TRWD37A

My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
37A

“Oh, gawd, Emmie,” I said as I managed to wake up this morning, “c’mon. Get up. We’ve overslept. I think I have a hangover….”
“Me too,” she yawned. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten hundred hours. Want dibs on the shower?”
“Yes, just order some coffee.”
While she vanished into the head, I pulled on a robe and clicked the intercom.
“Galley? Nelson. Coffee. My cabin.”
“Will take a minute,” Cookie answered. “kinda’ busy right now.”
“What’s the delay?”
“Prepping for the queen’s luncheon, sir.”
“Yes, of course,” I replied, feeling foolish not to have remembered. “What time is it for, again?” Actually no one had told me that I remembered, but then I may have been too drunk last night to notice.
“1300 sir.”
“Thank you and never mind the coffee.”
“Want me to bring you some?” Jiggs voice came over, “wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Yes, fine. Thanks. Anything else going on I should be aware of?”
“Well, Lee’s in town, getting that eye exam by the experts that had arrived in Inverness before we docked. They’re using a local clinic. Decided not to have the special equipment brought aboard. Doc’s with him. Lots of folks and press outside of the clinic and here too. I’m talking too much. I’ll be down with your coffee in a couple of minutes.”
“Fine, take your time.”
I walked the few steps to the monitor and clicked it on for the news. Sure enough I had more than a few to choose from. Well, when in Rome, or rather Inverness, I selected the BBC. I was getting rather used to that network.

“…Just across the street,” the reporter in the field was saying, “cordoned off by police, Captain Nelson-Crane is undergoing the extensive exam of his orbital cavity and optic nerve which will determine if a new digital prosthesis is possible.
“…Earlier this morning, the captain greeted representatives of Gerrard’s as they returned the captain’s broken rings to him, having been unable to repair them. The captain purchased a small crystal box to keep them in. And Mr. Quinn and his associates also delivered the pieces of jewelry commissioned by the captain to give to Her Majesty and Lady O’Brien later today.
“…I can’t tell you about the designs, but I can tell you that even though there won’t be a gemstone on either piece, the queen and Lady O’Brien should be quite pleased. I can also tell you that when the topic of some pieces we’re sending to Sotheby’s-London to auction came up, the captain was very interested in learning about George Washington’s ring. Not that he has an interest in pacing a bid, frankly, we doubt he’d be able to afford it, but he’s expressed the hope it goes to a museum instead of to a private collection. The value of the ring is only its historical value as it’s a simple signet locket style and not of the purest gold. Washington’s initials are on the face, and the locket in the back holds a few strands of hair. DNA tests were inconclusive, probably due to contamination. But the provenance of the ring is without dispute. It was owned by and worn by him, so the hair is probably not his but could be Martha’s although he predeceased her. Or possibly his mother’s, or someone else he wanted to remember. Most mourning rings were larger, so the owner of the hair is just going to be a mystery until there are more strides in forensic studies.
“…What makes an otherwise insignificant ring so historically valuable, especially to Americans, is its previous ownership. In fact, when we used the term ‘General George Washington’ as the owner, the captain corrected us with ‘President’.”

I had to laugh. Yes, Lee would certainly have done that.
After Jiggs knocked on the door and I opened it, he set the carafe and two mugs on my desk, and said nothing of my lack of decent attire.
“When should Lee be back?” I asked, pouring myself some brew.
“Unsure. It’s an extensive exam. Doc went with him. The mayor too, who loaned a sedan to take them to the clinic so they wouldn’t have to call for a cab. Have to tell you, Harriman, I’m worried for him.”
We heard the water from the shower turn off.
“I’d better go. See you later.”

After Emmie emerged and began to dress, I took my own shower, worried about Lee. If his optic nerve had been too badly chewed up, he might have to resort to a non-functional glass eye. Nothing could be done, of course, with a digital or glass eye, until his orbital tissues healed.
I hardly noticed the sound of the door closing while I shaved, wondering if Jiggs had returned, possibly with some food since I’d missed the second seating for breakfast. Finishing dragging my comb through my hair, I emerged from the head, in clean shorts and T shirt to find Lee, sitting on the edge of my desk, his head lowered, while a crewman I didn’t recognize finished making up the bunk. He was about to empty the small trash bin but Lee nodded toward him to leave before he got to it.
“Son?” I asked, as I neared, knowing that he knew what I wanted to know.
Lee shook his head ‘no’ without lifting his face toward me. No words were needed to explain.
I took his hands in mine.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I…I…” he began but was unable to continue as tears began to fall from his good eye. So, this was the straw that broke his back from all the horrors he’d been though. He was simply overwhelmed.
I raised him to his feet and let him cry on my shoulder, my arms around him. Neither of us said anything. I just let his tears flow. His from his good eye, mine, from my heart.
“Skipper?” Sparks’ voice came over the PA, “Admiral Cartwright for you again. Secure videophone.”
Lee took a breath and acknowledged the message asking Sparks to pipe the call through to my videophone in ten minutes.
“Get dressed,” he told me, “you need to hear this too. Last night, Cartwright told me they had a lead. This call may be just what it is.”
Then Lee punched the intercom, “Joe? Chip? Come down to the admiral’s cabin in about ten minutes.”
Lee said nothing as I dressed. He helped himself to my half empty mug of coffee. It wasn’t an oversight that it was mine, not much, and cold. He just didn’t care.
I was of course, dressed by time Chip and Joe joined us. Lee sat in my chair, and motioned us to get behind him, and clicked the intercom.
“Okay, Sparks, we’re ready.”
The videophone came to life.
Cartwright raised his eyebrows taking in Seaview’s command team all together.
“It’s been confirmed, Captain. By a video stream one of our agents found in Russia. But more of that later. The former chairman of the People’s Republic was executed by the new one, personally. Shot point blank in the head. To prevent him from losing his nerve lying about their involvement with Ozno’s network, which, has now been confirmed to include the People’s Republic, Russia, North Korea, and a few other smattering of rouge scientists, one of which has now taken over for Ozno, but still, we think, somehow still getting orders from him. MI-6 which still has custody can’t figure out how as he no longer has any kind of mobile devise in his possession.”
“Possibly a brain implant?” Joe asked, “One that can send and receive messages by thinking a simple code or sentence?”
“That’s Comic book stuff,” Chip said, “like in O’Brien’s comic books.”
“Do you have any other way to explain it?” Lee asked him, then returning his attention to Cartwright, “Do the president and prime minister know anything about all this?”
“They’ve both been informed. But the president doesn’t know what to do. Neither do his advisors. Since there’s been no direct threat under the new chairman’s regime toward the west but there is a coalition manifesto against the west. Only in writing so far. We’re pigs. We’re propaganda war mongers, even though we haven’t been at war for years. So, the president’s advisors don’t want our military on alert, even though the secretary of defense wants it.”
“Avery doesn’t have the sense God gave him,” Lee sighed. “Anything else?”
“No, you’re up to date.”
“Up to date and helpless. Tell Avery I recommend he listens to the secretary of defense. Doesn’t have to be a red alert. Could be yellow. Prep for a what if’ scenario. In fact, I’ll put Seaview on yellow alert.”
“Not quite the same as she’s not on active service. Wish you’d tell Avery that yourself.”
Just then the door opened.
“Not now, Emmie!” I shouted.
“Oh…oh dear. I…I’m sorry…”
“Wait,” Lee said. “It’s okay, Emily. We’re finished here. For now anyway, right?” he asked Cartwright.
“For now, Captain. Out.”
The screen went blank.
“I really am sorry,” Emmie said, “I swear I didn’t know you were doing something…important.”
“Did you find him?” Mrs. Crane’s voice preceded her as she entered. “There you are, Lee. We’ve been looking for those presents you had made for the queen and lady O’Brien.”
“They’re in the nose, top sideboard drawer, all wrapped, waiting for the big moment.”
“Well, you could have let us see them first.”
“I suppose, sorry, Mom.”
“Lee, what’s wrong? You look…haunted. I know it’s a huge disappointment not to be able to have a prothesis again but...”
“Just tired, Mom.”
“This was an official briefing, Mrs. Crane,” Chip said.
“Is that all. You looked like a ghost, Harriman. We have a little time before lunch so Emily, Edith, and I are going shopping again, but…I’m afraid my charge card is maxed out.”
“Here,” Lee said, coming around from behind the desk and pulling out a credit card from his pants pocket, “any problem with the shops have them call Drew at the institute. Don’t go over two hundred dollars. That’s one hundred fifty eight pounds, I think.”
“That’s not much, Lee. You haven’t been shopping lately. If you need extra, use my personal account for all three of you, Emmie.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
“You’re really are okay with not getting a new eye?” Mrs. C, asked Lee.
“I’m okay,” he said giving her a hug before she joined Emmie and left.
“I think I’ll get in a few rounds with the punching bag,” Lee said. “No way I’m leaving the boat again today. Will gave me what for after all those kisses yesterday. I’m sick of antiseptic wipes!”
“Care for some company?” Chip asked him.
“Sure thing, Chipee.”
“Lee~” Chip whined.
“Live with it,” Lee smirked.
And so Chip, Lee, Joe and I accompanied Lee, though he changed out of uniform and into sweats for his workout.
Joe also changed into sweats, collected Winston, and both ran on the treadmills next to the boxing bag.
Chip didn’t change, but leaned against the bulkhead and discussed the merits of chocolate chip cookies against brownies, which were not on the menu and pestered Lee to add them to today’s menu.
As for me, I simply remained silent, letting Lee work off his frustrations.
God knew he had enough of them.