the sub in such a way as to have them on the same level as the control room.

 

The thoughts ran through his head as he walked down the spiral stairs from the upper level into the nose. Lee followed, but his gait was slower and heavier than usual.

 

He’s hurting, Harry thought. It isn’t just the smoke inhalation but the bruises too. And then there was his arm. How many stitches had Jamieson put in after removing the glass fragments? He heaved a mental sigh. Only a few weeks in and already he was forced to address a few issues with his new captain.

 

He stopped in front of the desk before the observation windows as Lee came up behind him. Through the glass, the large chest was visible in the cone of Seaview’s nose light, nearly buried in a dense webbing of sea grass.

 

“Is there a problem, Admiral?” Lee asked.

 

Harry tugged his bottom lip with a thumb and forefinger, choosing his words carefully before turning. He usually spoke whatever was on his mind without reservation, fallout be damned, but suddenly found himself schooling what he said. Lee was at fault for that, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. Something about the younger man made him respond differently than he would have with another subordinate officer.

 

“I was curious how you’re feeling.”

 

“Feeling, Sir?” Lee looked confused.

 

“You did just go through an ordeal a short time ago, Commander. You’re certainly in no condition to undertake a dive.”

 

“You corrected me on that.”

 

“You disagree?”

 

“No, Sir. I wasn’t . . .” The controlled response Harry was so accustomed to hearing faltered. 

“. . . thinking.” Lee averted his eyes but didn’t relax, his posture rigid. 

 

Harry could see the outline of bandages on his right forearm beneath his sleeve. A trickle of sweat ran from under his hairline, but Harry knew it had nothing to do with being subtly reprimanded. He was simply pushing too hard and too soon after a mission that had left him physically battered and exhausted.

 

He grinned, attempting to ease the tension in the air. “We do have an able crew on Seaview. I told you before each one is a specialist, highly trained - - even in engineering.” He said the last part lightly, hoping to make his point without being obvious. “I realize you’re not content simply giving orders; you’re used to being involved. But the men have known the exact opposite since Seaview first set sail.” He paused, searching for words. “John was... ”

 

“I’m not John Phillips, Sir,” Lee interrupted without hesitation. “And as much as I respected him, I won’t be a clone of my predecessor. You asked me to command your submarine. You didn’t tell me there was a set agenda of rules to follow. Setting the tone for command on the boat is up to me as her captain.”

 

Harry blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to anyone speaking so bluntly to him. It was unsettling to realize he’d been schooling his words while Lee was not. His captain was respectful, but the crispness of his tone hinted at underlying heat.

 

“You are, of course, correct about the dive,” Lee continued before he could formulate a reply. “I reacted without thinking. The last thing I’d want to do is jeopardize the diving party. As for how I’m feeling - - unless you or Dr. Jamieson are prepared to order me to my cabin, I’d like to go to the missile room and oversee preparations for the dive.”

 

Harry hesitated briefly before nodding. He wasn’t entirely certain what to make of Lee’s reply but hoped to put him at ease with assurance of his own:  “It’s your boat, Captain. And your crew.” 

 

He and Lee had always had an easy relationship, dating as far back as Annapolis. Their time together on the Nautilus had strengthened that and, even during the short time Lee had been on Seaview, he’d already seen it grow.   

 

But the truth, when he thought about it, put Lee inside a pressure cooker. His new captain’s first mission out of the gate had been critical to global survival. Shortly after that, he’d allowed the crew, even his best friend, to think the worst of him when he’d worked to bring down a corrupt congressman.*  On the heels of that assignment came the most recent where’d he’d sustained several physical injuries. Toss in the crew’s uncertainty about him, the not-so-subtle whispers about his age and Lee’s own intensely private nature, and Seaview’s captain was a fish out of water, struggling to adapt.

 

Harry had only made it worse by comparing him to John. Lee had probably heard the same thing countless times behind his back, spoken in hushed whispers or on the fringe of earshot by members of the crew. Before he could think it through further, a rumbling vibration rattled the hull, listing the boat slightly to starboard. Harry braced a hand against the desk to keep his balance and saw Lee do the same. In a matter of seconds, it was over. 

 

Lee snatched the nearest mic from its cradle. “Control room, report!”

 

Chip Morton’s voice came through the speaker almost immediately. “We’ve got an increase in those mystery vibrations, Lee. They’ve got to be seismic, but we’re still not picking anything up on the screens.”

 

“Did you check operations?”

 

“Aye, Skipper. She’s green the whole way through, but nothing registers. All of our equipment is operational. There’s simply nothing there to record.”

 

“Well, something is causing those vibrations! Keep at it, Chip. I’m headed to the missile room to see the diving party off.”

 

Harry watched as Lee returned the mic to its cradle. “Make it quick,” he urged. “The last thing we want is divers outside if the area is unstable.”

 

“Aye, Sir.” That, at least, they agreed on. 

 

***********

 

Rick Kowalski tugged the zipper up on his wetsuit as the boat’s COB, commonly called “Curley” for his bald head, hefted an air tank onto his back. 

 

“I didn’t like that last rumble,” the burly man said, adjusting the straps on Kowalski’s shoulders as the rating cinched the waist belt. “They’re getting worse. Captain should get us out of here.”

 

“You didn’t see that chest,” Kowalski said. “No way are we leaving it.” He imagined there was a part of everyone that responded to buried treasure, and he couldn’t help thinking they might have found pirate gold. Not that any of it would go into their pockets, but to have a hand in a discovery like that was exhilarating. It spoke to the ten-year-old boy in him that had once dreamed of sailing the high seas under the flag of the Jolly Roger or unearthing buried mysteries with Captain Nemo beneath the waves. Science was great, but a buccaneer hoard was every sailor’s secret childhood dream.

 

“The sooner we haul that thing back in the better,” Cort Lange grumbled at his side. 

 

Ski hadn’t been completely sold on the idea of having the more-often-than-not pessimistic Lange along, but the rating had pleaded with him because it got him out of bilge duty. In the end, Ski had caved and added Lange to the dive team along with Griffin and Klondor. He would have liked to have Jake Patterson at his side, but his best friend was on duty in the engine room, thus unavailable.   

 

“Do your part, Lange,” Kowalski told the skinny blond-haired man, "and we’ll be back in nothing flat.” 

 

The sound of the hatch opening made Ski look up from adjusting his tank. Their new captain stepped over the threshold and into the room striding crisply in their direction. Ski didn’t know how the man moved like that, banged up the way he was. If the cuts and bruises on his face were any indication, the rest of his body probably wasn’t much better. Whoever had held him prisoner hadn’t been gentle. Kowalski was certain he’d been interrogated before he’d managed to escape and free the diplomat’s daughter. From the scuttlebutt he’d overheard about Crane and ONI, Kowalski was certain the man hadn’t broken.

 

Can’t be more than three years older than me, if that. 

 

He wasn’t sure why that bothered him. There was just a niggling voice in the back of his head that kept comparing Lee Crane to John Phillips. He was certain, as were most others on the crew, that there had to be a fifteen-to-twenty year age gap between the two men. Even if Crane was the best, it made more sense that he would be a lieutenant commander for another eight-to-ten years. More than a few members of the crew, Kowalski included, had speculated he must have kissed brass or known someone with ‘pull’ to earn his command. He’d purposefully tuned out some of the cruder references Lange had made:

 

Guy looks like some kind of freaking movie star. Probably slept with some old battle axe whose husband is an admiral. Hell, I’d sleep with a fossil too if she’d suck up to her husband and get me a promotion.

 

“A chick would have to be dead to sleep with a knuckle-dragger like you, Lange,” Kowalski had snapped. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to defend their new captain, a man he had major reservations about. Yeah, the guy was young as they came and could have passed for an A-list actor with his looks, but Lange was a jerk with a capital “J.” The guy sucked pond scum. The more Kowalski thought about it, he wished he’d picked someone else for the final member of his team. Their new captain had put him in charge of a dive detail and what did he do but pick a whiny moron to bring up the rear? 

 

“Kowalski, is everything ready?” Crane asked as he approached.

 

“Aye, Sir.” Kowalski would just have to manage Lange. Teams weren’t always comprised of the best and the brightest. Part of being in charge meant adapting the hand you were dealt to the situation, and he’d dealt himself a joker. He hoped he appeared confident, but it was hard to read his new commander’s strange multi-colored eyes. Lange had a name for them too - - changeling - - like some kind of spirit from folklore.

 

Lange was a jerk, he reminded himself.

 

It bothered him when the captain turned away to cough briefly into his hand. The guy had taken a hell of a beating. Coupled with the smoke he’d inhaled and the stitches rumored to be in his arm, Kowalski knew he should be in a rack in Sick Bay. Jamieson was probably crawling up the bulkhead. Captain Phillips had never looked like that, but then Captain Phillips had been known for a low-key demeanor that had worked well for everyone onboard. Exactly what kind of super spy, live-in-the trenches commander had Nelson put in charge of his sub?

 

He frowned when a low vibration was felt through the hull. The deck hummed beneath his feet, and he saw Crane frown too. Within seconds, the disruption passed.

 

“All right.” Crane’s glance swiveled back to encompass everyone in the group. The trace of roughness from the smoke he’d inhaled lingered in his voice. “You know what you need to do - - get out there, get the chest and get back as soon as you can. The tremors we’ve been feeling are increasing. If there’s a problem, abandon the mission. Is that clear?”

 

“Aye, Sir.” Kowalski hadn’t quite expected that but was glad to hear Crane value his men above the prize on the sea floor.

 

Another tremor hit, stronger than the last, and the deck lurched to the side. Kowalski stumbled, falling hard against the dive hatch. At his side, Klondor was sent sprawling, the other members of their team barely staying on their feet. He pulled himself upright when the boat leveled, massaging the knot of pain from his shoulder. 

 

Curley was bent over Klondor, trying to ease the rating upright. Kowalski could see a bright splash of blood on his brow and knew that he’d cut his forehead.

 

“Lee, we’re running out of time.” Nelson’s voice crackled across the intercom. “It’s too dangerous to stay here. You’ve got to get the dive team out now.”

 

“Aye, Sir.” Crane responded to the order then turned back to look at the team. Even Kowalski knew Klondor wasn’t going anywhere, a bright trickle of blood tracking down his cheek.

 

“Chief, get him to Sick Bay,” Crane ordered.

 

Curley nodded and pulled the other man to his feet. Klondor was groggy but did his best to walk under his own power as the two left the missile room. “Sorry, Captain,” he muttered.

 

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Lange spoke up. “We’ll have to scrub the whole thing, right, Captain?”

 

Another tremor rumbled beneath the deck. Kowalski fought the urge to curse. He’d wanted that sea chest, determined to find out what it contained.

 

“We’re not scrubbing anything,” Crane said.

 

Ski was surprised to see him hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt. “Help me suit up,” he ordered the remaining divers. “If we move fast enough, there’s still time.”

 

**********

 

Kowalski and Griffin helped their new captain into a wetsuit. Ski made a conscious effort not to grimace when he spied the ugly bruises on Crane’s torso and the purplish stitches on his arm. He knew struggling into the tight-fitting neoprene was bound to be painful, but Crane’s only indication of discomfort was a fleeting wince. 

 

Ski knew it wasn’t his place to second-guess the captain joining the dive, but he couldn’t help wondering if it was wise. Crane’s reasoning was fairly obvious - - the seismic tremors were increasing, leaving them little room if they wanted the sea chest. There simply wasn’t time to wait for another diver. He, Griffin and Lange could try to retrieve it on their own but, judging from the size, it would take all four of them to haul it aboard.

 

Once in the water Crane took the lead, every bit as agile as the rest of them despite his injuries. As they neared the chest, Kowalski noticed the webbing of grasses and sea fronds was thicker than he’d originally thought, creating a dense screen. They had to fight their way through it to reach the chest, Kowalski and Lange swimming to one end while Crane and Griffin moved to the other. Around them, Kowalski felt the water thrum with a strange rolling vibration. The tremor appeared to be rooted in the seafloor directly beneath them. Crane signaled them to lift the chest, and Kowalski heaved his end in concert with the others. It budged marginally then stuck fast, embedded in the sandy bottom. The sea grasses and fronds held it securely, anchoring it to the ocean floor.

 

Crane drew his knife and slashed at the tendrils gripping the base, severing through the tightly-clinging grasses. Almost immediately, Nelson’s voice came over their headsets.

 

“Lee, we’ve located the source of the disruption. It’s directly beneath you, beneath the chest. Get that thing and get back on the boat. Now!”

 

There was urgency in Nelson’s voice that quickened the beat of Kowalski’s heart. He imagined a quake building in the bowels of the earth, growing with each second they delayed. The fronds shielding the chest grew unexpectedly agitated, writhing and twisting like living things. Several coiled around his legs, constricting like massive fingers, pulling him toward the bottom. He reacted instinctively, fumbling for his knife. Rather than help, Lange kicked free, still clinging to the sea chest.

 

A black fissure opened beneath Kowalski, and he felt a sudden glut of cold water through the barrier of his wetsuit. The sea fronds climbed higher, greedily reaching upward, wrapping around his waist. More closed on his chest and arms, cinching tighter and tighter until he couldn’t breathe. The knife tumbled from his fingers. Beneath him, the black maw loomed closer, a spreading ebony vein utterly void of light. He felt something alien wash over him and realized with a distracted kind of detachment it was his brain shutting down, refusing to function as the constrictive snake-like grasses crushed his lungs.

 

He caught movement from the corner of his eye . . . saw the flash of a serrated knife. His heart labored in his chest, but he was free, or at least his arms were. He realized Lange and Griffin had moved away, headed back toward Seaview carrying the chest between them as if it weighed no more than a few pounds. It was Crane who was slashing at the living grasses with his blade. 

 

Ski no longer had his knife, but he tried to untangle the clinging green fingers wrapped around his legs. For every one he ripped aside, more became animated, writhing from the bottom to latch onto him or Crane. The captain had become as hopelessly ensnared as he was. The giant weeds coiled around his wrist and arm, hampering his reach with the knife. 

 

Then suddenly something cold swept over him and he found he couldn’t really describe it except that it was icy and dark like a patch of winter sky beneath the water. It engulfed him, chilling his blood, sucking the oxygen from his lungs. Crane hacked furiously at the plants until they released him. Hooking him beneath the arm, the captain wrenched him from the thick webbing of fronds. 

 

His mind was still muddled. He tried to help as best he could but it was almost as if some kind of toxin had entered his system. He was aware of Crane laboring beside him and knew the captain had to be feeling the same punishing effects. It wasn’t long before he saw Griffin swimming back toward them and knew the other rating had returned to help the moment he’d gotten the chest on board.

 

Griffin took his other arm. He wanted to shake off the assistance, thinking Crane needed it more, but his mind wouldn’t function. He kept seeing that blackness on the ocean floor, feeling it as it had wrapped around him. Then finally Seaview’s hatch loomed before him, and he knew whatever else had touched him, he was safe.

 

**********

 

“Divers aboard,” Lee heard Curley relay into the mic the moment he and Kowalski stumbled through the diving hatch into the missile room.

 

He ripped off his mask and the hood of his wetsuit. “Curley, help Kowalski,” he ordered. He could barely catch his breath. Struggling for air, he bent over and coughed into his hand. When the fit passed he snatched up the mic, leaning into the bulkhead. “Mister Morton, get us out of here. Ahead, flank.”

 

As soon as he’d heard the order acknowledged, Lee turned to glance behind him. Lange was almost completely out of his wetsuit while Griffin and Curley were helping Ski off with his air tank. The rating looked winded; there was no other word for it. He’d removed his face mask and hood and sat slumped slightly forward on the edge of an equipment crate. 

 

“Kowalski, are you all right?” Lee stepped closer.

 

The man glanced up, managing a weak nod. “Fine, Sir. Thanks for your help back there.”

 

“Yeah, that was quick action on your part, Captain,” Lange said from where he was buttoning his shirt. “I didn’t realize Ski was in trouble.”

 

Somehow, Lee doubted that. He had a feeling Kowalski did too. The senior rating merely frowned then winced when Curley tugged off the top half of his wetsuit. 

 

“Take it easy, huh, Chief?” he protested.

 

The COB gave a low whistle. “Looks like you took some damage, Ski. Better have Doc check you out.”

 

Kowalski glanced down at his chest. There were several bright red bands where the grasses had wrapped around him, leaving visible impressions behind. They weren’t raised as welts would be, but every bit as red.

 

“He’s right, Kowalski.” Lee coughed again, the mere act of talking aggravating his lungs. “Griffin, take him to Sick Bay and, while you’re there, have Jamieson check you out too. Lange, go with them. Let’s make sure there wasn’t anything potentially hazardous in those sea fronds.”

 

“What about you, Sir?” Kowalski asked.

 

The question surprised Lee. He couldn’t tell if the rating was challenging him or was genuinely concerned. He suppressed another cough.

 

“I’ll get there eventually.” He turned away, looking toward the item they had hauled aboard. “Chief, help me with this chest.” He grabbed an end to lift it and felt an agonizing pull on his injured arm. Lange and Griffin had moved it with ease while it was in the water, but now it felt weighted with rocks.

 

Curley grunted as he struggled to raise it from the floor. “How the heck did Griffin and Lange haul this by themselves, Sir? It feels like solid concrete.”

 

The seamen had already left for Sick Bay, along with Kowalski, but Lee was thinking much the same thing. Before he could speculate on an answer, the sub shuddered under sudden turbulence and rocked hard to starboard. This time there was no mistaking the tremors for what they were - - a seismic shockwave that buffeted the boat end to end. Lee held onto the chest, trying to anchor himself. Despite its sudden weight, he expected it to slide with the list of the boat. But the trunk remained immobile, as if it had been bolted to the deck. Several seconds passed during which the lights flickered and dimmed, then Seaview righted herself, regaining buoyancy as the water calmed. 

 

Lee heard Chip bark a request for a damage report over the intercom and was relieved to hear all areas were watertight. Releasing the chest, he straightened, rubbing his injured arm distractedly. “We’re going to need help to move this,” he said to Curley. “Get some crewmen and rig a winch.”

 

“Aye, Sir.” Curley gave him a brisk nod and headed from the missile room, pausing only to greet Admiral Nelson as he came through the door.

 

Lee looked over his shoulder, not at all surprised to see Nelson’s dark scowl. The admiral’s glance shifted from the sea chest to Lee’s face.

 

“What are you doing in a wetsuit?” he demanded gruffly.

 

Lee heard the censure in his voice and tried to explain. “Klondor hit his head when the boat took the worst of a shockwave. There wasn’t time to get another diver.”

 

Nelson gave a grunt, clearly not pleased by the turn of events, but too intrigued by the chest to make an issue. Stepping closer, he squatted to examine the front, running his fingers along the brine-encrusted surface. Dripping water and seaweed, the trunk was coated with a thick layer of algae, festooned with barnacles in several places. A heavy lock secured the front, banded with a chain. The hasp was thick but corroded, making Lee speculate a good crow bar would solve the problem.

 

“Why don’t you change out of your gear, and we’ll have a look inside,” Nelson suggested. “I can run some tests on the surface composition in the meantime.” He paused. “Unless you’d like to go to your cabin?”

 

“No, Sir.” Lee appreciated the admiral’s concern but doubted he’d be able to sleep if he wanted to. His body was tired, but his mind was far too keyed up. “I have Curley rigging a winch to move the chest,” he said.

 

Nelson glanced up surprised. “It’s that heavy? How were the four of you able to get it onboard?”

 

“We didn’t. Kowalski got tangled up in the...” He paused, realizing he had no words to describe the aggressive sea fronds. “I don’t know what they were,” he admitted at last. “But I dropped behind to help him. Lange and Griffin brought the chest in on their own.” He turned away, coughing into his hand, aware of a painful rattle deep in his lungs.

 

“Alone?” Nelson overlooked his coughing. “And now you need a winch?” He stood and gave the chest a shove. It moved a good six inches without resistance. 

 

Lee blinked. “That’s impossible. I held onto that thing through the last shockwave, and it didn’t budge.”

 

Nelson didn’t discount his protest. “Well, it’s light enough now.”

 

“It was light in the water too, once I cut it loose,” Lee said frowning.

 

“Loose?” 

 

Lee rubbed his arm again. From the way it was throbbing, he guessed several of the stitches had ruptured. The wetsuit was too tight to feel any trickle of blood, but he had a feeling the wound was inflamed, if not bleeding. “It was rooted to the ocean bottom like a tree. I had to cut through several layers of grass to free it. That’s when the sea fronds grew agitated and coiled around Kowalski.”

 

“Are you saying they attacked him?”

 

“That’s what it seemed like, Sir.”

 

“Interesting. We finally managed to pinpoint the tremors to the area directly beneath the chest which is where the grass was rooted.”

 

“Are you saying it’s all connected, Sir - - the vibrations and the chest?”

 

Nelson wasn’t ready to commit. “I’m not sure. Let’s get this thing open and find out what’s inside of it. I’m going to ready my lab. When Curley returns, have him move it there, then join me as soon as you’ve changed, lad.”

 

“Aye, Sir.” 

 

Nelson helped him off with his air tank then headed for his lab while Lee changed into his clothes. The younger man was surprised to realize he was mildly uncomfortable but also secretly pleased Nelson had used such a casual term of address with him.

 

Lad. 

 

He didn’t do it often but, when he did, it made Lee feel something beyond the structured order of admiral and captain. Sometimes it was hard to understand, even harder to navigate, especially in the role of Seaview’s new captain.

 

He wasn’t blind. He knew John Phillips had been well-liked and respected among the crew - - as well he should have been. Lee hadn’t known Phillips well but recognized an honorable and competent man. The shock of his death had hit everyone aboard the vessel hard. They were trying to adjust to him just as he was to them, but the path wasn’t easy. They were measuring him, trying to decide if he was worthy of their loyalty. They were expected to place faith in him as their commander, but that didn’t necessarily mean blind allegiance. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d been replacing an officer who’d retired or chosen another berth, but murdered?

 

The wetsuit came off, and he realized the arm was as bad as he thought, swollen and bloody. It was banded by the same red marks the sea fronds had left on Kowalski. He wrapped a towel around it while he dressed, cuffing his sleeve back to keep the material clean. When Curley arrived with two crewmen, ready to rig a winch, he explained the chest was lighter than they’d originally thought and that it should be transported to Nelson’s lab. 

 

Perplexed by the order, Curley gave the trunk a nudge and found it did indeed move easily.

 

“I know, Chief,” Lee said at the COB’s bewildered look. “I’m as confused as you are, but the admiral’s given his orders.”

 

“Aye, Sir.”

 

As the men prepared to move the chest, Lee finished dressing. When he was through, he detoured to his cabin where he washed his bloody arm and patted it dry. A few of the stitches had torn and the skin around them had swollen, but at least nothing appeared infected. Deciding a visit to Sick Bay could wait, he carefully rolled his sleeve down and buttoned the wrist cuff. For good measure he popped two aspirin to mute the sting, then headed in the direction of Nelson’s lab.

 

**********

 

Harry had taken several scrapings from the outside of the chest by the time Lee arrived in his lab. The captain looked tired to him, waif-thin and even younger than usual. It struck him then exactly what the rest of the crew saw. They didn’t know Lee as he did, as Chip did - - the competent and brilliant officer who was capable of running rings around men twice his age. Could he really fault them for being wary? Had he been meeting Lee for the first time he probably would have been skeptical about his rank too.

 

Except Lee had always held himself accountable. Despite his relative youth, he displayed unmistakable self-confidence in his professional demeanor. Poise he projected even when, as Harry knew, he existed on fumes. Unfortunately, that level of composure in someone so young could easily be mistaken for arrogance. 

 

“You sure you’re up to this?” Harry asked as Lee approached the low table where Curley and two crew members had deposited the chest.

 

Lee nodded. “I see you cleaned it up a bit.” 

 

“Just the worst of the seaweed. I managed to obtain several good specimens for sample jars and scrapings from the chest for later examination.”

 

“And these?” Lee indicated a clump of sea fronds still clinging to the base. The edges were shredded and frayed where they’d been ripped from the ocean floor.

 

“As near as I can tell they grew up around it,” Harry explained. “Enveloping it to the point where it nearly became part of the plants themselves. It’s no wonder you had such problems getting it out of there.”

 

Lee frowned. “It was more than that, Sir. The plants attacked Kowalski, and when I tried to help, they turned on me too.”

 

“Yes, you said that before.” Harry wasn’t certain what to make of the statement, but he’d been careful to place the larger sea fronds taken from the outside of the chest in an isolation tank. “I’ll talk to Kowalski later when he’s through in Sick Bay. The other divers too.”

 

“Sir, there’s more.” Lee’s frown deepened. “There was a crevice in the seafloor. I remember it opening, and then . . .” He stopped abruptly, lifting a hand to his forehead with a grimace of pain.

 

“Lee?” Harry’s voice rose in concern. When the younger man swayed on his feet, he gripped him by the arm, guiding him to a stool. “Sit.”

 

For once Lee did as he was told without protest. He gave a shaky laugh and wiped a hand across his forehead. “Sorry, Sir. I just . . . um . . . got a little dizzy for a minute. I’m okay now.” The last three words were spoken with quiet conviction, but Harry wasn’t buying it.

 

“I think we’ll let Dr. Jamieson be the judge of that. I want you to go to Sick Bay, Lee.”

 

“Sir, I’m fine.”

 

“That’s an order, Captain.”

 

Lee’s mouth twisted in a scowl. There was a flash of irritation in his eyes, but he obviously knew when he was beaten. “At least open the chest before I leave,” he protested. “I was headed to Sick Bay anyway. I want to check on Kowalski and the others. This way I can tell them what they risked their sixes retrieving.”

 

“Fair enough.” It was a reasonable request and, knowing Lee, he wouldn’t be content until he knew what the chest contained. Harry appreciated that he was concerned enough to check on the welfare of his divers personally. Once the crew got to know him, they’d realize his nature was genuine.

 

Harry turned away and picked up a crowbar from his worktable. He’d had Curley bring it along with several other tools in the event the lock proved difficult. The hasp looked corroded enough to yield beneath pressure, but there was always the chance it would require a cutting torch.

 

Behind him, he heard Lee cough, the sound coaxing a deep rattle from his lungs. The raspy hacking was worse than before, causing Harry to swear under his breath. The dive hadn’t helped. Damn, but the young fool was a glutton for punishment! It was no wonder ONI had a love affair with him. The man simply had no qualms - - or maybe no common sense, Harry amended sourly - - when it came to pushing himself over and above his limits.

 

Well, he was Jamieson’s problem now. At the very least, partially Jamieson’s problem. Harry was certain the doctor would have a few choice words for their new captain when Lee eventually meandered to Sick Bay. By now Will would have learned he’d been part of the diving team, and that news would have settled badly. Very badly. Although Jamieson had said he wasn’t ready to pull medical rank, Harry knew Lee had the doctor skirting the edge. 

 

“Ready?” he asked with a glance for Seaview’s errant commander. When Lee nodded, he angled the crowbar against the hasp and applied pressure. It took several tries but the lock eventually gave with a snap, the corroded metal dropping in pieces at his feet. 

 

Lee approached from behind and stood looking over his shoulder. Harry exchanged a glance with him but neither said a word, both engrossed in the mystery of the chest. Harry felt a tingle of anticipation, the explorer and scientist in him thrilling at the unknown. How long had the trunk lain hidden at the bottom of the sea, embedded in a dense webbing of grass? There were no shipwrecks on the charts to account for debris or artifacts. Had someone deliberately left it there and, if so, why? Did it contain stolen loot, pirate treasure, buried gold . . . or something altogether different and unexpected? 

 

Carefully, he raised the lid.

 

It gave a low protesting moan like something living, not quite dead. A rank odor washed over him heavily tainted with seaweed and decay. Something stronger lingered in the smell, a rotting stench he couldn’t place - - blood? Flesh? Lee turned his head away and coughed into his hand.

 

Dumbfounded, Harry gaped at the sight before him. “It’s empty,” he said.

 

Lee waved a hand in front of his face. “It stinks.”

 

“I’ve smelled worse.” Harry frowned, stepping closer to gaze into the trunk. “Why padlock an empty chest?”

 

“Maybe it wasn’t empty originally. Maybe whatever was inside decomposed over time and that’s why it smells so bad.”

 

Harry shook his head. “There’d be some kind of remains . . . skeletal, organic.”

 

Lee started coughing again, the fit worse this time. Harry guessed it was brought on by the fetid odor wafting from the trunk. It was getting to him too so he shut the lid, but not without a spike of anger.  

 

“Damn it, Lee, you should have never gone on that dive with your lungs compromised the way they are!”

 

He felt a brief flicker of remorse when Lee tried to bring the coughing under control. The younger man had paled from the exertion, the bruises and cuts on his face amplifying the strain. When he spoke, his voice was raspy.

 

“I’m sorry you disagree, Sir. I did what seemed prudent at the time.” 

 

The swell of anger returned, fiercer than before. Harry balled his hands into fists, fighting a sudden bottle-rocket need to deliver a tongue-lashing. “The most prudent thing you can do is to get to Sick Bay. Is that understood, Commander?”

 

“Admiral.” Lee seemed bewildered by the tone of his voice, “I...”

 

“Blast it, man, it’s no wonder the crew doesn’t know what to make of you! Do you think John Phillips walked around looking like he was ready to keel over?”

 

“Sir, I’m not...”

 

“The subject is not open for debate, Captain Crane. Have I made myself clear?”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Obviously unbalanced by Harry’s hostility, the younger man gave a curt nod and left as ordered.

 

Alone, Harry dragged the back of his sleeve across his forehead. He realized he was sweating. Not just sweating, but trembling too, hot with rage. Sometimes Lee was just so infernally stubborn his willfulness left Harry unable to see straight. He might be a hotshot commander, the Navy’s best and brightest, but Seaview belonged to Harry. All he had to do was crook his finger, and he could strip Crane of command. He wasn’t even sure why he’d hired him in the first place. What had he been thinking  . . . replacing a man like John with an argumentative, arrogant, brash upstart? Maybe it was time Harry reminded Crane exactly who was in charge. Maybe it was time to...

 

He broke off abruptly, anger simmering just beneath the surface. His head throbbed mercilessly, shooting bolts of pain to the base of his neck. He pressed both hands to his temples and tried to banish the mutinous thoughts. Lee was his friend. Someone he respected and cared about a great deal. He was a fine officer, the very best in Harry’s opinion, and the only one he wanted helming Seaview. So why would he suddenly be overcome with vile, aggressive thoughts contrary to his nature? Contrary to what he believed?

 

He drew a breath, the taint of seaweed and brine lingering in his lungs. Slowly, he turned and looked at the sea chest.

 

Perhaps, it wasn’t empty after all.

 

***********

 

Lee did as he was told and headed toward Sick Bay. The visit was inevitable, and there was still the matter of his arm and broken stitches. Jamieson would not be happy, but avoidance was no longer possible. Aside from that, Lee was anxious for news on Kowalski and the other divers. 

As he headed down the corridor, he thought back to his conversation with Nelson in the lab. 

 

He wasn’t quite certain what to make of the admiral’s mini blow-up but knew from experience, he had a notoriously short temper. All things considered, it was surprising he hadn’t grown snappish before given Lee’s penchant to push boundaries. They were still adjusting to their respective roles. Making that even harder was a long-standing mentor/student relationship that had gradually transitioned into friendship - - with an underlying edge of something more. 

 

The friendship was hard enough to navigate given their difference in rank, but sometimes Lee sensed a hint of protectiveness in the way Nelson reacted to him. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it and wasn’t always certain how to respond. For the most part he ended up feeling confused. He held Nelson in such high esteem, the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint him. The admiral had given him a tremendous opportunity with Seaview, and he was determined to prove himself capable of commanding “the world’s most famous submarine.” 

 

He wasn’t blind. He knew there’d been other commanders, older and more experienced than him who’d wanted the boat, most of them highly recommended by naval brass. He knew Nelson’s connections in the Navy had tried to steer the admiral elsewhere when he’d requested Lee’s TAD be made permanent. Fortunately, Nelson hadn’t been put off. If rumors were true he’d had to threaten a mini-revolution in order to have Lee switched to Reserve status and, ultimately, assigned to Seaview.

 

Lee had earned his rank but sometimes he still felt the need to prove himself. Right now, he didn’t know if that was because of Nelson, the crew, or just his own perfectionist nature kicking into overdrive. Chip had told him to back off and quit trying so hard, but he couldn’t. Excelling was what he did, what he’d always done. If he let a shrink get inside his head, he or she would probably tell him it was his means of coping. 

 

Or maybe it was compensating - - for a father who’d died in childhood, a mother who’d retreated into her own world and a step-father who despised him. So he’d had a miserable childhood. Big freaking deal. He’d made something of himself, took pride in his accomplishments and never shirked from new challenges.  

 

And therein, as a shrink would tell him, was the problem. Because - - admit it, Crane - - the challenges were often unrealistic. How many times had he heard it, even had it lectured to him by men in authority:  You need to know your limitations, Crane. 

 

ONI was great for that. After he came back battered and bruised, often stuck in a hospital for days, they’d make some noise about not getting in over his head. Until they needed him again and wanted to send him on the next impossible assignment. But now there was Seaview, and it was hard to shift gears. It wasn’t like he’d never commanded a sub before, just that ONI had their claws in deeply lately. 

 

And what would the imaginary shrink say about that? Maybe the recklessness ingrained in his personality, the rashness that had him willingly accepting do-or-die missions, was there to hide something he didn’t like examining. Something he took great pains to keep safely tucked away where no one would see it: vulnerability.

 

He’d dispensed with the need for it the night his father died. Eight years old and he’d tried to harden his heart. Only he couldn’t because it was against his nature, against everything that Grayson Crane would want his son to be. So he left it there, tucked away, hidden and forgotten. But every now and then it touched him and reminded him of his humanity. It insisted he did need other people. People like Nelson and Chip.

 

Lee sighed. 

 

It shouldn’t have been so complicated, but Nelson was making it that way. He hadn’t just given Lee command of his sub, he’d offered his friendship too. And that was confusing because Lee hadn’t figured out how to straddle the dual roles expected of him. Especially not with a crew that was hung up on his age and a first officer whom the whole boat seemed to know was his best friend. Toss in Nelson’s remark about John Phillips and he found himself wondering if his command style would ever fit on Seaview.

 

He slowed, distracted by the intrusion of voices around the corner. There came a bark of laughter, followed by the trailing sound of Kowalski’s voice.

 

“. . . heard it before, Lange.”

 

“Tell me you’re not curious,” Lange replied.

 

“Sure I am, but he went to Annapolis with Mister Morton. They’ve got to be the same age.”

 

“Uh-huh.” That was Griffin, Lee was sure of it. “I heard he’s some kind of prodigy or something, got in under the age requirement.”

 

“No way,” Lange said. “That bullshit doesn’t happen.”

 

“So even if he went with Morton,” Kowalski protested, “He’s got to be eighteen to twenty years younger than Phillips. Freaky for a full commander don’t you think? I mean, hell, that would make him...”

 

“... thirty-two,” Lee said rounding the corner.

 

All three ratings came to a dead halt.

 

Kowalski blanched. “C-Captain Crane.” He swallowed hard. “Sir, we were just...”

 

Lee let him stammer, watching the rating’s face shift from white to red and back again. “Sir . . . we, uh . . . that is . . . I mean . . . Dr. Jamieson...”

 

“Is not in the corridor.”

 

“Yes, Sir. I mean no, Sir.” Clearly miserable, he looked ready to sink through the deck. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Sir,” he mumbled at last, dropping his eyes.

 

“With everything that’s been happening on this boat, you three don’t have anything better to discuss than my age?” He put heat into his voice but, strangely, was secretly amused. He wasn’t sure which was more entertaining - - their obsession with his age, or the fact they’d been caught red-handed discussing it. He’d definitely have to share this one with Chip.

 

“It was inappropriate, Sir,” Kowalski said dutifully. 

 

“It certainly was.” He backed off slightly, deciding to let them off the hook - - for now. He’d already had one run-in with Kowalski when he’d first come aboard. He didn’t want to make a habit out of it, especially given he had a feeling the rating might be someone on whom he could rely. “Did Dr. Jamieson discharge you?” he inquired neutrally.

 

Relieved it was a question he could actually answer, Kowalski gave a quick nod. “Yes, Sir. All three of us.”

 

“What about the marks on your skin?”

 

“He said they were an allergic reaction. He gave me some cream to put on them, but I don’t know how the stuff’s going to do any good, Sir. It smells like moldy socks.”

 

Lee smiled faintly. “We’ll let Jamieson decide what’s best.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

The color was gradually creeping back into Kowalski’s face. By contrast, Griffin and Lange still looked pale, both barely daring to breathe.

 

“Did Jamieson say anything about Klondor?” Lee asked.

 

“Sent him back to the crew’s quarters, Sir,” Griffin spoke up. “Put a bandage on his head, gave him some aspirin and told him to get some rest.”

 

“And the three of you? Did he tell you to return to duty?”

 

“Aye, Sir,” Kowalski said quickly.

 

“Then report to Mister Morton.”

 

“Mister Morton?” Kowalski looked confused.

 

“Yes. Tell him I want the three of you reassigned to bilge duty for a full watch. Understood?”

 

Kowalski visibly deflated, accepting the punishment. “Perfectly, Sir.” He hesitated briefly before venturing ahead. “Can I ask something, Captain? Something unrelated?”

 

Lee nodded, fairly certain where he was headed.

 

The rating exchanged a glance with his cohorts. “We were talking in Sick Bay, Sir . . . wondering about that chest.”

 

“I was on my way there to check your condition and give you the news.”

 

Lange looked hopeful. “News, Sir?” It was the first he’d spoken.

 

Lee nodded. “The chest was empty.”

 

“Empty?” The three spoke in unison as if unable to grasp the concept.

 

“I’m afraid so. The admiral has it in his lab.”

 

“But, Captain,” Lange protested. “It was locked.”

 

“So it was.” He tilted his head, indicating they should move along down the corridor. “Bilge duty, gentlemen.”

 

With a group sigh, the three started past. As Kowalski drew abreast, Lee spoke quietly to the senior rating, halting him in his tracks. “Kowalski.”

 

“Yes, Captain?”

 

“Out of curiosity . . . exactly how old did you think I was?”

 

The rating hedged. “Older and smarter than I am, Sir.”

 

Lee grinned. “Now you’re learning.”

 

************

 

“Empty!” Lange clearly didn’t believe what he’d been told. 

 

Not for the first time that day or, even since he’d known him, Kowalski reminded himself that Lange was a jerk with a capital “J.”

 

“I bet it was filled with gold, and he didn’t want to tell us,” Lange continued. “I mean what do we really know about Crane anyway? He and Nelson are probably planning to horde it all for themselves.”

 

“Don’t be an A-hole,” Kowalski snapped. 

 

“You don’t know the first thing about our new captain,” Lange protested.

 

“Maybe. But I can tell he’s ethical, and I do know Nelson. If they say the chest was empty, it was empty. Crane’s the captain. He wouldn’t lie to us.”

 

Lange snorted. “Why? Because he saved your butt on the dive?”

 

“That’s right. He risked his own neck to get me out of those sea fronds after you took off.”

 

“Whatever.” Lange tossed the comment off as unimportant. He clearly knew a losing argument when he heard it. “All I’m saying is we check things out ourselves. We hauled that chest aboard. Who says we can’t take a peek at what’s inside?”

 

“Captain says,” Griffin told him pointedly. “Besides, we’re supposed to report to Mister Morton.”

 

“Yeah, well you two choir boys go ahead.” Lange hung back as they came to a turn in the corridor. “I’m not anxious for bilge duty. I’m going to backtrack and get some aspirin off Jamieson.”

 

Kowalski shot him a disgusted look. “Trying to weasel out of it again?” he challenged. The whole reason Lange had been on the diving detail to begin with was because he’d wanted out of bilge duty. Kowalski had never been fond of the guy but had been willing to do him a favor. It had been a stupid move when it came down to it, because it had almost cost him big time. He couldn’t prove it and Lange would never admit it, but Kowalski was positive the other rating had high-tailed it away from the sea fronds the moment he realized Kowalski was in trouble.    

 

“I’m not trying to weasel out of anything,” Lange argued. “I just know a lousy watch when I hear it, and I’ve already got a headache.”

 

Kowalski frowned, exchanging a glance with Griffin. Lange hadn’t said anything about a headache when the three of them were in Sick Bay together. He knew the other rating was up to no good, but decided to let the jerk hang himself. If he wanted to go back to Jamieson and start whining he didn’t feel well, let him give it a try. Only ten minutes earlier he’d been bragging to the doctor and his corpsmen how he’d been key in hauling the chest aboard, no mention of illness then. Jamieson wasn’t an idiot. He’d know the goofball was up to something.

 

Kowalski waved him off as he and Griffin turned the corner. “Lazy idiot,” he mumbled.

 

Griffin was silent a moment. “Sly idiot,” he countered.

 

Kowalski looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, I don’t think he’s headed to Sick Bay.”

 

“Then where...?” Even as Kowalski voiced the question, the location pinged into his head. “The lab,” he said with equal parts anger and disgust. “The jerkwad’s headed to the admiral’s lab to see if the chest is empty.”

 

************

 

Lee found Will Jamieson in Sick Bay, thankful the doctor appeared to be alone. Seated at his desk, he was in the process of updating records - - probably on Kowalski, Griffin and Lange, Lee guessed. The bi-fold doors between his office and the treatment area were open, but there was no one else about.

 

“Captain Crane.” Jamieson glanced up with something akin to censure in his eyes. “I was wondering when you’d get here. I understand you were part of the diving team.”

 

“Yes. And I’ve already been lectured on the foolishness of my actions by the admiral, so save yourself the trouble.”

 

Jamieson opened his mouth to reply, then changed tactics and grinned. “He can work up quite a steam,” he said, sounding amused.   

 

It was not the reaction Lee expected. He felt himself relax. “I’ve been the recipient of a Nelson tongue-lashing more than once over the years. How long have you worked with him, Dr. Jamieson?”

 

“Ever since he launched Seaview but we’ve crossed paths several times throughout our careers.”

 

“Then you knew Captain Phillips?”

 

“Very well.”

 

Lee nodded. It made him uncomfortable to realize the man he was replacing had probably been pronounced dead by Jamieson. It would have been a wretched duty for the doctor to perform. Awkward again, Lee indicated his arm. To his dismay he realized blood had seeped through his sleeve in several places. “I broke a few stitches during the dive,” he said. “I think it was when...” 

 

He started coughing. The fit came over him suddenly, a harsh rattle that doubled him over and left him winded. Jamieson was up and around his desk in a pulse-beat.

 

“This way, Sir.” He gripped Lee by his uninjured arm and steered him into the treatment room. “You might have broken open the stitches but that cough doesn’t sound much better.” Jamieson gave him a gentle shove, urging him to sit on the exam table. 

 

Lee butted a fist against his mouth, struggling to silence the coughing jag. It ended after a few seconds during which time Jamieson had retrieved his stethoscope. 

 

“Loosen your tie,” he instructed, “and unbutton your shirt.”

 

Lee did as ordered, silent while Jamieson placed the stethoscope to his chest and listened. He was sure the flow of air to his lungs had to be a cross between a wheeze and a rattle. At least that’s how it felt, hissing out of his throat. “It’s nothing,” he tried to explain. “It comes and goes.”

 

“I’ll be the one to decide what’s nothing,” Jamieson corrected. He listened a while longer, moving the scope as he did, eventually working his way to Lee’s back. When he instructed the captain to breathe deeply, Lee couldn’t help coughing. Finally, Jamieson pressed on his ribs, then did the same to the sides of his neck. “Sore?” he asked.

 

Lee winced. “Some,” he acknowledged.

 

“What about when you cough? Does it hurt?”

 

Reluctantly, Lee nodded. 

 

“Your air passages are inflamed. I’ll give you an inhaler that will act as an anti-inflammatory. It should give you some relief.” He paused. “We don’t know if there were any chemicals in the building you were in. They might have become toxic when exposed to flame. Have you had any headaches or nausea?”

 

Lee shook his head. He recalled the dizzy spell in Nelson’s lab but considered it unrelated. As always, he was uncomfortable discussing illness and symptoms, thinking it made him appear weak. It was a philosophy his stepfather, Mitchell Blake, had drilled into his head. He remembered coming down with a severe case of stomach flu when his mother was away. He’d been nine at the time, alone in the house with Blake. Rather than offer compassion or assistance, his stepfather had ridiculed him. After that, he’d made it a habit to never let Blake know if he was sick. Unfortunately, that practice had become so ingrained in his personality he’d never learned how to switch it off. To this day he was quick to deny there was anything wrong with him no matter who he was talking to.

 

“All right. Let’s have a look at your arm,” Jamieson said.

 

Lee unbuttoned his cuff, wanting the examination to be over. He might not admit it out loud, but he mentally conceded he was reaching the point of exhaustion. He needed to rest, even if it was just a few hours of sleep to replenish his stamina.  

 

Jamieson scowled when he saw the damage to his arm. Several of the stitches had been torn, the red marks left by the plants were still visible, and clumps of dried blood clung to his skin. “You’re going straight to your cabin from here, Commander. I won’t have my corpsmen scraping you off the deck because you keeled over from exhaustion.” There was little room for argument in Jamieson’s tone especially when he backed up the reprimanded with a glare.

 

The hint of a smile flitted around Lee’s lips. He’d suspected Jamieson could be a hard-case when pushed, but also guessed the doctor took an unwavering line because he cared about his patients. And his profession. “Is that an official order, Dr. Jamieson?”

 

“Official, Captain Crane,” Jamieson confirmed. “And you might find me more agreeable if you called me Jamie. Or Will. Whatever horror stories our executive officer told you about me, I can assure you they’re not true.”

 

Lee laughed. It was one occasion when he didn’t mind having it common knowledge that he and Chip were close friends. “He tried his best to be impartial,” he assured with a grin.

 

“Morton?” Jamie gave a soft chuff of breath as he swabbed dried blood from Lee’s arm. “He’s the best exec I’ve worked with, but he can be a pain in the posterior too.”

 

Lee felt himself grow more at ease and suspected Jamieson had worked hard to put him there. Somehow it was easier talking about Chip than himself.

 

“He speaks highly of you,” Jamie said quietly, intent on his work. “He’s done everything he can to make your transition as smooth as possible, Captain.”

 

“I know.” Lee swallowed, his mouth abruptly dry. “And it’s Lee.”

 

Jamie looked at him confused. “Sir?”

 

“My name is Lee, not ‘captain’.” He paused briefly. “At least it’s not always ‘captain’.”

 

“Yes, I expect it’s not easy straddling command,” Jamie said, preparing a shot of Novocain.  

 

Lee winced at the sting in his arm, realizing it wasn’t the only part of his body that ached. He was beginning to feel every minor scrape and bruise from the beating he’d taken during the ONI mission. Coupled with the ache of his inflamed lungs, he suddenly wanted to crawl into his rack and catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. It was humbling to realize that Nelson and Jamie had been right all along and that he had been pushing himself too hard.

 

“It can’t be easy having your best friend as your executive officer,” Jamie commented. He organized his implements as he waited for the Novocain to take effect. “Or a boss who’s more than just a commanding officer.”

 

Lee glanced at him sharply. “You’re very astute, Doctor.”

 

“Not particularly. I’ve just heard the admiral talk about you. Like Chip, he thinks highly of you . . . maybe a little too highly to make the adjustment comfortable for you. They both want this to work. You commanding Seaview . . .”

 

“I want it to work too,” Lee said quietly. He turned his head away, coughing into his hand. The spasm was brief. “I want it to work,” he repeated when he could speak again, “But I’m not...”

 

“John Phillips?” Jamie guessed. He smiled wanly. “No one wants you to be your predecessor, Lee.”

 

“I’m not so sure of that.”

 

Jamie chuckled. “Do you know what happens when you thrust a stick into a hornet’s nest?”

 

Lee looked at him blankly, uncertain where he was headed.

 

The doctor smiled. “Things get stirred up. And that’s exactly what you’ve done. There was a certain order to everything before you arrived; now you’ve caused a shift in dynamics. Do you think Nelson was used to a captain who challenged him, who talked back to him? John was a good man and a competent officer. He was also my friend, but I’ll be the first to admit he let Nelson call the shots. He was comfortable within the framework of command, allowing that same structure to carry over beneath him, leaving the more ‘hands-on’ tasks to the crew.” He grinned broadly. “I didn’t have to worry about him going out on a dive with compromised lungs.”

 

Lee flushed slightly, dropping his eyes. He watched as Jamie stitched his arm, surprised to realize he was comfortable and at ease with the doctor. They’d never talked like this before, and he realized that was his fault. He simply wasn’t good at letting down walls but somehow Jamieson - - Jamie, he mentally corrected - - was good at maneuvering around them.

 

“And then there’s Chip,” Jamie continued. “Caught in the center every bit as much as you are. He’d lost a colleague, his commanding officer. There was no time for that to sink in before we get whisked off on a mission of global urgency with you at the helm of Seaview. He’s torn between performing his duty, mourning a friend, and the elation at having you assigned to command. And when that command became permanent I’m sure there was a part of him that felt he was betraying John’s memory by being so thrilled to have you here.”

 

Lee wet his lips. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t looked at things from Chip’s perspective. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

 

“Annapolis, I understand.”

 

“Yes.” He paused, making an effort to surrender something personal to the conversation. “He’s like a brother to me. His family . . . they . . .” He hedged, uncomfortable with the vulnerability he felt. 

 

There was that emotion again . . . the thing he worked hard to keep buried deep inside, unwilling to let it slip through where others might catch a glimpse of fragility. He couldn’t talk about family, not even Chip’s, because that would lead back to his dead father and Mitchell Blake. He loved Nathaniel and Grace Morton dearly, thought of Chip’s three sisters as his own, but discussion of family was a subject that made him uncomfortable. 

 

It was only because he was tired, he told himself. His defenses were slipping, and he didn’t have the energy to reinforce them. Jamie wasn’t helping. He hadn’t expected the doctor to be so cordial. Or so caring. 

 

As if reading his thoughts, Jamie switched the subject. “Then there’s the crew. They’re competent; they know their jobs. John left them alone.”

 

“You’re saying I interfere too much?”

 

“I’d never tell you how to command, Captain. I’m just saying your interest is surprising to them. They’re used to someone telling them what to do then leaving them alone, not actually doing it with them.”

 

“I see.”

 

“And there’s your age.”

 

Lee snorted softly. “They’re obsessed with it.”

 

Jamie chuckled. “You look younger than you are,” he pointed out. “And that sets tongues wagging. I’m sure you’ve run across it before given your accomplishments and rank. Once they get over that hurdle, they’ll be proud to have a commander who, if I understand correctly, is the youngest in the Navy. I’m a bit of a history buff and can give you the example of George Armstrong Custer. He was twenty-three when he was made a general during the Civil War. The men who followed him took pride in that fact - - the youngest general in the Union Army. Seaview’s crew will do the same. It might take awhile for the hornets to settle once disturbed, but they do settle.”

 

Lee coughed again. “I think you must moonlight as a psychologist, Jamie.”

 

The doctor grinned. “Let me give you something for that cough.” Having completed stitching Lee’s arm he turned away and began to rummage through a supply cabinet. He gave Lee an inhaler to use, then passed him a few pills that he promised would help him sleep.

 

“I don’t need any help,” Lee protested.

 

“Humor me,” Jamie said. “Your body’s taken all the abuse it can handle. You need a good six to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep to recover. I prefer not to make that an order.”

 

Lee sighed and swallowed the pills. Afterward, Jamie bandaged his arm, and they talked awhile longer. When Lee left Sick Bay he felt far more relaxed than he had in days. It surprised him to realize his discussion with Jamie was the cause of that. Even more - - that Dr. Will Jamieson had the potential of becoming a valued and trusted friend.

 

***********

 

There was no one in the lab when Cort Lange arrived. The chest was there, plain as day, summoning him like a beacon. He took one nervous look around the room, slipped inside and closed the door.

 

The padlock was gone, a few pieces of corroded metal crumbled on the floor. Licking his lips, he moved in front of the chest and gripped the lid. Kowalski and Griffin might have bought Crane’s line of bullshit about it being empty, but he knew better. No way did someone padlock a chest if it didn’t have gold or treasure inside.

 

No one would ever know if he pilfered a few pieces . . . just enough to set himself up as a king on some tropical island and ditch working for a living. Seaview was okay, because it really wasn’t punching a clock, but he’d rather have a white sand paradise with a new chick every night and enough money to keep him entertained. Grinning in anticipation, he lifted the lid.

 

It only took a second for the stench to hit him. 

 

A second more and he screamed.

 

**********

 

Harry spent several hours in his lab running tests on the sea chest. He waited until Kowalski and Griffin were off watch to talk to each diver. Lange appeared to have vanished, a strange turn of events that prompted a search detail. As Griffin hadn’t really experienced any part of the attack by the sea fronds, Harry didn’t keep him long. He was more anxious to talk to Kowalski who had a good deal of information to share.

 

“There was a crevice, Sir,” the senior rating explained when they were alone in Harry’s lab. “Below us.”

 

“Yes, Captain Crane mentioned that too. I’m fairly certain it was the source of the tremors Seaview experienced while in the area.”

 

“But it opened while we were there,” Kowalski continued. “We were trying to get the chest free, and the seafloor just split apart, almost like...” He stopped abruptly.

 

“Like what?” Harry prodded.

 

Kowalski gave a nervous laugh. “I know it sounds silly, Sir, but I couldn’t help thinking it was some kind of . . . mouth . . . trying to swallow us. And I remember being cold. Really cold. If the captain hadn’t gotten me out of there...” He paused again, frowning heavily. “Those damn sea fronds... uh, pardon, Sir...” He flushed at how freely he’d used the expletive. “They were trying to squeeze the life out of me. I even have red marks on my chest to prove it.”

 

Harry overlooked his cursing. “I understand Dr. Jamieson gave you a salve for that.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Stuff stinks but it’s working great. The marks are almost completely gone, and it’s only been a few hours. Doc said it was some kind of allergic reaction.”

 

Harry nodded. He knew he’d have to do more work on the plant samples they’d obtained, and eventually Seaview would need to return to the area to investigate the fissure. After hours of experimenting in his lab he’d already come up with several conclusions that weren’t entirely scientific in nature. He’d been careful not to open the chest again though he felt an urge to lift the lid every time he glanced in its direction. An unnatural urge.   

 

“Did it seem like the plants and the fissure acted in unison?” he queried.

 

Kowalski looked puzzled. “What do you mean, Sir?”

 

“Like different parts of a whole,” he elaborated. “The chest to lure you in, the plants to hold you there, the fissure to swallow you . . . maybe Seaview too.”

 

Kowalski shifted uneasily. “You mean like the whole thing was alive? A mammoth Venus Flytrap with us and Seaview as flies?”

 

Harry grinned, indicating he was merely testing the waters. It was not, however, an absurd notion in his mind. The scrapings he’d taken from the chest had revealed more than he’d expected to discover. 

 

“I’m merely suggesting a theory, Kowalski.” He waved it off with an even easier grin, having wanted to see the rating’s reaction. Despite his troubled behavior, Kowalski had not balked at the idea.

 

“Just keep using that salve,” Harry continued. “I don’t think there was anything destructive in the plants, but the chest is another matter.”

 

“I thought it was empty, Sir.”

 

Harry frowned. “So did I originally. Now I’m not so sure. I hadn’t considered gases or fumes and the effect they might have on the human neurological or circulatory systems. Until I get some conclusive answers, I’ll be posting a guard outside the lab when I’m not here.”

 

“Sir . . .” Kowalski hedged, looking uncomfortable. “About Lange. He . . .”

 

“What about him?” Harry’s brows drew together in a frown. “Do you know where he’s disappeared to?”

 

“No, Sir. He was with Griffin and me when we left Sick Bay before starting our last watch. He said he was going to see Dr. Jamieson to get something for a headache, but I think he might have come here.”

 

“To the lab?”

 

Kowalski nodded. “He was talking about seeing what was in the chest. He didn’t believe it was empty. Griffin and I thought he was blowing smoke, but now that he’s disappeared and you said something about gases...”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything about this before?” Harry demanded.

 

“I didn’t know, Sir. I thought the guy was just trying to ditch a watch.”

 

“All right.” Harry sighed. He pinched two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Go get some sleep. You’ve got night watch again. And Ski...” he added as the rating started to turn away.   

 

“Yes, Sir?”

 

“Not a word of what we discussed to anyone.”

 

***********

 

It wasn’t the first time Harry couldn’t sleep. His mind was absorbed by the mystery of the sea chest, but he knew he needed to step away from it to gain perspective. The longer he remained in the lab, the stronger the urge grew to open the chest. He knew it was empty, supposedly empty (hadn’t he looked inside himself?) yet the urgency was there, compelling him to lift the lid . . . whispering to him of treasures and mysteries.

 

Leaving the lab, he locked the door and stationed a guard outside. He thought of heading to his cabin but was too keyed up to think about rest. The latest round of tests he’d run had confirmed his suspicions, and he was anxious to share that news with Lee. He detoured to Sick Bay, hoping for news on his captain’s condition. Within moments of arriving, Jamie had brought him up to date.

 

“So you finally ordered our wayward captain to his cabin?” Harry asked, watching as the doctor marked off a checklist of supplies. He had several boxes spread across the central treatment table and was going through each, pausing now and then to look at the label on a vial of medication or a packet of pills.

 

Jamie glanced up from his clipboard. “I did, but I think he would have headed there anyway. He was close to exhaustion when he left. I gave him something that should knock him out for a good fourteen hours. Of course, I didn’t tell him that.”

 

Harry frowned. “That long? I really need to talk to him.”

 

“That isn’t going to happen any time soon, Admiral. Not even our superhuman captain is going to be able to withstand the sedative I gave him. My guess is he’s out cold.”

 

Harry wasn’t happy but there was little he could do and, in truth, Lee needed the rest. His news about the sea chest would have to wait. “If I know Lee he’s going to be spitting mad when he wakes up,” he said.

 

“Maybe, but I’ll take my chances.” Jamie moved one of the boxes aside, depositing it in a cabinet, then turned to the next. “Lee and I had a talk. I think we understand each other better now. Common ground makes it easier to play hardball - - which is good, since I have a feeling I’ll frequently have to ride roughshod over him in the future.”

 

Harry didn’t miss Jamie’s use of Lee’s first name. He knew the doctor and John Phillips had been close personal friends and guessed it had been hard for Jamie to see another officer in his position. It had been hard for all of them, but much worse for Jamie.

 

And Lee, he amended.

 

He was glad the doctor had come to an understanding with their new young captain. In his experience, it took Lee a long time to warm up to others. More, he tended to be extremely selective in whom he allowed to get close to him. Despite that tendency for aloofness and privacy, Harry had a feeling Jamie would become a valued friend to Lee.

 

“So you think he’ll be all right with rest?” Harry prompted.

 

Jamie nodded. “His cough is bad and could lead to far worse if he continues to overexert himself, but as long as he gets some sleep and refrains from diving for awhile, he should be fine.”

 

Harry nodded. He was thinking of how short he’d been with Lee in the lab, of the irrational anger he’d felt. He knew the younger man had his hands full with a crew who was having a hard time adjusting to his command style. He didn’t need to add to Lee’s headaches, especially when he suspected his illogical rage had been orchestrated by something living, something organic.

 

“All right. Thanks, Doc.” He left Jamieson to his sorting and inventory. If he couldn’t talk to Lee and he couldn’t sleep, there was still another stop he wanted to make.

 

Harry headed for the control room.

 

***********

 

Lee uttered a soft moan and turned onto his side in his rack, facing the bulkhead. He was exhausted, bone-tired, but couldn’t sleep. The sedative Jamieson had given him made him feel like he was drowning. He kept filtering in and out of a fog, one moment rational, the next aware he’d been dozing as he snapped back to consciousness. It was almost as if something was fighting the drug, forcing him awake. His eyes were so heavy they hurt. And his arm . . .

 

He drew in a shuddering breath. The Novocain had worn off, but he knew the fresh stitches couldn’t be responsible for the pain he felt. Gingerly, he fingered the bandage Jamie had applied through the sleeve of his pajamas. He debated about taking it off to examine his arm but, as soon as the thought formed, he was drifting again. He didn’t remember anything for a time until the sting in his arm drew him back awake. Disoriented, he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and sat forward. Immediately, he started coughing, the explosion in his chest forking outward like a shockwave. He fumbled through the rumpled sheets for the inhaler Jamie had given him, thinking he’d dropped it on the bed earlier.

 

“Looking for this, Captain?”

 

The voice came from the direction of his desk. It was all he could do to silence his coughing as he got to his feet. Through the gloom of the cabin he detected a dark shape seated behind his desk. A second later the shape moved and light streamed from the lamp beside the phone. Cort Lange held the inhaler in one hand, a gun in the other.

 

“You really should do something about that cough, Crane.”

 

Lee squinted, uncertain if he was dreaming. The sedative left his mind muddled, reality vague. “Lange.” His voice was hoarse, thinner than usual. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 

The other man chuckled. He was probably close to Lee’s age if not older, thin and long-limbed, with razor-cropped blond hair. He reclined in the chair cockily and tossed the inhaler onto the desk. “Surprised to see me, Captain?”

 

Lee remembered him as being gawky, but he appeared self-assured now, a hardness to his features that made him seem older. There was something wrong with his eyes, the irises an unnatural black-purple like the color of an overripe plum. 

 

Swaying, Lee braced a hand against the bulkhead, struggling to stay on his feet. Lange’s face swam in and out of focus. He was floating again, caught in that half-limbo as the sedative tried to pull him under. He heard movement and blinked groggily, fighting through the fog of drugs. 

 

Lange was standing in front of his closet. He grabbed a uniform and tossed it onto the bunk. “Get dressed. We’re going to the control room.”

 

Lee scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “. . . not going anywhere,” he mumbled.

 

“Yes, you are. Because if you don’t, I have no qualms about killing you, and I really don’t think you’re ready to die, Crane.” He cast a pointed glance to the gun, another to the uniform he’d tossed on Lee’s bunk. “Get dressed. Unless you want me to drag you to the conn the way you look now.”

 

Lee reached for the uniform. “What’s happened to you?” he said bitterly. He didn’t know the man well. True, he’d pegged him as being on the lazy side shortly after joining NIMR, but he’d never suspected he’d turn mutinous. “Whatever you hope to gain...”

 

“What I hope to gain isn’t your concern,” Lange cut him off. “At least for now.”

 

As he dressed, Lee ran several theories through his mind. The man was an operative for an enemy power . . . he was an imposter who’d dispatched the real Cort Lange . . . something had occurred on the dive to radically alter his personality.  

 

Whatever the reason, Lee found himself ill-equipped to deal with the change. He didn’t know what Jamie had given him but, based on his reaction, the sedative was far from “mild.” He knew he should be out cold. Whatever element was at fault for altering Lange’s personality was probably also responsible for keeping him on his feet, and the only common thread between them was the dive. That meant Griffin and Kowalski were likely affected too.

 

Lee finished dressing and slumped to a seat on the bunk, exhausted by the effort. He heard Lange say something, but the words were muddled and hollow. He was slipping under again. He didn’t remember passing out, but his next conscious thought was of being dragged toward the door. He snapped awake with a start, shoving away from Lange. It gave him the only chance he had. He pushed the other man into the bulkhead and bolted, half stumbling, down the hallway.

 

“Crane!” Lange roared. 

 

A bullet whizzed past his ear and then he was around the corner, Lange’s footsteps pounding behind him.

 

**********

 

Chip marked a set of coordinates on the chart at the plotting table. The control room was quiet tonight, the crew subdued with the end of the cruise in sight. They’d reach Santa Barbara in another eight hours, none too soon for Chip’s taste. Too much had happened over the last few days. Actually, too much had happened over the last four weeks, one event slamming into the next like a rollercoaster run amuck.

 

John Phillips was dead. 

 

That knowledge still sat like a rock in his gut. Every now and then he’d think about the injustice of it or remember the rage he’d felt over such a senseless and brutal death. They’d had a strong working relationship built on mutual respect and trust. They’d been colleagues, casual friends. He’d always known his place with John and, in most circumstances, could predict how the older man would react. He’d been comfortable with that relationship. Not challenged, perhaps, but comfortable. Seaview had seen her share of hurdles and dangerous assignments, but there’d always been a certain order on which he could depend. 

 

Then all of that came crashing down around him. John was killed, and Seaview was sent on a mission of global urgency. He’d been shocked to learn Lee Crane would be commanding her. Shocked, but pleased. He’d known if anyone could complete the mission and bring them home safely it was his roommate from Annapolis.

 

His best friend.

 

And therein lay the problem. He loved having Lee at NIMR and commanding Seaview. He’d been ecstatic when the temporary position had been made permanent. It gave them a chance to work together. Chip had always known they’d be a good balance for each other, his rational side offsetting Lee’s sometimes impulsive behavior. But Lee was . . . well, Lee . . . and Chip had never worked as a subordinate to him before. If he were honest, having Lee as his commander required more than a marginal adjustment.

 

When it came to their friendship, he was used to speaking his mind. Yeah, he tended to hover sometimes, big-brother syndrome and all that. God only knew why he felt compelled considering the man was a lethal ONI operative. The last assignment had been particularly rough on Lee but, as usual, his friend refused to acknowledge his limitations. Afterward, Chip had learned how he’d taken Klondor’s place on the dive. His immediate reaction had been to hunt him down and chew him out, but Lee made that decision as captain and, as captain, Lee outranked him. 

 

So much for telling his friend what an idiot he’d been. Later in private he could rant until he was blue in the face, and Lee might even let him, but he couldn’t object to Captain Crane. Or if he did, he could expect a stern “Mister Morton” in rebuff for the effort. Thankfully, it wouldn’t be much longer until Seaview pulled into port, and he could coerce Lee into catching up on his rest. 

 

In the meantime he’d work out the balancing act between friendship and command. Seaview was made for Lee. He knew that. As much as he’d respected John Phillips, he knew the vessel and the crew would thrive under Lee’s command. As young as he was, Lee possessed a quality John had lacked. It put him in a different category as a commander. It was the whole reason Nelson had fought tooth-and-nail to have him, why ONI prized him so highly, why the Navy had been reluctant to lose him. Lee inspired people. He made them believe in him and themselves even when he wasn’t trying.  

 

Simple truth when it came down to it, he was just damn good at what he did.

 

Lee’s effortless ability for leadership had always amazed Chip, given he was by nature deeply private, even aloof - - qualities that rarely translated well to others. Like most people, Chip had seen that reserve as arrogance the first time they’d met. Rooming with Lee at Annapolis had put them in closer quarters and he’d gradually begun to see another side of the younger man. It hadn’t taken him long to form a brother-like attachment, a regard that had grown stronger whenever he contemplated Lee’s background or caught the occasional glimmer of uncertainty in his expressive eyes. It had made him realize how far off base initial impressions could be.  

 

So he’d taken Lee home with him that first holiday. His mother had fussed over his shyly reserved friend. Even his younger sisters had done their part, smiling up at him adoringly and giggling with school-girl infatuation. Chip’s father had clapped Lee on the back and told him what a fine young man he was. Chip could tell he’d been uncomfortable with the attention, even embarrassed, but he’d also sensed Lee was pleased. It was then he’d realized how completely foreign the whole family experience was to Lee - - an only child, dead father, troll-of-a-stepfather, impartial mother, raised in military school. It was no wonder Chip had turned into a pseudo big brother, and no wonder Lee, despite all his grumbling and complaints to the contrary, had let him. 

 

Chip grinned. Captain or not, Lee was going to get an earful about taking unnecessary risks when they docked.   

 

“Mister Morton.”

 

Chip glanced up as Nelson entered the control room and approached the plotting table.

 

“Everything quiet?”

 

“Aye, Sir. There’s no word on Lange yet, but the search detail is still looking.”

 

Nelson gave a vague nod. He seemed keyed up to Chip, tired too, as if he needed a break from whatever he’d been doing. “How close are we to Santa Barbara?”

 

“Arriving 0920 hours tomorrow, Sir.” He paused, suspecting part of Nelson’s agitation was due to a certain raven-haired captain. He was anxious for an update on Lee and wondered if the admiral had any news from Sick Bay. 

 

“Any word on Captain Crane, Sir?” He was careful to use Lee’s professional title in the presence of the crew. Scuttlebutt had already spread through the boat within days of Lee assuming command that he and Lee were close friends. He continued to downplay it as much as possible, at least for now, until the crew adjusted to their new captain. He didn’t want any whispers of favoritism or worries about double-teaming.

 

“Resting,” Nelson supplied. He approached the table, sparing a distracted glance for the charts. “Jamie gave him a sedative to help him sleep. Apparently, he aggravated his cough with that dive.”

 

Chip frowned. He was about to make a comment on the idiocy of certain actions when Lee’s voice broke across the intercom. 

 

“Security detail to Corridor B. Seaman Lange is armed. Disarm and detain. Repeat:  Security detail...” He broke off abruptly, degenerating into a fit of coughing. In the next second the microphone clicked off.

 

Alarmed, Chip glanced at Nelson. “I thought you said he was sleeping?” Lee had sounded hoarse, more than a few of his words thick and slurred.

 

The admiral looked just as shocked. “Jamieson told me he gave him a sedative that would knock him out for a good fourteen hours. Knock him out cold.”

 

“Well, unless someone’s impersonating our captain . . .” 

 

Nelson turned away. “Patterson,” he called, summoning the always affable seaman who manned the hydrophone station. “Come with me.” He headed toward the arms locker at the forward part of the control room. “We’re going to find Captain Crane.”

 

“. . . not necessary, Admiral.” Every head in the control room swiveled in Lee’s direction as he stumbled through the rear hatchway. He would have fallen on his face if Seaman Adams hadn’t caught him. 

 

“Lee!” No use of ‘captain’ this time. Chip beat Nelson around the table without even thinking about it. He caught Lee around the waist, taking his weight from Adams, guiding him to a seat on the edge of the periscope island. The younger man was breathing heavily, his face damp with sweat. He hunched forward, coughing into his hand.   

 

“Lange . . .” He tried to explain. “Armed with a gun . . . came to my cabin.”

 

“How the hell are you even walking?” Nelson barked without thinking.

 

“I can answer that,” a new voice said.

 

Lange stepped inside, a handgun held tightly in his fist. Grabbing an axe from its cradle on the bulkhead, he rammed it through the wheel spokes of the hatch. “We wouldn’t want to be interrupted,” he explained with a nod for the hatch. “Captain Crane came to give you a course correction.”

 

Nelson looked like someone who’d run out of patience, not a man with a .45 pointed at him. He’d never made it to the weapons locker and, therefore, wasn’t armed, but that didn’t stop him from glaring murderously at Lange. “Blast it, man, what are you babbling about?”

 

Lee had gotten his coughing under control. “It’s tied to the dive,” he said in a raspy voice.

 

“Bravo, Captain, but you’re only half right. The sea chest is the key.”

 

“It’s organic,” Nelson said. “A singular part of a sentient being.”

 

Lange appeared amused. “I suppose that’s why you’re an admiral and he’s a captain. By the way, it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet.” He waved the gun in Lee’s direction. “It’s playing havoc with the drug Jamieson gave him, putting a great deal of stress on his heart. My guess is your pretty, young captain feels three times his age right now.”

 

Lee ignored the taunt. “The sea fronds?” he guessed.

 

Lange nodded. “Kowalski had little side effects other than the rash. But you were already injured, Captain. And your arm was ripped open - - breaks in the skin - - which left you exposed to the plant’s toxin, a compound lethal enough to penetrate your wetsuit. It won’t kill you, but I’m sure your arm stings like hell and it’s stronger than any drug Jamieson can pump you with.” 

 

Chip was feeling lost. The only thing he knew for certain was that Lee was in trouble and appeared to be in even worse shape than before. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

 

“I think I’ll let Nelson explain.” Lange cocked his head, looking toward the admiral. His eyes were plum-colored stones, absorbing rather than reflecting light.

 

Lee glanced at Nelson expectantly. “The chest wasn’t empty?” he guessed.

 

The admiral shook his head. “I thought you were sleeping, otherwise I would have told you. The tests I took indicate the entire chest is composed of organic, living tissue. That . . . reaction . . . I had when you and I opened it was the result of an invisible gas. I was feeling frustrated about what I perceived as your lack of attention to your health. It took that anger and magnified it. If you hadn’t left when you did, that rage would have turned violent. I didn’t realize I was being manipulated. Not at first. Now Lange’s opened the chest too.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Lee said.

 

“The whole thing is one massive trap,” Nelson explained. “Kowalski compared it to a Venus Flytrap, and he’s not far from the truth. The chest is put there as bait to lure prey closer. The pit that opened beneath you would have swallowed and digested you . . . the sea fronds should have held you trapped until that could happen, but you managed to get free. The chest is just as lethal, corrupting the mind. It’s taken over Lange.”

 

“To what purpose?” Chip asked, trying to follow the logic.

 

“To turn us back to the crevice,” Lee answered, reasoning his way through. He looked at Lange. “That course change you want will return us to the area where we found the chest, won’t it?”

 

The rating smiled. “Now you understand, Captain. It isn’t one or two lives the abyss wants. It’s all of them, the entire crew. It wants Seaview.”

 

“This boat isn’t going anywhere,” Lee snapped.

 

“I disagree.” Lange pointed the pistol at him. “Give the order.”

 

“Forget it.” Lee stood and Chip immediately gripped his arm to hold him steady. “I’m not about to let that thing - - whatever the hell it is - - dine on my crew.”

 

Lange raised the gun. “You don’t have a choice. Give the order, Captain.”

 

Lee stared at him silently. 

 

Chip had a solid grip on his upper arm and could feel a fatigued quiver of muscle through his sleeve. He knew it had nothing to do with fear. Lee was close to crashing, holding exhaustion and the potent pull of Jamie’s sedative at bay. The effort never showed on his face, his features set in a hard mask, but Chip knew he was pushing his limits.

 

This is what he’s like with ONI . . . why they keep their hooks in so deep. His back is against the wall, but he’s got no intention of giving.

 

He tried to gauge the odds of jumping Lange but knew the distance was too great. From the corner of his eye, he realized Patterson was silently calculating the same thing. The rating was closer and could possibly pull it off, but it would depend on how distracted Lange was. Every member of the watch crew was on alert, most having risen to their feet when Lange entered through the forward hatchway. They understood a stand-off when they saw one and knew their lives hung in the balance. At most Lange had nine bullets in the gun, but it wouldn’t take him long to remember the forward arms locker and the ammo stored there.

 

Lange’s face darkened with rage as he confronted Lee. “I said give the order, damn it!” 

 

“Go to hell.” Flat. Cutting. Defiant. 

 

It dawned on Chip that Lee was deliberately provoking the man - - and it was working. 

 

Vivid spots of color bloomed on Lange’s face, his alien black-purple eyes flaring a brighter crimson. Fury washed over him like the crashing of a wave. In the next second, he simply exploded, surging forward, cracking the gun across Lee’s cheek in a back-handed blow. It happened so quickly Chip barely had time to blink. Lee dropped to his knees, and Chip reacted instinctively, launching himself at Lange.  

 

Patterson did the same, the three of them grappling for possession of the gun. Chip could hear Lange hissing and spitting, yelling his head off about how they were all going to die because “it” was smarter than they were. Then Patterson had the gun, and Adams and O’Malley wrestled Lange to the deck. Behind them someone banged on the hatch, trying to break through. Griffin pulled the axe free, and the security detail burst inside.

 

“Get him out of here,” Nelson ordered the detail, indicating Lange. “Put him in the brig until Jamieson can look at him.” 

 

The four men immediately stepped forward, relieving Adams and O’Malley of Lange. In a matter of seconds they had him restrained and ushered him from the control room. He fought, cursing savagely, but Chip scarcely spared a glance. His primary concern was for Lee.

 

Nelson was already crouched at the captain’s side. He moved to touch the semi-conscious man and Lee pulled away with a hiss. The plant toxin had him clinging to consciousness despite the punishment his body had taken.

 

“It’s all right, lad. It’s Nelson.”

 

Lee forced himself to sit up, sagging back against the base of the periscope island. There was blood on his face where Lange had struck him. “That thing . . .” he said, and immediately started coughing. “The sea chest . . .” He closed his eyes, the heavy veil of his lashes spiking webbed shadows across his cheeks.

 

Chip was sure he was on the verge of passing out. “Take it easy,” he coaxed, crouching down opposite Nelson. He rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder, tightening his fingers in obvious affection. The younger man was not someone who invited touching easily, but a few months into their friendship Lee had allowed Chip that familiarity. Now it was commonplace, and Chip didn’t give a rat’s ass who saw. They were friends. Best friends. Freaking brothers in everything but blood. It was time he stopped trying to downplay that relationship and let the crew accept it for what it was.

 

Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped blood from Lee’s face. His heart crawled into his throat at the smear of red he left slanted over Lee’s cheek. His friend looked like hell, and it scared the shit out of him. “We’ll get Jamieson up here,” he promised. He gave a nod to Patterson who lingered nearby, indicating the rating should summon the doctor. “Rest easy, Skipper.” 

 

He used the term deliberately making sure the crew heard it. To the best of his knowledge not one of them had called Lee by the informal, friendly name since he’d come aboard. Part of that was Lee’s fault, cordial but distant, but it was the crew’s too. In Chip’s opinion they were far too wary of Lee’s rank and age.

 

Lee shook his head, listening as Patterson paged the doctor over the intercom. “No time. The sea chest . . . I’ve got to . . .” He was growing agitated and attempted to climb to his feet.

 

Chip tried to hold him down, but he was surprisingly strong given his condition. He stood swaying, latching onto the periscope island for support. 

 

Nelson gripped his arm. “You’re going to Sick Bay. And you’re going to sit down until Jamieson gets here. That’s an order, Commander.”

 

Lee lowered his head, drawing what sounded like a defeated breath. “Sir, I need to talk to you.” His voice was hoarse, slurring again as Jamie’s sedative fought to take hold. “In private.” He looked up, the flecks of jade in his eyes darkened by pain.

 

Chip shot Nelson a stunned glance. “Admiral, he’s in no condition...”

 

The older man held up a hand. He’d clearly heard something in Lee’s voice, seen something in his eyes that made him think the effort was worth the risk. “We’ll be in the observation nose,” he said to Chip. “Have Jamie wait here until I call him.” 

 

He kept his hand firmly hooked beneath Lee’s arm and guided him through the forward hatch.

 

**********

 

Lee pulled away the moment they were in the corridor. “Sir, we’ve got to destroy the chest.”

 

Harry frowned. He wasn’t entirely certain killing a sentient life-form was the solution. And that’s what the chest was - - a living, intelligent creature, however malevolent. Yes, he’d felt the rage it incited in him and had witnessed the change in Lange after he’d been exposed to the gas. But to kill it - - a species unknown to the scientific world? They were sitting on the cusp of discovery. There had to be another way.

 

“Lee, it’s contained.”

 

“No, Sir, it isn’t.”

 

“I have a guard stationed outside the lab. Lange got to the chest before I had it secured.”

 

“You don’t understand.” Lee bowed his head, dragging a sleeve across his forehead to mop up sweat. “The gas . . . the toxin that was in the chest . . . it’s in me too. From the plants . . . through the cuts in my arm . . .” 

 

Harry tilted his head, uncertain he followed. “What are you saying?”

 

Lee looked away and coughed harshly. Perspiration stippled his cheekbones, a bright sheen that accentuated the cuts and bruises on his face. It clung to the fringe of his bangs, coaxing the tips into damp curls. He’d obviously dressed in a hurry, his shirt buttoned only halfway, the tails hanging loose over his belt. Pain clouded his eyes, the color gone murky and dark like tree-shaded moss. 

 

“It wants this boat back at the crevice, Sir,” Lee explained. “Its only chance of making that happen was through Lange.” He slumped against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. Harry knew the sedative Jamie had given him was trying to pull him under. Despite the plant toxin in his body, Lee was weakening. “ . . . I’m tired,” he mumbled distractedly.

 

In the next second he blinked and scrubbed a hand over his face, a sure sign he’d drifted. Harry was tempted to grip his arm or shoulder - - a tangible assurance he wasn’t alone - - but didn’t think Lee would accept the overture. Not now. Not when he was fighting to stay coherent.   

 

“It’s not as strong in me as it was in Lange,” Lee continued. “I didn’t inhale the gas, but it is there. Now that it can’t use Lange, it wants me to take control of the boat and force us back to the crevice. I won’t be able to fight it, Admiral. I’m tired . . .”

 

Lee’s voice was raw, containing a quality Harry rarely, if ever, heard from him: vulnerability. Coming from Lee, the sound cut him to the core. 

 

A troubling sensation blundered awake in his gut. It shocked him to realize that what he felt toward Lee at that moment was a strong sense of protectiveness. Was he out of his head? Lee was thirty-two years old, a decorated commander, a seasoned ONI operative, and a man who deliberately kept most people at a distance. Harry had developed a strong friendship with him through the years, but this was different. It made him realize that some part of him had always felt . . . fatherly . . . toward Lee.

 

“You’re going to Sick Bay,” he said gruffly surprised to find himself bothered by the revelation. He couldn’t afford that kind of entanglement with a subordinate officer, especially the captain of his submarine. If he had any kind of sense he’d start setting boundaries.

 

But he couldn’t. More, he didn’t want to. Damn, if Lee hadn’t turned all of his notions about the chain of command and friendship upside down.

 

Lee shook his head. “Jamie’s done all he can. You need to lock me up . . . destroy the chest. It’s the only way.”

 

Harry frowned. 

 

“Admiral,” Lee said emphatically, sensing his hesitation. “Eventually, it will control me like it did Lange. You can’t communicate with this thing. You have to destroy it, and you have to lock me up. I won’t be responsible for harming the crew or damaging Seaview. If you won’t do it, I’ll order someone else. I’m still captain of this boat.”

 

Harry heard the determination in his voice and knew he had a battle on his hands. Just one more challenge from captain to admiral. It promised to be the pattern of their working relationship. It simply wasn’t in Lee’s nature to back down when he believed in something. 

 

Harry had known going in how headstrong Lee could be. He’d actually designed Seaview with him in mind to command her, but he’d never had the opportunity to make the offer. Fresh from dry dock, the powers-that-be had deemed Lee far too young for such an extraordinary and potentially lethal vessel. Harry had fought the objections - - Lee might be young but he was brilliant and highly capable - - but his protests had fallen on deaf ears. He could have continued the fight and probably won, but it would have delayed Seaview’s launch indefinitely and made circumstances uncomfortable for a lot of people. In the end, he’d asked John Phillips. When John died tragically and he was forced to find a new captain, he’d pulled out all the stops. He wanted Lee Crane.

 

Well, now he had him, including his willfulness, constant challenges and the confusing emotions he inspired. Someday soon Harry knew he would have to define the nature of their relationship:  admiral/captain, superior/subordinate, friends . . . or something more? Was it possible to tread all those lines?  

 

He heaved a mental sigh, acknowledging Lee was probably right about the chest. Harry was focused on the scientific end while Lee’s concern was the safety of the boat and her crew. As a good captain’s should be. Harry might have been able to meet John on common ground, but Lee wouldn’t compromise.

 

“All right,” he conceded, turning away to retrieve the nearest mic from its cradle. One thing was certain - - he had to get Lee off his feet. “Dr. Jamieson,” he announced over the intercom. “Captain Crane and I will meet you in his cabin.”

 

************

 

Lee sagged forward, his chin dipping to his chest.

 

“This is ridiculous,” someone muttered.

 

The voice drew him groggily awake. His head bobbed and he blinked. It took him a moment to remember where he was - - seated behind his desk in his cabin. It might have seemed a normal occurrence but for the leather straps binding his wrists to the arms of the chair. He coughed. Unable to raise his hand to mute the hacking, he was forced to turn his head to the side. After a few seconds the spasm passed, and he felt a hand slide onto his shoulder.

 

“Here, drink this.” Someone held a glass of water to his mouth, and he took a few greedy sips, the cool liquid easing the raw tissue of his throat. 

 

“Thanks,” he rasped, glancing up at Chip.

 

His friend smiled and rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“How long has it been?” Lee asked.

 

“Two hours. Nelson’s pretty positive it’s going to work. We drop the chest in the deepest trench we can find and hit it with a laser beam. Then we return to the original site and destroy the plant fronds. If he’s right, that should seal the crevice permanently. When we get within range, O’Brien will call me to the conn, and Jamie will stay with you.”

 

“I don’t need a baby-sitter,” Lee mumbled. “Just a guard outside the door.”

 

Chip frowned. “What you need is to lie down on your bunk. Kowalski’s outside and I’m staying put until O’Brien calls. You’re not going anywhere, Lee.”

 

He moved his wrists in the restraints, testing their strength. “I won’t take any chances. Not with the crew or Seaview. If I manage to get free . . .” He broke off. Even through the fog in his head, an insistent thought thrummed against his temples, put there by the alien that controlled the sea chest: stop them from doing this . . . return to the crevice. 

 

It wanted him loose. Wanted him to take over the boat and follow through with its insidious commands. Fortunately, either the toxin from the plants wasn’t as strong as the gas in the chest; he hadn’t received as high a concentration as Lange, or he was simply better equipped to resist.

 

The mental whispers had started within seconds after Lange was disarmed in the control room, steadily growing in frequency since. There were no actual words in his head, just vivid impressions and feelings. The longer he ignored the sinister directives, the fiercer the pain in his arm grew.

 

Jamie had examined him in his cabin but, as Lee suspected, there was little he could do. The stitches were holding despite the constant sting leeching outward from the wound. The doctor feared giving him medication of any sort after witnessing what had happened with the sedative. As a result he was left with a constant mental battle, trying to ignore the ache in his forearm while crushing the demands the creature put in his head.

 

Jamie had wanted him to lie down, reminding him they’d posted an armed guard outside his cabin, but Lee didn’t trust himself. Uncertain how long he’d be able to resist the creature’s orders, he’d been the one to insist on the wrist restraints. Afterward, Jamie had left to check on Lange, Nelson to go to his lab, and Chip had arrived to stay with him.

 

Lee wet his lips. “Is Lange still in the brig?”

 

Chip nodded. He set the glass of water on the desk then eased onto the edge, bracing his foot against the floor. “Not exactly the command you were looking for, huh?”

 

Lee smiled wanly. “It hasn’t been boring.” He moved his wrists in the restraints again. He wanted loose. He knew all he had to do was ask and Chip would free him, but he also knew it was the alien seducing him with those thoughts. “Do you regret it?” he asked at last, looking up at his friend. “Me . . . here?”

 

Chip gave a soft snort of laughter. “You have to ask?”

 

“It can’t be easy for you,” Lee pointed out. He was thinking about the things Jamie had said regarding Chip.

 

His friend grinned. “I’ve had to make some adjustments - - like not biting your head off when I think you’ve done something completely reckless and stupid - - but they’ve been worth it. We might have fifteen years of friendship behind us, but we also understand a military chain of command, procedure, and how things work. I have to remember that on the boat you’re ‘Captain Crane’ and it’s my job to support you, not react like a big brother.” He hesitated a moment then leaned forward, sliding his hand over Lee’s wrist in the leather restraint. “I’m glad you’re here, buddy. Seaview was made for you.”

 

Lee gave a faint smile of appreciation. He wanted to believe it. It took his mind off the dark whispering desire to get loose. If only he didn’t feel like an outsider. “The crew...”

 

Chip knew where he was headed and cut him off. “They’re already adjusting, Lee. You’re proving yourself. Kowalski volunteered to stand guard outside your door. The guy’s supposed to be sleeping, but he said he’d never catch any shut eye knowing the skipper was in trouble.”

 

Lee looked at him sharply. The only one who’d called him “skipper” since he’d come aboard was Chip. It was an informal and friendly tag, bestowed on a captain who’d earned his place on the boat - - a captain the crew followed willingly. Someone they believed in and respected.

 

“He said ‘skipper’?” Silly that it should matter. A lot of commanders wouldn’t care one way or another.

 

Chip’s grin broadened. He sat back and rested his hands on his thighs. “Looks like you’ve made the cut. Kowalski’s got a lot of sway with the crew - - a bit on the mouthy side, but he says what he feels. My guess is he’s already got three-quarters of the boat behind you, if not the whole thing. Then there’s that stance you took in the control room with Lange, refusing to follow through on turning the boat around. I’ve already heard the scuttlebutt on that one . . . guys are saying you saved their tail . . . that you didn’t back down even with a gun in your face.”

 

“I acted as any captain would.”

 

“Maybe, but for them it said a lot. It showed them you are a captain. That you’re Seaview’s captain, not just some pet of the upper brass who got handed a glory command. Don’t complain about it, Lee. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

 

That much was true. He made a conscious effort not to tug on the restraints but couldn’t help twisting his wrists beneath the leather. 

 

Chip noticed the movement and frowned. Standing, he began to pace in front of the desk. “You’d think Nelson would have dropped that freaking thing in a trench by now. He had to find one deep enough.”

 

“It’s alive, Chip,” Lee said wearily. He was tired again, wanting to slide beneath the radar of sleep. What he wouldn’t give to crawl into his rack and shut out the world for a few blissful hours. He closed his eyes then came back awake as the creature whispered urgently in his head.

 

It was a new sensation. Not anger or malevolence but . . . danger! A host of images slammed into Lee - - fear, dread, alarm. He jerked upright, fighting against the restraints, trying to escape. “Chip,” he gasped, uncertain what was happening . . . terrified and in pain. Not just his arm but everywhere - - searing heat, excruciating fire - - destroying him, devouring him from the inside out like a sun gone nova. He gave an agonized cry and tried to rip free of the restraints.

 

The door burst open and Kowalski barged inside, gun drawn. “Sir, what’s happening?”

 

Chip knelt in front of Lee, clawing at the restraints. “Lee!” A quick look over his shoulder brought Kowalski to the desk. “Help me get him out of these.”

 

Lee was vaguely aware of Kowalski on his right side, unbuckling the leather restraint. Then the pain died abruptly, snuffed out like the flame of a candle. Freed of the agony, he slumped forward into Chip’s arms.

 

**********

 

Chip eased his unconscious friend to the deck, one hand cupped behind his neck to support his head, the other gripping his arm. Overhead, the intercom crackled to life with a request from the security officer for medical assistance in the brig.

 

“Come on, buddy, don’t do this.” Chip felt for a pulse at Lee’s throat, flooded with relief when he sensed a steady thrum beneath his fingertips. “Kowalski, get Jamieson up here,” he called over his shoulder.

 

As the rating turned away to make the page, Chip grabbed a pillow from Lee’s rack and slid it under his head. Kneeling, he peeled Lee’s eyelid back. His gut crawled into his throat, his mouth dry as sawdust. If it weren’t for Lee’s pain-wracked cry before blacking out, he could almost convince himself his friend had merely fainted. 

 

 - - except for the look he’d seen on the younger man’s face, like something had been ripping him apart. Like he was dying. 

 

“Lee.” He swallowed and spoke firmly. “Come on, buddy. Wake up.” A light tap on the cheek brought no response.

 

“Sir, is the skipper going to be all right?” Having summoned Jamieson over the intercom, Kowalski hovered worriedly behind him.

 

“Sure he is.” Claiming Lee’s wrist, Chip rubbed the inside of his arm in an attempt to bring him back to consciousness. This time the action was rewarded with a soft exhalation of breath. Lee rolled his head to the side, but his eyes stayed closed, his legs and arms limp. Chip felt a flicker of optimism. “I think he’s just passed out.” Shuffling behind Lee, he gripped him under the arms. “Come on - - help me get him up onto the bunk.”

 

Kowalski complied and together the two of them carried the unconscious man to his rack. Lee settled with a grunt and another turn of his head, but he seemed unaware of them, trapped in a heavy fog of sleep. As if he were...

 

Sedated, Chip realized with a start.    

 

Had Jamie’s narcotic finally taken hold? He swept a hand over Lee’s forehead, raking aside his bangs. The younger man’s face was flushed with color, heightening the muddy splotches of bruises he sported.

 

“You’re pretty close, huh, Sir?” Kowalski observed at his side.

 

Chip straightened, realizing he’d been caught fussing. He was saved from giving the obvious answer when Jamie arrived in the cabin.

 

“What happened?” the doctor demanded.

 

Chip stepped back from the bunk allowing him room. Briefly he explained: “We were talking . . . then he gave a cry like he was in pain and tried to rip off the restraints. By the time Kowalski and I got him free, he passed out.”

 

“Did he regain consciousness?” Jamieson bent over the bunk, using a penlight to test the responsiveness of Lee’s pupils.

 

“No.” 

 

“Interesting.” Jamie replaced the penlight with a stethoscope, sliding the chest-piece beneath the open flaps of Lee’s shirt. After a while he withdrew a blood pressure cuff from a black bag he’d deposited on the foot of the bunk. “I had to send Harkinson to the brig on a similar call about Lange.”

 

Chip straightened in concern. “You think it has something to do with their link to the creature?”

 

“Possibly.” Jamie wrapped the cuff around Lee’s arm, securing it before inflating the band. 

 

Chip exchanged an anxious glance with Kowalski as the two watched. Seconds later, Jamie removed the cuff and returned it to the bag. “His BP readings are low but acceptable and his pupil responsiveness is normal. Lungs still sound a little rough but that’s to be expected given the smoke he swallowed. They won’t clear for awhile yet.”

 

Chip wet his lips. “What are you saying?”

 

“That reality has finally caught up with Captain Crane. His initial reaction might have been tied to the creature, but it’s my sedative that’s keeping him under now.”

 

“You mean it finally kicked in?” Chip frowned, confused. “But I thought the creature...”

 

“Whatever hold it had on him appears to be broken. I’ll probably get a similar report when I check on Lange.”

 

Kowalski smiled. “Hey, that’s great, isn’t it, Mister Morton?”

 

“But we haven’t dropped the damn thing in the ocean yet,” Chip protested, referring to the chest.

 

“It could be the result of something the admiral did,” Jamie commented.

 

He’d no sooner made the suggestion than O’Brien called, paging Chip to the control room. “We’re in position over the trench, Mister Morton. Admiral Nelson is ready to proceed.”

 

Chip crossed to the mic on Lee’s desk, quickly acknowledging he’d be there. 

 

There was a slight hesitation as O’Brien took the system off ship-wide page. “Sir? The admiral wants you to call him in the missile room. He heard Dr. Jamieson summoned to the captain’s cabin and wants to know what happened.”

 

“I’ll take care of it.” Chip glanced to the bunk where Jamieson was taking a reading of Lee’s pulse. Seconds later he had a private connection to Nelson via the microphone. 

 

“Jamie says he’s passed out,” Chip said after bringing the admiral up-to-date on what had taken place. He didn’t mince words knowing Nelson would want him to get to the bottom line quickly, given it was Lee. “He thinks the sedative is finally working, but we’re not sure why. Did you do something to the creature, Sir?”

 

“I had to use a torch on it,” Nelson confirmed. “It was anchored to the deck through some kind of muscular attachment. I got the impression I injured it severely.”

 

Across the cabin, Chip exchanged a glance with Jamieson and Kowalski. Nelson’s answer explained Lee’s cry of pain.

 

“You’re sure he’s only passed out?” the admiral persisted.

 

“Jamie’s here now, Sir. He sounds certain of it given Lange had the same reaction.”

 

“All right. Let’s get this thing off the boat. I’ll check on Lee myself when we’re through.”

 

“Aye, Sir.” Chip returned the mic to its cradle. As he straightened, his eyes fell on the unconscious form of his friend.

 

“I’ll stay with him,” Kowalski volunteered, reading his expression. “Doc is going to have to check on Lange. If the skipper hadn’t pulled me out of those sea fronds I would’ve ended up as bottom chum. I can stay until Doc says he’ll be okay on his own. It’s the least I can do.”

 

Chip hesitated then nodded. Kowalski had really come around since going on the dive with Lee. Any previous reservations he’d had about Seaview’s new captain appeared to have been washed away. “Will that work, Jamie?” he asked the doctor.

 

The older man nodded. “I’ll check back as soon as I verify Lange’s condition. If I’m right, Lee will be out a good twelve hours, possibly more.” He collected his bag, snapping it shut. “There’s nothing you can do here, Chip. I can send a corpsman if it makes you feel better.”

 

“No.” Chip shook his head. “I trust Kowalski.” He shot a glance at the rating who grinned in appreciation. Before he left the cabin he leaned forward and gripped Lee’s arm. “See you soon, buddy,” he said quietly. 

 

Kowalski could take that gesture any way he wanted.

 

************

 

Almost home, Harry thought. 

 

It was just after 1500 hours in the afternoon, but Lee was sound asleep, curled on his side in his bunk, facing the door. Harry knew they’d probably have to wake him when they docked. It seemed a shame to disturb him, but Seaview would reach Santa Barbara in two hours, and Harry suspected Lee would sleep for a good eight or more. He’d already been out over twelve once the sedative had finally taken effect.

 

Maybe Harry would just spend the night on the sub and let Lee sleep off the exhaustion in his cabin. Jamie would probably go along with that as long as someone was there to keep an eye on him, and Harry was willing to volunteer. After everything that had happened, he wanted to make sure Lee got the rest he needed.

 

Things hadn’t worked out quite the way he’d planned with the sea chest. Just when they were nearing a trench he thought would serve their purpose, the trunk had begun to leak noxious fumes through its lid. Alone in the lab, Harry had nearly asphyxiated on the poisonous gases. With Lange locked up and Lee restrained in his cabin, he chalked it up to a last-ditch defense mechanism on the part of the alien.

 

In the end it had required masks and breathing equipment. He’d called three of the crew and had them similarly outfitted with safety gear. Together, they’d tried to move the chest to the missile room in preparation of lowering it into the trench. But the damn thing wouldn’t budge. It had managed to anchor itself to the deck the same way it had once rooted in the webbing of sea fronds. No wonder Lee had said it was unmovable when he’d first brought it aboard.

 

Again, Harry regretted he couldn’t communicate with it. In the end he’d used a torch, cutting away hidden membranes beneath the base. He performed the job meticulously, all the while overcome by the strange impression the thing was terrified . . . that it was silently screaming, ripped apart by a hot nova of pain.

 

Only later did he learn both Lee and Lange had collapsed at relatively the same time he’d used the torch. It was easy to move the chest after that, an indication he’d severely wounded the alien. The rest of the plan went off without a hitch. Chip maneuvered the boat into position, and the chest was dropped into a deep trench then hit with a concentration of laser fire. They returned to the original site and destroyed the mass of sea fronds. The plant-matter deteriorated, oozing into the ocean floor, creating a tight seal over the crevice. Harry was convinced it wouldn’t open again, but knew he’d return later for further study. 

 

He didn’t know what type of creature they’d dealt with - - alien, prehistoric, metaphysical - - only that it had been previously unknown, and that made some part of him regret killing it.

 

 - - until he stood in Lee’s cabin looking down on his sleeping captain, pained by the rings of shadow beneath his eyes. 

 

He understood from Jamieson that Lange was also recovering. The rating didn’t have the injuries Lee did, nor had he been doused with a heavy sedative. He was already sitting up in Sick Bay, eating a meal, apologizing for the horrible mess he’d made. 

 

He’d wanted to see Lee personally, but Harry and Jamie had both told him there’d be time for contrition later. The man certainly wasn’t the most conscientious of the crew, but Harry knew he wasn’t a killer, nor would he have mutinied of his own initiative. He and Lee would deal with the discipline issue later - - Lange had entered Harry’s lab to inspect the chest after Lee told him it was empty. He hadn’t tried to take over the boat (the creature had), but he was guilty of disobeying orders if nothing else.

 

Harry was actually glad Jamie had agreed to let Lee sleep in his cabin rather than keeping him in Sick Bay. It would have been awkward with Lange wanting to make amends and crew members coming and going. Besides, Lee had been through enough. He didn’t need the crew catching him when he was weakened by injuries.

 

Harry stood by the bunk, watching the younger man sleep. 

 

God, he was a rail, the white pajama top gaping on his thin frame. He had the sheets pushed down to his hips, his long legs tangled in a ball of white cotton. He breathed evenly and deeply, half on his stomach, half on his side. His face was turned in profile toward Harry, his normally precisely-groomed hair rumpled into a mass of jet curls. His eyelashes, every bit as dark and extravagantly long, were tipped with silver in the smoky shadows of the cabin. Lange had called him pretty, and Harry supposed he was in a manner of speaking, but there was a finely cut edge to his features. Nothing soft or delicate about him, even in the classically sculpted lines of his face. Right now he looked spent and far younger than thirty-two. 

 

Hard to believe this same man had stood up to enemy interrogation just a few days ago, then suffered through an ordeal with an alien life form that left him teetering on collapse. Harry noticed the inhaler Jamie had given him for his cough was near at hand, next to his pillow. The hacking spasms were probably the only thing capable of dragging him from sleep at this point. With the sea chest destroyed, the sedative had kicked in hours ago, leaving him dead to the world.

 

Jamie, Chip and Harry had made it their responsibility to check up on him periodically and ensure he was sleeping soundly. Had Lee known about the follow-up visits he would have protested vehemently, but Harry planned on keeping him in the dark over that particular bit of information. He could still recall talking to Jamieson in Lee’s cabin after the creature had been destroyed and Lee was out. 

 

“High maintenance,” the doctor had said, shaking his head. “The man’s going to make me lose what little hair I have left. It’s bad enough we end up with an alien onboard. I didn’t expect I’d be in a battle with the boat’s captain about his health too.”

 

Harry grinned, hearing a curmudgeonly affection in the protest. “He got under your skin, didn’t he?”

 

Jamie scowled before relenting with a grin of his own. “Is it that obvious?”

 

“I’m afraid so, Doc. But don’t feel bad. He did the same thing to me - - long ago.”

 

Jamieson seemed to consider. “How’s he manage it? When I came to see you a few days ago, I was ready to read him the riot act and now...” He motioned toward the bunk where Lee was sleeping. “Instead of being angry at his stubbornness, I find myself worrying about him. It’s incomprehensible.”

 

“That’s just Lee,” Harry countered. “It’s hard to stay angry at him. For all his seemingly endless supply of strength and inability to bend there’s something underneath. Something . . .” 

 

He hadn’t used the word, but it was there in his head the same way it was now:  wounded.

 

Harry stood looking down on the sleeping man, disturbed to be pondering such bleak thoughts. Despite their years of friendship there was a lot he didn’t know about Lee; much he hoped to learn in the future. For now it was enough that they’d survived the encounter with the alien and Lee would recover. 

 

Experimentally, he pressed the back of his hand to Lee’s cheek, thankful to feel the touch of cool skin. No fever. He’d go back to his cabin and give Jamie an update before they docked, maybe check in one final time as they came into the harbor.

 

“Admiral,” Lee whispered.

 

Harry gave a start, shocked to realize he was awake. He pulled back slightly, dropping his hand onto Lee’s shoulder. “What is it, lad?”

 

Lee didn’t move, still curled on his side. When he spoke, his voice was soft and slurred with sleep. “How long until we reach Santa Barbara?”

 

Harry glanced at his watch. “A little under two hours.”

 

“Wake me in one.”

 

Harry gave a snort. “Wake you? You’re all but comatose, Lee!”

 

With a quiet groan, Lee rolled onto his back. He blinked, forcing himself awake. “I want to take her into port.”

 

Harry frowned. “Chip can do that.”

 

“I’m her captain.”

 

“With a competent executive officer.”

 

“Sir . . . the crew . . . it’s important to me.”

 

He didn’t need to say more for Harry understood. Just as he understood Jamieson’s frustration when he’d complained about Lee causing him to lose what little hair he had left. If the doctor got even an inkling of what the younger man wanted to do, Harry knew he’d pull medical rank and confine Lee to his cabin. If he was angry enough - - and Jamieson could get hot when pushed - - he might resort to the restraints Lee had willingly submitted to hours before just to make a point.

 

“Lee . . .” Harry exhaled loudly. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”

 

“That’s not what this is about.” 

 

“I think it is. For some reason you feel like you’re living in John’s shadow.” He shook his head, remembering how he’d contributed to that impression. “The comment I made in the lab about you and John wasn’t me talking. The alien put those thoughts in my head.”

 

“I know that, Sir.” Lee exhaled tiredly and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I just need to take her into port. I . . . Admiral . . . she’s my boat.”

 

Harry tried not to smile at the trace of angry frustration in Lee’s voice. He liked knowing the younger man was feeling well enough to grow obstinate. What pleased him more was the edge of passion he heard - - my boat. 

 

It wasn’t that Lee felt he didn’t belong or that John’s ghost haunted him. The last four weeks hadn’t been easy with the crew adjusting and Lee finding his way, but he had made the transition. Whether they had or not, he was taking a stand and making a statement - - Seaview was his and, as her captain, he intended to complete their mission.

 

“All right,” Harry consented. “I’ll be back in an hour to wake you. Just keep in mind that if Jamie decides to roll heads I don’t plan on being the sacrificial lamb.”

 

Lee grinned, a blinding white flash that made Harry’s heart skip a beat. It always caught him off guard when the man smiled like that, unexpected and dazzling. 

 

“Thanks, Admiral.” Lee shifted onto his side again, content to catch another sixty minutes of sleep. Harry watched as he closed his eyes, the residual effects of the sedative taking hold almost immediately.

 

He blew out a breath and shook his head. “You’ve no idea how difficult you are,” he mumbled.

 

**********

 

Almost two hours later, Lee walked into the control room.

 

“What’s our position, Chip?”

 

His friend swiveled in his direction with a shocked glance. A glance that was mirrored by the entire watch crew. 

 

Lee knew he wasn’t completely steady on his feet and, judging by his reflection after a quick shower, was drawn and haggard-looking. The bruises and cuts on his face, still healing, didn’t help. There was a new one now, layered on top of the old, a small split at the upper edge of his cheekbone where Lange had struck him with the gun. It was already purpling, feathering to puce at the edges. 

 

But he’d taken care to make himself presentable in a clean uniform and tie, his hair neatly groomed, the natural curls straightened and tamed into place. True, he rested a hand nonchalantly on the bulkhead to help maintain his balance, but he looked the part of Seaview’s captain. More importantly, he felt it.

 

“Our position, Chip?” he repeated when his friend didn’t answer but stood staring at him. 

 

He deliberately used Chip’s first name, rather than his title, deciding it was impractical, if not downright idiotic, to try to conceal their friendship from the crew. Chip was like a brother to him. There was no reason they couldn’t balance that relationship with a professional one. The crew would have to adjust to it, the same way they’d adjust to him. He was on Seaview to stay.

 

The blond-haired man shook himself as if coming out of a daze. “Readying to enter the harbor, Sir.”

 

“Very well. Blow ballast and proceed.”

 

“Aye, Sir.” Chip turned away to give the order. 

 

Lee stepped toward the plotting table, glancing down at the charts. At the sonar station, Kowalski grinned openly. 

 

“Good to have you back, Skipper.”

 

Lee allowed himself a slight smile and an easy familiarity of his own. “Thanks, Ski.” 

 

It suddenly dawned on him that he could feel a change in the atmosphere, an openness from the other members of the crew that hadn’t been present before. There were nods in his general direction and grins before the men went back to their work. Some exchanged a few words between them and, although Lee didn’t catch what was said, the meaning was clear - - they were glad to have him in the control room. He caught more than one “welcome back, Skipper.”

 

Immune to the change, Chip frowned openly, catching him leaning against the plotting table. “I thought you were supposed to sleep off that sedative?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Looks like it’s not completely gone. Kowalski.” He turned to the rating. “Get Captain Crane a stool.”

 

“Aye, Sir.”

 

Lee started to protest he didn’t need one then thought better of it. Nelson had made a concession by allowing him to take the conn. He supposed he could make one too if it would put Chip’s mind at ease.

 

By the time they reached port, however, the stool was forgotten, and he moved freely around the control room. Rather than sap his strength, putting the sub into port left him feeling revitalized. He knew it was a false energy, and he’d probably crash after they docked, but for now it was enough to get him through. He saw the sub into port, did some final checks, and then retreated to the observation nose when the docking crew took over.   

 

Strange how a mission that had started out so horribly - - capture, interrogation, near-mutiny and a hostile sea creature - - had ended on a positive note. He slid into a chair at the observation windows and watched the progress of the dock crew as they hustled beyond the glass. He could already feel the artificial energy that had sustained him beginning to fade, but it didn’t matter. He’d seen the boat home. His boat. Seaview wasn’t his first submarine command and, quite possibly, wouldn’t be his last, but he already knew nothing would eclipse her. He felt at home, content. He suspected the crew did too - - even with a ‘shockingly young’ new captain at her helm. He grinned. The bond between them had been forged and, given time, he suspected it would grow stronger.

 

Lost in contemplation, he didn’t hear the sound of footsteps descending the spiral stairs.

 

“This isn’t exactly what we agreed to,” a man’s stern voice announced behind him.

 

Lee swiveled in his chair, feeling a slight flush creep over his cheeks when he spied Jamie at the bottom of the stairwell. He knew the doctor would have heard his voice on the intercom issuing commands as the sub cut through the harbor. The confrontation was inevitable. 

 

Lee managed a slight smile but didn’t move. When it came right down to it he didn’t think he had the strength. “Dr. Jamieson,” he greeted politely.

 

The older man glared. “Forget it, Lee. That courteous, professional garbage isn’t going to work this time. I gave you an order about resting in your cabin.”

 

Lee raised an eyebrow. “That was an order?”

 

Jamie swore and stepped closer. “You know damn well it was. I should have just gone with my gut instinct and kept you in Sick Bay. Next time I won’t be so gullible.”

 

“I’d hardly call you gullible, Jamie. If it helps, once everyone is off the boat, I promise I’ll head straight home.” 

 

Jamie harrumphed his dissatisfaction.

 

‘Home’ at the moment was an Institute apartment, complete with rented furniture and an assortment of unpacked cardboard boxes. Lee didn’t know when he’d get around to unpacking, much less looking at real estate. Fortunately, Nelson had made the accommodations open-ended. The place had a nice wrap-around balcony and a view of the bay. He couldn’t think of anything more appealing than sprawling on the bed, the doors wide, letting the swell of the ocean sing him to sleep. 

 

“The admiral already made it clear I’m not expected at the Institute for at least forty-eight hours,” he added, hoping to make amends. “And Chip has insisted on driving me home. I just need to pack my gear...”

 

“Have a crewman do that.”

 

Lee sighed. He supposed it was a small compromise and one he could easily make. Judging by the set expression of Jamie’s face he hadn’t appreciated having his orders circumvented. As if sensing his thoughts, the doctor wrenched out a chair and sat down across from him.

 

“Let’s get something straight,” he said bluntly. “You may be able to get around Morton and even Nelson, but you will not dodge my orders in the future or I’ll have you declared medically unfit for duty. Are we clear? Sir?”

 

Lee wasn’t quite sure how to take the dressing down. His initial reaction was to remind Jamieson in none-too-gentle terms (ditching all politeness and professionalism), that he was Seaview’s captain and wouldn’t be spoken to like a fresh-off-the-docks seaman. But then he saw the flinty sincerity in Jamie’s gaze and realized the man’s anger had nothing to do with egos or having his orders ignored. He was genuinely concerned for Lee’s health.    

 

Before he could say a word, the doctor riddled agitated fingers across his scalp. “I may be out of line, Captain, but only in my manner of address, not the message.”

 

“You’re allowed the rant, Jamie.” He made the concession he should have made before. “I was the one out of line.”

 

Surprised, the doctor glanced at him sharply.

 

“It was important to me to put the boat into harbor,” Lee continued, aware of his gaze. “I explained my reasoning to the admiral, but I should have shown you the same courtesy. You might not have agreed, but at least you’d have understood my motives.” He shrugged uneasily. “I don’t do ‘sick’ very well.”

 

Jamie gave a snort of laughter. “That’s an understatement.” Then as if sensing he was pushing the envelope, he backpedaled slightly. “You’re incredibly single-minded, Lee. I’m not used to chasing the boat’s commander around with a sedative in order to get him to sit still. Somewhere in between we’ve got to find common ground.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“A compromise. If you make a concentrated effort to remain in one piece, I won’t pull medical rank unnecessarily.”

 

Lee propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbed his eyes. The fatigue was seeping deeper, forcing him to suppress a yawn. “That sounds reasonable.”

 

Jamie scowled; unconvinced he’d gained the upper hand. “Why do I have the feeling you’re feeding me lip service, saying what I want to hear?”

 

“Come on, Jamie. I said I’d make an effort. By the time Seaview puts out again, I’ll be 100%.”

 

“That remains to be seen. Where’s the inhaler I gave you?”

 

Lee reached into his trouser pocket and pulled it free, displaying it like a trophy. “Thought I’d ditched it, didn’t you? I haven’t needed it much lately, but I’ve kept it handy per doctor’s orders.”

 

The older man shook his head. “It’s a losing battle with you, do you know that?” He stood, preparing to leave, then glanced over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth there hasn’t been dull a moment since you stepped on board. I’ll expect to see you in the Institute’s Med Bay in forty-eight hours as a follow-up.”

 

“Jamie,” Lee started to protest.

 

“Common ground, Captain,” the doctor reminded him.

 

He sighed and nodded. “I’ll be off the boat in thirty minutes.” 

 

“I’m feeling generous,” Jamie said with a grin. “You can have an hour.”

 

*****End******

 

*See "Deception"

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