y Journal

By Harriman Nelson

6

I couldn’t sleep, and headed to the Observation Nose in the hopes that the steady pings and sounds from the Control Room might help lull me nearer toward the arms of Morpheus.

“Chip?” I asked, finding him there.

“Cocoa?” he replied, indicating the packets of the stuff next to a carafe of hot water on the table. He’d apparently already consumed several cups if the torn packages meant anything. “Always helps Lee when he has a hard time drifting off…hasn’t returned your calls either, has he.”

“No,” I sighed, stirring the dry cocoa mix to a lumpy consistency in the not quite so hot now water. “But then, he has a lot on his mind. Or my messages asking him to call may have  been misplaced by his staff.”

“I find that hard to believe of the White House staff…and…his cell doesn’t have voice mail anymore. I know, I tried calling him using his private number once we got communications back. The message said voice mail was unavailable for the number. And when I called the switchboard, I got the ‘unavailable’ and ‘please leave a message’ even when I’d identified myself. I will grant that they did ask first if it was an emergency though. Well, I couldn’t just lie, could I? We…we’ve…lost him, haven’t we. I mean, his job’s taken him over.”

“Afraid so,” I had to admit.

We just stared out the view ports for the next hour until Riley, just recently returned on the Flying Sub, approached.

“Excuse me, Admiral, Mr. Morton. The duty Sparks says  that the president’s on the line for you, Admiral. It’s, like, getting easier to call him that, isn’t it. Anyway, it’s not scrambled or anything, so, like, do you want it piped through to you on the monitor here or to one of your videophones? Videophone would have better reception, though it’s getting better all the time, thanks to those alien dudes taking their flying saucers up higher, just like the skip…president wanted.”

“Videophone, then,” I said. “In here.”

“Aye sir, Oh, and well, like, you might want to tell him that the decks are all still clean enough to eat off of. He like’s em’ that way.”

“Yes, Riley, I’ll tell him.”

Then with a huge grin the lad closed the pleats, and I clicked on the videophone.

“He’s supposed to call you 'Captain', Chip.”

“It’s hard for the entire crew. And the job’s still only temporary, as far as I’m concerned. I’ll be in the Control Room if you need me.”

“Nonsense. We’ll both take the call.”

It wasn’t the Oval Office. And it wasn’t actually from a videophone. It was an internet call.

We could see that Lee was in bed, his laptop a little lopsided on his lap, but his attention wasn’t on us and we really couldn’t see most of him as he was leaning over toward the side of the bed.

“Take it,” a man we couldn’t see  ordered him.

“I don’t need any warm milk!”

“Sir, I’m the chief steward and it’s my job to take care of you. My gran always swore by warm milk to help bring on the sandman. Unless, of course, you’d like me to call the surgeon general and finally tell him that you haven’t been getting much sleep since you took office or that….”

“All right, all right, Edwards,” Lee sighed.

There were a few moments of silence except for the sound of swallowing.

“Finish it off, sir.”

“Slave driver.”

More swallowing.

“Satisfied?” Lee asked.

“Yes, sir. Good night, Mr. President.”

“Good night,” Lee said and returned to the laptop, wiping the milk mustache off with his pajama sleeve. He wasn’t wearing his prostheses. I supposed it was soaking in its disinfectant.

“Harry, Chip!” he said, delighted. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long to return your calls. The Secret Service made me delete my voice messaging, and then they confiscated my cell phone completely, saying the number was compromised. They said they’d call you and my mom with a new number…I guess they didn’t.”

“Delays, happen,” I said.

“I’ll have them contact you as soon as we’re finished here. You saw, I suppose? The thing is…as compliant as our visitors seem to be, I’m keeping our services on full alert for now. But I’m going to let them regenerate ‘Igor’s replacement on me. To see how well, or not it works on humans and if it’s a viable payment for our salt.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Chip asked. “What if they do something to it that harms you? Or worse, enslaves you?”

“They could have enslaved us at any time.”

“But you’re still suspicious of them.”

“Trust has to be earned. In fact, the Lt. was p.o’d when he found out that I hadn’t ordered our troops to stand down. I asked him if he wouldn’t have done the same if our positions were reversed. He had no choice but to agree…anyway, would you believe that our guests don’t bathe? Seems their skin, hair, and teeth are self-cleaning. So are their clothes. But enough of that. Harry, how soon can you get here?”

“FS1 just returned from picking Riley up. Give us a few minutes more for her post flight check, and she's all yours,” Chip said.

“Good. Harry, I want you to head up the NOAA committee regarding harvesting what salt, minerals, and bios the aliens need. We don’t want to deplete our own to dangerous levels.”

“Surely the committee can draw the same conclusions I can."

“I know, but you have something no other scientist, in my humble opinion, has. I need your common sense. It’s never failed us yet.”

“Thank you, but there may be those who may object to hiring your ‘old man’.”

“Let them complain. This is too important not to have all the informed data we can before we agree to do any harvesting on the scale the aliens need. I won’t compromise earth’s resources. The meeting’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. 1300 Washington time.  The Lt. and Melody will brief the committee as to how their harvester works, etc. Then, after the meeting is adjourned for the day, hopefully the alien captain will return to Earth and join us for supper. 1800. Menu, pot luck. Some of our favorites, some of theirs. Melody’s idea. Sweet little domestic thing, that girl. Seems she thinks I need fattening up,” he sighed. “I wish I could ask you to come, too, Chip. For your gourmet opinions, but right now, I need you in command of Seaview. Just in case.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“I thought I told you that you don’t have to call me that.”

“Oh, I know, but that’s why I do. Gotta’ irk you to keep in practice. Be ready for when you come back.”

“Wish it was right now,” Lee sighed. “Chip? Be honest with me. Wouldn’t you rather keep command? You’d have had your own in the real Navy and….”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Skipper.”

“All right, all right, but you think about it. I’m…not sure I’ll be able to go back to just being a sub driver.”

“You’ve always been more than that, Lee,” I said. “Well, Chip, get me a pilot, I’m not sure I’d be able to concentrate with all this adrenaline flowing through my veins.”

“Right away, and Lee, Riley said to let you know that the decks are clean enough to eat off of.”

Lee laughed, and his sunshine smile did us both a world of good.

“See you soon, Harry. Wish me luck, I’m going to call my mom now. I don’t care about the time. I just hope she believes me that the Secret Service took over…”

“She’ll believe you,” Chip said. “It’s what mom’s do. Besides you can always tell her that the same thing happened to the admiral and me.”

“Who are you going to draft as Harry’s pilot?”

“Well, Ski’s not on watch, neither is Patterson…how about Riley?”

“He’s only qualified as co pilot,” I said, slightly concerned.

“Let me talk to him,” Lee said.

In minutes the crewman was nervously standing in front of the videophone.

“Mr. President…I wasn’t joking. The decks really are clean enough to eat off of…”

“I know, that’s not what this is about…Riley, how good do you think you are as co pilot of the flying sub?”

“Damn good, sir!”

“Do you think you can pilot?”

“Well, sir, it’s kind of like riding a bike or a hot tube. Once you know the basics, well, yeah, I think I could pilot.”

“What’s your instrument rating?”

“A-1 sir. Ski checked me out.”

“Emergency landings, flying blind? No instruments?”

“Ski hasn’t tested me on those yet, sir. But I think I can.”

Lee pursed his lips. I knew exactly what he was doing.

“Like, I know I can, sir!”

“Very well. I want you to pilot the admiral to Washington. Potomac approach. The FAA will send you the coordinates. But, if there is any kind of problem, turn the stick over to the admiral, understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“And ask for a volunteer co-pilot for the trip back.”

“Me, sir? Pick my own co- pilot?”

“That’s right, Riley. You’re FS1’s captain for these flights.”

“Aye, aye, sir! Er…”

“Go ahead.”

“That alien dame…”

“Melody.”

“Yeah, her…well, it’s this, sir…I don’t care what anyone says, if you got the hots for her, well, that’s fine by me.”

"I have the hots for her?" Lee asked, looking properly astonished.

“Well the way she was clinging to you and you talking and smiling at her...I told those jokers that you were just being polite to her."

“Well,” Lee rubbed his chin, “she is a nice girl. And pretty too, in an alien sort of way. Has the kind of eyes and hair a guy could get lost in, right?”

“Er, yeah, but I didn’t.…”

“And a president can certainly use a First Lady…”

“But Skipper, I didn’t mean that you had to start seeing her like that…I mean…only if were interested in her…that I’d back you up against all of the bad talk. Please don’t do anything just because I suggested it! I mean you’ve always your own man…making your own decisions, even about dames, and….”

“And I still will. But, you know, you may have opened my eyes to some possibilities I hadn’t thought of. Now, you’d better go get your gear and co pilot.”

 “Yes sir, Skipper…I mean yes, Mr. President.”

As soon as Riley was out of earshot, Lee began to laugh.

“Oh Lord,” he managed, running a hand through his own hair. “I guess I’ve missed some newscasts and editorials…does everyone think I have the hots for her?”

“Your mother does,” I said. “We spoke a while back. I told her your taking the girl’s arm and smiling at her like that was just diplomacy. She didn’t buy it."

“Did you?”

“Nothing's gone that far yet, still..."he grinned.

“Remind me to suggest you for the diplomatic service." "Well, I’d better let you get ready for your flight, and Chip, you look like you could use a few zz’s. Who has the conn tonight?”

“Travers. The alert experience will do him good. ”

“Very good. Well, good night, Chip. See you soon, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Mr. President,” I said, with a wink.

And so, I’m in flight, letting Riley’s chatter about hot tubes lull me to sleep in my chair behind him.

At first the dream was pleasant enough. But when it showed Lee, having just said his vows to Melody, and morphing into an alien himself, well, I was startled out of the nightmare, and reminded myself that I’d been the victim of tabloid imagination. And Lee certainly wouldn't take Riley’s suggested relationship seriously.

Or would he?