When our parents were not in listening range, John would answer the phone saying, "Alcott Mortuary, you stab 'em, we slab 'em, some go to heaven and some go to hello?" Pretty heady stuff for a ten-year-old! Anyway, one night, on a whim, I wrote a short paragraph ending in the phrase "Permission to come aboard?" and put it up when I signed on to WBS. The first response I got was a bit disappointing. One person said. "Hello, Middie."

But I was undeterred and the next night I wrote another of what came to be called 'entrances'. Eventually, people stopped being confused, and some actually asked me to write them featuring favorite characters. Like all good things, the entrances ran their course, and I went on to other projects. I was surprised to find that SeaU was actually saving them. I considered them writing exercises, but SeaU felt some of them were good enough to keep. She has asked my permission to put them up on her site, and here they are. Hope you enjoy them!

Stu Riley hurried across the NIMR campus. He was perilously close to being late. He really knew better than to travel all the way to Zuma to surf when he was scheduled for duty the same day, but a storm in the Pacific had kicked up some truly incredible waves, and Stu had spent the day surfing and swimming. He sighed as he picked up the pace. The Seaview was preparing for a trip and some crazy kind of secret weapon was rumored to be aboard. The Exec had called for guard duty all night long, and Stu had pulled the late night watch. Now as he ran to the ship, he dreaded the long boring night ahead. Given his thoughts, it was perhaps inevitable that on reaching the ship he would ask the duty officer, "Permission to become bored, Sir?"

Seaman Clark held the telegram he had received like a holy relic. He couldn't believe it! After all these years of hiding, of utter agony, he was going to achieve his fondest wish. No more pretending. No more longing. The Danish Institute had accepted his application. By this time next year, the operations would be over, and he would at last, finally, be a woman! His joy was indescribable as he trotted up the gangplank and blurted out "Permission to become a broad, sir!"

The Admiral climbed wearily into his bunk. On days like this, he felt every one of his near sixty years. First there had been that delusion of the Exec's. Unicorns, of all things! Then Sharkey started seeing Leprechauns. Pretty soon the entire crew was reporting fantasy creatures of all descriptions running loose through the ship. It had taken all day to track down the source, a leak of a rare gas used in certain experiments. Now as he lay there, a vision arose in front of him. A mermaid! Unsurpassingly lovely, with long blond hair floating gently around her. Although he knew it was a dream, he couldn't help but gasp as the mermaid's long delicate fingers, slowly, sensuously unbuttoned his shirt, and lightly stroking his chest as she whispered, "Permission to come aboard?"

Lt. Bob O'Brien heaved a sigh. As officer of the deck, his duty was to stand watch over the gangplank and keep track of the ship's crew as they returned from shore leave. It was almost 2300 hours, and crewmen were starting to straggle in. Looking up, he saw Lt. Cmdr. Morton, resplendent in dress whites, bearing down on him. 'UH-OH' he thought. Morton, the ship's XO did not look like a happy camper. As Morton stormed up the gangplank, O'Brien came to stiffer and stiffer attention. He saluted the approaching officer in his best Annapolis style. The Exec barely noticed and he returned the salute and saluted the colors. Before O'Brien could utter a word, the Exec snapped, "Has Sharkey reported in?" O'Brien responded, "No Sir, not yet." In a deadly tone, the XO said, "Have him escorted to my cabin when he shows up." O'Brien gulped, "Aye-aye, Sir!" as the XO disappeared through a hatch. "Escorted?" thought O'Brien, "Man, what did Sharkey do?" O'Brien sighed, then snapped back to attention as first Captain Crane, then Admiral Nelson returned, each looking angrier than the last. Finally he saw Chief Sharkey, weaving and laughing his way across the dock. "O'Brien thought, "Oh, yeah, he's dead meat." Sharkey was a sight. He'd obviously been fighting, and O'Brien was sure he smelled the booze before the Chief was halfway across the gangplank. O'Brien just shook his head as Sharkey grinned sloppily and slurred, "permisshun ta come aboard?"

Admiral Harriman Nelson collapsed into the chair at his desk. The horrifying events of the day had nearly broken him. In the last eight hours, 24 good men had died ugly, violent deaths. Another ten had cracked under the strain. including Capt. Lee Crane, who had become catatonic when he could not prevent the brutal bloody deaths of Cmdr. Chip Morton, and CPO Francis Sharkey. Nelson would weep later, but for now he had to come up with a plan, any plan to protect the Seaview and the tattered frightened remains of her crew. He dropped his weary head to the desk and closed his eyes as if he could banish the ugly sights from his mind's eye. As he sat, he sensed a...change. He lifted his eyes to find himself face to face with a benignly smiling dapper elf of a man. "Pem!!!" exploded the Admiral. "Hello, Admiral." Mr. Pem smiled benevolently, "Permission to come aboard?"

Pat Patterson stared hopelessly at the wooden door leading out of the tiny storeroom in which he had taken refuge. He was curled in a tight fetal ball, listening to the sound of his own whimpering. A sound that did not quite drown out the other sound...the sound of gnawing. In the small recesses of his terrified mind, he thought he should do something. He should warn the ship somehow. But all he could do was watch as his death slowly approached, gnawing through the door of the arctic research facility to which he had been delivering supplies. All of the others were already dead, absurdly struck down by the relentless foe. Nobody should die like this, but it was happening. The fluffy white paws dug to widen the small gnawed hole, soon the long pink ears, and the Peter Cottontail face would come through. Patterson wailed in fear. Would he never again see his ship? Would he never be able to say "Permission to come aboard?"

Lt. Cmdr. Charles 'Chip' Morton paused in the corridor outside the missile room. Leaning against a wall, he tried to get his breathing under control. The panic that had momentarily overtaken him was slowly fading, although when he went to wipe the sweat off his upper lip, he noticed that his hand was still shaking. When he finally regained some of his normal composure, he glanced back up the corridor, only then realizing that he had been avoiding looking that way for fear of what he might see. The corridor was empty. No mass of writhing gray. No screaming crewmen, falling as the monster sucked every drop of moisture from their bodies in a matter of moments. No fellow escapees. Morton stared at the mike across the way, deciding not to use it. If he was the only one left alive on board, he did not want to know it. He went to the missile room hatch and spun the wheel, then stood back suddenly unsure if he should open it. They had never discovered how the indescribable monster had been able to move so quickly through the sub, appearing in the mess room, then elsewhere despite closed and guarded hatches. A sound around the corner up the corridor decided for him and he quickly pulled the hatch open and stepped through. The large space was quiet, but reassuringly normal. Taking a deep breath, Morton went to the hoist controls to lower the minisub from its berth. Within ten minutes, the sub was prepped, and Morton had donned a wetsuit. The feelings of guilt mixed with the demands of survival as he took the final steps to desert his ship. A sudden sound behind him made him spin around only to find a haggard Admiral Nelson. Morton flushed with shame at the discovery of his treachery, but the Admiral simply said, "Chip, do I have your permission to come aboard?"

Admiral Harriman Nelson groaned in agony. Another crushing weight was thrown on top of him. He shifted about desperately, trying to relieve the strain on his arms and legs, trying to get room so his lungs would work... He had no clear memory of how he had come to this state, hog-tied and gagged in one of the Seaview's storage closets. His last clear memory was of striding down the corridor with his friend Captain Lee Crane. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to shift the new burden off to the side. When he had awakened in this closet, he had quickly identified the two bulky weights on his legs and back as Lee Crane and Will Jamison, the ship's doctor. It was odd that he could do that... identify two unconscious men bound and gagged even as he was, but his close relationship with them left no doubt in his mind who his fellow captives were. It was so hard to think!! Even without his cramped and awkward position, the lack of air in the small compartment made thinking a slow process. About an hour after he had first awakened, the steel door to the compartment swung open, and a fourth victim was tossed in like a sack of potatoes. Some subliminal clue told him it was Bob O'Brien. He worried that none of the others had regained consciousness. He had felt a warm stickiness on his back where Lee's head had lain, and grew still until he assured himself all of his fellow prisoners were breathing. He twisted his head painfully to the side and came rubbed his cheek against close-cropped hair. Chip. It was Chip Morton, the Seaview's Exec, breathing heavily. Not really expecting any response, Nelson nudged Morton hard. For a terrifying moment, Morton stopped breathing at all, then drew a deep shuddering breath, but gave no sign of waking up. Nelson resumed his struggle to escape the bodies that were slowly crushing him. With a suddenness that frightened him, the Seaview rolled and bucked. A loud boom echoed through the stuffy compartment. Nelson renewed his efforts, at last with the help of the boat's continued rocking, making it to the top of the pile. In the pitch black of the tiny compartment it was impossible for the increasingly weary admiral to be sure that his new gained position was not at the expense of any of the men trapped with him. And with his hands and feet tightly cuffed together in the middle of his back, there was not much he could do to help anyone anyway. He rested momentarily hoping to regain some strength, or come up with a way out of this hopeless situation. The Seaview had stopped her rolling, and Nelson pricked his ears at the sound of footsteps in the hallway beyond. Another groan escaped at the thought of another body, more weight. He fought his despair as the hatch was swung open. "Oh my God!! Chief, Ski!! I've found them!!" Admiral Nelson's eyes flung open as he recognized Patterson's voice. Gentle hands grabbed him and pulled him from his prison, and the next few minutes were a blur of sights and sounds as his rescuers worked to free his bindings. The time passed in a daze and when he finally was aware of his surroundings, he was lying in sickbay strapped to a backboard. Frowning he looked up to find the corpsman standing over him with a wry smile on his face he corpsman said, "Sir, there doesn't appear to be any permanent injury." The man worked at unstaring the Admiral, and with a sly smile spoke again, "Permission to take the board, Sir?"

The bright and sunny Santa Barbara day was in sharp contrast to the mood of black disaster that hung over the crew of the great research submarine, Seaview. The newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Robert Patrick O'Brien took no joy in his recent elevation to Executive Officer, and stood his watch as Officer of the Deck with little enthusiasm. A movement on the dock caught his eye, and O'Brien felt his mouth go dry as he recognized the angry figure headed his way. He snatched up the deck microphone, fumbling in his haste, and panic cracked his voice as he called the control room. "Mr. Mor---, I mean, Captain Morton!! Captain, I mean, Mr.---, I mean, uh, um, Lee Crane is coming this way!" "Crane? Well, handle it, Mr. O'Brien, I've got my hands full with the refit down here. You know what to do, just do it." "Uh, aye-aye, sir." Bob O'Brien just hoped he could maintain some kind of dignity in the rapidly approaching confrontation. Telling his former Captain, a man who O'Brien admired beyond all others, that he was no longer welcome on his own ship, was something that Bob had no desire to do. Crane had reached the gangplank, and O'Brien could read the determination and anger in every nuance of the former Captain's advance. Putting on his best game face, O'Brien blocked the way. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't allow you to board." "Out of my way, Bobby." O'Brien's blood turned to ice in his veins. When Lee Crane used that tone of voice, wise men stepped aside. Fighting the urge to swallow, O'Brien placed his hand on his sidearm and stood firm. "I'm sorry, sir, I have my orders." Crane's eyes narrowed, and he asked in a cold, tight voice, "Are you going to make me ask for permission to come aboard?"

Lt. Cmdr. Bob O'Brien struggled to maintain an impassive face. He hoped the shaking of his knees was not visible to the angry man standing less than three feet away on the gangplank that Bob was determined to block. Feeling like a hypnotized bird facing a snake, O'Brien said cautiously, "Sir, you know I would allow you to board if it was at all possible, but Admiral Nelson himself gave me the order." The angry man clenched his fists, and Bob wondered if he would actually have to defend himself. The angry man was Bob's disgraced former commander, Captain Lee Crane. Bob swallowed, wishing he were anywhere but on the Seaview at the moment. Just when Bob felt the tension could not get any worse, Capt. Crane glanced to the side. The young officer sensed rather heard the arrival at his side of Chip Morton, also newly promoted to the rank of commander. The ship's irascible owner, Admiral Harriman Nelson, had recently bullied Mr. Morton into accepting the captaincy of the Seaview. Bob smothered a sigh of relief as Morton stepped up and calmly said, "Hullo Lee." "Chip." "What are you doing here, Lee?" "I'm not in the mood for games, Chip. I want to see the Admiral, and I want to see him NOW." Captain Morton crossed his arms and cocked his head in a typically stubborn stance. "I'm sure you do, Lee, but it isn't going to happen here, and it isn't going to happen now. Look, you want to beard the lion in his den, that's your business. My business is running this ship. Now, you can leave under your own steam, or I will have you escorted. You are not going to get permission to come aboard."

Lee Crane froze in his tracks. He had successfully completed a difficult ONI courier mission, and was within a day of the rendezvous with the Seaview. He was posing as a hiker, crossing a small rocky Greek island. He had not run into any natives, and had begun to believe he had thrown off all pursuit, when he had caught a glimpse of a man moving furtively through the scrub not fifty feet away. His mouth went dry as he pulled the Luger from his pack. He was sure he had the man's location pinpointed, but the question was, was the man alone, or were there others? Try as he might, Lee could not sense any other movement. He could not wait around for the confrontation, so he moved in stealthily. With the gun foremost, he jumped out from the last outcropping of rock, startling the man resting there. 'Chip!! What the heck are you doing here!!' 'Geez, Lee you scared me to death! Put the gun down, will you?'

Putting aside the gun, Lee took in the disheveled appearance of his friend and asked, 'Chip, what happened? Are you okay?' 'Lee, it was the weirdest thing.

I was kidnapped.' 'Kidnapped? You?' 'I know, I know. Like I said, it was weird! Admiral Nelson and I were walking through Skiapos, the little village on the north end of the island? When all of a sudden, about a thousand guys jumped us. I figured they were after the Admiral, you know? But they were all grabbing at me! I did the best I could, but there were just too many. It was amazing, Lee! That village is not all that big, and half the crew had a half-day pass to explore it. When these guys jumped us, at least twenty-five, thirty of our guys came running. It was like the entire village was against us. We were all trying to protect the Admiral, and none of us, including me realized that I was the target until it was too late. They got a blanket over me, tossed me into the back of a truck, and took off. As far as I can tell, they never even tried for the Admiral. The last I saw of him, he was decking a guy twice his size.' 'So, what happened? Did they let you go?' Chip snorted, then said, 'No, they drove up into the hills, then slung me over a donkey or something and went another couple of hours. When they stopped, they shoved me into this hole in the ground, and left.' 'A hole in the ground?' 'Yeah, like one of those lava tubes we saw off of Maui last year. Very confining, lots of sharp edges, about twenty feet deep. I guess they figured I couldn't get out, but I did, after about eight hours of pure misery. I've been wandering around these hills ever since.'

'Geez, Chip, are you okay?' 'No. No, I am not. I am hungry. You got any food in that pack of yours?' Lee grinned. If there was one thing you could count on from Chip, it was that he was always had a healthy appetite. He opened his pack and pulled out two MRE field rations. Chip for his part wrinkled his nose. MRE's barely qualified as food to his mind, but under the circumstances, he had little choice, as he had been without food for more than a day. The two friends ate in companionable silence, Lee automatically handing over the dessert to his hungry buddy. Finishing up, they returned the trash to the daypack, and at Lee's direction, headed for the rocky beach where the rendezvous with the Seaview was to take place. After several hours hiking and scrambling over steep scrub-covered hills, the two men reached a high cliff overlooking a postage stamp-sized beach. Lee was aware of his friend's diminishing stamina, but pressed on, wanting to get down the cliff before the sun set. As it was, they reached the sand of the tiny cove by the light of a wash of stars covering the sky. After several hours spent rehashing old conversations, both men suddenly stood. Although it was too dark to see, both were almost psychically tuned to the presence of the big research submarine, and stood just before a signal light shone out across the water. Lee removed a flashlight from his pack and blinked an all clear, and shortly thereafter, the sound of an outboard motor could be heard over the lap of the waves on the beach. Lee held the flashlight as a guide, and soon a zodiac pontoon boat appeared out of the dark. As it hit the beach, a dark form leapt out. Chief Sharkey's voice floated out in the night. 'Man, oh man, Skipper! Am I glad to see you! We've got big time trouble!''I think I can solve your troubles, Chief!' Chip moved forward. 'Here I am, Chief.' There was dead silence for a moment, then Chief Sharkey let out a war whoop that could be heard all the way back at the Seaview. 'Mr. Morton!! And I thought I was glad to see the Captain! Are you all right, Sir? Oh man, I gotta call Mr. O'Brien. They wanted 3 million in ransom for you, Sir!! Admiral Nelson is supposed to deliver it tonight!' Chip blinked confusedly. '3 million? For me?'

Lee groaned, 'I can tell there will be no living with you now!' A slow grin grew on Chip's face. 'Tsk. Let's get back to the boat. Before your head swells up, just remember, if we can't stop the Admiral, that 3 million is going to come out of your paycheck!' 'Oh! Uh, let's get a move on, Chief!' 'Aye, Sir!' The three men boarded the zodiac, and headed out to sea. Chief Sharkey informed

Seaview by walkie-talkie that Cmdr. Morton was safe, and a reception committee including the ship's doctor, and Lt. O'Brien was waiting for them when they reached the boat. O'Brien gave Chip a hand up to the deck, all the while grinning hugely. With a small smile of his own, Chip asked, 'Permission to come aboard?'