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by Rosemary Alcott

Illustration by Ro Espe

Lee Crane stepped out of his car whistling a happy tune. Having completed shore arrangements, and packing and loading his duffel bag, he looked forward to an afternoon of preparation for a cruise to the Mariana Trench. It was about time he got out to sea again. The Captain of the Seaview could stand shore duty for only so long. And four weeks was just about as long as he cared to be dry-docked. By lunchtime tomorrow, he and the rest of the crew would be under- way, headed for a deep-sea research station to deliver supplies and personnel. A milk run, but Crane would use any excuse to take out the Seaview. As he crossed the parking lot of the Nelson Institute of Marine Research, he waved to other crewmembers
returning from lunch. He could tell in the jaunty strides and smiling faces that his people were just as glad to be going out as he was.

Lee entered the Institute, and headed for his office. As he rounded the bend into a long corridor, he spotted his longtime friend and second-in-command, Lt. Cmdr. Chip Morton coming toward him with his nose stuck in a magazine. Lee had almost called out when he recognized the dog-eared magazine for what it really was. A computer catalog! Oh, no. He thought, as he spun on his heel and headed back the other way.

"Hey, Lee! Wait up!"

Lee swore under his breath. Stifling a sigh, Lee turned back to his friend.

"Oh, hello, Chip. Have you got those duty rosters done?"

"What? The ...? Oh, those. No, not yet. I'll have them by 1600. No, I wanted to talk to you about something else."

At that moment, Lee resolved to go on the attack. If he could keep Morton off balance, he might escape yet.

"I really need those rosters, Chip. And I also want to go over the cargo manifest one more time. Has Sharkey reported in yet? I want to see how he intends to integrate those new crewmen. Oh, and I have a meeting with Admiral Nelson and Dr. Du in about ten minutes. And...."

Lee had been looking anywhere but at his Exec as he lobbed his verbal grenades, but finally glancing up, he caught the look Chip was giving him. For the umpteenth time he silently wondered, how does he DO that? Keep his face totally expressionless, and STILL convey that he knows exactly what I'm doing? Fine. BE that way. Trying to maintain a glare, Lee barked out, "Well?"

Morton looked his boss straight in the eye, and said icily, "Well. Captain, I will have the rosters and manifest ready for you in 30 minutes, Chief Sharkey reported in this morning, I'll have him report to you immediately. The Admiral and Dr. Du left for Long Beach about fifteen minutes ago, and will not be back until this evening ... Sir."

Damn, I hate it when he calls my bluff. "Very well. Carry on, Commander."

"Aye-aye, Sir." With that, Morton executed a perfect Annapolis salute, did an about face and marched off down the corridor.

Watching the stiff retreating back, Lee felt himself deflate. After all, Chip couldn't help being who he was. Shaking his head, he called out. "All right, okay, you win. We'll go to my office, you can tell me all about it."

Chip turned his head back and, all innocence, said, "You're sure?"

Shaking his head in disgust, Lee shot back, "Don't push it, Chip. I swear, you have a sixth sense for telling when I'm feeling good. You always come up with this crap when I need it least."

"Well, first off, Lee, it's not crap. Secondly, I've been working on this for at least three months, as you very well know, so it shouldn't be a surprise. Thirdly, well, thirdly, it's important. To me anyway, and I just don't understand why you won't support me."

"It's not a matter of support, Chip, it's a matter of what's doable."

"Lee, this is doable! I can make it work for twenty thousand dollars. Geez, you know the Admiral spends that much on test tubes and petri dishes each year, so you'd think..."

"The Admiral spends that much on tubes and dishes, because he uses that many tubes and dishes. You know the projections, you're the one that wrote them up. No, it just won't wash Chip. The budget is too tight this year. There just isn't any money for these computers of yours."

"Well, ya' know, if the budget is that tight, maybe, just maybe, the Admiral should cut back on the grant program."

A chill silence fell over the room. "Whoa, Chip," Lee Crane warned, "I understand your desire to push your project through, but your sarcasm is seriously out of line. You know Admiral Nelson considers that grant program close to his heart. When you suggested it three years ago, he thought you were crazy. Heck, we all thought you were crazy. But you were right. Spending a half million in grant money each year has reaped enormous benefits for the Institute in prestige. It's given the Admiral access to some of the brightest young minds in the country. And it's opened up the purse strings on grant purses that we didn't even know existed. You started it, but if you try to shut it down or even cut it back, I think the Admiral would have you on toast for breakfast. No, Chip, the grant program will not be touched just so your secretary can play Space Invaders on her break."

During this speech, Lee had watched his Exec retreat further and further into his protective shell, until by the end, his face could have been that of a mannequin. When he got this way, Lee couldn't tell what he was thinking or even if he was thinking. People tended to underestimate Chip Morton. He often looked blank-eyed and slow, as if the naval rank he carried was an accident. But those men who worked with him knew he was as sharp as a tack. His talents lay in organization and administration, and he was a good balance for Captain Crane's wild intuition and reckless courage, and for Admiral Nelson's scientific brilliance. But brains aside, he did have some awesome defense mechanisms. Right now these mechanisms were working overtime.

Lee immediately regretted his harshness. He knew in his heart that Chip was right. The
secretarial pool at the Institute used typewriters so ancient that when they broke down,
replacement parts actually had to be built in the machine shop. But he also knew that Admiral Nelson would pounce on any spare change that popped up in the budget for one or more of his pet projects. For all of his brilliance, the Admiral was remarkably blind to the day to day running costs of an internationally respected marine research facility. Given the choice between buying a box of paperclips and a petri dish, Nelson would take the petri dish every time, even if the reports on what was in that petri dish were scattered to the four winds for lack of a paperclip.

Two weeks ago, when Lee informed his boss that Chip was working on a proposal to replace all of the typewriters in the Institute with up-to-date personal computers, Nelson had seemed more bewildered than anything else.

"Why on Earth would he think we would need to spend that kind of money on glorified
typewriters?"

"Well, it seems he got a hold of a productivity study comparing word-processors and
typewriters, and he feels that..."

"It's totally out of the question." Nelson's voice had the flat ring of finality to it.

"Sir, I really think you should hear him out. He makes a good argument."

"Oh, no doubt. He always does," the Admiral stated. "You tell him to get his head out of the clouds and do something useful with his time, and forget about finding pointless ways to spend my money."

Lee had given the only reply that was available when the Admiral was in that mood, a quiet "Aye, Sir." But he also made an executive decision and rephrased Nelson's parting remark to a simple "Nelson said, 'no,' Chip." when he next saw the Exec.

Now as he sat across his desk from his friend, he wondered if he shouldn't have been more direct in transmitting the Admiral's attitude. The last thing he wanted was to be in conflict with the man just as they were leaving on a two-week cruise. The Seaview was the largest submarine in the world, but it could become absolutely claustrophobic when crewmates were at odds. And it wasn't concern only for himself either. Most of the control room crew had been with the Seaview long enough to have developed highly attuned sixth senses to the moods of their commanding officers. Chip would not have to say a word to create tension that could be cut with a knife. He had proved that one time when, in a whimsical mood, he had bet Lee he could make Seaman Riley stutter without ever saying a word. Lee had taken the bet; then watched in amazement as Morton had walked into the control room and by body language alone had caused the men first to sit up straighter, then tend their stations more and more tensely until finally Riley had blurted, "Uh, S-s-sir, uh, I think I m-maybe picking up something." Lee had shaken his head and handed over a twenty-dollar bill.

The crew deserved a nice easy cruise, and so did he, but it didn't look like it was going to happen. The silence between the two men stretched on. Lee sat, mentally battening down the hatches, until finally Chip sighed, and stood, "Well, thank you for taking some time for me, I'll send in Sharkey in."

"Very well." Lee sighed. He sat thinking of the many times that Morton had complained about being caught between 'the Irresistible Force and the Immovable Object' meaning the Admiral and the Captain. As much as Chip hated it, Lee hated being in the middle even more. In the midst of his musings, Chief Sharkey came bouncing in, full of good cheer and eager to talk about the two new crewmen. Lee set other considerations aside and got on with the business at hand. Throughout the afternoon, as Lee completed paperwork and visited the bridge of the ship to oversee final loading of cargo, he kept turning his mind back to the issue of Chip's computers. There just wasn't a way. Each year, things got a little tighter, money a little scarcer. There was a huge bureaucracy involved with even the most basic supplies. He went looking for his Exec at one point, determined to work things out, only to be told he was in conference with staff of the Institute's newly formed psychology department.

Now, there's a money pit right there. Admiral Nelson had read the monographs of a brilliant young psychologist named Brian Tollesen, and had used grant money to lure the man to the Institute. Lee Crane, like most men of action, had little tolerance for ivory tower types, and he could not see any reason for a shrink to set up shop at a marine research facility. The money it took to set the guy up could have bought a hundred computers and the software to run them. Not only that, but Tollesen was constantly waylaying Lee's people with requests for bodies to move furniture or, as was probably the case right now, using his officers to teach his staff how to fill out Institute paperwork. He had half a mind to go over and rescue his Executive Officer, but knowing how Nelson had gloated over winning this particular man's services, he decided to let it go. Besides, whatever else Chip was, he was a master at managing his time and services and Lee knew that his Exec would not let any of his real duties slide while helping Tollesen.

Later in the afternoon, Lee thought he might invite his friend to dinner, but again, the man was in conference, this time with the Institute's secretarial staff. He was probably giving them the bad news about the computers. That was a meeting Lee had no intention of interrupting. In fact, he was careful to make himself scarce for the next couple of hours until after the secretaries' quitting time.

When Lee finally called it a night at 10:00 p.m., he had not seen Morton since lunch. Instead of making the long weary drive home, Lee went over to the ship, intending to stay in his cabin. Lee loved nighttime on the Seaview. He could roam the corridors at will, and just listen to her in the quiet. As he slid down the ladder into the darkened control room, a gruff voice called out "Lee."

Lee turned to find Admiral Harriman Nelson standing there, hands on hip, "I thought you went home hours ago."

"No, Sir, I just finished up. I thought I'd spend the night on board."

"Ah. Well, come along to my cabin, and we'll have a pre-departure drink."

"Fine, Sir." When they had settled in the Admiral's cabin, with a glass of his private stock of fine whiskey in hand, Lee said, "I heard that you and Dr. Du went down to Long Beach this afternoon."

Surprisingly, the Admiral turned beet red, and got a sheepish look in his eye. Lee started,
thinking Nelson and Du? She was a beautiful woman, but hardly Nelson's type. She was at least twenty-five years younger, and Lee had heard through the grapevine she was into some very kinky sex. Lee personally gave her a wide berth. Nelson glanced up and saw the slow smile start on Lee's face. Exasperated, he said, "Belay that thought, Captain. It was not what you think!"

"Oh?"

"I mean it, Lee. We went down to check out a new medical supply house that Anh heard about. It was supposed to be a discount house, but when we got there, we found that the
supplies were discounted because they were substandard. A big disappointment. Anyway,
you're looking rather glum for a sailor who's leaving port tomorrow. Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"No, not really ... Well, it's just ... Well, I got into it with Chip this afternoon, and I shut him down pretty hard. I haven't had a chance to talk to him since, and I'd just rather get the air cleared before we sail."

Nelson sat toying with his glass, pensive eyes on the floor. "It's about this computer thing
isn't it?"

Surprised again, Lee blurted out "Yes! You know how stubborn he is. He's decided that we need these computers; and a simple thing like 'no' is not going to stop him. Has he been at you about it? I told him that this was going through channels or not at all. If he's been bothering you, let me know, and I'll teach him how hard I can be!"

"No, no, Lee, " the Admiral smiled at his Captain's vehemence. "Chip has not been 'at' me, although not for lack of trying. As a matter of fact, I heard he was heading full steam for my office today. That's why I cut and ran with Anh. Actually, he's being a little more devious than usual. He's enlisted Angie to his cause. The other day I found myself reading those productivity studies of his. Angie had slipped them in with a handful of grant proposals that I was going over.

"You know Lee, it's obvious he's right. He usually is about this sort of bureaucratic nonsense, but being right does not print money." Nelson sighed. "Tell him tomorrow that he can write up a proposal for next year's budget. I'll support it then."

Lee felt as if a weight had been lifted. "Thank you, Sir! I will! I guess it's going to be a good cruise after all."

Nelson snorted, "That's not why I'm doing it. The day that any of my officers can't set aside personal feelings and behave professionally is the day that I boot him off Seaview! And that goes for you and Chip Morton both!"

"Aye, Sir!" Lee said with an impudent grin. "I'll say goodnight then, Sir."

"Get out of my cabin, before I have you court-martialed for insolence!"

Lee threw a cocky salute, and went to his bed feeling better than he had all afternoon.

Like always, Lee slept like a baby in his mama Seaview's arms and woke eager to get underway. He showered and dressed quickly and headed up to the wardroom in search of
coffee. As usual, Cookie's strong brew fortified him for the day ahead. He went on to the
control room, to find the Exec already there, clipboard in hand, peering up the deck access ladder, checking off the names of returning crewmen.

When Chip noticed the Captain, he put a restraining hand on the arm of a newly arrived
crewman, and called out, "Morning, Skipper. You'll remember Electrician's Mate Barnes
from the interview?"

"Yes, of course. Welcome aboard Seaman Barnes. Get yourself settled in, and tell Chief
Sharkey to schedule an appointment with me, so we can get to know one another." With a
smile, Lee shook the hand of the man, who looked stunned at the attention. It was one of
the perks of the Seaview's somewhat nebulous status. The discipline was as rigid as any
Navy command, but the protocol was relaxed enough to let Captain Crane actually get to
know the men under his command without the filtering effect of a Chief of Boat.

"Mr. Morton, has everyone boarded?"

"Uhhh..." Chip paused, looking up the ladder. "Yes, Sir, they have." he said as Kowalski
hurried down the access.

"You're the last man on, Ski." The Exec cocked his head to one side and looked at the
senior rating expectantly.

"Aye, Sir. " Kowalski looked like he'd eaten a lemon, but there was no way around it. The Exec had inaugurated his "Last Man On" policy over a year earlier to insure that the crew reported on time. Simply put, the last man to board was assigned extra duty watches the first two days of the cruise, and at any other time the Exec felt it was warranted. Ski
particularly tried to avoid this duty because of his deep (and misguided) conviction that
the Exec had it in for him.

Captain Crane watched this by-play, then called out, "Let's get underway, Commander.
Set your details."

"Aye, Sir. " Picking up the intercom mike, Morton said, "Special Detail on deck,
Engineering prepare to answer bells."

Lee watched the preparation surreptitiously from his station at the chart table. Try as he
might, he could find no trace of anger or sullenness in the Exec's manner. In fact, Morton
looked just as eager for the job as everyone else. Crane watched the crew surrounding
him for any telltale signs of tension, but there were none. Instead of feeling relieved, Lee
felt a distinct uneasiness forming in the pit of his stomach. To all appearances, personal
computers were the farthest thing from the Exec's mind. Appearances, especially where
Chip Morton was concerned, could be deceiving.

Shaking himself, Crane came back to the business at hand. For the next several hours the
two men worked companionably side by side. By the end of the day watch the mighty
submarine was well on her way. On a couple of occasions, Nelson had joined them,
appearing to check up, but things were running smoothly, and the Admiral preferred to
spend his time with the scientists who were being escorted to the research station.

It was the long established habit of the two men to share the first watch, then Lee would
stay to cover the second watch and Chip would relieve him for the late night watch.
Neither man was willing to leave the control room for more than eight hours, and so it was a rare opportunity for the junior officers to get command for more than a few hours at a time while the senior officers did errands, attended briefings and otherwise handled
ship's business. It was therefore a bit of a surprise when at the end of the day watch
Captain Crane ordered "Mr. O'Brien, you have the con. Mr. Morton, come with me, we
need to talk."

Both officers called out "Aye, Sir", and Chip dutifully followed his Captain through the
hatch to the Captain's quarters. Entering his quarters, Lee said, "Have a seat, Chip."

Lee watched as his friend sat down, and casually crossed his legs, looking totally at
ease. Lee knew this was another of Chip's defense mechanisms. As relaxed as he
looked, he was in what Nelson privately referred to as the 'Protect the Family Jewels
Position'. To Lee, it was a dead giveaway that Chip was expecting to be figuratively kicked.

"Okay, Chip, let's get it over with."

"Over with, Skipper?"

"Now, don't get cute, you know what I'm talking about."

"Whatta ya mean, Lee?"

"Fine. Yesterday, when you left my office, you had just had a pet project shot down, yet
today, you're acting as if nothing happened. I know you, Chip. You're the most stubborn
submariner on the West Coast. You haven't just let this drop, so don't try to tell me that
you have."

"Well, first let me correct one thing. I am not stubborn, I am tenacious. There's a big
difference. If I were stubborn, I would still be kicking a dead, smelly horse. But as a
tenacious man, I know when I'm licked. And kicked, I might add. That was quite a visual
you gave me, Lee. Dorothy Adams playing video games. Might happen, when hell freezes over." Chip's secretary was older than any of the antiquated typewriters at the Institute. Chip confessed, "I pushed it so hard because I hate losing good people to the private sector just because of crappy equipment."

Lee stared at him in amazement, "You mean to tell me that you spent three months
researching this just because Rhonda quit?"

"You weren't listening, Lee, I said GOOD people, not pretty people." Chip replied with a
snort and a frown. "Anyway, I just figured it was time to cut my losses. I hate putting out to sea cranky. It makes everybody tense."

"You're up to something."

"No, not at all, Lee."

"Oh, yes you are. You've got some sneaky little plot to get those computers, and you
think you're not going to tell me what it is."

"You seem to have forgotten, Lee, you're the ONI agent, not me. I don't have a sneaky
bone in my body."

"Liar!"

An almost-smile crossed Chip's otherwise bland face. "If that will be all, Sir?" he said, as
he stood up.

"No, actually I wanted to let you know that Admiral Nelson has decided to include your
computers in next year's budget, so keep that proposal on file."

Chip stood there blinking. Finally he said, "Oh ... Okay ... With your permission...?"
He stood with his hand on the doorknob.

Damn, he is up to something. "I will find out, you know. Oh, all right, go on, get out of here!"

Over the next few days, it became obvious to Lee that whatever plot Chip was hatching,
it was not going to interfere with the smooth operation of the ship. Lee realized that it was unlikely that Chip would try anything while at sea anyway. The crew settled in to normal operations mode, alert but relaxed.

This was a crew that Lee was justly proud of. The men were competent in routine situations, steadfast and courageous when things got tough. The two new men, Barnes and Chen were integrating well under Chief Sharkey's tutelage. It was another of Morton's talents, sorting through the chaff of the hundreds of applicants for the rare crew job openings and finding those few men who would 'fit'. Lee and the Admiral only saw the applications of those few men. On the few occasions that Nelson had overridden Chip's recommendations, usually on a snap judgment, disaster had resulted. In the worst instance, an unstable man had gotten into a fight with an officer, distracting the sonar operator. Before anyone knew it, the Seaview was in the middle of a minefield and the resulting explosions killed several good men and sent the Seaview to the bottom. Lee's mind always shied away from that particularly painful episode.

Morton brought them in, Sharkey molded them into Seaview crewmen, and Crane led them through some of the most amazing hair-raising adventures in the annals of Naval history. The fact that, apart from painful, rare exceptions, he always brought his men safely home again, made him a beloved figure worthy of worship to his men. That was why he felt it was important to get to know each man on his crew. Typical military wisdom had it that commanders who knew their men intimately would be unable to commit those men to deadly battle. Lee's commitment to his people meant that he would protect their lives to the utmost. If a time came when those lives had to be spent, Captain Lee Crane would spend them without hesitation, but he would spend them as a miser would, knowing the true worth of each and every one.

At the end of the fourth day, the Seaview was approaching the Mariana Trench, a deep rift that split the ocean floor. In the morning, they would reach the undersea research station, and start off loading the supplies that would allow the station to survive another three months. At the end of his watch, Lee Crane stretched, formally turned command over to Chip Morton, and went to his quarters to get some well earned rest. He woke a few hours later to a subliminal impression that something was wrong. He lay in bed, communing with his ship. Were the engines laboring? With a slight frown, he sat up, just as the intercom came to life. "Captain Crane, this is Morton in the control room."

Lee was out of bed like a shot. "Mr. Morton, what's going on?"

"Uh, Sir, sorry to wake you. We seem to be having a problem. Could you come to the
control room?"

Lee felt his stomach knot. If it was something Morton couldn't handle alone, it was
something serious. "I'm on my way, Commander." Lee threw on the clothes he had
abandoned only hours ago and left his cabin on the run. In the corridor, he ran into
Admiral Nelson, as he had fully expected to. Nelson's instincts were just as sharp as
his own.

"Lee, what's happening?"

"I don't know, Chip just called me from the control room. He says we have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"He didn't say."

Full of apprehension, the two men double-timed it to the control room. When they arrived, to all outward appearances, nothing was wrong. Crewmen were going about their business in a calm purposeful manner. Then they saw the tension in the stiff necks and staring eyes of the nightshift officers. O'Brien was calling out steadily dropping speed figures, as he leaned over the planes-man's position helping the struggling seaman keep the ship in trim. Morton was on the intercom, saying he wanted those samples now, dammit, no excuses.

When he saw his superior officers, Chip came over, speaking in a low strained voice,
"We're losing way. The engine room's brought the ship up to flank speed, but it's no good, we're barely making ten knots. Lee, we're out over the Trench, over twenty thousand feet keel to bottom. I ordered ballast blown, but something is preventing the vents from opening. I've changed course back to the rim, but at the rate we're going, I can't be sure we're going to make it."

During this recitation of disaster, the ship had taken on a distinct list to starboard. Morton
barked out, "O'Brien, watch your trim."

Without looking up, O'Brien called out an exasperated "Aye, Sir!"

Nelson asked quietly, "What happened, Chip? When and how did it start?"

"A little over an hour ago, Sir," replied Chip, worriedly. "It was a subtle change at first,
almost like we had lost a bearing. When Damage Control couldn't find anything wrong, I
thought that it had to be something external. I checked out the observation window, but at
this depth, it's hard to tell if the murkiness is natural or not. I've got the missile room crew
working on getting water samples. Anyway at that point, I called Captain Crane to the control room."

Leading the way to the chart table, Lee asked, "Chip, where are we now? What's our
heading?"

Picking up a pencil, Morton indicated on the chart. "We're here. I didn't try anything fancy, just pulled a straight 180, heading is zero two eight. " He glanced at an instrument, and wincing slightly said, "At our current speed of seven knots, we'll reach the rim in about five hours ... that's if we don't drop below crush depth before then."

"Belay that, Commander," Lee said with some irritation. Damn, this is not good. "Okay, let's get a message out to the Institute. Chip, get the senior ratings up here. I want our best
people working on this. Mr. Taylor, relieve Mr. O'Brien. Mr. O'Brien, get down to the engine room and make absolutely sure this isn't an internal problem. Chip, I want Sharkey in the missile room supervising those samples. Admiral, shall I wake Dr. Du? Would she have some insight on this?"

"No, Lee, let her sleep. Until we have more facts about what we're facing, anything she could conclude would be sheerest speculation. Chip, have you been monitoring the water
temperature? It's seems a bit high for this depth."

"Yes, Sir. It's risen almost two degrees in the last hour."

"And we haven't decreased our depth in that time?"

"No, Sir. Actually our depth has increased from one thousand to twelve hundred feet in the same time."

"All right. Lee, if you need me, I'll be in the lab. Oh, and let me know as soon as those
samples are available." Nelson left the room before the two officers could respond.

Without a word, the two men set about the task of getting their ship to safety. In the next
tense hour, the ship dropped another thousand feet, and slowed to a crawling three knots.
The crew, knowing they might be facing a horrible death, went calmly about their jobs,
confident that the Admiral and Captain would pull yet another miracle out of their
considerable bag of tricks.

Lee questioned Chip and the rest of the control room watch trying to get a handle on what
was going on. The only conclusion he could come to was that it was something outside the ship, and it was beyond his experience. He reluctantly came to agree with Morton's
concerns about reaching the rim, so he had Chip pull detailed charts of the rim area. They
both pored over them, looking for a mount, ledge, or projection they could maneuver the
sub to. Lee finally pointed to a spot. "There, that's the best I can find."

Chip swallowed hard. "That's a full two hundred feet below crush depth, Lee."

"Yes, I know, but I don't see any other option. Do you?"

"What about here?"

"Yeah, that would be great, except we're below that depth already."

Startled, Chip swung his head around to the depth indicator. Lee watched the Exec turn
pale, and become very still. Finally, the man seemed to realize where he was. Glancing
around at the crew, he took a steadying breath, and looking Lee in the eye, said loudly
enough to include the entire control room, "What do you think, Lee?" This was a hidden
signal worked out between the two officers. It gave Lee a forum to explain the situation
and encourage the men.

"Well, it's true this mount is below crush..." Suddenly what Lee thought became moot, as
the deck lurched under his feet. The world spun as the deck tilted crazily first to starboard, then toward the stern. Lee held grimly on to the Chart Table, fending off charts and plotting tools. An incredible racket had started building from somewhere astern, and a wild instinct caused him to grab the mike and scream "ENGINE ROOM! ALL STOP! GET THOSE ENGINES SHUT DOWN!"

Looking desperately around, his eye stopped at the dive board. "Mr. Morton, the vents are all OPEN! Get them CLOSED! We're in an emergency blow situation! Planesman, correct the trim!" Lee pulled himself over to the helmsman position. "Wilder, we need to get control now!"

"I'm trying, Sir, but she's just not responding!"

Lee looked back to the dive board, and did a double-take when he saw no one there. He
pulled himself hand over hand against the boat's still wild gyrations. Reaching the dive
board, he attempted to start the orderly closing of the vents, but the overstressed panel
exploded in a shower of sparks sending shrapnel everywhere. Lee felt a pain so sharp in
his left hand that he came close to blacking out. Suddenly Kowalski's panicked voice cut
through the continuing racket.

"Skipper, I have surface contacts! We're coming up right under them!"

Lord in Heaven! "Sparks, warn those ships off! Helmsman, hard right rudder! Patterson,
call out our depth!" Lee gasped through the pain. Refusing to look at his injury for fear of
giving in to it, he instead looked around the control room. Loose items were still being
flung about, including at least two bodies. Several electrical panels were shorting out in
spectacular displays of sparks. At least one pipe was spurting seawater into the mix of
smoke and confusion. When he heard Patterson call out the ship's depth it sounded like
a death knell. Protecting his injured hand, Lee grabbed frantically for the mike. "ALL HANDS BRACE FOR COLLISION! ALL HANDS BRACE FOR CO..." Lee was cut off by the sickening sound of two hulls coming together. This time there was no holding on, he was thrown, hard, to the deck. The sounds of metal tearing filled the control room. From his position on the floor, looking up, Lee could see where several leaks had sprung. After what seemed like an eternity, the grinding sounds stopped.

Lt. James "Sparks" Smith's face came into view. "Sir? Sir, are you all right? Can I give you a hand up?" The thought of Sparks touching his injured hand brought Lee immediately out of the haze that had settled over him. "NO! I mean, no. Just get the damage control reports, and get a corpsman up here."

"Aye, Sir. Doc's on his way. We're on the surface and maintaining trim. Despite the collision, we don't seem to be in any danger of sinking. Sir, both Mr. Morton and Chief Sharkey are down. Everyone else seems okay, just shaken up. You just lie here and the Doc will be with you in a moment."

As Sparks' attention was drawn away by the needs of the situation, Lee Crane struggled to sit up. The movement accidentally jarred his hand, sending nauseating waves of pain
through him. He sat panting, trying desperately not to heave his guts out. By the time he
got his stomach marginally under control, Doctor Jamieson was there.

Taking a quick look, Doc called out, "Frank, you come over here, and take care of this. John, you deal with Sharkey. Sparks, I need a couple of these men as stretcher-bearers. I've got to get the Exec down to sickbay immediately!"

Lee tried to see around the table to where Chip was, but he couldn't see without moving, and the pain in his hand made any real movement impossible. He brought his attention back to the medic in front of him when he felt pressure on his arm. "Just relax, Sir. I'm taking your blood pressure. Then I'll check a few things out and give you a shot of painkiller. Do you hurt anywhere other than your hand, Sir? Did you hit your head?"

Lee focused on answering the questions and letting the man do his job. It was all he could
do to remain calm and not beg for the painkiller. Time seemed to stretch out as he waited
for the medic to satisfy himself that a painkiller would not do more damage than good. After an eternity, the corpsman lifted a hypodermic needle, flicked a finger against it to release air bubbles, squirted those bubbles out the tip and finally injected the captain. "That should take the edge off, Sir. Just give it a few minutes."

They were the longest minutes of Captain Lee Crane's life. At the end, he felt his muscles
relax. On the dreamy edge of consciousness, Lee still could not bring himself to look at his hand. Instead he peered intently at the corpsman's face as the man conducted an examination of the injured member. The medic, Frank Learner, was used to this kind of scrutiny and allowed no hints of the captain's condition to show on his face. By the time he completed his examination, Crane had slipped into a netherworld of almost-sleep. He was vaguely aware of the sounds and sights and movements around him, but he was unable to rouse himself to pay any attention.

Several hours later, the world came crashing back to him. Lee found himself staring up at the
underside of a bunk. Sickbay. His hand ached. Steeling himself, he took a quick glance, then a longer look at his left hand. It was still there. Swathed in bandages, attached to some sort of
traction device, but definitely still there. Closing his eyes, he said a silent prayer of thanks.

Opening his eyes again, he looked out into Sickbay. Things were quiet. A good sign, it meant
there weren't that many injured. An odd note was a series of straps hanging from the ceiling
near the main examination table. Frowning slightly, Lee stretched his neck trying to see Doc's office. He couldn't get out of here until the traction device was disconnected. Just as he opened his mouth to call out, he heard a querulous voice. "Doc?" It seemed to come from the next bunk over. Lee couldn't see the occupant because of wall dividers, and the voice was weak and unrecognizable.

Doc Jamieson came quickly enough though, and standing back a bit, glanced at Lee, and the
other occupant, and said "I see three out of four of you are awake. Oh, four out of four. Don't
you even try to speak! You couldn't if you tried, and trying could start you hemorrhaging!"
This speech was delivered pointedly to the bunk directly above Lee.

"Now, gentlemen, listen up. You are all here for the duration. I've got a visual reminder of my authority hanging here. If any of you attempt to do so much as to sit up without my express permission, I will place you in these restraints. Fight me, and I will use every drug in my arsenal to keep you sedated. You will leave this room when I release you and not one
moment sooner. I trust I have made myself clear. Now, I've asked Lt. O'Brien to come down
and give you all a briefing on the ship's condition. I will be watching you all during this
briefing and I will stop it immediately, if anyone of you becomes agitated."

The doctor then picked up a hypo. "This contains a nice, heavy sedative. I know you are all
wondering why the dramatics. Well, I'll tell you. Your current bunkmates are Admiral Nelson, Captain Crane, Cmdr. Morton, and Chief Sharkey ... Anybody feeling agitated?" he said, holding up the hypo.

There was a moment of dead silence. Then Lee heard Sharkey's plaintive voice wail, "But
who's driving?"

Just then Lt. O'Brien came in, looked coolly at the upper bunk cattycorner from the Captain's and asked, "You calling me incompetent, Chief?"

"Uh, no Sir, of course not, Sir. Sorry, Sir, I meant no offense. It's just that ... that ... Aww, for crying out loud, the whole senior staff?"

Lee called out, "That's enough, Chief. Bob, where do we stand? What kind of ship did we
hit? How many casualties?"

"Sir, actually we're in pretty good shape. What happened was, whatever it was that had
hold of us let go suddenly. If you remember, we were at flank speed already, and when we
cut loose it was like being shot from a huge rubber band, the engines raced wild, and
overheated. We barely got them shut down in time. Also, apparently the vents to the ballast
tanks were open all along, but the big whatever-it-was kept the water from pumping out.
When we got free, the vents blew out the water, and we rose over twenty-three hundred feet
in a little over ninety seconds. There was all sorts of minor damage all over the ship, and
there was a pressure break in frame forty-seven, but repair crews have been working hard
and we expect to be underway shortly.

"This ship we clobbered was a small cabin cruiser. Our superstructure was barely dented
but unfortunately the cruiser sank. Probably a good thing it did, Sir. It kinda looked like a
Yugo that met up with a SuperChief. The owner wasn't hurt, though. He got Sparks' warning
and was hightailing it out of the way in a zodiac. We didn't even have to take him on board.
He was part of a convoy of five other small boats on their way to the Philippines. I don't
know, the way they took off, I wonder if they weren't up to no good, drugs or something.
Anyway we forgot to exchange registrations and insurance cards, so if we're lucky, they
may not file a claim.

"As far a casualties go, Sir, I'd ...uh ...really rather Doctor Jamieson go over that with
you. Um, I need to get back up to the control room, Sir, but I promise I'll come down with
another briefing when Doc says you're ready."

Lee's stomach tightened into knots. He looked fearfully to Doc Jamieson, and saw his fears
confirmed on the doctor's saddened face. "Okay, Doc, let's have it."

"Captain, I am very sorry to report the deaths of Chief Wyatt and Electrician's Mate Barnes. Both died of injuries sustained in the initial accident." Doc slowly shook his head and continued quietly, "They were both dead before I ever got to them."

Doc sighed. "As far as the rest of the crew is concerned, I've got seven men on light duty. Another six with scrapes and bruises. You four are the only cases serious enough to warrant sickbay confinement."

Lee felt a helpless anger build. Toby Wyatt was one of the best engineers Lee had ever met.
He kept the Seaview running when others would have thrown up their hands. And Barnes. He hadn't even had the chance to meet with the man.

The stunned silence was broken when Admiral Nelson piped up, "Doctor, how badly am I injured, how quickly can I return to duty?"

"Well, as you can probably tell from the cast, you have a broken pelvis. I'm sorry, Sir, you're
going to be out of action for at least six, maybe eight weeks. When we get back to Santa Barbara, we'll be looking at putting some screws in your hip to stabilize it. Don't worry about those cuts on your forearms. They look messy, but the nerves and tendons are intact. I see no bar to your full recovery."

Doc looked next to the bunk above the Admiral. "Chief, relax. You broke four ribs. It probably hurts like hell right now, but you'll be up and around in a couple of days."

Cocking his head at the Captain, the doctor said, "Lee, your injury is pretty serious. You've
broken just about all of the bones in your hand. I saw you looking at it earlier, and you were
right to be concerned. I'm sorry, but I can't promise you that we can save it. You know I'll do
my best. I need you to help by not fighting me. I know you want to be up on deck in the control room, but that hand must remain totally immobilized."

Lee felt himself go white with shock. He hardly heard as the doctor recited the list of Morton's injuries. Lose his hand? It would mean the end of his career, of his life. He stared at the swathe of bandages. What would he do if he couldn't captain the Seaview? Lee felt as if he had been swallowed by a black pit. He lay there gasping like a drowning man. Doc noticed, and called to him "Lee? Lee, are you okay? Lee, just relax. Take slow, deep breaths. C'mon Skipper, don't do this. Frank! Frank, bring me that hypo marked LC., stat! Lee? John, get me one of those bags over there. Lee, I want you to take slow, deep breaths. Chip, you stay still, or I swear I'll strap you down! Lee? Lee, can you hear me? Slow, deep breaths, Lee! Lee, c'mon relax, you're going to be fine."

The doctor helped Crane breathe into a small bag. As his panic subsided, Lee was able to
slow his breathing to a near normal rate. Doc checked his pulse, and Lee felt the sting of a
hypodermic needle. It flooded a warmth throughout him that caused him to sigh and relax.
It was just too much. Lee Crane was a man who could face death with incredible courage,
but the prospect of being ... maimed. Of losing the life he loved, everything he had worked
for, over a stupid accident ... he just didn't want to deal with it. As his mind calmed, he
remembered a movie from his childhood that featured another ship's captain who had lost
his hand. As he slipped into sleep, in his mind's eye, he saw Captain Hook and the large
hook that gave him his name.

Some indeterminate time later, Lee woke to what felt like a California earthquake. As his mind cleared, he saw the 'earthquake' was being caused by two sets of legs at the edge of his bunk, knocking hard into the bunk, as the two men attached to the legs struggled with something above his head. As he watched, first one, then the other man climbed up on his bunk narrowly missing stepping on his good hand. He gradually became aware of the sounds of what sounded like hand-to-hand combat above him.

"Sir ... please ... stop ... ow! ... struggling! ... Johnny, grab his hand! Ouch! ... Darn it, Sir, knock it off! ... The Doctor ... made it ... very ... clear ... you weren't ... to move! ...It's your own fau...OUCH! ... Hah! We've got you now! ... Yeah, John, pull that one tight. No, no, not too tight, we don't wanna hurt him. Okay, that's it. There, Sir, that wasn't so bad, was it? No, don't try to answer, you heard what Doc Jamieson said, until your throat heals you can only hurt yourself by trying to talk. And you can forget that look, too. Until you're released, I'm impervious to it. If it makes you feel better, you can lie there thinking up ways to get back at us. Oops! It's probably a good thing neither John nor I can read lips. You just take it easy, Sir."

With that, both men hopped off Lee's bunk, and stood with hands on knees, panting, looking
at each other. The two were passing some pungent silent communications back and forth
as they fought to catch a breath. It was obvious that neither thought much of patients who
didn't follow doctor's orders. As they regained control of their breathing, they both noticed
Crane's quiet regard. As one, they straightened, and with cheerful grins, chorused "Morning,
Skipper!"; then walked away as if nothing had happened.

Lee heard the sounds of mutiny from Chief Sharkey's bunk. "You clowns got nothin' better
to do than harass a guy what just wants to do his job? Geez! And don't you think just because
he's officer an' gentleman you'll get away with it, 'cause if he don't get you, I will!"

"CHIEF, BELAY THAT!" Lee roared. "I hear anymore talk like that, and I'LL get YOU! You keep your mouth shut, and let these men do their jobs."

Lee then turned his attention to the upper bunk, "And as for you, COMMANDER, did you know that in their efforts to ASSIST you, both Frank AND John came within a hair of stepping on my HAND? Now, I am willing to let this incident pass, BUT if you so much as refuse a spoonful of JELLO, I will COME up there, and I WILL insure that if you ever do get your voice back, it will be in a SOPRANO REGISTER! GET ME, MISTER?" By the end of this diatribe, Lee's voice had risen to a hoarse shout and he was punctuating each word with solid smack to the underside of the upper bunk with his good hand.

He looked up to see Doc standing there with his arms crossed, quietly chuckling. "Oh, he got
the message all right. As did everyone else on this boat, and probably every fish within ten
miles. You do know how to get your point across! I very much doubt Chip will be giving me
trouble any time soon. Thank you ... I think. I want to take a look at that hand in a minute, but first let me check on Chip here."

With that, Doc's attention shifted to the upper bunk. "Commander, see this valve on your IV? One little half turn, and you sleep for ten, maybe twelve hours. Now, do you feel like co-operating? Good. I want you to open your mouth as wide as you can without straining. That's it, now keep it open ... Okay, just a bit longer ... Okay you can relax now. Are you having any trouble breathing? No? How's the leg feel? Any tingling, numbness? Well, we'll see about getting you into the whirlpool for some therapy. No, the restraints stay on. How's the headache? Any blurred vision, nausea? I'm not going to discuss it. I'm trying to keep you alive here, Chip. You may not appreciate it, but that blow to the throat could have easily killed you. As it is, the damaged tissues could start to swell, and if that happens, you could find yourself without a way to get air into your lungs. That headache ought to tell you all you need to about the concussion. You go running around, and I guarantee you will collapse . . . Please, I don't need any lessons on command structure from you. Your injuries are as severe as Lee's. You can't take over, and that's all there is to it. I need you to relax, and I need you to rest. I intend to have my way, Chip. Now, just close your eyes and go to sleep."

Doc stood back and watched the upper bunk for a few moments, then turned to Lee. "See
this, Lee? It's a valve, just like Chip's. You give me any grief, and you'll be asleep before
you know it."

"What did I do?"

"Oh, you can't kid me. If you weren't chained to the bed with that traction setup, you would
have tried to 'jump ship' just like Chip did."

"Not like Chip. I would have made it. Now, Doc, what's going on with my ship? Has Dr. Du
figured out what had a hold on us?"

"Right now, this is not 'your' ship, it's Lt. O'Brien's ship. Get that through your head. I have
declared you, Morton and the Admiral medically unfit for duty. The entire crew has been
advised, and Bob has promised to return any escapees, in chains if necessary. Anyway,
I'm having all three of you med-evacked out this afternoon. Now, don't you get crazy on
me. You don't have a choice if you want the best possible chance to save that hand. Neither
does Admiral Nelson. Morton could go either way, but if I send you home, he'll kill himself
trying to take your place." Doc sighed. "I hate those straps. They're uncomfortable and
humiliating. But Chip and you both have stronger senses of duty than of self-preservation.
For that matter, if Admiral Nelson weren't in that cast, I'd probably be fighting him too."

Doc Jamieson had been unwrapping the bandages on Lee's hand as he spoke, and then became quiet as the injuries were revealed. Lee still could not bring himself to look. Due to the doctor's medications, his hand ached in a distant sort of way, but sharp stabs of pain still occurred as the muscles occasionally twitched.

Lee was in a quandary. The situation was impossible. There was absolutely no way he could
leave the ship in these circumstances. It would be hard if Morton and Nelson were uninjured,
but with them both out of action, the ship was without a senior officer. O'Brien and Smith were good capable men, and Lee would have no qualms about leaving the ship in their hands for routine matters, but the bottom line was they were both inexperienced in crisis situations.
Until this thing, whatever it was, was identified, there was no telling if or when the Seaview
would be caught again. Doc was right about one thing. Lee Crane would ever and always
put the safety of the Seaview and her crew above his own welfare.

"Doc, what are my chances if I stay?"

"You're missing the point. You are not staying."

Lee's voice turned to steel, "That's not what I asked. I asked what my chances are if I do stay."

Doc paused in his examination, looked Lee in the eye, and shaking his head, said, "Your
chances range between 'slim' and 'fat' if we send you home today. They drop right on down
to zero if you stay. You WILL lose that hand, and maybe more if bloodclots form. My drug
cabinet was knocked over and we lost all of our anti-coagulants, so I'm not equipped for
heparin therapy. You could die, Lee."

"I'm prepared to take that chance."

Doc laughed without humor, "Why do I even try ... Look, Lee, you're going home. O'Brien and Sparks will bring the rest of us back safely. I'll tell you what. I'll let Chip stay as a consultant. I still have my secret weapon to use as a threat ... Lime Jello."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Lee couldn't help but chuckle. Chip Morton's near
pathological aversion to Jello was legendary. Lee's humor was short-lived though, as he
recognized Doc's diversionary tactic.

"Doc," Lee started, "You and I both know that Chip is not in any shape to act as a consultant.
If he can't talk, he'd be trying to run things by ... by passing notes, for Pete's sake. In any
real crisis, the Seaview would be on the bottom before he could make himself understood.
No. No, it's just no good. I can not, will not, leave my ship under these circumstances." Lee
took a deep, unsteady breath. "Amputate it."

"WHAT?"

"Cut my hand off. You said I'm going to lose it anyway. Cut the thing off and let me get back to work!"

Doc looked at his patient in angry bewilderment. "Do you actually think I could ...? You are unbelievable! Now get this straight. You and Admiral Nelson are leaving this afternoon.
Commander Morton will stay. Lt. O'Brien will undoubtedly do his best not to sink us, but if
something comes up, we will hope that Morton can write fast enough. That is the end of it,
Captain. I think it's best if you take a nap. When you wake up, you'll be in Santa Barbara,
so I'll say good-bye now." With that the doctor turned the valve on Lee's IV and walked
away. Lee called out angrily, but to no avail. Within minutes, he was asleep, dreaming
dreams of Peter Pan.

When Lee next awoke, it was to another earthquake. He cracked open his eyes with a strange
sense of deja-vu. Legs were knocking into his bunk, this time three sets. Lee called out groggily, "Chip, you better not be fighting again!"

Doc's muffled voice replied, "He's not. Okay, boys, on three. One ...Two ...Three." With that, Doc and his assistants swung the Exec's limp body, bedding and all, down from the bunk over to the examination table. Doc was working almost before Chip hit the table, inserting a too large instrument down his throat. Lee was shocked by his friend's pale, still appearance. John called out "I don't have a pulse!" Frank moved around the table, cutting off Lee's view. It rapidly became apparent that he was doing CPR compressions. Lee became aware of Sharkey's voice saying over and over, "c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

To his dismay, Lee felt himself slipping away. He struggled desperately to stay awake, to
see this through to the end. But the drugs in his system were too strong, and he gradually
felt his strength and consciousness ebb away.

Some hours later, Lee awoke again, this time to the half-light of nighttime on the Seaview.
He lay in his bunk, puzzled. Doc had said he was being shipped out, but here he was. He
sent a silent prayer, hoping that Morton was still alive. Lee had lost far too many friends
and comrades on this ship. It was the worst part of the job. He didn't even want to contemplate how losing Chip would affect him and the rest of the crew. He watched the upper bunk for any sign of movement, but there was none.

As he lay there, his hand started to throb, sending stronger and stronger messages of pain up
his arm until his entire body was rigid with agony. A low moan escaped his lips, bringing an
immediate response in the form of Doctor Jamieson. Doc checked his pulse, and eyes, and
quickly injected the captain with a painkiller. Within minutes, the pain drained away and Lee
was able to think again.

"Thanks, Doc." Lee said nodding his weary head.

"No problem, Skipper. Go back to sleep, now."

"Doc, why am I still here?"

The doctor eyed his patient, "You're still here because a storm blew up and canceled flight
operations all over this part of the Pacific. We knew it was coming, of course, but it hit a lot
faster than anyone expected. You can relax, you're all here for the duration."

Lee cocked his head, listening. "We're running submerged!"

"Oh, please, Lee!" Doc snorted, "Even I know you don't run on the surface in gale force winds! O'Brien submerged the boat several hours ago. You'll notice so far we haven't sunk."

"You said 'all'."

"All? ... All what?"

"You said 'all'. As in me and Admiral Nelson and Chip? Chip's okay?"

"Well, I wouldn't be much of a doctor if I couldn't handle a little thing like a respiratory arrest, now would I? He'll be fine. He's asleep, like you should be. Now just close your eyes and go to sleep."

Lee found that Doc's order was irresistible. Almost as soon as he closed his eyes, he drifted off to a blessedly dreamless sleep.

In the morning, Lee awoke to the now familiar sight of legs. He heard Frank's voice filtering down from the upper bunk. "C'mon, Sir, you gotta at least try. You know, if you don't eat, Doctor Jamieson will never let you out of here. You'll grow old and gray right here in this bunk! ... Naw, I'm serious, Sir, you've to start eating right away. I know it hurts, but it gets easier the more you do it. You heard Doc, if you don't eat, I'm supposed to wake the Skipper. You don't want me to do that, do you? ... I know that, Sir, but you should know I'm going to do whatever it takes to get you better. Doc says you need to eat, and I going to see to it that you do. If that means getting out the restraints again, I'll do it ... "

Lee listened to this with growing irritation. Deciding to help things along, he reached up
with his good hand and gave the bunk a hard whack.

"Wha...? Oh, good morning, Skipper! I'll be with you in just a moment. Mr. Morton, I'm
going to get the captain squared away, then we're going to get you fed, Okay?" From the
look on Frank's face, Lee guessed Chip's answer was less than friendly. Before he could
say anything, Frank looked at him mischievously and said. "Hey, Skipper, wanna go to
the head?"

Lee blinked, and realized the answer was yes, definitely yes! Frank barked short laugh and
said, "Thought so. Let me help you get up, Sir. Okay, Skipper, we're going to use this mobile
traction unit. See how it works? We unhook you from here and hook you up there. Wait,
wait ... first we need to get these tubes and things unhooked. No, let me do that, Sir ... Okay,
now I want you to sit up ... that's it. Yeah, swing your legs over the edge. I'm going to move
your hand over now ... Okay, let's take a moment here."

Lee sat on the edge of the bed, amazed at how shaky he felt. He had lost all enthusiasm
for getting up. He briefly considered asking for a bedpan, but he suspected that getting up
was Doc's idea. Frank, for all his humor and compassion, was absolutely relentless in
following Doc's orders. Lee knew he'd get no further than Chip had with the man.

"Okay, Sir, I want you to hold on to the pole here with your right hand, lean your weight
forward, and stand up. Don't worry, I'm right here, you won't fall. Good job, Sir! Okay, now,
what you do is you push the pole along with your right hand ... that's it ... Okay, you gotta
watch your feet, you don't want to kick it... See, you're getting the hang of it already ...Okay
Sir, let me help you out, here."

Lee worked hard at ignoring the humiliation of his situation. Frank's matter of fact manner
made things easier, and soon the captain found himself shuffling back to his bed.

"Okay, Skipper, just lean here, while I get this stuff cleared away." Lee leaned against a bunk, and turning his head, found himself twelve inches from the flat, incurious stare of Chip Morton. Oh, man. You look half dead. "Geez, Chip, you look awful! You should try holding on when the ship is moving!" Lee was rewarded with a faint smile, before the Exec wearily closed his eyes. Lee wanted to reach out and touch his friend, to do something to make things better for him, but Chip was already asleep.

Lee thought suddenly of the Admiral. He swung around, and would have fallen if Frank had not reached out a hand to steady him. "Whoa, Skipper, what are you doing?"

"I want to see Admiral Nelson."

"The Admiral's still asleep, there's nothing to see. C'mon now, let's get you back in bed
and then I'll go get you some breakfast."

Lee was heartily grateful to be able to rest in his bunk. Within in a few minutes, Frank
returned with a breakfast tray. Lee was pleased that the man did not try to feed him, but
instead left him alone, and went to get another breakfast, this one for Chief Sharkey. From
the low tone of the voices, Lee knew Sharkey was grilling Frank on his superior officers'
conditions. As Lee finished the breakfast, Frank appeared to take away the tray. Lee watched
as he threw worried glances toward the upper bunk. It was obvious that he did not relish
the coming job of getting Morton to eat.

"Frank, why are you pushing this eating thing? It's pretty clear that he doesn't want to eat,
and I can tell you from experience, Mr. Morton is very stubborn."

"Yeah, I know, Sir. Believe me, Skipper, if I had a choice, I wouldn't even try. But Doctor
Jamieson says his throat isn't really as bad as it looks, and he wants him eating as soon
as possible. I think it's the combination of the concussion and the sore throat that's making
him so miserable. Mr. Morton will probably feel a lot better once he starts eating." Frank's
expression and tone were dubious.

"Well, just don't try to feed him Jello."

"Yeah, I found that out the hard way last year when he had that virus. Not an experience I
intend to repeat ... If I can just get some broth or something down him ... Well, I'd better
get started. Oh, by the way, Doctor Jamieson is going to do an exam of your hand in a little
while, so don't get too comfortable."

Frank disappeared for a few minutes, then reappeared with a mug of something. He woke up
the Exec and again tried to convince the ailing man to eat. Frank's voice droned on, alternately cajoling and demanding, but with no apparent success. After about fifteen minutes, Doctor Jamieson appeared, and stood back, quietly watching Frank's attempts. Doc's face took on a worried frown. Lee got the sense that Chip wasn't so much fighting Frank as just ignoring him. The doctor glanced at Lee, and realizing that he was being watched, said, "Okay, Frank, that's enough for now. Why don't you go check up on Seaman Hodak. He didn't report in this morning, and I want that dressing changed."

As Frank left, Doc stepped up to the bunk and asked, "Chip, how are you feeling? Is your head hurting? Chip?" The doctor stepped back, and staring thoughtfully at his patient, came to a decision. He went to his desk, and picking up a clipboard, made a short notation. As he turned and came back to Lee's side, the concern on his face smoothed over, and he presented a professional mask to the captain. "Let's take a look at that hand."

Lee asked quietly, "Chip's getting worse, isn't he?"

"No, not at all. I just need to get the medications adjusted. He always throws me a couple
of curves when he's sick or injured. He'll be back to his lovable, stubborn self by this
afternoon. You know, I think your hand is looking better. I think I'll have John come set up
another x-ray. Have you eaten? Oh. Well, if the x-ray shows what I think it will, we'll have
you skip lunch, then I'll do the first surgical procedure late this afternoon." Doc smiled like
a man who had been without good news for too long. "This may work out, Lee. We may not
have to nickname you 'the Claw' after all!" Doc winked, then left to arrange the x-ray.

Doc's words left Lee giddy with relief. His ship was under threat, his two best friends were badly injured, and people under his command had died, but Lee felt as if the clouds had parted. He no longer felt like a helpless victim with no control over his fate. He knew now that he could get through this. He could get his friends and his ship through, too. As he rested in his bunk, Lee Crane found he was slightly surprised at how depressed he had been. With a self mocking laugh, he settled down and allowed himself to drift off.

This time when Lee Crane woke up, he felt as if his eyelids had been glued together. His
mouth tasted like old gym socks, and he felt just plain cranky. John was gently shaking
him and telling him that he was ready to do the x-ray. Lee didn't want to move, let alone
get up, but then John brought forward a device that looked like a large flower press with
heavy cables trailing from it. John explained that it was an experimental x-ray machine
developed at the Institute. Originally intended for use on coral beds, it was perfect for taking
x-rays of hands and feet without having to move the patient. The explanation was of little
comfort to the testy captain who silently watched the procedure with a stormy frown on his
face. When John finished the job, and carried the machine away, Lee noticed that there
had been an audience in the form of Chief Francis Sharkey who was sitting on the
examination table, fully dressed. "What are you doing out of bed, Chief?"

"I've been sprung, Sir!" grinned Sharkey. "The Doc is returning me to duty. Well, light duty
anyway. I guess he figures he has his hands full with you three. Don't worry, Sir, I'll keep
an eye on things for you!"

Sharkey's obvious good spirits crystallized Lee's irritation. "What do you mean 'keep an eye on things'? Are you calling Mr. O'Brien incompetent again?"

Lee felt instantly ashamed of himself as the Chief's face fell. Before he could apologize,
the Admiral's voice called out, "Lee, take your own advice and shut up and let Chief Sharkey
get on with his job."

Sharkey beamed. "Admiral, you're awake! How are you feeling, Sir?"

"I've felt better, Chief. Now, why don't you go back to duty, and take your healthy body out of the sight of your poor disabled shipmates?"

Sharkey grinned and standing said, "Aye, Sir." Before he could leave, his attention was
distracted by a movement from Cmdr. Morton's bunk. "Sir? Oh, you want I should come over
there?" Sharkey approached the bunk warily, as if unsure of the Exec's intentions. "What?
You want ...? Oh, you want that portable computer gadget. Do you think that's such a good
idea, Sir? No, no, I didn't mean it that way, Sir! I'll go get it, just as soon as I clear it with
Doc Jamieson."

A hand shot out from the upper bunk and grabbed the front of Chief Sharkey's shirt. Lee sighed. Chip had been involved in computer product development for the Navy for years, and the most recent prototype, a 'laptop' computer was his current project. "Chief, just go get the
computer. He just wants it so he can communicate. I'll take responsibility with the doctor."

"Oh! Oh, sure, I'll go get it right away! Where is it, Sir? In the ...? Oh, the briefcase, and
it's next to your desk? Okay, I'll be back in a jiffy!" Sharkey left at a trot, looking relieved
to be getting out of the sight of so much brass.

"Lee?" the Admiral called. "Lee, have we discovered what happened?"

"I don't know, Sir. The Doc is giving me the mushroom treatment, keeping me in the dark."

"We've got to get answers! Until we identify this thing, any ship in the area could be at risk.
I need to talk to Anh. I want to see the test results on those water samples."

"Aye, Sir. 'Warden' Jamieson isn't likely to allow it, but I'll see if I can get Sharkey to get a
message to Dr. Du."

The corridor door opened, and Chief Sharkey cautiously stuck his head in, and determining
that the coast was clear, entered carrying a large apparently heavy briefcase. He crossed
the room and heaved the case up onto the Exec's bunk. "What have you got in there Sir,
lead rocks?" Sharkey stood there holding his side, shaking his head at what he clearly
perceived as yet another mysterious eccentricity of a senior officer.

Lee smiled. He liked Sharkey a lot. The man was down to earth, relentlessly good-natured,
and as good a CPO as the Navy had ever produced. "Chief, I've got one more little job for
you. I want you to find Dr. Du, and tell her that the Admiral is awake and needs to see her."

"Okay, Skipper. I'll see you later." Sharkey turned to find himself face to frowning face with
Doctor Jamieson.

"Francis, what are you still doing here?"

Looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Sharkey said, "Oh, hi Doc! I was just visiting. You know, making sure everybody's okay. Uh, I have to get up to the control room now. 'Bye."

"Not so fast, Chief," Doc glared. "What's been going on? What have they got you doing?"

Sharkey's eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape route. "Nothing, Doc, honest!"

Lee rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Doc brought out his big guns, saying, "Francis, these
men are very, very ill. I know you wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone's death, so
just tell me what is going on." It was dirty pool, but it worked, as Lee had known it would.

Sharkey's eyes went wide. "Geez, Doc, could he really die? I mean ... Look, Sir, all I did was bring Mr. Morton his computer thingy. The skipper said he could communicate with it. I didn't think it would do any harm." The Chief glanced nervously at Morton's bunk. "I'll take it away from him right now if you say so, Sir."

Lee almost laughed out loud. I'd like to see you try. And in fact, Chief Sharkey's expression
was almost comical in its anxiety. In the meantime, Doc's annoyance was plain as he looked
at the upper bunk. Lee heard some strange clinks and thuds, and then the unmistakable sound of a keyboard being tapped. Doc came closer to read Chip's computer screen.

Doc looked skeptically and said, "Yes, I can see that. What else can you do with that thing?"

Tap, tap, tap.

"Oh, who do you think you're kidding? You've been using it for everything."

Tap, tap, tappity tap, tap.

"Hmmm." Doc was plainly suspicious.

"What's he saying, Doc?" Lee asked, curiously.

"Well, he's trying to tell me that without his modem he can't access any of his programs. If I knew more about computers ..."

"Oh, c'mon Doc, what can it hurt? Let him keep it."

Doc stood, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, the very picture of calculation. He let out a long suffering sigh, "Okay, you can keep it. But only on one condition. I want you to start eating ... Well?"

Lee was surprised at how long it took Chip to acquiesce. But in the end, he did. Chief Sharkey had been quietly trying to make his escape while the doctor's attention had been distracted, but an injudicious movement caught Doc's eye.

"Francis, stop right there! I want to know what else these characters have you doing?"

Lee's shoulders slumped. He had hoped the Chief would escape before Doc found out about his message, but Sharkey was pinned to the wall by the doctor's scowl. "Nothing Doc. Oh, I was just gonna take a message to Dr. Du, that's all. Really."

"What was the message, Chief?"

"Oh ... Ah ... I was just supposed to tell her that the Admiral was awake, and wanted to see her."

"All right, Francis, get out of here. And you can consider Sickbay off limits, unless I specifically order you here. Got it?"

"Yessir, got it!" Sharkey was quick to make his escape.

Doc turned to look at Admiral Nelson with barely concealed disgust. "You know, I expect this kind of thing from those two, but I had hoped you would have more sense. You need to rest, Sir. There is nothing you can do about our current situation, and Dr. Du has a lot on her mind. In a couple of days, I'll bring her down here myself, but for now, I want you to rest and let your body heal."

Doc walked away shaking his head. Lee heard Chip tapping on his keyboard. Over the edge of the upper bunk, the laptop's screen appeared.

THANKS LEE.

"Don't mention it. How are you feeling?"

I'D FEEL BETTER IF I KNEW WHAT WAS GOING ON.

"You and me both, pal! Admiral, are you still awake?"

"Yes, Lee."

"Any ideas on how to find out what's going on?"

After a long pause, Nelson replied, "No, no I don't. And I'm not sure that Doc isn't right. The
last thing I want to do is jeopardize my recovery. This blasted cast is already driving me
insane, and I am not interested in staying in it for one moment longer than absolutely necessary. And I don't want either of you to push it. The stakes here are our lives, gentlemen. Let's just settle down and let the doctor take care of us."

Lee was dismayed by the Admiral's defeated attitude. He knew that Nelson would have to
be in considerable pain to lose his fighting spirit, and Lee felt at a loss to do anything about it. He heard clicking above his head, and shortly thereafter, the laptop screen appeared again.

I CONSIDER IT MY SACRED DUTY TO ESCAPE THIS VILE PRISON.

No sooner had Lee read the message than the screen changed to show a round yellow
smiley-face, which in turn changed into the same round face, this time sporting a pirate's
bandanna, earring, and eyepatch, with a cutlass gripped in its little teeth. Lee chuckled.
Leave it to Chip.

"It's a good thought, Chip, but the Admiral is right about pushing it. You couldn't breath the
other night, and it was just a bit too scary for my taste. I think you better just take it easy.
As long as the ship is okay, we can afford to rest. If things go wrong, then we'll both take
off. Okay?"

l WAS TALKING ABOUT ESCAPING IN SPIRIT. I TOLD DOC I COULDN'T ACCESS
PROGRAMS WITHOUT MY MODEM. I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT I HAVE MY
MODEM, AND MY BRAND NEW SATELLITE UPLINK. IF I CAN GET IT UP, I CAN
ACCESS ANH'S REPORTS OUT OF THE MAIN COMPUTER AT THE INSTITUTE.

"I knew there was a reason to keep you around! Do what you can. Admiral, Chip says he
can get Dr. Du's reports out of the computer!"

Lee was disappointed that there was no answer. Nelson had apparently fallen asleep. Lee
settled back, listening to the hypnotic sound of Chip's tapping. After a while, he drifted off
to sleep.

Lee was startled awake some time later by Admiral Nelson's voice, loudly saying "Frank,
you've come just in time! Could you get me some water?"

Lee heard furtive sounds from above as Chip frantically worked to shut down the laptop.
Looking out into sickbay, he saw Frank Learner standing, obviously torn between complying
with the admiral's request, and catching Chip out. He appeared to realize that he wouldn't
be able to sneak up on Morton as long as Nelson was awake, so he turned to get the water.
Lee smiled. Nelson was obviously feeling well enough to join their little conspiracy. After
Frank had given the Admiral his water, he left the room in defeated frustration. In a few
moments, Lee heard the tapping begin again over his head. Lee frowned. How long had he
been asleep, anyway? When Chip was on the computer, he tended to lose track of time. Lee
did not want his friend to push himself too hard. There would be plenty of time for that if the
ship got into trouble. He opened his mouth to say something, when the Admiral's voice called out.

"Chip, that's enough now. Put the computer away, and get some sleep."

When the tapping continued, Lee smacked the upper bunk and ordered, "That wasn't a
request, Mister. Shut it down. Now."

The tempo of the tapping increased rapidly for a few moments, and then fell silent. After a
moment, Chip's blond head appeared over the edge of the bunk. He wiggled his eyebrows
at the Captain then looked around sickbay. The coast was apparently clear, because suddenly
the Exec hopped down from his bunk landing carefully on one leg. He motioned to Lee to
move his feet, and curious, the Captain carefully pulled himself into a sitting position. Chip
reached up into his bunk, and picking up the laptop, settled himself gingerly at the foot of
Lee's bunk. Dressed only in Navy reg white tee shirt, shorts and sweatsocks, Chip carefully
pulled himself into a cross legged position. Lee saw that his friend's body was a patchwork
of bruises. One bruise covered most of his leg from the knee up, and Lee saw Chip wince
as he attempted to make the muscles work the way they should. Once he was settled,
Morton opened up the laptop, and with utter concentration, tapped out a few commands.
Lee was torn between curiosity and concern for his friend's exhausted appearance. A few
more key strokes, and Chip's face lit up in a triumphant grin. He turned the monitor to show
the Captain, and Lee laughed with delight to see that his friend had done exactly what he
said he'd do. Dr. Du's preliminary report was on the screen.

Lee's pleasure faded rapidly as he realized he didn't understand one word out of ten of the
highly technical account. He looked up at his friend, "Do you understand any of this?" The
Exec just shrugged. "Admiral? Are you still awake?"

"Yes, Lee."

"Well, Chip's got some light bedtime reading for you. Chip, can you print this out?"

Chip quickly nodded, then winced as if regretting the hasty movement. He looked out into
sickbay, then carefully unfolding himself, stood and grabbed his briefcase. He let it drop
onto Lee's bunk, and Lee could tell from the way it settled that it was very heavy. "Was
Sharkey right? ARE you carrying lead rocks? I guess 'portable' must be a relative term!"

Chip grinned, and with a flourish, opened the case. The interior of the case was filled with
shockproof foam compartments. From one compartment, Chip extracted what looked like a
miniature printer, from a side pocket, he pulled several sheets of coated paper. He plugged
the printer into a battery pack, attached a cable leading to the laptop, tapped a few commands
and sat back as the printer started a nearly inaudible chatter. Lee stared in amazement at
his friend, who sat watching the little printer, like a proud father at a child's first recital.

"Chip when did you get this printer thing? You never showed me this." For a couple of minutes, the two men sat in total accord, mesmerized by the wonders of technology. "Oh, I want one of these. Admiral, you should see this! Chip, can you get me into the testing program?"

Looking extremely smug, Morton smiled, pointed to his throat and threw up his hands.

"Don't give me that! How much does this kind of setup cost? Oh." Lee looked longingly at the technological marvel. The Navy brass sometimes seemed oblivious to the cost to the
technology they sent to NIMR for testing. Personal computers were just becoming available
to the general public, but this kind of hardware would be out of the price range of any but the
wealthiest for a long time to come. Chip, who was one of the most level headed, responsible
people Lee knew, had a real Achilles' Heel when it came to computers. He seemed to lust
after them in a way totally at odds with his normally calm, cool personality. The little printer
finally stopped it's chattering, and neatly ejected several sheets of closely printed type.

"Well, go ahead, Chip, give it to the Admiral." As Chip stood up, he swayed slightly, and
Lee grew alarmed as he realized that his friend was reaching the end of his stamina. Chip
delivered the papers, and returning, looked at his bed, before sitting heavily at the foot of
Lee's bunk. He sat for a moment, then wearily began disassembling the computer
components. Lee helped silently.

"You're not going to be able to make back up, are you?"

Chip sat forlornly staring at the still hanging restraint straps. He sighed heavily, then turned
his tired gaze to Lee. Now that the elation of his success had worn off, Lee could see the
underlying fatigue and pain. "I don't know, Chip. Maybe the Admiral and I can talk Doc out of using them."

Chip shot his Captain a look of pure skepticism. Lee laughed and said, "Well, you might as
well face the music now. Admiral? I've to call Frank. Chip's ready to fall over, and he can't
get up into his bunk. I think you better hide that report."

"All right, Lee, go ahead and call."

Lee raised his voice, "Frank? Frank, could you come here please?"

There was an immediate response, but to Lee and Chip's dismay, it was Doc Jamieson who
appeared.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Lee saw Chip start to bridle at Doc's tone, so he said quickly, "It's my fault, Doc. I asked
him to come down because I had to talk to him."

"That's baloney. Sir." Doc looked at the two officers in disgust. "Well, never mind for now.
John? Come here and help me get Mr. Morton back to bed." John trotted over, surprised
to find the Exec sitting there, and with the doctor's help, boosted the man back into the
upper bunk.

Doc looked at his wayward patient, and with compassion said, "You're regretting your little
stunt now, aren't you? Well, let's get an IV hooked up. No. No sedatives, just something to
ease the pain. Relax, Chip, no restraints. Not this time anyway. Consider it a freebie. But I
don't want you doing this again. I'll tell you what. I'm going to remove temptation. I'm going
to put that computer away for you. No, I'll be very careful. Calm down, nobody's going to
touch it. You can have it back tomorrow, if you're doing better. Now just lie back and close
your eyes. I'm going to go get that IV."

Doc Jamieson picked up the briefcase from Lee's bunk, and frowning at the weight, walked
away. He returned almost immediately with a bag of some clear substance and an IV kit, and
quickly and efficiently set it up. He stood back satisfied, then looked at Lee in anger. "You
should have stopped him," Doc said, and then walked away. Doc's words had the desired
effect. Lee's guilt clarified into a resolve to keep his friend safe. He would make Chip's
welfare his own personal crusade.

Lee soon found himself bored. He had an overwhelming need to know what was happening.
He called out, "Admiral? Have you made any sense of that report yet?"

Admiral Nelson responded gruffly, "NO! Lee, this isn't like some romance novel. It's going
to take me hours to digest this information. Now, I suggest you just lie back, and take a nap.
I'll let you know when I'm ready to discuss it."

Lee sighed, plucking at his blanket. He wanted to tell the Admiral that he didn't feel like
sleeping, but realizing how childish it would sound, he kept silent. He tried laying still, but
sleep would not come. After an hour, he had had enough!

"Frank? Frank, are you there?" called Lee.

John appeared, "Frank's off-duty, Sir. Can I help you?"

"No ...Yes ...Yes, I want to go to the head"

"Okay, Sir, just let me get the mobile unit ... All right, Sir. Move your legs over the edge, please. Let me transfer your hand, Sir. You can stand up now, Captain. Frank showed you how to move? Good. All right, Sir. Let's move this way."

Lee had watched carefully as his hand was transferred. The actual operation seemed simple
enough, and he figured he could just manage to do it himself. Shuffling to the bathroom,
Lee practiced moving the cumbersome traction unit as silently as possible. John Warner,
a taciturn man, helped him, then stood back and let the Captain make his own way back to
bed. Better and better! The shakiness he had felt before was gone, and he almost could
convince himself that he would make his escape. Glancing at the upper bunk, he saw that
Chip was asleep. When he looked toward Admiral Nelson, his heart almost stopped. The
Admiral was watching him with a look that said he knew exactly what Lee was up to, and
that he didn't approve. Lee smiled reassuringly at the man, then carefully sat down. When
John came over to transfer his hand, Lee waved him off, and attempted the procedure
himself. As John hovered nearby, Lee disconnected his hand from the traction unit, and
moved it carefully to the other stationary one. Unfortunately, he moved too quickly and
knocked his hand against the pole. Although it seemed like barely a tap, Lee's entire arm
exploded in agony. Almost before the pain started, John was there cradling the injured
hand, setting into the traction device, and calling for the doctor.

"What? What happened, John?"

"Sir, the Captain knocked his hand."

"Lee? Lee, let me see ... Okay, you tore some stitches here. I'll tell you what, instead of a
painkiller, we'll just start you on a local anesthetic. I want to get that hand rebuilt. John, let's
get the Captain over to the operating theater."

Doc's 'operating theater' was at the far end of Sickbay, and Lee felt as if the walk was interminable, even with John and the Doctor taking most of his weight. The pain was so intense that Lee wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball. Once on the operating table, Doc injected Lee with something that numbed his arm almost immediately. Another IV and Lee was drifting away. He was aware of pressure on his hand, and Doc talking to someone, but none of it mattered until he heard Doc call his name. "Lee, it's time to wake up now, the operation is all over, wake up."

Lee came back to himself, and was mildly surprised to find himself back in his bunk. Doc
was leaning over him with a smile on his face. "You're awake? Good. I was very encouraged
by what I was able to achieve today. I think we stand a decent chance at a full recovery.
Now, that doesn't mean you can go turning any handsprings today, but I think I may be able
to release you from confinement tomorrow. No duty yet, but we'll let you get back to your
cabin. Here, take a look at this ..."

Doc lifted Lee's hand in its splint so that the Captain could see. Lee felt his stomach churn.
His poor hand was twice its normal size, and ugly black stitches ran from his wrist to the
base of his fingers. All five digits were in aluminum splints, and the whole hand was a nasty
purple black color. Doc was droning on about the surgery, but all Lee could think about was
how awful it looked. Lee caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head
to see Chip peering over the edge of the upper bunk. Lee tried unsuccessfully to cover the
anguish he felt. Chip was not conveying sympathy in his weary gaze though. Chip's look
said as plain as day "Wimp!".

Lee turned red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. His anger evaporated when Chip's grin said 'Gotcha'. "Chip, why don't you lean over here so I can smack you in the head?"

Doc, looking up saw Chip, and said, "Ah, you're awake. Time for dinner."

Chip deflated like a burst balloon and disappeared back into his bed. Doc smiled and said,
"Okay, Lee, no more traction, the splint should give you a reasonable amount of protection.
Do you feel hungry? No? Well, that's not unusual with this type of sedation. I'm going to
have Frank get the Admiral's dinner, then he can start in on the Exec. By the time he's
finished, you'll probably be ready to eat."

The doctor left to arrange dinner, and Lee stared in sick fascination at his hand. It looked as
if some mad scientist had grafted someone else's hand onto his body. Soon Frank showed
up. "Okay, Sir. It's the bottom of the ninth, two out, and the score is Forces of Evil, three,
Commander Morton, zip. You gonna hit one out for me, tonight?"

Frank's approach did not appear to work, because a few moments later, he said, "Hey, no
fair, Sir! You promised Doc Jamieson you'd try ... Yeah, well, I'll tell you what, all I have
here is some juice. Whatever doesn't go down your throat, gets poured over that stupid
computer of yours. I am totally serious ... I'm done playing games here, Sir! I personally
will tie you down, and force it down your throat! Yeah? You think so? Well, here it is. You've got to the count of three to start. One ... Two... Okay, Sir! That's better ... Whoa, you gotta watch that gag reaction, Sir. It'll hurt worse if it comes back up. Here, let me help you ... See, it wasn't that bad. Let's try some pudding. Naw, no backsliding allowed, Sir! You can do it ... See, you're doing great. No, you can do some more, c'mon try. I gotta hand it to you, Sir. You got guts ... Wreck your computer? Now, you know I wouldn't have done that. If that was the only way, yes, I would have used the restraints. You gotta understand, Sir. If you don't get better, there won't be anyone to sign my paycheck! You take it easy, Commander. We'll try some real solids later."

Frank was beaming when he caught Lee's eye. "Hey, Skipper! Ya hungry yet? Cookie said he'd make that Dover sole you like so much."

Lee wasn't hungry, but he recognized Frank's ploy. While he did indeed like Cookie's sole dish, Chip loved it. "Yes, please, and ask him if he's got any of that fresh asparagus left. And while you're at it, maybe an avocado and tomato salad."

Frank's eyes twinkled. With a grin he said, "You've got it, Sir!"

As Frank left, Lee put on his best innocent look, and sure enough, Chip's face appeared at the
edge of the bunk. He gave his captain a glare that could fry eggs, but Lee was ready for him.
"Chip, I've been thinking it over. You are obviously in pretty bad shape and I don't want to be
responsible if anything were to happen to you. I've decided, therefore, that I'm going to be
your 'guardian angel'. I'm going to see to it that you take care of yourself. I'm not going to let
you do anything stupid like overtax yourself with that computer. And I ... Chip? ...Chip, what's wrong? ...Chip? .. .FRANK!!!!! Come quick, Mr. Morton's having some kind of fit!!!! FRANK!!!"

Lee had watched during his little speech as Chip's face had predictably gone blank, but then
Chip had suddenly pulled back into his bunk, and started making hoarse coughing sounds.
Frightened that he had done something to cause the attack, Lee started to struggle to get up
out of bed. Frank came running up. His concerned face gradually turned into a bemused
smile. Cocking his head, Frank laughed, "Hey, Mr. Morton, what's so funny? Skipper, what
did you say to the Exec, he's laughing his head off!"

Lee stopped dead. Laughing? He looked at Frank who was chuckling in response to Chip's
laughter. Lee sat doing a slow burn. "Morton, I hope you choke!"

"Yeah, Sir, you better calm down, that laughing can't be doing your throat any good, and I
imagine it doesn't help your head either. Captain, what did you say?" Frank asked curiously.

Captain Crane leveled a stare that could quell a mutiny. Frank was unfazed, and grinning
said, "Well, as long as you're up, why don't we just pull up a table, and you can eat right
here. "

Lee shifted mental gears, and replied, "I have a better idea, why don't you set the table
up over by the Admiral's bed. I'll eat over there."

"Great idea, Sir! Mr. Morton, how about it? I brought an extra plate of fish. If I set it up with
the Captain and Admiral would you like to join them? Excellent, Sir! Okay, just give me a
minute. Hey, Admiral, I guess I should ask you if you are up to some company? Okay, I'll
have it set up in a jiffy!"

John joined Frank in setting up a small card table and two chairs next to the Admiral's bunk.
Two trays were placed on the table, and then Frank approached the Captain with a blue
canvas affair. With Lee looking on, Frank strapped on the sling and gently placed the
Captain's hand in it. He helped Lee to the table, and then with John's help, assisted Chip
down from his bed, to the table.

Chip had been concentrating on getting seated, but then, when he looked up into Lee's eyes,
he burst out laughing again. It was disconcerting to watch the almost silent mirth occasionally punctuated by odd hacking sounds. Lee glowered at his friend in disgust, as Chip went into fresh spasms of merriment each time he looked his Captain in the eye.

"What is so funny?" asked Lee scowling. Wiping tears from his eyes, Chip pantomimed angel wings and a halo, pointed at Lee, and chuckling, shook his head. Lee started to grin in return. Frank and John both walked away shaking their heads. Chip was only able to settle himself down by not looking at his friend.

Lee said, "If you're finished now? All right. Admiral, how are you? Did you find anything out?"

Admiral Nelson, who had been watching Chip with some bewilderment said, "My entire body aches, my arms itch, and my hip feels like rats have gnawed on it. Other than that I feel just fine. That report Chip got me is incredible! I ..."

Frank appeared with a carafe of ice water and glasses. "Can I get you gentlemen anything else?"

Chip immediately nodded and pointed to his briefcase, resting next to Doc's desk.

Frank looked around, saw what the Exec was pointing to, and shook his head, "I don't think so, Sir."

Chip gave Frank a look that would have given even Lee pause, and pointed again.

Frank stood firm and said, "Okay, but just for now, while you're eating. Only the computer, and only if you eat at least half of the fish. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" chorused Lee and the Admiral, in steely voices. Chip's eyes widened as he realized
he was trapped. He reluctantly nodded his head, then accepted the laptop as Frank handed it to him. He got the computer set up, and he would have started typing, but Lee placed his good hand on the keyboard.

"Nothing doing, pal. First you eat, then we talk."

Chip looked up with a frown, but Admiral Nelson seconded the Captain, "He's right, Commander. You go ahead and eat, I'll wait."

Chip stared at the inoffensive piece of fish on his plate, then took a deep breath, and picked up his fork. Lee watched, bemused as his friend started mashing the fish into progressively
smaller and smaller flakes.

"What are you doing?"

Startled, Chip looked up, then reached over to the laptop, and with one hand typed "BONES."

"Chip, there aren't any bones in this. Just eat it."

Morton sat back, staring at the plate. Just as Lee thought he had given up, Chip reached out,
took a fork full of fish, put it in his mouth and without chewing swallowed it. He immediately started gagging, but with a look of pure mule-headed obstinacy, swallowed again, and reached for another forkful of fish. Lee frowned as Chip forced down piece after piece of fish. It was painful to watch. When he had eaten exactly one half of the fish on the plate, Chip put down the fork, pushed the plate away and pale and sweating, sat back and calmly stared his captain in the eye.

Lee sighed, and shaking his head, said, "Admiral, you were saying?"

Admiral Nelson was staring at the Exec, who sat looking back with quiet calm. "Uh ... yes
... It's really quite fascinating. We were being held by plankton." Nelson paused for
dramatic effect. Lee knew his face reflected Chip's startled disbelief.

"Something has caused a tremendous mutation in a specific species of phytoplankton. I've
never seen anything quite like this. We were caught in a super bloom of tremendous
proportion."

Lee frowned, "A plankton bloom? At this time of year?"

"Yes, Lee, as incredible as it sounds, that's exactly what it is. You see, this 'mutation' has
disrupted the normal growth cycle. As you know, plankton uses photosynthesis to utilize
nutrients in the water. That's why the largest plankton blooms occur in the spring and summer. The sun warms the water so that nutrients rise from the seabed. That coupled with the light of the sun itself, creates conditions that allow the plankton to explode with life."

"LIKE A RED TIDE?" typed Chip.

"No. No, a red tide is caused by a form of zooplankton, animal-like creatures. What we are
dealing with here is strictly plant life."

"Sir," began Lee, "how could a single-celled plant cause what happened to the Seaview? I mean, even at it's worst, a plankton bloom couldn't slow down a diver let alone a four hundred foot sub."

"Yes, I agree. That is what makes this so amazing. The mutation seems to affect the chloroplasts, the light converting system, of the plankton. Instead of photosynthesis, these chloroplasts are converting nutrients directly from the water. The individual plants are forming gelatinous bonds with every other plant in its immediate neighborhood. On an individual basis, these bonds have incredible tensile strength. As the 'neighborhood' grows, the bonds work sifting minerals from the water, expelling waste products, performing all of the functions of the individual cells. And that's not all! The reproduction rate is on a geometric order. Anh has projected that a single plant reproducing itself will within several hours be responsible for over five hundred generations, and several million individual offspring. These individuals clump together in tighter and tighter formations until those plants in the center of the clump have no direct access to seawater, but instead rely on the gelatinous bonds to pass nutrients in from the fringes."

"GREAT. MY WORST NIGHTMARE COMES TRUE. WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY JELLO."

Lee snickered, as Admiral Nelson frowned. "I fail to see the humor here, gentlemen."

Far from chastened, Lee shook his head, smiling, "Chip's right, Sir. It is awfully hard to think
of plankton as a serious threat."

"Oh, but it is a threat, Lee! Perhaps I haven't made myself clear. These 'neighborhoods' show
no signs of diminishing. They join with other neighborhoods to become 'super neighborhoods'. Anh estimated the bloom, or 'bubble' as she characterizes it, to have been at least fifteen miles across at the point where we entered it. I'll remind you both that it was dense enough to prevent our ballast pumps from venting ballast and it slowed this ship to a crawl. We sank because the bubble was sinking as a natural part of its lifecycle. Anh theorizes that as the bubble sinks, water pressure compacts the plankton to a point at which it becomes essentially a solid. At that point, the bubble sinks more rapidly until it reaches a depth that causes the bonds to rupture and implode the bubble."

"HOW DEEP?"

"If Anh projections are right, implosion would occur at about fifteen thousand feet. But the
Seaview would be crushed long before that. As a matter of fact, I doubt the ship would last
even to her normal five thousand foot crush depth. The added pressure of the compacting
bubble would probably rupture the hull at about forty-five hundred feet."

Lee whistled. "Admiral, do you have any idea what's causing this mutation?"

"Anh's report doesn't appear to address the issue. I imagine that is what she is working on
now." Nelson continued, "I suspect that she will not find a single 'smoking gun'. I believe
that several factors are at work here."

"Well, how do we deal with this? Can our sonar even pick it up? Chip, did you see anything
when this happened the first time?"

"NO, BUT I WASN'T LOOKING FOR ANYTHING EITHER."

"Admiral?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps sonar can be adjusted to locate these bubbles. These plants must
produce heat as a by-product. Individually the increase in heat would be undetectable by
our instruments, but the bloom, as a whole should be visible on infrared. If nothing else, I
would think the local fish population would flock to a ready food source. Perhaps a large
concentration of fish would help identify the bubbles' location."

Chip had started shaking his head. "I WOULD HAVE NOTICED ANYTHING LIKE
A LARGE SCHOOL OF FISH. ABOUT THE HEAT: DO YOU THINK THE RISE IN
TEMPERATURE WAS CAUSED BY THE PLANKTON, OR BY THE FRICTION OF
THE SEAVIEW PASSING THROUGH?"

"Hmmm. Interesting question, Chip." Nelson paused thoughtfully.

Lee stated, "I can agree the science is interesting, Admiral, but I'm much more interested in
how to detect and avoid these things. And I also want a plan of action in case we get caught
again. How do we stop one of these bubbles from dragging us down?"

All three men became quiet with their thoughts. Admiral Nelson said slowly, "It should be
safe enough to run on the surface. The wave action would probably prevent the formation
of the bonds. Because this plankton is not light dependent, I believe that the bubbles would
form under the surface, oh say about one hundred feet or so. And keep in mind that it is
only when the bubbles sink that they are dangerous to us. While they are still forming, they
are only inconvenient."

"Last I heard, there was a gale up top." sighed Lee. "I wouldn't want the ship anywhere near
the surface right now."

"Lee," said Nelson, "I think we need to get to the root of the problem. We need to discover
what is actually causing the plankton to mutate. Do you remember that series of seaquakes
last month? The epicenter was near the research station. I suspect that there is something
there that may have been the triggering event."

"Admiral, are you suggesting that we take Seaview to the research station? That could be
suicide!"

"No, Lee, I'm not suggesting that at all. At this juncture, I am merely saying that once we
have discovered how to avoid or destroy the bubbles, the next step will be to eliminate
the cause."

"Fine, Sir, but how do we destroy the bubbles?" asked Lee.

Chip tapped out, "HEAT MELTS JELLO".

"Chip, it's not Jello."

"IT'S GELATINOUS, IT'S EVIL.... IT'S JELLO."

"Evil?"

"All right, that's enough," said Admiral Nelson, slightly annoyed at the frivolous by-play.
"Chip is correct in assuming that heat will dissolve a gelatinous substance, but I don't
think we have enough information on this material. I really would like to see any updates
that Anh may have."

Lee shifted uneasily in his seat. Chip was already eyeing his briefcase, but Lee could see
that his friend was not well. He turned to Admiral Nelson, who was also peering at the
ailing Exec. Nelson ordered, "Chip, don't get any ideas! There are other ways to get the
information I need."

Chip started to get that blank, mulish look. He stared intently at the forbidden briefcase as
if he could cause it to rise and float over to him by the force of his will alone. Lee
interposed his body in Chip's line of sight. The two men locked eyes. Lee could count on
the fingers of one hand the times that he and Chip had disagreed on anything more
important than where to go to dinner. He was determined to win this particular battle of wills.

Suddenly Frank's voice called out, "Hey Skipper, you done yet? Whoa, Mr. Morton! Did you
really eat that much? Wow. Super! Okay, Doc wants you in the whirlpool. C'mon, Sir, let me
put the computer away for you now."

Chip broke off eye contact to face this new threat. He shut down the computer and, moving
with care, stood up and carried it to his bed. He stood looking at Frank, the challenge plain
on his face.

"That's not what we agreed, Sir." said Frank with narrowed eyes.

Seeing that a struggle was imminent, Lee looked to Admiral Nelson, and receiving a nod,
interceded with Frank. "Look, Frank, I know we agreed that Mr. Morton would only use the
computer at dinner, but I think we need to reconsider. I need to be able to talk to him, and
he needs the computer to talk back. I'll see to it that he doesn't overdo it. Just let him keep it."

Frank's look was every bit as mulish as Chip's. "Doctor Jamieson said no computer until
tomorrow. I've already violated that order by letting him have it at dinner. But that was so he
would eat. I'm not going to try to justify allowing him to keep it after dinner, because I can't."
Frank turned back to Chip. "Sir, you lost the last time you fought me, you'll lose this time
too. Just give me the computer."

Admiral Nelson spoke, "Just a minute, Frank. Why don't you take Mr. Morton to the whirlpool, then ask Doc to join Captain Crane and me. We'll discuss this calmly and rationally. Then when you're done, if Doc has said no, you can take the computer. I'm sure the Commander would agree to that. Am I right, Mr. Morton?"

Chip continued to stare at Frank. Lee tensed, waiting for Chip to acknowledge the Admiral's
authority. Chip's face was totally blank, but every muscle in his body was taut. Admiral Nelson barked out "Chip!"

Chip jumped like a dog whose leash has been jerked. He reluctantly backed down, and
leaving the laptop on his bed, motioned for Frank to lead the way. Frank, who never looked
for confrontation, willingly nodded his head and preceded the Exec to a far corner of sickbay
where a small whirlpool tank was located.

Lee exchanged a worried glance with Admiral Nelson. "I don't know what's gotten into him.
Chip isn't usually so ... so..."

"Insubordinate? Defiant? Disobedient?"

Lee looked at Admiral Nelson, and saw the teasing smile around his lips. Returning the
smile, Lee said, "I was going to say perverse."

"Well, under the circumstances, I think we can forgive a little perversity," Nelson replied.
"We're not at our best, and as you've mentioned, Chip seems to have gotten the worst of it."

Lee couldn't help but smile. Only Harry Nelson could face six weeks in a body cast, and
think someone else had 'gotten the worst of it'! Doctor Jamieson came up and appropriated
Chip's abandoned chair. "Admiral, I understand you wanted to see me. What can I do for you, Sir?"

Lee spoke up, "Actually, Doc, we wanted to talk to you about letting Chip have his laptop."

Doc shook his head. "That's not a good idea. In case you haven't noticed, the man just does
not have an 'off' switch. If he gets hold of that computer, he'll work himself to exhaustion.
Lee, he doesn't have any reserves."

"I know that Doc. I have no intention of letting him work himself like he did this morning.
But Admiral Nelson and I need his input. If we're going to come up with a plan to protect the
Seaview from these plankton bubbles, Chip needs to be able to communicate." Lee looked
steadily at the doctor, waiting for the information to click. After a few moments, the question
appeared on Doc's face.

"Who told you about the plankton bubbles?" Doc asked, frowning. "Has Sharkey been down here?"

"No. It was Chip. That's what made him so tired. He's got his own little Super Cray in that
briefcase of his, and he used it to contact the computers at the Institute. Now, here's the thing.
Without the briefcase, that laptop is no more than a typewriter. The Admiral and I promise to
keep him in control. And you can have Frank and John check on him whenever you want."

Doc sat back, crossing his arms. "Why don't I just take the laptop, and give him a pencil
and pad of paper?"

Nelson chuckled, "Do you really want to give him a sharp object, considering the mood he's
been in? No, let's just let him have the computer. You have my personal guarantee that
Chip will not abuse the privilege again. Having said that, I would appreciate it if you put
the briefcase somewhere out of his sight. Perhaps in my quarters."

Doc considered the situation and slowly nodded his head. "All right. Lee, you be sure to
remember he's pretty much running on his natural cussedness, and is not really up to any
long sessions. Is there anything else?" Doc asked as he stood to leave.

"Yes," Nelson replied. "I need to speak with Dr. Du. I have some ideas concerning this
plankton, and I want to see where her research stands."

Doc shook his head ruefully, "I should know better than to try to keep things from you. All
right, I'll ask her to step in this evening." The doctor walked over to the whirlpool, gave
Frank some quiet instructions, then picked up Chip's briefcase and left sickbay.

Lee sat, looking at his now cold dinner, and started to pick at the fish. Admiral Nelson relaxed in his bunk, staring thoughtfully at the bunk above him. A small private smile crossed his lips, and he murmured "Jello!"

Lee finished his dinner. The sole was good even cold, and Lee reached over and snagged
the leftover fish from Chip's plate. The Admiral was dozing. Lee decided he wouldn't mind
a nap himself. He cautiously stood up and made his way back to his bed. He settled himself
in and listened to the muffled sounds of Frank and John helping Chip out of the whirlpool.
He watched as Frank assisted the Exec back to his bed. "Okay, Sir, do you think you can
make it up by yourself?"

Chip looked as if all of the fight had gone out of him. He stood leaning against his bunk and
shook his head almost imperceptibly. Frank cocked his head and said, "I think you could
do it, Sir. Are you sure you don't want to try?"

A shadow of resentment crossed Chip's tired face, and he turned to the bunk. Stepping up
on Lee's bunk, he pulled himself up and scrambling, made it into his bed. Frank stepped
back before Morton could see how closely he had been hovering. He caught Lee's eye, and
with a wink and a smile, left the two officers alone. Lee expected to hear the sounds of the
laptop being set up, but instead heard nothing but the sound of deep, regular breathing.
Lee closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

A short time later, Lee awoke to the sound of approaching voices. Doc Jamieson was crossing the room, deep in quiet conversation with Dr. Anh Du. Dr. Du was a preeminent marine biologist, respected throughout the world. She was also one of the most beautiful women Lee had ever met. When she noticed the Captain was awake, she excused herself from the doctor and smiling sweetly, came over. "Lee, how are you feeling? How is your poor hand?"

Her sultry voice was like a soft blanket, enveloping Lee in warmth. Lee grinned, "Oh, my
'poor' hand is just fine, Anh. Doc Jamieson takes good care of me."

"Good. I find it very disconcerting to go to the control room and not find you there. Where's
Chip? I thought he was here, too." Anh looked around with a delightful little frown. She was
a petite woman, and had evidently not noticed the upper bunk above her head. Lee jerked
his thumb upwards. Curious, Anh looked up then took a startled step backward. "Oh, there
you are! How are you? Ah, that's right, I forgot that you couldn't talk ...Oh, I can see that I woke you. Go back to sleep, Chip, and I'll come visit you later."

Lee squelched the immediate jealousy he felt. Anh turned her attention back to Lee. "I will
be back, Lee. You know how I like a captive audience!" Swinging her long blue-black hair,
Anh turned away, and picking up a folding chair left behind from dinner, settled herself next
to Admiral Nelson's bunk. She and Nelson were immediately lost in a low voiced discussion
of the plankton problem.

Lee heard the now familiar sound of the laptop being set up. The screen suddenly
appeared.

"THAT WOMAN IS A GODDESS."

Lee grinned and said quietly, "I don't know, Chip. She's too rich for my blood."

"I KNOW. MRS. MORTON DIDN'T RAISE HER SWEET BABY BOY TO PLAY
THOSE KIND OF GAMES. BUT MAN, OH MAN, SHE SURE CAN MAKE MY
TOES CURL!"

Lee laughed. Then, settling himself into the covers, he closed his eyes. He heard Chip shut
down the computer, and the low drone of conversation from the Admiral's bunk. Sleep
came to him gently.

"Captain! Captain wake up!"

Lee groggily opened his eyes to find Doc Jamieson shaking him. Doc had a worried,
frightened look that banished all thought of sleep from the Captain's mind.

"What? What's going on?" Lee asked as Doc Jamieson quickly helped him into a sitting
position.

Doc explained as he immediately started helping the Captain on with his pants. "We're in
trouble, Lee. We're caught in another one of those bubbles, and O'Brien needs all the help
he can get."

Doc crouched down and pulled a pair of socks out of his pocket. Lee looked up to see a
pale-faced Frank approaching carrying a set of restraint straps.

"What are you doing, Frank? You wait a minute, Doc. You can't strap Chip down. He'll stay
put, I promise."

"Lee, you're not awake yet. The primary purpose of the straps is to protect patients from
being thrown around. We don't want Chip to take another header, right? Frank hurry up with
that now, then go help John get that cabinet secured." Doc helped Lee up, then finished
buckling on the pants. Lee saw that Morton was deeply asleep, and then saw the telltale IV valve.

Annoyed, he said, "Doc, I don't care if you put him in a straightjacket, but you keep him and
the Admiral awake. I don't know if I'll need them, but if I do, I want them ready."

Doc looked Lee in the eye and said, "Aye, Sir", leaving no doubt that the responsibility for
this action was Lee's and Lee's alone.

Lee turned to Admiral Nelson, "Admiral, what have you got for me?"

Nelson replied, "Anh and I couldn't agree on a course of action, Lee. I think running a charge
through the hull should generate enough heat to break the bonds of the plankton surrounding
us, and that in turn should give us the leeway we need to break free. Anh is concerned that
the bubble would act to reflect the heat back on us, frying the ship and everyone aboard. Anh
is conducting experiments to give us the answers, but she needs time, Lee."

"All right, Sir, I'll see what I can do. But I would appreciate it if you would work on an
alternate plan, in case she's right."

"Of course, Lee."

Lee left sickbay, headed for the control room. He was surprised to find Doc right behind
him. "What are you doing, Doc?" Lee asked.

"I'm going with you. You may need me there to keep you on your feet, Captain. Frank can
handle things in sickbay while I'm gone, and he'll call me if anything comes up."

As much as Lee would have liked to deny it, he realized that Doc was right. He could feel
weakness lurking in his muscles, ready to make him stumble. When they reached the
control room, every head swung around. Relief was plain in every eye, the unspoken
comment in every mind, "the Skipper's here, things will be okay."

As Lee made his way forward to the chart table, O'Brien and Sparks both looked up, and
exchanging a relieved glance, turned to their Captain. O'Brien called out, "Welcome back,
Skipper! The Captain has the con! Sir ..."

Lee shook his head, waving off O'Brien's comment. "Not so fast, Bob. I'm still disabled.
I'm here as a consultant only. You and Sparks have done a fine job up to now, and I have
full confidence in your ability to see it through to completion."

Lee had made his remarks loud enough to be heard throughout the control room. "Now,
why don't you brief me on what's happening."

Lt. O'Brien stood a little taller, a little more confidently. "Sir, we thought that we had the
detection problem licked. Kowalski had reviewed the sonar tapes, and thought he saw a
sonar shadow shortly before we were caught the first time. We were confident that he
could spot it in time if we kept our speed down. I also figured that if we didn't go out over
the trench, we'd be okay. Dr. Du said she could do a better job at the research lab, so Jim
and I plotted an approach to the lab that would never put the sea bottom at more than four
thousand feet."

"Sounds good, Bob. What went wrong?"

"We're not sure why, Sir, but the sonar shadow never appeared. We were at two thousand
feet, and we started losing way, just like before. I thought we were ready for it this time, I
immediately ordered full reverse on the engines. I thought if we weren't in too deep, we
could pull out. But that hasn't worked. We're stuck. I've reversed course, and brought her
up to flank speed, but we're slowing just like the first time."

"And that's not all, Skipper." interjected Sparks. "The bubble is moving out over the Trench.
Dr. Du says we're somewhere at the fringe, but the main part of the bubble is over the
Trench and as it sinks, it's pulling the rest of the bubble, and us, with it. We've lost our
safety margin, Sir. We've got over seven thousand feet between us and the bottom."

Lee took a deep breath. "Have you tried venting ballast yet? Good. Don't. We don't want to
bob up like a cork again. Has Dr. Du completed her heat experiments yet? I guess that
would have been too much to hope for. Ski, what happened? Why didn't you spot it?"

Kowalski looked stricken, "I just don't know, Sir. I could have sworn there was a clear
indication the first time, but it just wasn't there this time."

Lee put his hand on Kowalski's shoulder, "It's all right, Ski. Let's just concentrate on getting
out of here. I want you to review the sonar tapes from right before we were caught, and
compare them with the tapes from the first time. Then I want you to look at the tapes from
the point right before we escaped the first time. See if you can find anything that will let us
know when we're near the edge of the bubble. Admiral Nelson suggested that fish feeding
on the plankton at the fringes might be an indicator."

Kowalski's face reflected his determination not to let his Captain down again. With a relieved
"Aye, Sir," he turned back to his station, and competently began gathering the necessary
records. The rest of the control room crew seemed galvanized. O'Brien and Smith stood
waiting.

"Mr. O'Brien, I recommend that you attempt to locate a plateau or mount that we can put
Seaview down on. Look for something above 4500 feet. Sparks, let's take a look at your
plot." Lee said as he made his way to the chart table. He glanced at the instruments in
passing and mentally cringed when he saw their depth was at 2800 feet already. Smith
showed the Captain the chart of their course, and then reached out to steady him as Crane's
legs betrayed his weakness.

Doc was there in an instant. "Skipper, perhaps you would be better served if you sat down."

Lee would have objected, but he saw how every face magnified his small wobble into a
major disaster. With all of the dignity he could command, he said, "Very well, Doctor, if you
feel it's necessary." He felt rather than heard the collective release of held breath. He
frowned, worried that his presence might be a distraction.

His concern disappeared a moment later when the ship let out a loud groan, startling
everyone in the control room. O'Brien snapped out "Patterson, check that depth indicator.
This ship does NOT stress out at 2800 feet! Lt. Smith, see if you can correlate the depth
with the hull pressure. Skipper, I'm open to any suggestions, here."

Lee had found it disconcerting to find his place usurped, but O'Brien's orders were right
on the mark. Rubbing his eyes with his good hand, he replied, "No, I don't have anything
substantive, although you might consider having damage and fire control standing by. I
would probably check with both Dr. Du and Admiral Nelson and see if either one has come
up with answers."

O'Brien nodded, and turned toward the nearest intercom mike, when the ship let out the
most incredible rippling sound. The color drained from O'Brien's face as he turned a
horrified gaze to Sparks. Sparks voice was shaky with fear as he said "Bob, I mean, Sir,
the hull pressure has increased all out of proportion to our actual depth. According to the
pressure, we should be at about 4300 hundred feet!"

O'Brien's jaw dropped. He glanced panic-stricken at the Captain. It was all Lee could do to
remain calm and sit still. If Bob O'Brien backed down now, it could ruin his very promising
career. Lee reminded himself that he could seize command in an instant, but if he allowed
Bob the chance, it could be the making of the man. O'Brien, meeting his Captain's calm,
confident gaze, swallowed hard, and turned back to Sparks. "Okay Jimmy, you start looking
for a landing zone, something nearby, something no more than 3500 feet." Picking up the
mike, he called, "Damage Control, I want double shifts on all critical areas, and make sure
Fire Control does the same." Upon hearing the acknowledgment of his orders, he clicked
the mike, and requested that Dr. Du report to the control room immediately.

Lee shifted in his seat. He would have asked for a report over the intercom. It was quicker
and less disruptive than having the woman make the trip from the lab. Still, Bob was
calming himself down now, and in the process, calming the crew down too. Before Dr. Du
arrived, the ship lurched in a frightening way. O'Brien was immediately on the intercom,
demanding a report from damage Control. The answer, when it came, was devastating.
There was a hull rupture in frames fourteen and fifteen, compartments on both sides of the
rupture were flooding fast. "Seal off compartments twelve through forty-two! No, no make
that twelve through forty-five!" O'Brien yelled.

The ship groaned again, a fearful sound that caused Lee's breath to catch in his throat.
Twelve to forty-five! That included the reactor room, and God help them, sickbay! It effectively cut the ship in half! If the flooding could not be controlled, the ship was doomed. "Bob, get the ship down on a ledge now, before it's too late!"

Sparks had been working feverishly trying to find somewhere, anywhere that the ship could
fit. He looked up with terror in his eyes and just shook his head. O'Brien was by his side in a
n instant, and looking wildly at the chart, stabbed out, "There, right there! Helmsman bring
your course to one eight three point one. Planesman, full up on the bow planes."

Sparks was looking at O'Brien like he had taken leave of his senses. "Bob, that ledge is less
than four hundred feet long! It's only three hundred feet at it's widest! Even if by some miracle you landed us there, that ledge will never take our weight! Bob, this is suicide! Skipper, tell him!"

Smith was on the thin edge of hysteria. Before the Captain could reply, O'Brien reached out
and took Sparks by the shoulders, and catching his eye, demanding his full attention, said
quietly "Jimmy, we don't have any choice. If we don't get some support for the hull, she'll
break apart. I am NOT going to lose this command. And neither are you. Okay? Let's get the
job done, Okay?"

The whole exchange had taken less than a minute, but both of the young officers had come
out stronger for it. Even in the midst of disaster, Lee Crane felt a surge of pride for the way
Bob was handling things.

Anh Du entered the control room escorted by Chief Sharkey, her lovely face contorted by fear. Sharkey looked frazzled, and in pain. Doc Jamieson appeared, but Sharkey waved him off, coming to stand directly in front of the Captain. "Sir, we've got a real problem. Compartments sixteen and eighteen are completely under water, and fifteen and seventeen are almost gone too. Worst still, we've lost communication with everything aft of fifteen. We know the guys in twelve through seventeen got out okay, but we don't know what's happening aft. Sir, the Admiral's back there, and with that cast, he's not going anywhere without help. We gotta get back there somehow!"

O'Brien heard this from his position directly behind the helmsman, and called out, "Lt. Smith, get to the radio shack, see if you can get the intercom working. Chief, I need you up in the nose. We're going to drop the ship onto a small ledge, and I want you to eyeball it for me. Captain, how do we get to the Admiral?"

Sharkey was standing looking back and forth from the Captain to O'Brien, the worry and fear
plain on his face. With a nod of his head, Lee backed up O'Brien's orders, and Sharkey trotted forward to the huge observation windows. Lee turned to O'Brien and said, "Mr. O'Brien, you can't afford to focus on saving a single man. We're in serious trouble here. Even if you land the ship safely, there's still the matter of the pressure building outside the hull. Dr. Du, what about it? Was the Admiral right?"

Anh Du was obviously terrified. Although aware of the dangers of living on a deep-sea station, she had never actually faced the reality of what could happen under the sea. She was pale and wild-eyed, and seemed not to have heard the question. Doc appeared at her side, and
gently took her hand. When he had her attention, he quietly asked, "Anh, what did you find
out? How do we destroy the bubble?"

His gentle probing broke through her foggy state, and she replied, "The Admiral was right!
An electrical charge WILL break the bonds, but it will also heat the immediate area of the
charge. We can run the charge through the hull, but it must not exceed 25,000 volts. If we
can maintain a five-second pulse every twenty seconds for two minutes, no more, we should
be able to destroy the local community. The pressure would disappear instantaneously and
the heat buildup should stay within reasonable limits."

The petite woman still shook, but steadied as she spoke, "Lee, I was not able to confirm this
with Harry, but I know that this will work! You must give the order immediately, before we are crushed!"

During this outburst, Anh had come over and grabbed Lee's arm. Lee gently disengaged her
and said, "Doctor, the information is a little late, we've lost contact with the reactor room.
Doc, escort Dr. Du to her quarters, please."

The Captain looked around as Ski swore in disgust. "Ski, you find something? Crane asked.

"Sir, I figured out where I missed the bubble." Shaking his head numbly, Kowalski continued, "We were UNDER it the whole time! It read like water stratification, so I ignored it. God, I'm sorry, Mr. O'Brien, this is all my fault."

O'Brien glanced back from the helm where he was working to bottom the ship, and called
out, "Forget about that, Kowalski, just find the edge of the bubble for me."

"Aye-aye, Sir." Ski turned back to his station with a firm resolve.

O'Brien called out, "Everybody brace yourselves now, here it comes ..."

With a loud hollow boom, the ship landed on the tiny ledge. Lee held his breath, waiting for
the ship to break apart, or the ledge to crumble beneath them. When neither disaster
happened, Crane let out his breath, and said calmly, "Nice job, Lieutenant."

O'Brien looked up, eyes wide. As he realized his achievement, a slow smile started, "Thank you, Sir."

Lee could tell by the suddenly expelled breaths and cautious fidgeting, that this last exchange
would enter the Seaview crew's lore, to be repeated in taverns and wardrooms for years to
come. He could sense a new level of respect for Bob O'Brien forming in the minds of the men. He hoped that they would all survive long enough to tell the tale.

O'Brien was on the move, headed to the radio shack where Sparks and his assistant were
completing their diagnostic check of the ship's intercom system. O'Brien asked, "Okay, Sparks, how do we get a message to the reactor room?"

Sparks said, "We don't. That hull rupture occurred at the worst possible juncture as far as
intraship communications goes. The intercom is gone, and there's no way to repair it without
getting to the circuitry panels in frame fifteen. We could try Morse code on one of the
watertight hatches, but someone who understood Morse would have to be right on the other
side. Mr. Morton showed me how to reach him through his computer, and I tried that, but he
apparently doesn't have it turned on. Bob, I'm sorry, but I can't think of any way to do it."

"It's okay, Jim, we'll work it out. Let's see what we can do about repairs. I want you to lead
a work team and head aft. Seal the watertights behind you, and when you find a flooded
compartment, get to work and get it pumped out and seal it. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir, aye, Sir." Sparks tagged those crewmen whose functions ended when the ship was
grounded and headed out the aft hatch.

Bob O'Brien frowned thoughtfully as he came forward. Calling Chief Sharkey over, he
approached the Captain. "Sir, I've just had a thought. You know pumproom fifteen is very
small, and it's always kept sealed. And it has that top hatch that leads right into equipment
stores fourteen, and that's always kept sealed. Couldn't we reach the electrical inspection
conduit from that pumproom? I mean, that conduit runs at least to compartment thirty-five
or six, doesn't it? If it's not flooded, couldn't we get a man back beyond the flooding? I think
we would be safe checking it, we could use the pumproom as an airlock. We could open the
inspection hatch and even if it is flooded we could retreat out through stores fourteen, and
seal it off, and we'd only lose that small room."

Sharkey exclaimed, "Good idea, Sir! I'll get right on it!"

"Wait a minute, Chief, I'm coming with you." Lee Crane stood up. O'Brien and Sharkey both
looked as if they would object. Lee sidestepped the issue of his injury by saying, "Bob, I
have total faith in your ability to handle things here. Let's go Chief, we're running out of time."

Striding out of the control room, Lee put up a show of strength that he barely felt. Sharkey had no choice but to follow. "Okay, Chief, we're going to need rope and flashlights. You go get them, and I'll meet you there."

Sharkey's worried glance told Lee that he hadn't been fooled, but all that he said was "aye,
Skipper" as he trotted down the corridor. As soon as the Chief was out of sight, Lee slowed
to a more comfortable pace. Lee didn't feel that he was being foolish. He knew he had to
husband his strength if he was going to be of any use in the next few hours. Even though Lee
had half the distance to go, Sharkey still beat him to the hatch leading to stores fourteen.
Without a word Sharkey handed the rope and heavy-duty flashlights to the Captain, who
juggled them with his good hand. At Lee's nod, Sharkey undogged the heavy door. No water
blasted through, so Sharkey pulled the hatch open. Just as Lt. O'Brien had thought, the room
was dry. Sharkey proceeded to the back of the room where a hatch was seated in the floor.
Before he could undog the hatch, the Captain said, "Wait a minute, Chief. Tie the rope around your waist, I'll tie the other end out in the corridor, just in case."

Sharkey nodded, and when the two men had completed the safety precaution, and the Captain
was safely in the corridor, he carefully undogged, then opened the hatch. Shining his flashlight through the opened portal, Sharkey called out, "It's dry as a bone, Skipper."

"All right, Chief, let me untie this anchor, and you can go on down." Lee untied the rope, and
looking around the storeroom, found a stanchion. Tying the rope again, Lee said, "Okay,
Chief, go on down."

Sharkey dropped down through the hatch, and made his way to a man-sized inspection port
located about four feet high in a corner of the room. Unlike the two previous hatchways, there was a very great danger that opening this port would lead to disaster. Lee held his breath as he peered through the open hatch. Sharkey had to use a wrench to open this seldom-used access. Both men were relieved when no water seeped through as the Chief loosened the
hatch. Lee came down the ladder awkwardly, and arrived at the hatch just as the Chief lifted
it free.

Sharkey leaped back with a squawk, and Lee's heart jumped when they beheld the sight
behind the hatch. Lee immediately recognized John Warner's face. He looked shiny and ... melted?

"Thank God, you're here, Chief, I didn't know how we were going to get that hatch off!" Warner crawled out of the duct, and reversing himself reached deeply in to the conduit. Lee could now see that the man was covered in something that clung to him in globs, that slowly slid, dripping off his body. And boy, did it stink!

When he saw what it was that Warner was slowly dragging out of the conduit, Lee rushed
to help. "Admiral! You're okay!" exclaimed Lee, as he helped pull his plaster encased friend
to safety. His hand slipped from the Admiral's as Sharkey and Warner got Nelson settled
on the floor.

"Admiral, what IS this stuff?" Lee grimaced with distaste as he examined the clear pinkish
sludge on his hand.

"That, Lee, is Chip's 'Jello'. Quite an aroma, isn't it?"

During this exchange, a slime-covered Frank Learner crawled out of the conduit. "Skipper,
me and John have got to go back! Mr. Morton's still back there!"

Both men turned to the hatch, but Nelson froze them with a single word. "Wait!"

Turning to the Admiral, Lee asked the question with his eyes. Shifting to find a comfortable
position, Nelson explained. "Lee, when the hull ruptured, I knew we couldn't wait any longer.
If we don't put a charge through the hull, we'll never see port again. I got Frank to shoot
something into Chip to wake him up, and we used his computer to work out the figures on the hull shots. He convinced Frank and John to bring me forward, while he tried for the reactor room."

Frank broke in, "Sir, I should never have given him that shot. It'll make him feel stronger than he is. It's gonna wear off pretty quick, and Mr. Morton's gonna be in deep trouble. Sir, he could drown in this stuff." Frank lifted his slime-covered arms in emphasis.

"All right, Frank, take it easy. John, go up to the guest suite. Doc Jamieson should be there
with Dr. Du. Get him and a couple of men to get the Admiral taken care of. Frank, you lead the way back, Sharkey and I will follow you."

Four voices chorused in dismay "Sir, you can't..."

"Captain, you'll never make it!"

"Skipper, no!"

"Lee, that's foolish."

Lee held up his good hand, and with all of the command authority he could muster said,
"I'm going and that's it. If Morton fails, someone still has to make it to the reactor room. We
need Frank to take care of the Exec, and Sharkey to set up the hull charge. I'm going as a
backup only. We can't afford to fail on this. Let's go, people."

Lee mentally cringed when he heard Nelson's voice, "Lee?" He turned to face his mentor
and friend. "Yes, Sir?"

"Lee, we calculated that it will take more than one shot to do it. Keep it down to 25,000
volts, and run the charge for five seconds only. Repeat the shot every 20 seconds for at
least two minutes. Lee, you don't want to set it any higher because the bubble will heat
around us as the charge goes through."

Lee stared in amazement at his friend. Without the benefit of Dr. Du's experiments,
Nelson had come up with an identical answer. The man's intelligence was phenomenal!
Taking a deep breath, Lee nodded, and gestured for Frank to enter the conduit. When
Frank had disappeared through the hatch, Lee motioned for Sharkey to follow.

"Sir, I think it would be a better idea if you went next. That way if you get stuck or
something, ya got people on either side to help."

Lee frowned. "I'm not going to get stuck, Chief." he muttered as he dutifully entered the
hatch. In theory, I should be able to do this just by holding my hand up. Lee thought as
he started crawling aft down the long black tube.

It was a nice theory, but in practice, Lee found himself knocking his hand again and again.
It hurt. Not as much as he thought it would, but still enough, when coupled with
dead-fish-and-rotten-egg smell drifting back from Frank, to make him feel slightly nauseated.
The conduit was coated with the slimy plankton, and Lee vaguely wondered if the stuff was
still alive and growing. He followed Frank silently, breathing through his mouth, wondering
when they would reach the end of this interminable tube. Finally after what seemed like hours, Frank disappeared through a lighted opening. As Lee climbed out, Frank helped him. Lee had hoped that he would be free of the horrible smell, but discovered to his dismay that the storeroom they had arrived in was knee deep in plankton.

With Lee and Sharkey in tow, Frank led his group out into the corridor. Here too the plankton was knee deep. Lee frowned as he realized that the stinking stuff was not moving. In fact, it was looking more and more like ... well, like Jello. Jello that was 'setting up' as his mother used to call it. He slogged forward, and when he looked behind, the plankton sludge had piled up on either side of his path and slowly started to fill the path back in. He realized, unfortunately, that stirring it up also caused the smell to intensify. He turned back to find Frank directly in front of him, staring him in the eye. Before Lee could step back, Frank had expertly caught his wrist, and started taking his pulse. "Frank, knock it off, we have work to do."

"Sir, it'll only take a minute. You're looking a bit pale."

Sharkey spoke up, "Learner, look at me. I'm pale too. It's this goop. It stinks to high
heaven, of course the Skipper is pale. Now, stop mother-henning and let's move out."

Frank dropped Lee's wrist, but Lee suspected it was more because he had finished than
because of the Chief's intervention. The corridor they were in was a distance from the
reactor room, and so the three men started out. Frank led the way with Lee following and
Sharkey bringing up the rear. The further they advanced, the more resistance the plankton
developed. It was setting up, all right. Lee wondered if it would get to the point where it
would bear a man's weight. A memory of an old cartoon flashed in his mind. The vision of
Goofy running in place across a plate of Jello brought a momentary smile. If their
situation weren't so precarious, this whole thing would probably be pretty funny. Lee
shook his head at his frivolous thoughts and concentrated in following in Frank's
footsteps.

They had made it halfway to the reactor room when the first charge went out. Both Crane
and Sharkey felt the subtle vibration and almost inaudible hum and stopped dead in their
tracks. In unison, they checked their watches, counting the seconds, waiting for the second
charge. "Aaannnddd mark!" exclaimed Sharkey. The vibration started right on schedule.
Lee continued counting to verify the five-second duration.

"Yes!" he exclaimed when the charge stopped right on schedule. Frank looked puzzled. Lee,
with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, said, "Feel that vibration, Frank? Right there! That's
a charge going out through the hull! Mr. Morton made it!"

Frank's face cleared, and he nodded his head. Then, as if the news had no relevance, he
turned and continued slogging on. "Frank?" the Captain called.

Frank looked back, and said "Sir, I'm glad Mr. Morton made it and got the charges taken
care of, but that doesn't change the fact that he's probably in pretty bad shape. I gotta get
to him."

"Fine, Frank. You go find the Exec. Sharkey and I will head over to the rupture site and see
if we can lend a hand there. C'mon Chief."

Lee and Sharkey turned up a side corridor leaving Frank behind. After a few moments,
Sharkey took the lead as trailbreaker through the pink-tinted sludge. They hadn't traveled
far when they came across the first of the workcrews. All four of the men working to clear the corridor were covered head to toe in the hellish stuff. Lee was pleased to see Stu Riley in
charge of the detail, and that he had taken the initiative to get the corridors cleared.

"There are more work crews clearing other corridors, Sir." Riley told the Captain.

"What are they doin' with the goop?" Sharkey asked.

"We're launching it out the rear torpedo tubes."

"Good job, Kid," said the Chief.

"Riley, the Exec has cleared the area outside of the ship of this stuff. Why don't you try
pumping it out through the number twenty ballast vent group. See if it works, and if it does,
get the other crews doing it too." Lee continued, "And do it quick, this stuff is hardening fast.
Oh, and if it gets to, uh, stiff, try heating it. The Exec mentioned to me that Jello melts." The
Captain said with a sly grin.

Riley's eyes widened at that last comment. Lee knew that within an hour the entire crew
would be calling it 'Jello'. The wisecracks would fly, and morale would soar. Lee said, "The
Chief and I are heading forward toward the rupture. You are doing a great job here, Stu.
Carry on, men."

Lee turned away from the chorus of "aye, Sir's" and continued up the corridor with Chief
Sharkey. Both men were dismayed to find one of the watertight hatches standing partly open.
The plankton was oozing through the opening, and Lee realized that the level of the stuff was
higher on the other side of the portal. They pulled the hatch open to find the stuff was almost
at waist level. If anything, the stink was even worse, and only Lee's tremendous resolve to
save his ship convinced him to go on. Sharkey was muttering curses with every step. The
sludge was getting harder and harder to push through. Suddenly, the Chief slipped, and arms
flapping, fell into the pink mess. Lee reached to help him and he, too, slipped. After several
moments of frantic flailing around, both men managed to get to their feet. They both spat out
large globs of the awful stuff, and faces distorted in disgust, wiped the goop out of their eyes.

"Oh, man, Captain!" Sharkey said after snorting his nose clear. "I'm with Mr. Morton. I'll never touch Jello again in my life!"

"I doubt any of us will, Chief. Let's keep moving, I don't want to get stuck like a grape in this stuff."

They headed slowly up the corridor. The next workcrew they passed was using makeshift
shovels to fling the plankton into one of the many ballast pumping stations. With only a nod,
the two men continued on. This crew's efforts had had a noticeable effect on the level of
the stuff clogging the corridor. It was down to knee level, and looked churned up, as if many
men had passed this way. As they neared the site of the rupture, Lee could hear the voices
of men calling back and forth. He took it as a good sign that he didn't hear rushing water.
As he and Sharkey came through a watertight hatch, Lee found a group of men working to
get a cross brace set as welders worked to seal a large patch over the hull. The plankton
here was practically chest high despite several men frantically shoveling it through a hatch
on the other side of the work area. The men working on the brace were having a tough time
of it, slipping and sliding in the muck. Both Crane and Sharkey went to add their weight to
the brace. Lee slipped, knocking one of the men down, and when he pulled the man clear,
was surprised to find himself face to face with Chip Morton.

"Chip! What are you doing here?" the surprised Captain asked.

Chip spat out a glob of the pink stuff and in a hoarsely croaking voice replied, "I could ask
you the same thing."

"Hey, you're not supposed to be talking!"

"Yeah, well, you're only supposed to be consulting. Hey, have you noticed? This stuff tastes
just like Jello ... lime Jello."

Lee snickered, shaking his head. He clapped his friend on the shoulder, and said, "Good job
on those charges, Chip."

"Thanks, Lee."

Both men turned to see that the brace had been seated, and Chief Sharkey had taken command of the detail. A watertight hatch at the far end of the corridor opened to reveal a slime-covered Sparks leading a work crew through from the bow of the ship. The Captain and Executive Officer of the Seaview exchanged a weary glance then headed for the forward hatch, intent on reaching the control room.

Suddenly Frank Learner appeared in front of them. "Whoa, where do you two think you're going?"

"Out of the way, Frank." Morton croaked.

"Oh, no, no, no! You shut up, Sir! Doc told you not to talk. You both need to come with me back to Sickbay." Frank said with determination.

Lee saw the Exec's face go hard and blank. He said, "I'll handle this, Chip. Frank, I was released to light duty by the doctor."

"Your hand is bleeding, Sir. Mr. Morton is ready to fall over. If necessary, I'll have Chief Sharkey release a couple of these men to carry you both. Now, what's it going to be, Sir?" Frank Learner stood with his arms crossed, waiting. Behind him, Chief Sharkey had taken a similar pose, and beyond that, Sparks stood the same.

Chip muttered, "Mutiny" under his breath, but Lee clapped him on the shoulder saying, "Face
it, Chip, we've been outflanked. Now, let's be sensible and do what the man says." He pulled
his friend around with him and started back down the corridor with Frank following behind.

"We'll get him, later." Lee whispered to his friend. Chip threw a startled glance at his skipper,
and then began to smile.

Two days later, Captain Lee Crane entered sickbay, carrying a large sheaf of papers.
Smiling at Doctor Jamieson, he asked, "How are your patients doing, Doc?"

With a wry look, Doc replied, "They seem to have run out of patience."

Lee winced at the pun, then noticed Chip was up and dressed. Glancing at Doc, he asked,
"Are you sure you want to let him out?"

"YES! I tired of his terrorizing my people! He's got Frank so flustered the poor man hardly
knows where he is. And John's afraid to even come in the room!"

Lee, hiding a grin behind his frown, said, "Frank? Flustered? Well, what's Mr. Morton doing?"

"Nothing! At least, that what Frank says. He says Chip just smiles at him. I haven't caught
him at it yet, so I don't know, but I suspect he's using that body language thing on both Frank
and John. He denies it, of course." Doc threw a darkly suspicious glare Chip's way. The Exec
sat, looking virtuous, waiting for permission to leave. The moment the doctor's back was
turned, Lee grinned and winked at Morton, who in turn looked even more innocent.

Doc spun back to the Captain, but Lee was ready, and the grin had been replaced with an
expression so innocent as to put Chip's look to shame. With narrowed eyes, Doc said, "That's
about what I thought. Are you here to see the Admiral? All right, but don't stay too long." The doctor turned to Morton, "And you, you get out of here! Remember, it's LIGHT duty. I want to see you at eighteen hundred hours. You push it today, and I'll confine you here until Labor Day!"

Chip sprang up like a kid getting out of school for the summer. As he crossed the room, Doc
called out, "And you might want to rethink your little campaign of terror, Chip. Remember,
annual physicals are coming up. You don't want Frank to be so frightened that he uses blunt
needles, do you?"

If the implicit threat had any effect on the Exec, he covered it well. He grinned, and with a
jaunty wave to Lee, left the Sickbay. Doc shook his head, looked for a moment as if he might
say something, apparently thought better of it, then left the room. Lee snagged a chair, and
approached the Admiral's bunk.

"Lee! How is your hand?"

"It's fine, Sir. How are you doing?"

"I've been better. Has Dr. Du left the ship yet?"

Yes, Sir. We just completed the transfer about fifteen minutes ago. She left this report for you. She theorizes that the plankton mutations are being caused by a series of smokers that
developed after those seaquakes last month. She says the smokers are well within reach
of the station's DSV range and she hopes to prove her theory within a year. If she's right, the
world council will have to decide what to do about it. We can destroy them, of course, but
some of Anh's staff wants to run some experiments on the plankton itself. It seems that they
feel it might be used as a food source."

"Food source!" exclaimed the Admiral. "Lee, please don't tell Chip that one until I'm there.
I want to see the look on his face!" said the Admiral chuckling. He turned serious and asked,
"Lee, how is Seaview holding up? Are we going to make it home on our own?"

"Sir, she's a champ! You know that. As long as Bob takes is easy, we should be fine.
Speaking of Bob, Sir, I'd like to write up a commendation for him. And for Sparks, too. They
did a great job under trying circumstances, and I think they deserve the recognition."

"Well, as long as you're writing, include one for Chip, too. I honestly did not think he would
make it to the reactor room. I know he rarely gets the credit he deserves. For that matter,
neither do you."

Lee smiled at the compliment. He said, "I think that's an excellent idea, Sir. Oh, and Frank
and John both deserve medals, putting up with all three of us at once, but I think they will
settle for commendations."

"Anybody else?" the Admiral asked, cocking his head.

Lee wasn't about to let this opportunity slide. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Stu Riley
took it upon himself to get workcrews together to clear the corridors. I like that kind of
initiative. I'd like to kick him up a grade."

"Very well, we'll do that." Nelson smiled. "Now, you realize, don't you, that when we arrive
in port, you will have to take my place in Washington."

Lee sighed. He hated it when the Admiral was unable to handle the 'congressional asylum'
as Nelson put it. Lee rarely had to deal with that task, but with the Admiral laid up, the duty
fell to him. "Yes, Sir. I don't suppose we could send Chip?"

"No, Lee, we are not sending Chip. Besides, didn't Doc say that hand specialist is stationed
at Bethesda? I want you to have the best for your hand. You can kill two birds with one stone."

Lee sat glumly thinking. Not when one of the birds is a big nasty vulture. There were times
when this job has definite disadvantages. Not that Lee Crane would take any other job in
the world. But still, there were times . . .

Several weeks later, Lee Crane pulled into his parking space at the Institute. It felt good to
be back. As he got out of his car, his Exec, Chip Morton, pulled into the space next to him.
With a grin, Chip called out, "Hey Skipper, welcome back! How was Washington?"

"Grim." replied Lee, shaking his head. "Honestly, Chip, I don't know how the Admiral puts
up with it. Day after day, the same people asked the same questions. I swear, by the end
there I could have recited the questions word for word."

Chip chuckled, "Well, it's all done with now, Lee. Just forget about it. Did you hear? Doc
cleared the Admiral to light duty. He should be in this afternoon. It's like old home week."

"Yeah, no more chasing secretaries for you, pal. You're looking pretty fit. Are the headaches gone?"

"I'm fine, Lee. I see you got that cast off of your hand."

Lee flexed his hand. It still surprised him that the pain was gone. "Yes, the second surgery
at Bethesda made all the difference."

The two friends had been walking down a corridor toward their respective offices. Now as
they approached the swinging doors that would open onto the large room that served as a
secretarial pool as well as anteroom to the executive offices, Chip paused. "Oh, Lee, did I
mention that I got you into the GS-7 program?"

"The GS...? Oh, the portable computer? Ah, Chip, that's fantastic! Where is it?"

"I've got it set up in your office. It's got everything mine has, plus a few extras." Chip said
as he led the way across the long room. Lee's attention was all on Chip, until halfway
across the room when he sensed something was wrong. He stopped and looked around.
Chip stopped a few steps further on and looked back at his boss curiously. "Something
wrong, Lee?"

Lee stood, trying to put his finger on what was different about the room. Suddenly, Angie
came up, and throwing a glance at Chip, said, "Lee, welcome back! Admiral Nelson's on
the phone and wants to speak with you. Come along, now. You and Cmdr. Morton can play
with your toys later." With that the lovely young woman slipped her arm through the
Captain's and pulled him away.

With a shrug, Chip said, "I'll see you later, Lee."

He allowed himself to be dragged to his desk, where the laptop computer caught his
attention. Angie left with a promise to put the Admiral through immediately, but it seemed
to take a lot longer than Lee expected. His internal alarms started going off in a big way.
His phone buzzed just as it hit him. Wait a minute! He picked up the phone, "Admiral? Sir, let me put you on hold for a moment. I'll be right back!"

Lee leapt to the door to his office. Sure enough, there was Morton, casually pushing the
swinging door on his way out. Think you're going to escape, don't you. "MR. MORTON!"
Lee roared. Chip looked around, and raised his eyebrows. Lee jerked his thumb over his
shoulder at his office door, then turned and marched through. He didn't have to look to
know his Exec was making his way back through the room, the all-too-silent room.

Lee went to his desk, and picking up the phone asked, "Admiral, did you call to speak with me?"

"What? No, Lee, I didn't. I thought that we would get together this afternoon. I want a full
briefing on everything that happened in Washington. But if there's something that can't
wait ...?"

"No. No, Sir... Nothing that can't wait... Just a mix-up... I'll see you this afternoon... All right, Sir? I'm looking forward to seeing you, Admiral."

'Yes, Lee. I'm looking forward to it, also."

As Lee hung up, Chip, who had been standing near the door, came forward. "You wanted
to see me, Skipper?"

"Sit."

Chip sat, and 'assumed the position'. To Lee, there was no greater indication of the man's
knowledge of his guilt. He walked around to lean on his desk, directly in front of his friend.
A move taught to him by the master, Harry Nelson himself, he was now in figurative
kicking range. "Well?" Lee said.

"Well, what, Skipper?" Chip replied, uneasily.

Lee leaned back and waited. He was pretty good at the body language thing himself, and
pretty soon the Exec was shifting in his seat. Lee cocked his head, and Chip went blank
on him. Lee realized that they could be here all day. He knew Chip would eventually
crack, but he decided it wasn't worth the effort it would take.

He walked back around his desk, signaling a truce. "All right, Chip," the Captain said,
"explain to me how the secretaries all got computers."

"Oh, that!" Morton exclaimed in a tone that made the Captain wonder what else he'd been
up to. "Oh, that's nothing to do with me, Lee. That shrink the Admiral brought on board,
Tollesen, is in charge of that. It seems he got a grant from us to study stress in the
workplace. He replaced all of the typewriters with computers to see how learning new
skills affects worker's morale and ability to function ... It's a win-win situation, Lee. He
gets a five-year study, and we get computers. But I had nothing to do with it ... Honest."

Lee Crane sat trying to hold in a laugh. Chip had beaten the game fair and square. Lee
could only give in gracefully, and support his Exec's clever manipulation. But he still had
one trump card.

"Okay, Chip, I believe you. I'll tell you what, I'll schedule an appointment with the Admiral
this afternoon, and you can explain it directly to him."

Morton wrinkled his nose and grinned at his friend. Heaving a sigh, he said, "That's why
you're the boss."

"And don't you ever forget it, pal!"