This is another story in
the series inspired by the Uncharted
Waters crossover challenge and directly follows the events in Deadly
Echoes. It is not precisely a crossover, though it does refer to characters
in another series. Those readers who saw the episode of Gunsmoke in
which Richard Basehart guest starred will probably have a better understanding
of some of the events mentioned in the story, but is not necessary to have seen
that show to enjoy the story.
Dedicated to the memory of
friend and fellow Voyage fan Susan Gasper. She is sorely missed.
Bloodlines
By T. Storm
It was exactly two weeks
before Thanksgiving and Admiral Harriman Nelson was fighting a losing battle
with his sister Edith. It had been just two weeks since the insane day that
John Smith had penetrated NIMR security in an attempt to murder the Seaview’s
executive officer, Chip Morton. As soon as the news had broken on national TV,
Edith had called her brother, informing him that she was catching the first
plane from Boston to Santa Barbara, with the expressed intention of nursing
‘her poor darling Chip’ back to health. Nelson had managed delay her with the
news that Morton was in the hospital in Santa Barbara under police guard and
would be for at least a week. Visitors were being strictly limited - even he
and Crane didn‘t get to see him every day. That it was largely because the
Institute was covered up with cops and media was a detail he neglected to
mention. He also didn’t tell her that Chip Morton’s oldest brother Hank was
camped out at the hospital and was keeping them updated. She’d pouted, but
deferred flying out. Morton was released into Jamison’s care several days
earlier than expected, which gave the man three days of freedom before Edith
was due to arrive. He spent most of the time with Hank, since his brother had
to return to Chicago and his job as a captain with the fire department by
week’s end.
Edith had arrived determined
to cosset Morton. He’d appealed for help and Jamison had managed to keep her at
bay for the next week by putting him in a private room in the Infirmary and
again limiting visitation - on the grounds that he had to rest to heal. Which
was true enough, but this was the first time Morton had ever voluntarily stayed
in the doctor’s domain if he was even remotely mobile.
Nelson had tried to help
Morton out by keeping his sister occupied, but the whirling red-haired dynamo
was running even him into the ground. Lee Crane, who had been the object of her
romantic overtures in the past, had holed up aboard the Seaview, with
the excuse that since his executive officer was laid up, as captain he needed
to personally supervise preparations for the short cruise they were scheduled
to do in between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Nelson was about at his wit’s end.
He had finally begged his administrative secretary Angie to take Edith
shopping, to lunch, anything to give him a break. He even promised to pay for
all of it. Fortunately she had taken pity on him and taken Edith off to Santa
Barbara for the afternoon.
Nelson sat at his desk
restlessly shuffling the paperwork that had piled up while he’d been busy
trying to keep his sister separated from Lt. Commander Morton. He had consumed
far too much coffee that morning and missed lunch altogether. He loved his
sister dearly - the two of them were the only surviving members out of their
parent’s six children, indeed out of the entire Nelson clan - but she sometimes
drove him to distraction. The seventeen years between them was a chasm at
times. He had grown up during the lean hard years of the Great Depression and
World War II, while she had come to maturity in the postwar boom years. Not to
mention that she’d been a real surprise, having been born twelve years after
the next oldest of her siblings. He sighed. Their parents had doted on her, for
she was their only daughter to survive, having lost Harry’s twin sister Harriet
at the tender age of four. Unfortunately that meant Edith had been rather
pampered. She had been even more spoiled by their maternal aunt after the death
of their parents and oldest brother in a plane crash in 1953 when Edith was but
twelve. She’d grown up expecting to have
her every whim granted.
Nelson got up and walked over
to the window to stretch his leg muscles. He stood looking out on the vast blue
expanse of the Pacific, recalling the circumstances when Edith had first taken
a fancy to Crane and Morton. They were Midshipmen at Annapolis and in one of
the classes that the then Captain Nelson was teaching. She’d come up to visit
her brother for his birthday. Nelson had called the pair into his office about
a project they were working on. Edith waltzed in unannounced and was
immediately taken by Crane’s darkly handsome looks - she’d decided then and
there she wanted to marry him. Unfortunately, their Grandmother Nelson, who was
the only person who could say no to Edith and make it stick, absolutely
wouldn’t hear of it. Crane’s ancestry was too obviously foreign, with
his paternal grandfather having been an Armenian who‘d Americanized his name.
Edith had then considered Morton, but his bloodline was too common to suit
Grandmother’s high standards. After all, his father was a just a fireman, even
if he was a battalion chief. Neither was he Irish. Besides, they were sailors,
even if they were going to be officers. Edith had pointed out that her brother
Harry was too. Her Grandmother had sniffed and commented that he was a great
disappointment to the family. Edith had observed in return that the beginnings
of the Nelson family fortune had come from an ancestor who had been a sea
captain and that their mother’s grandfather had been one as well - a remark
that had earned her a disapproving glare. In the end her Grandmother’s wishes
had prevailed, so Edith had with great reluctance dropped her pursuit of the
two young officers and confined her attentions to the young men of Boston Irish
society that Grandmother had deemed appropriate. Unfortunately for Crane and
Morton, Edith hadn’t found one that suited her standards, so when her
Grandmother had finally passed on in 1965 at the age of 87, Edith came back to
Annapolis.
Disappointingly for Edith,
the two young men had both graduated and were serving on ships at sea. Her
brother told her he had no idea where they were. Thwarted again, Edith had
returned to Boston to play the field among the eligible bachelors of high
society. Nelson thought she had forgotten the pair. Years later came Seaview
and Nelson had chosen Morton to be her executive officer. After the tragic
murder of Captain Phillips by enemy agents and Crane’s recruitment to replace
him, Edith had rediscovered her fascination with the two. The problem was,
neither of them had the slightest interest in her.
Nelson sighed again. He’d
tried unsuccessfully since the launch of Seaview two years earlier to
steer Edith away from his officers. He knew they’d avoided brutally rejecting
her advances solely because she was his sister. It was at the point though
where he wouldn’t blame them if they did. He knew that Crane had been dating a
woman professor in the archeology department at the University of California at
Santa Barbara for several months now. They seemed to be fairly serious about
the relationship, though Nelson often wondered where they found time for it
since one or the other of them was frequently absent. Crane‘s apparent
commitment, he reflected, was probably the reason Edith was putting pressure on
Morton. His problem was that he wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment and was
therefore fair game in Edith‘s eyes. Nelson rubbed his hands over his face in
frustration.
A knock at the door
distracted him. He turned. “Come in,” he called.
Philip Haggen, the
Institute’s Chief of Security, stuck his head in and asked, “Is it safe?”
Nelson snorted as he waved
him on in. “That depends what you’re trying to be safe from.”
Haggen chuckled. “I see Angie
took pity on us and dragged Edith off someplace.”
“Yeah,” said Nelson wearily
as he sat back down at his desk. Haggen dragged up a chair and plopped down in
it. He put an elbow on Nelson’s desk and rested his chin in the palm of one
hand as he studied his old friend.
“Harry, you look like ten
miles of bad road. You need to turn Edith over your knee and bust her britches
for her.”
“Don’t tempt me,” rejoined
Nelson. “I just wish she’d realize that the world doesn’t revolve around her
whims. Lee’s still holed up on the boat and Chip is cowering behind Jamie. He
seems to be the only one who’s impervious to her temper.”
“He’s had lots of practice
dealing with you,” Haggen grinned.
Nelson gave a dry laugh, then
asked, “So what brings you out into the line of fire?”
“Well, a rather unusual
letter arrived the other day for Morton and I thought I’d consult with you
before I passed it on to him.” The Institute’s security office had been
screening Morton and Patterson’s mail since the incident with Smith. There had
been some very sick individuals send the two of them threatening letters, which
had been promptly turned over to the police.
“Unusual how?” asked Nelson,
his curiosity aroused.
“See for yourself.” Haggen
produced the document in question and handed it to the admiral. Nelson opened
it and began reading.
Dear Chip,
I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m
your Aunt Sammy O’Brien from Dodge City, Kansas. I’m your mother’s older
sister. I know you haven’t seen any of us since your mother died and I guess I
wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to see us now. Daddy’s feeling pretty bad
about the way he treated Clarissa after she divorced your dad - he kinda blames
himself for her getting mixed up with that awful Smith man. She’d wanted to
come home and he instead he gave her a lecture on how marriage was till death
do us part. So she took off with you and Cassie and, well, it was a disaster.
Your dad and brothers blamed Daddy as well, so they quit coming to visit. But
it’s been a long time and I for one would like to put the family back together.
I’m hoping we can put it all behind us. Please let me know if you’re willing to
give it a try. If you aren’t, well, I can understand that too. Here’s my phone
number - 316 - 555 - 3030.
Yours truly,
Aunt Sammy
PS: It was a real surprise
for us to find out you’d gone into the Navy and had become an officer. No one
ever told us what became of you. It was even more of a surprise to find out you
are the second in command on Nelson’s fantastic submarine Seaview. But then
again, maybe not. Did your mother ever tell you about her grandpa, Aaron Sligo,
who was a sea captain?
Nelson’s eyebrows climbed up
his forehead as he read the letter. He put it down on the desk when he finished
and frowned. There was something about the letter that triggered a feeling of
familiarity, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. He looked
Haggen in the eye. “Is this for real?”
“Apparently so. I ran a check
on them. A very thorough and exhaustive check, I might add. They really are his
relatives.” Haggen shook his head and looked off into nothing, reflection
turned inward. “You know,” he said in a somewhat amused tone, “it’s a small
world. One of the reasons I became a cop was the stories I used to hear about
my great-great-uncle Festus. He was a deputy US Marshal out west.” Haggen
grinned. “In Dodge City, Kansas, as a matter of fact.” Getting serious again,
he tapped the letter with one finger. “I knew from the police file on the
murder of Chip’s mother that she was from Ford County, Kansas. Since there was
no mention of her relatives in the report it never occurred to me to look for
any. There’s also no mention of any living relatives on his Mother’s side in
his Navy personnel file. Instead they have his step-mother’s family.” He shook
his head in amazement. “Somebody really fell down on the job there to have
missed one whole side of his family. I can understand him not talking about his
aunts, uncles and cousins if he hadn’t seen them since he was a small child,
but I can’t believe no one ever checked the records to see if they were still
living, even if he didn’t know whether or not they were. We need to do some
investigating there to see who did the background check on him, where they got
the information and just what they might have missed on someone else. Anyway,
since Chip never mentioned any other kin, I’d assumed that Chip’s mother must
have been an only child. It was a surprise to find this…” he searched for a
word, “horde of kinfolk. His mother was the second of five children -
she had two sisters and two brothers. He has a couple of dozen first cousins.
As for second cousins….,” Haggen rolled his eyes. “Under the circumstances, I
doubt Morton even has a clue as to how many of them there are.”
Nelson couldn’t help but
smile wryly. “This may have him hiding out in Seaview’s ballast tanks.
I’m not sure he’s in any frame of mind to deal with a bunch of strangers right
now, even if they are his relatives. You might ask Jamie what he thinks.” He
looked thoughtful for a minute. “O’Brien. I wonder if he’s related to Bobby?”
Haggen snorted. “Nah,” he
said, then added with a grin, “I checked. Bobby‘s from Pennsylvania. His
family’s been there since it was first settled. Morton’s just as likely to be
related to you. But I wanted to run this letter by you first, so if he runs out
the gate screaming you’ll know why.” He grinned at the last part of his
statement.
Nelson harrumphed, stifling a
laugh. “Right now he might prefer going to Kansas if it would get him out of
Edith’s reach. That’s probably one place she wouldn’t think to look for him.”
Nelson shook his head. “Staying in the Infirmary has him chewing the walls.
Good thing Jamie has a thick hide.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “I don’t
know if the doctor would clear him to travel, at least alone. Hmmm. Have you
talked to this aunt of his?” The wheels in Nelson’s mind were clearly turning.
Haggen narrowed his eyes,
wondering just what his employer had up his sleeves. These odd shifts in
conversation usually meant Nelson was getting a notion. Whether or not it was
inspired was another matter. “Nooo,” he drawled slowly. “I figured it was up to
Morton to decide if he wanted any contact with them.”
“Go talk to him and see what
he thinks. Talk to Jamie too. This really might be a way to get Edith off his
back for at least a while. We can always send someone with him if Jamie - or
you for that matter - thinks he shouldn’t go alone.”
Haggen reflected. “Well, I
would feel better if he took Ski or Pat with him. I know Pat’s going a little
stir crazy with his wrist keeping him on light duty.” His eyes took on a
calculating look. “Actually, if Morton were to go, I would feel a lot better if
he would take Pat since he has the background for it. Ski is a bit of a city
kid. Like Morton. The two of them loose in a place like Dodge City would
be a disaster waiting to happen.” Haggen grinned. “I did talk to the county sheriff and the
Dodge City Chief of Police, though. The family‘s been there since the 1880‘s.
Most of the descendants still live in the area. About half of them still make
their living raising wheat and cattle. The aunt that wrote the letter is a
retired nurse. She’s married to a retired construction contractor. One of her
sons is a detective in the city police department and one of her brother‘s boys
is a deputy sheriff. They’re pretty intermarried with the founding families.
Fairly stable stock. It’s unlikely that anybody there would deliberately do him
harm.”
Nelson nodded. “I was hoping
that might be the case. Now for Chip’s sake - and our sanity - let’s hope he’s
willing to go visit long lost relatives and Edith will take the hint and go
back to Boston. Rest assured she wouldn‘t find out from me where he went.”
Haggen got to his feet and
gathered up the letter. “I guess my next stop is downstairs.” He gave Nelson a
grin. “Maybe I should be the one to go with him, since I had family
there too.” Nelson’s laugh followed him out the door.
Haggen made his way to the
elevator and rode down to the ground floor. He crossed the hall to the
Infirmary and tapped on the door. Doctor Jamison emerged from his office to
greet him. “What brings you here today, Philip? Do you require my services or
are you making a house call of a different sort?”
“House call, Jamie. Chip got
a letter from some of his relatives. Harry thinks it might do the boy good to
take some time and go visit. Might send Pat with him, too.”
“So why did the letter come
to you and not directly to Chip?” queried the doctor.
Haggen pulled at his ear.
“Him and Pat have been getting some strange mail since the business with Smith
made the national news, so my office has been screening everything mailed to
them. There’s some mighty odd people in the world out there.”
Jamison humphed. “You
wouldn’t be talking to me about it if there wasn’t more to the story than
that.”
“Discerning as always, Doc.
It’s from his mother’s older sister.” He paused to scratch at his temple.
“And?” Jamison had crossed
his arms and was giving Haggen a stern look.
“He hasn’t seen any of them
since his mother was killed. His aunt is asking him to come visit.”
Jamison rolled his eyes. “If
they haven’t seen him since the murders, why do they want to see him now?”
“From what she wrote in the
letter, Jamie, the decision to not see Chip wasn’t made on their side.”
“No, it was my father’s
choice, not mine or my aunt‘s.” Both men were startled to find Morton standing
in the side door behind them. He came on into the room and perched on the edge
of the exam table. “I remember the awful fight they had about it. Father
thought I was upstairs in my room and that I didn’t know they were there. I was
hiding at the corner of the stairs. Sammy was my favorite aunt and I recognized
her voice outside when they drove up and got out of the car.” Morton looked off
into the distance, sadness in his blue eyes. “My old man said some really
hurtful things. They never came back.”
“Why didn’t you go see them
when you got out on your own?” asked Jamison.
Morton shrugged as he looked
down at his shoes. “I don’t know. I guess I was afraid my father might totally
reject me then. He’s one of those my way or no way sorts. It was a real battle
to convince him to let me go to the Naval Academy instead of becoming a
firefighter. If my Grandfather Morton hadn’t intervened he’d have probably
disowned me altogether. As it was, things were rather strained.” He sighed as
he looked up at the doctor. “I suspect that one of the chief reasons my mother eventually
left him was his domineering attitude.”
Jamison cocked his head to
one side. He was still fitting the pieces of the puzzle that was Chip Morton
together in his mind and the picture that was emerging concerned him. “Is that
the reason it was your brother Hank who came instead of your dad?”
Morton looked down at the
floor again and nodded. Jamison patted him on his shoulder in silent support.
Haggen pulled the letter out of his pocket and solemnly handed it to Morton,
who unfolded it and began to read. When he was finished, he sat looking at the
wall, but not really seeing it.
Haggen cleared his throat,
bringing Morton out of his reverie. “The Admiral has suggested that you take
Patterson with you. He’s promised not to tell Edith if you want to go.”
The deer-in-the-headlights
expression on Morton’s face at the mention of Edith Nelson was priceless. It
took a masterful effort by both Jamison and Haggen to not laugh. “Uh, Doc,”
said Morton, “you did clear me to fly didn’t you?”
Jamison managed a straight
face. “Only if you’ll take somebody else to do any lifting.”
“That lets Pat out then, with
his wrist,” said Morton.
“Not entirely,” interjected
Haggen. “I’d prefer you took Pat because he has the kind of background to know
his way around a place like Dodge City. I know you were gonna suggest Kowalski
instead, but he’s a city kid. Pat can probably do a better job of keeping you
out of trouble. Besides, you’ve got all kinds of cousins to pitch in and help
carry.”
“I would approve flying under
those conditions,” said Jamison, still trying to hide a smile. “Pat’s been
going stir crazy on just light duty. It’ll give him something to keep him
occupied. And he’s not nearly as likely to find trouble as Ski.” Not to mention
the fact that the doctor considered Patterson to be far more sensible than
Kowalski, in addition to being one of the most closemouthed individuals on the
boat.
“True,” reflected Morton. He
turned to Haggen. “Can you get us out of here and on a plane without Edith
finding out?”
“You bet I can,” Haggen
assured him. “Especially if we leave before daylight tomorrow. I can take both
of you to the airport myself. It’d probably be best to charter a flight instead
of using the Institute‘s plane. Not only can you go directly to the airport
nearest to Dodge City, but there’s less chance of being seen or traced. Oh, you
might want to check the weather before you pack. It’s most likely winter
there.” He paused. “You probably ought to call your aunt and see where they
expect you to stay. They might not want Pat staying at their place - if that’s
the case I’d rather you stayed at a motel so he’d be around to keep an eye on
things. If they question it, just lay the blame on me and the Admiral. We’ve
grown rather fond of you, boy, and we’d not want to be looking to have replace
you.” Morton turned a faint shade of pink, embarrassed but pleased too.
“Okay.” Morton looked at his
watch. It was 2:18 PM Pacific Time, which meant that it was two hours later in
Dodge City. “I better go call now. I don’t want to interrupt her in the middle
of supper.” Morton hopped off the exam table and headed out the door to go to
his office - after a quick look up and down the hall to make sure the coast was
clear.
Haggen shook his head at
Morton’s behavior and said to Jamison, “We gotta do something about Edith. That
boy’s getting plumb paranoid.”
Jamison looked thoughtful and
commented, “I hope Edith is the only problem.” Haggen shot a questioning look
the doctor‘s way. Jamison continued, “This business with his father cutting him
completely off from his mother’s family really bothers me. I wasn’t aware that
that had happened. I knew from Lee that there was a lot of static from Chip’s
father over him choosing to go to the Naval Academy instead of joining the fire
department. Now I‘m wondering if Chip ever got to really deal with all the
aspects of the murder of his mother and sister. And if his emotional mask
doesn‘t cover up a lot more than I realized.”
Haggen looked concerned. “You
think he’s comin’ unglued?”
Jamison shook his head. “I
don’t know, Philip. He may have a lot more emotional baggage to work through
than any of us dreamed. I’m wondering now if letting him go might not be a
mistake.”
********
Morton sat at his desk with
the letter from his aunt on the desk in front of him. He picked up the
receiver, dialed 9 for an outside line, then at the sound of the dial tone,
took a deep breath and dialed the number she’d written. He could hear the soft clicks
of telephone relays as the long distance call rapidly winged it’s way eastward.
The phone on the other end began to ring as he held his breath. He wasn’t quite
sure what to say to his aunt.
The phone picked up on the
fourth ring. “Hello?” said a feminine voice. Even after thirty years he
recognized his aunt’s voice.
Morton let out the breath he
was holding. “Aunt Sammy?” he said softly, “it’s … Chip.” There was a gasp on
the other end of the line.
“Chip?!” The voice was
incredulous. “Oh, my God. Chip! You got my letter? I didn’t know if you’d get
it or not since I sent it to the Nelson Institute. Oh, my dear boy, are you
alright? Oh, it was so awful when we saw on the news what had happened.” She
was running on, excited. Morton put his elbow on his desk and rested his chin
in his palm, letting his thoughts range back to the memories of his aunt. A
wistful smile crossed his face. “Oh, Don,” she called to someone else who had
apparently just entered the room, “it’s your cousin Chip. Go find your dad.” He
could tell that his aunt was on the verge of tears. Hopefully they were tears
of joy.
While she was catching her
breath, Morton interjected, “Aunt Sammy, uh, I was wondering, well, if you’d
mind if I came out for a visit?”
“Mind?! Good Heavens, no, Chip.
With the kids all grown and gone, we’ve got plenty of room in this old house.
You’re welcome to come and stay as long as you like.” His aunt sounded
overjoyed at the prospect.
“Uh, there’s just one small
problem. My doctor and boss don’t want me traveling alone. They’d like one of
the men from the Institute to come along with me. After what happened, well,
the security people are a bit paranoid.”
This seemed to quash some of
his aunt’s enthusiasm. “Well, I suppose. But a bodyguard? Is it really necessary
Chip?” The idea of a stranger with a gun shadowing her nephew gave her pause.
Morton laughed. “Patterson’s
not one of the security people, Aunt Sammy. He’s a seaman from the boat. He was
with me in the crash - broke his wrist so he’s on light duty right now. They
just don’t want me somewhere where no one knows how to get hold of the Admiral
or Doctor Jamison in an emergency.”
“Oh, well, in that case,”
Morton could tell that her enthusiasm had returned full force, “he’s certainly
welcome to come along. Does he know anything about living in the country?”
“He grew up on a farm in
Nebraska. I think he’ll probably get along better than I will, Aunt Sammy.”
His aunt laughed. “You always
were a bit of a city boy weren’t you,” she said fondly. “But we certainly can’t
go around calling him Patterson. What’s his first name?”
“Steve, but he prefers to go
by Pat.”
“You tell Pat he’s more than
welcome. When were you planning on coming? Is there any chance you can be here
for Thanksgiving?”
Morton took a deep breath.
“Actually, Aunt Sammy, I was wondering if we could come tomorrow. The Admiral
has offered to charter a plane so we don’t have to fly commercially. It… it’s
still a bit painful for me to lean back against anything for too long. I have
to get up and move around. It could get awkward on a commercial flight. Is
there an airport nearby?”
His aunt paused for a moment.
“Is that all there is to it?“ she asked dryly, her giddiness momentarily
contained. Morton almost swore. She obviously remembered him better than he’d
thought.
He sighed. “I promise you,
Aunt Sammy, that it’s nothing that would get anybody there in any trouble or
put them in any danger. I just need to get out of here before.. before I do
something ungentlemanly.”
His aunt laughed gently.
“That sounds like girl trouble, Chip.”
“Trouble,” said Morton in a
droll tone, “doesn’t begin to describe it. Outright menace to life and liberty
would be a better description. Please, can we come?” His voice had taken on a
pleading note at the last.
“Is she your girlfriend,
Chip? You haven‘t done anything you shouldn‘t? She’s not in trouble is she?”
His aunt wanted to make sure there was nothing untoward going on. Not that she
thought her nephew was the sort, but she hadn’t seen him in nearly thirty
years.
“No! She’s not my girlfriend.
Not now, not ever. She…. just ignores that I’m not interested and never have
been. She hangs around the Institute and …wishes. She‘s gotten to be a real
nuisance.” Morton let some of his exasperation color his voice.
“Then why doesn’t your boss
do something about her?” she asked in a reasonable tone.
Morton groaned. “Aunt Sammy…
it’s the Admiral’s baby sister. And he’s tried to get her to leave me
and Lee alone for the past two years. That’s why he’s chartering a plane for me
and Pat to get out of here. He’s at his wit’s end with her himself.”
“Oh, dear,” said his aunt,
beginning to understand. “And who’s Lee?”
“Seaview’s captain,
Lee Crane. My best friend since the Naval Academy. We were roommates. He’s got
a steady girlfriend to keep Edith at bay, but I don’t.”
“I see,” she observed. And
she did see. “I think we can hide you out, Chip. You and your friend Pat are
welcome to come tomorrow. You can fly right into Dodge City - the airport’s out
on the east side of town. You don‘t have to rent a car, we‘ve got a couple so
you can just use one of them. I can come pick you up.”
“Thank you, Aunt Sammy. I was
.. afraid if you knew why I wanted to come now that … you might not let me.”
Sammy heard the pain in his voice and felt her heart break for her nephew.
“You’re family, Chip,” she
told him softly, “family is always welcome here.”
Morton closed his eyes as he
struggled with his emotions. “You don’t know how much it means to me, Aunt
Sammy. Things have been … turbulent here lately.”
Something in his voice told
his aunt that he was understating the case. She began to get a feeling that her
nephew was verging on a crash of the emotional sort and was seeking a safe
refuge. Her old suspicions that Chip’s father hadn’t really let the boy deal
with the tragic deaths of his mother and sister resurfaced. Add in the return
of the killer and Sammy O’Brien had the feeling that Chip Morton was hanging on
by a thread. She wondered if there was anyone she could talk to there at the
Institute. Perhaps this Doctor Jamison he’d mentioned. But how to get through?
When she’d tried to call two weeks earlier the switchboard operator had refused
to either give her any information or transfer her call through to someone who
would. She needed a phone number. “Chip, you said you needed somebody with you
in case of an emergency to contact people back there. Is there a number you
could give me for the same thing? I’m sure I won’t need it, but…”
“Sure,” he said, “do you have
something to write with?” At her affirmative he rattled off a phone number and
two extensions. “The first one is Captain Crane’s extension. The second one is
Doctor Jamison.”
Bingo.
“You’d better go pack, dear,
if you haven’t already. Remember, it’s a lot colder here than in California.”
“I will, Aunt Sammy. I’ll
call you when we get to the airport. It’ll probably be after lunch. I’d call
you before we left, but Haggen says it’ll be before daylight.”
“Haggen?”
“Philip Haggen. He’s the
Chief of Security for the Institute. He’s going to drive me and Pat to the
airport so Edith can’t find out where we’ve gone.” His voice held a wry note.
He heard the sound of his
aunt‘s laughter. “This Edith sounds like a terror, Chip, if your Security Chief
can’t handle her.”
“Aunt Sammy, you don’t know
the half of it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Yes, dear. Chip,” she
paused, “you know we never stopped loving you.”
There was a moment of
silence, then he said softly, “I know.” He gently replaced the receiver and stared
up at the ceiling for a moment. It had gone better than he expected. He got to
his feet and went to the window to stare out at the sea as he tried to sort
through the turmoil of his emotions.
*******
Samantha O’Brien was still
staring thoughtfully at the phone when her husband Earl came in the kitchen
door. “Don said his cousin Chip called,” he stated as he settled in a chair at
the kitchen table. Sammy turned around to look at her tall, lanky husband of
forty-eight years.
“He did. He’s flying out here
tomorrow with one of the men off the submarine.” Her thoughtful expression told
Earl that something was up. Not necessarily something bad - he’d learned to
read his wife fairly well in the years they’d been married and her demeanor now
wasn‘t a harbinger of disaster. More like something unwished for but not
entirely unexpected.
“So, Ma,” he said as he
leaned back in his chair, “what’s the twist on this one?”
She smiled fondly at him.
“You know me so well.” Her expression turned serious. “You remember the
discussion we had several years ago with your brother Cliff about Chip and his
father?” Earl’s look turned somber. His younger brother Cliff was a
psychiatrist in Wichita. “It looks like he was right about Henry Morton denying
Chip the opportunity to really deal with Clarissa and Cassie’s deaths. I think
having this Smith person come back after him has cracked the walls Chip has
built around his emotions his whole life. I think… I think he’s headed for a
crash.”
Earl sighed. “And you want to
try and help him through it.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of
fact.
Sammy looked at him. “Do you
think that Henry Morton will?” Her voice held a tart note that conveyed her
feelings about Chip’s father in no uncertain terms.
Another sigh. “Not the Henry
Morton that I knew. So who’s the fella coming with him?”
“Pat Patterson. Chip says he
was in the crash with him and broke his wrist.”
Earl had to grin and shake
his head. “Another stray for you to mother.”
Sammy sniffed and flipped a
dishtowel at him. “Oh, Pa! You exaggerate so.” Earl laughed as he took himself
out of range and headed into the living room. Sammy sat in the chair her
husband had just vacated and contemplated the phone number on the pad in front
of her. Her instincts both as a nurse and mother were telling her that for
Chip’s sake she needed to talk to someone there in Santa Barbara who knew her
nephew - and find out what he hadn’t said. She took a deep breath and made a
decision.
**********
Jamison had just settled at
his desk with Lt. Commander Morton’s medical file when the phone rang. He
answered. “Jamison here.”
“Doctor Jamison,” said the
woman, a slight Midwestern twang accenting her voice, “you don’t know me, but
I’m Chip Morton’s aunt, Samantha O’Brien.” Jamison sat straight up in his
chair, astonishment written across his features. He’d been setting there
wondering if he should call this woman.
“Ah, yes, Mrs. O’Brien. Did
Chip just talk to you?” That was the only way Jamison could figure she’d gotten
his number. Which left the question of why she was calling him.
“Yes, he did. It was a joy to
finally hear from him after all these years.” She paused as if uncertain of
what to say next. He waited patiently for her to continue. “Doctor Jamison, did
Chip tell you I was a nurse for most of my working career?”
“No, but we hadn’t talked
about you much.” A nurse. Jamison almost held his breath. This could be the
answer to his prayers.
“I see. Are you aware of the
situation with his father?” She sounded very businesslike - this was the nurse
talking, not just his aunt. Jamison began to get a glimmer of hope that he
might be given some more pieces of the Chip Morton puzzle.
“I suspected problems there,
but didn’t have any confirmation until recently.”
There was a snort from the
other end of the line. “Let me guess. While Chip was in the hospital Henry
Morton Senior couldn’t stir his butt out of Chicago to come see his son.” The
tartness in her voice spoke volumes. It also convinced Jamison that this was
indeed Chip’s aunt - and that she cared about her nephew’s well-being.
“I’m afraid you’re entirely
correct. I hope you don’t mind, but I did read the letter you sent Chip. He
told us that it was his father who broke the ties and refused to let you see
him anymore.” The sigh that came down the line told Jamison more than words
ever could. “You’re worried about his emotional state, too, aren’t you?”
Jamison’s voice conveyed sympathy.
“Yes,” she said simply. “I
was hoping I might be over-reacting, but Henry Morton was a very repressive
man. He wasn’t physically abusive, but emotionally…. I was afraid that the Chip
we knew wouldn’t survive it. He was such a shy child, sensitive and loving, but
even before the killings, he‘d begun to retreat into himself and build walls.
His father just ran rough shod over his wife and his children. When Clarissa
and Cassie were killed, it got even worse. We didn’t even know that Chip had
gotten into the Naval Academy - no one ever bothered to let us know. Don’t get me
wrong, Doctor, the lack of communication over the years since isn’t something I
blame Chip for. I expect that Henry let him know in no uncertain terms that if
he ever tried to contact us there would be consequences.”
She stopped for a moment to
collect herself, then continued. “Doctor, do you see any indications in Chip
that this business with Smith has brought his emotions about his mother and
sister back up? I’m concerned that he never got to deal with the grief properly
the first time and that it’s going to come crashing through his walls. When it
does, well, it’s going to be bad.”
“Mrs. O’Brien, unfortunately
I suspect exactly that myself. He’s been very good over the years at masking
his emotions. He’s not given any overt signs of a breakdown.” Now it was
Jamison’s turn to sigh. “There’s been another situation that might have been
masking the signs.”
“That wouldn’t be Edith,
would it?” came the droll question.
Jamison had to chuckle. “Oh,
he told you about her, did he?”
“Well, I did have to dig a
little. Just what is going on there?”
“Spoiled little rich girl who
isn’t used to the word no,” was Jamison’s dry reply.
“Oh, dear. Chip is the
unobtainable object she desires?”
“More like the consolation
prize, since the man she really wants is slipping out of her grasp. I have to
personally wonder if she actually wants Chip or just thinks that it’ll make the
man she really wants jealous.” Jamison found it easy to confide in Chip’s aunt.
“That would be Lee Crane,
from what Chip said. How sad. He mentioned she’s the Admiral’s little sister?”
“Only living sister, only
living sibling left. I think most of the problem is that she was so much
younger than any of her four brothers that it was almost like she was an only
child. Plus her parents had lost their only other daughter at a very young age
to illness and then a son in Korea. Add to that having her parents and oldest
brother were killed in a plane crash when she was twelve, leaving her to be
raised by a maiden aunt since her two remaining brothers were both grown with
careers of their own and ….”
“I see. Spoiled rotten. Used
to having every whim catered to.”
“That’s about the size of
it.”
“Poor Chip. I take it though
that his Admiral has a realistic understanding of the situation.” Mrs. O’Brien
wanted to make sure of that, otherwise this admiral person was going to get a
piece of her mind.
“Fortunately for him and Lee,
yes. It was Admiral Nelson’s idea that Chip should get out of here for a while
and get him clear of the temper tantrum she’ll probably throw.”
“Hmmm. Nelson sounds like he
cares a great deal about the people who work for him.”
“Oh, he does. Most times he
acts gruff and macho, but he’s a softy at heart.” Mrs. O’Brien’s laughter
carried clearly down the line as he spoke.
“That’s a relief to know. So,
Doctor, what do you want to do about my nephew?”
“Mrs. O’Brien, I’ll be
honest. Until you called, I was giving serious thought to calling you. I was
very concerned about him going off to stay with people he hadn’t seen in thirty
years. You’ve no idea how much this conversation has relieved my mind. Given
what you’ve said, I think now that coming to stay with you might be just the
thing he needs. You know it may get rough?”
“Doctor,” she said gently, “I
worked in a hospital psych ward for over ten years. It’s not like I don’t have
any background in this. Plus, if I need him, my husband’s younger brother is a
psychiatrist. He already knows about Henry Morton - we’ve discussed over the
years whether or not we ought to try and contact Chip.”
Jamison’s sigh was one of
relief. “In that case, I’ll rest a lot easier. If anything comes up, you know
where to call. In fact, I’ll put your name on the switchboard list so that even
if I’m not here you can always get hold of somebody if there’s an emergency.
Also, if something should happen that you need me to come myself, the Institute
has a private jet so I can get there in a matter of hours.”
“Now that will relieve my
mind, Doctor. Better safe than sorry. It sounds like Chip has good friends out
there.”
“He does, Mrs. O’Brien, he
does. We all want to see him get through this.”
********
Morton sat in one of the
passenger seats of the chartered Learjet and looked out the window at the
shadowy landscape below, with only the occasional twinkle of light to lighten
the darkness as they soared eastbound over the Mojave Desert. The cabin lights
had been turned off at his request, ostensibly so he and Patterson could sleep,
but his inner turmoil refused to let him relax. He stared instead at the
incredible vista of the night sky. The moon had yet to set; it was waning
gibbous, past full but not yet to the last quarter. The pale light had washed
out the dimmer stars, but Ursa Major, Ursa Minor with the pole star Polaris,
Auriga, Draco and Cassiopeia sparkled before him in the northern sky. Being on
a submarine, sometimes he forgot how beautiful and glorious the night sky was.
He remembered nights like this on the beach with Scathach as she had told him
different legends, both human and Sea Folk - or Dawimhlar as they called
themselves - of how the constellations and stars got their names. She’d known
not just the Greek myths, but many of the Native American, Celtic, African and
Oriental legends. He’d realized when he studied astronomy at the Academy that a
lot of the historical background had seemed strangely familiar - it had taken
the events of the past few weeks for him to realize just where he’d learned it.
For someone whom my father
insisted didn’t exist, she certainly taught me a lot. He smiled wryly at the thought, then sighed and leaned
his forehead against the cool glass of the
window. He closed his eyes as his memory took him back to the first time
he‘d encountered Scathach.
Chip huddled on the beach
in a cluster of rocks under an old decrepit pier, crying silently to himself as
he rocked back and forth. His stepfather had been drinking - again. When the
man had started throwing things and screaming curses at him, Chip fled the
house as fast as his six year old legs could carry him. He’d run all the way to
the ocean, some eight blocks from where they lived, and slipped under the old
pier to hide. Fortunately for him this stretch of coast was rocky - too rocky
for his inebriated step-father to come prowl the beach looking for a frightened
and lonely little boy. Things were bad. He didn’t know what he’d done to
deserve this, but it must be his fault somehow. He wanted to go home, back to
his real dad, back to Chicago by the big lake where his Dad was a fireman with
a big shiny red truck.
Something moved over in
the darkest corner under the pier. Chip’s eyes got very wide as a pair of
glowing green orbs looked out at him. He froze in sheer terror, torn between
the monster he knew was stalking him outside and the unknown before him. Then
“it” spoke.
“You look like someone who
could use a friend,” said the disembodied voice. It was feminine, but it wasn’t.
There were all sorts of strange undertones; Chip was reminded of a cat purring.
Well, he liked cats, even if his dad and step-dad didn’t. He finally remembered
to breathe.
“Who are you?” Chip hated
it when his voice squeaked like that.
“I am Scathach,” purred
the great beast, leaning out of the shadows where he could begin to discern
features. Definitely catlike in the face, she had whiskers around a short
muzzle, along with a short mane-like fringe of hair framing small, round ears
on the sides of her head. Long tufts of coarse fur above her now silver eyes
gave the appearance of eyebrows. As she moved farther forward into the light,
he saw she was completely covered in smoky grey fur with faint swirling
stripes. She was about as tall as his mother, he thought, but most of it was in
body length - her legs and arms were relatively short, making him think of the
sea otters he’d seen in the zoo last summer. Her clothing consisted of a short
fringed blue and green plaid skirt and something that looked kind of like a
harness on top, with sandals that matched the harness. He couldn’t help but
stare at her webbed toes.
She held out a hand to
him.
Chip hesitantly reached
out his own small hand and slipped it into hers. “I’m Chip,” he said
hesitantly. She smiled and her eyes twinkled at him.
“Most pleased to meet you,
Chip.” Her voice resonated all the way into his bones, but he found he liked
it. Liked it enough that when she patted the ground beside her, he instantly
snuggled up and burrowed his face into her warm soft fur.
Morton blinked back to the
present when the jet bucked in a small pocket of turbulence. He opened his eyes
to behold the first rays of sunrise that
were beginning to lighten the sky ahead. His first encounter with Scathach
had been a bit like sunrise after a cold dark night, he thought to himself.
She’d not asked him why he had come running to hide under the pier in tears,
but before the first day was out, he’d confided in her. Over the course of that
summer she’d helped him to understand that the divorce of his parents wasn’t in
any way his fault. He had even taken his twin sister Cassie with him once to
meet her and the others. The only problem was that Smith, as he now knew him,
had kept a much tighter rein on his sister. In retrospect, Morton suspected it
was partly because the bastard feared Cassie might say to or do something with
an adult that would give away his monstrous behavior. He wondered if Scathach
had suspected the sexual abuse of his sister. That might account for her showing
up at the house that fateful day - unfortunately, it had been too late to save
his mother and twin. She had been able to save him, though, and before the
police had taken him away, he had gotten a glimpse of Scathach in the bushes, a
look of anguish on her bloodied face. It had been the last time he’d seen any
of the Dawimhlar.
He sighed. After that his dad
had come and gotten him. For a while, as his other relatives fussed over him,
things had been, if not okay, at least better. Eventually things began to
settle back into normal. That’s when he discovered what a bastard his father
really was. The man refused to speak about Chip’s mother or sister, acted like
they had never existed. He’d even gone so far as to put away all the pictures
of them. He’d even refused to let any of her family come back to visit. It had
left Chip Morton bewildered and lost.
Then when he’d tried to tell
his father about Scathach! Morton flinched with the memory of the whipping he’d
gotten. Had it not been for his oldest brother Hank, his father might have
beaten him senseless that day. He had taken great care after that not to
mention the Sea Folk, though every so often his father would drag it up and
throw it in his face as example of his runaway imagination. It eventually became
easier just to agree with him that, no, there were no such creatures, that they
were just a fairy tale. The thing that saved his sanity, he supposed, was
recalling his discussions with Scathach about why his mother had left his dad.
She’d carefully suggested that there might be a very good reason his mother had
left that had nothing to do with him or his sister. He’d resisted the idea
initially, but by the time of the murders she’d managed to convince him that
adults were responsible for their own actions and that most of what the
majority of them did had very little to do with their children.
He’d been sad and all too
wise for his years after that. The only real affection he got was from his
brothers - Hank and his wife wound up becoming his surrogate parents. His
father had gone so far as to refuse to call him by the pet name of Chip that
his mother had given him because Cassie couldn’t say Charles Philip. It was
Charles or Charlie, which he absolutely detested. Even his brothers weren’t
allowed to call him Chip when he was around. That, he came to wry conclusion,
was the beginning of the festering rebellion in his soul that had led to
Annapolis and the Navy. That and a need to try and find Scathach and the other
Dawimhlar.
He’d begun to wonder himself
if he’d imagined Scathach and the others once he returned to the sea and
couldn’t find anyone else who’d ever seen them. He’d discretely pursued every
lead he could find. The discrepancies between the Selkie myths and reality he
had known had left him puzzled, but at the same time encouraged him. If they
were just a story he’d heard, then why were they so different in his memory
from the legends? Eventually though, as time passed and he could find no
reference or trace of them, he’d reluctantly given up the search as a lost
cause. They seemed to have vanished from the face of the planet.
Until the fateful day that
Smith had shown up at the Institute to finish the job that he’d started thirty
years earlier.
Throwing a hornet’s nest into
the cab of the stolen truck Smith was driving had been a stroke of genius. It
was also the sort of thing he could see Scathach coming up with - she‘d done
something similar with a stuck-up tourist once. The memory brought a grin. The
results had been satisfyingly spectacular - in both cases. Both men had gotten
exactly what they’d deserved. Scathach had firmly believed that sooner or later
the cosmic scales balanced out - if not in this life, then the next. Though she
wasn’t above giving the scales a tip in the right direction if necessary.
Seeing her rise up out of the bushes beside the road had given him quite a
shock. He had momentarily thought he’d lost his mind - then Smith’s truck had
careened over the edge of the road into the canyon, putting an abrupt and
violent end to the career of a serial killer. He wasn’t the least bit surprised
that the police pursuing the stolen semi hadn’t seen her. She had a real knack
for disappearing in plain sight. What had astonished him was that Patterson
had seen her. Morton couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t her way of
assuring him that what had happened was real, not his imagination.
He’d not seen her since, but
she’d left another calling card for him. The morning before his final interview
with the police, he’d found a toy fire engine and a conch shell necklace in the
front seat of his T-bird. Not just any engine though - it was his, with
his initials scratched in the underside, a gift from his father on his sixth
birthday. He’d left it with Scathach to keep Smith from smashing it and had
never gotten the opportunity to retrieve it. The necklace was just like the one
Faileas had given him when he’d learned how to swim. Given the circumstances,
it might well be the same one. He had both items packed in his luggage. He
hadn’t told the police about either article or that he thought he knew who the
mysterious figure was - he’d have wound up in a padded cell. Worse would have
been if the Admiral had believed him and organized a hunt for the
Dawimhlar. Morton sighed again. Sometimes Nelson let his scientific curiosity
override his good sense.
He looked out the window at
the steadily brightening sky and wondered where it was all headed.
********
The Learjet banked into a
turn and lined up for final approach at the Dodge City airport. Morton looked
out the window at the town spread out below. It had grown since the last time
he’d been here. It was a small city now, sprawling along the north bank of the
Arkansas River. He remembered fishing in the river with his uncle and one of
his cousins who was about five years older than him, but couldn’t remember
which one of the boys it was.
Let‘s see, he thought. Junior? No.
He was the oldest. I think he was nearly Daniel’s age. Don was next oldest.
That’s it. It was Don who used to love to fish so much. He was about five years
older than me, but he didn’t seem to mind me tagging along too much. Chip
found he could picture a grinning, lanky red-haired boy in his mind. A 20th
century Kansas version of Tom Sawyer. Let’s see, there were five all together
- no six. Wait. Haggen told me there were two more girls. So that makes eight.
Five girls and three boys. Hmmm. Mackie was actually closer to my age, but he
was a bookworm. And what were the last two girls named?
He sighed. Haggen had briefed
him the evening before on some of the changes that had occurred in his family
since the last time he’d seen them. His grandmother Jane was a decade dead and
his grandfather Ryan Sligo was bedridden in a nursing home at the age of
ninety-one. He had two grown female cousins that had been born after the split
with his father - he hadn’t even known they existed. For the life of him he
couldn’t remember what Haggen had said their names were.
The plane touched lightly
down, rolling out to a near stop, then turned to taxi back to the terminal
building. Across the aisle, two of his three companions stretched and began
gathering up their luggage. Morton caught Patterson’s eye and couldn’t help the
small grin that flashed across his face. Jamison and Haggen had decided to make
the trip with them. They were only going to stay overnight, then fly back to
Santa Barbara. Jamison had come with the sole purpose of meeting the O’Brien
family, but Haggen… He admitted to himself that the Security Chief’s main
reason for coming had surprised him. Philip Haggen wanted to see the town where
his great-great uncle Festus Haggen had been a Deputy US Marshal. Of course he
also wanted to speak personally with the local police about security.
The plane braked to a stop in
front of a single story building with a small knot of people standing inside at
the windows watching. Morton couldn’t see them well enough to tell who they
were, but he thought it was probably his relatives since Haggen had solved the
ground transportation problem by making an inflight call about an hour out to
let Morton’s aunt know when they were expecting to land. He stood, while
Jamison and Haggen gathered up their carry-on luggage. The plane’s engines
wound down to a halt and the copilot exited the cockpit to open the exterior
door. A blast of very cool air blew in, chilling the interior of the aircraft.
Morton shivered and reached for his jacket. The temperature had to be a good
twenty degrees colder than Santa Barbara. At least it hadn’t snowed yet.
The small group disembarked
and hurried into the terminal. Morton eyed the waiting group closely. The
white-haired elderly couple must be his aunt and uncle, though they matched his
memory of his grandparents. The tall red-haired man in the dark suit looked
more like he remembered his uncle appearing. The thought crossed his mind that
this might be his cousin Don, since he didn‘t recall either of the other two
boys having hair that flaming red shade. His aunt stepped forward with a smile.
That and the twinkle in her eyes hadn’t changed and Morton found himself
responding with a grin of his own. She held out her arms to give him a hug and
he enveloped her in a crushing embrace.
Jamison cleared his throat
behind him. Morton let his aunt go, but kept an arm around her shoulders. “Uh,
Doc,” he temporized, trying to regain his equilibrium, “this is my aunt,
Samantha O’Brien.” The tall older gentleman stepped up. “This is my Uncle
Earl.” He turned to the red-haired man, who was grinning. Morton looked him up
and down, then commented, “You wouldn’t be my cousin Don, would you?”
The man threw back his head
and laughed. “It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten everything. Welcome back,
Chip.” Morton put out a hand which his cousin shook enthusiastically.
Morton turned to his
companions. He indicated Jamison first. “This is Doctor Will Jamison. The
fellow beside him is Philip Haggen.” A faint look of surprise crossed Don
O’Brien’s face at the name. “Bringing up the rear is Steve Patterson, who goes
by Pat.”
“O’Brien, eh? I wonder if
that means you’re related to Bobby, Chip?” Haggen asked slyly, recalling his
conversation yesterday with Nelson and knowing full well that he wasn’t. Morton
rolled his eyes.
“Bobby?” asked Don, curious.
“The second officer on the
boat,” explained Morton. “His last name is O’Brien, too.” The explanation
brought smiles to his relatives.
“Well,” said his uncle, once
introductions had been made, “why don’t we head to the house? It’s just about
lunch time.” The thought of food made Morton’s stomach growl loudly enough to
be heard by all. The early departure and four hour flight hadn’t allowed him to
eat his normal breakfast and there had been no inflight meal to tide him over.
“I’d say it’s past time for
us,” quipped Jamison, eliciting laughter all around and a sheepish look from
Morton.
“I can see now that your
appetite hasn’t changed much since you were here last,” said his cousin with a
sideways look and a grin.
Morton sniffed and told him,
“Just lead the way to the car.”
“Got a van,” Don told them as
he turned to lead the way out. “That way we can all go in one vehicle.”
********
Morton gazed out the window
of the van as it pulled up into the driveway. The house wasn’t quite as he
remembered it as a child. The color was different for one thing. He seemed to
recall the house being painted white, but it was now done in shades of brown
and gold. He thoughtfully looked it over again. It seemed bigger too, a full
two and a half stories, whereas he’d actually expected it to be smaller. “Uncle
Earl,” he began, “what happened to the house? Besides being painted, that is.”
His uncle chuckled. “We
outgrew it and added on. You remember your other cousins don’t you?”
As Morton searched his
memory, names and faces began to filter back. “Uh, the twins, Abby and Gabby.”
They’d been nearly grown the last time he had been there, since they were the
same age as his oldest brother. “Then Junior and Sissy. Don. And Mackie. Haggen
told me there were two more girls, but,” he looked embarrassed, “I can’t remember
what he told me their names were.”
“Hmmm. I forgot that you
didn’t know about Jean and Jane. They were born in 1947, so you’ve never met
them. Anyway, it was easier to keep the peace when everybody had their own
space, so the house wound up with ten bedrooms. Not big ones mind you, but
enough to give all the kids a bit of privacy and me and Ma some breathing room.
We remodeled again once everybody had moved out, so now it‘s only got six.”
“Speaking of which,” added
Samantha, “there’s no need for your friends to stay in a motel tonight. We’ve
got more than enough room for everybody. The house seems kinda lonesome without
a crowd to liven things up.”
“We don’t want to intrude,
Mrs. O’Brien,” said Haggen.
“Nonsense,” she answered,
“The house is more than big enough that we won’t be tripping over each other.
And it’s Sammy. When you call me Mrs. O’Brien I start looking for Earl’s
mother.” She gave Haggen a brilliant smile, but he could see that she would not
be persuaded to change her mind. At least now he knew which side of his family
Morton got his stubborn streak from.
Haggen laughed and
acquiesced. In truth, it made him feel a bit more at ease about Morton being
here, because it would give him a chance to get to know these people and assess
them for himself. He would need to call the flight crew though and let them
know of the change in plans. He also intended to use this as an opportunity to
have a long and private talk with Detective Don O’Brien about some of the
things that had happened that hadn’t been on the news. It was Haggen’s
intention for Morton to not only be secluded in the bosom of his family, but
protected by all the resources of the local city police, county sheriff’s
department and the Kansas Highway Patrol that he could beg, borrow or steal
without attracting the attention of the media. Fortunately, Dodge City didn’t
have a TV station, only a local paper, the Dodge City Daily Globe. Still, a
newsie was a newsie as far as he was concerned. Which was another good reason
for the chartered jet and a departure from LAX rather than Santa Barbara. If
the NIMR’s private plane had shown up here, he suspected it would have
attracted far too much curiosity. The charter company he’d hired often did work
for the Feds and had a reputation for being both discrete and closemouthed. No
one would find out from the two pilots who the passengers on the plane had
been, or learn that when they left, two
of those passengers would be staying. So neither the media or Edith Nelson
would be able to find out where they’d gone. Though he wouldn’t have admitted
it to Nelson, that was another reason he’d decided to come along on the flight.
He sure didn’t want to be within throwing range of Edith when she found out
that Morton had departed without so much as a word of warning, let alone a
goodbye.
********
Nelson ducked as one of his mother’s teacups narrowly missed his left
ear to shatter against the living room wall behind him. “Edith! Sit down!” he
bellowed, finally reaching his limit. In answer the saucer that went with the
teacup sailed past his other ear to explode above the fireplace mantle. That
was the last damn straw. This time he put his full rage into it and roared
“Enough!”
Edith was poised to lob the
teapot when her brother’s roar stopped her dead in her tracks. The command
caught her completely off guard, startling her enough that she fumbled and
dropped the would-be missile onto the plush carpet. It bounced away to rest on
it’s side under the coffee table. In all her life Harry had under no circumstances
ever used that tone on her. In fact, she’d never heard him use it on anyone.
Her eyes grew huge at the sight of his thunderous expression. This wasn’t her
brother Harry - this was Admiral Harriman Nelson, a stranger to her - an
intimidating, furious stranger. She swallowed hard, mesmerized by the raw fury
in her brother’s eyes. For the first time in her life she found herself afraid
of him.
She promptly burst into
tears.
Nelson’s anger wavered for a
moment, then with a sigh of exasperation, collapsed. He stood for a moment,
chin on his chest, breathing hard, eyes closed as he collected his tattered
temper. “Edith,” he said in a calmer tone, “this has got to stop. You are not a
child anymore. I will not tolerate temper tantrums. I sent Morton away for his
health - which you were not helping.”
“But,” she said, tears
trickling down her face, lower lip quivering, “I just need to have somebody.”
“Do you? Then leave my
officers alone and go back to Boston; you’ve got friends there. Marry one of
them. Both Lee and Chip have made it clear they’re not interested in a
relationship with you.” Nelson’s expression held little sympathy.
Her temper flared back up.
“Why not? I’m certainly better than that prissy little teacher Lee Crane is
shacked up with.” It was this that was the source of her outrage and pain. The
woman Crane was dating wasn’t near as beautiful as Edith knew herself to be and
certainly didn’t have any money. She truly couldn’t understand why he would
pass her up for someone she considered a pathetic little mouse of a woman.
Morton wasn’t dating anyone at all and had still rejected her, which was even
worse from her viewpoint, even though her interest in him was secondary. “Chip
Morton wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if he had one, I’m beginning to
think. Or does he like boys?”
The last shot was laced with
pure spite. It brought the fire back to Nelson’s eyes. “How dare you! Chip
Morton does not deserve to have anybody, least of all you, smearing him out of
sheer spite. Our parents taught you better than that - or should have. I should
have turned you over my knee years ago and blistered your behind. You’ve become
a hateful, spoiled little brat that I’m ashamed to acknowledge as my sister.
Mother would spin in her grave if she could see you now.”
Edith’s cheeks flamed. Much
of what her brother had just said was true, but she wasn’t about to acknowledge
it. She plunged in deeper, lashing out at him. “Oh, you’ll take his side over
your sister‘s, is that it? Maybe it’s because you have something going with him
and…”
She never got the sentence
finished as her brother backhanded her. Edith staggered back and put a hand to
her face in shock. She could tell from his expression that Harry was almost as
stunned as she was. “Edith,” he began, “I…” She didn’t let him finish. She
whirled and fled out the door, tears running down her cheeks.
Behind her, Harriman Nelson
sank heavily down in an armchair, appalled at himself. His hands shook as he
covered his face, distraught and unsure of what to do to salvage the
relationship with his sister.
“Oh, God,” he moaned to the
universe at large, “what have I done?”
********
Edith fled to her rental car,
shaken to the core. She‘d crossed an unforgivable line with her brother, in a
way she knew in her heart he didn’t deserve. The look of pain on his face after
he’d hit her had hurt her worse than the blow itself, because she knew she’d
deserved what she‘d gotten. In the heat of hurt and anger she’d said things she
didn’t really mean and knew weren‘t true, but she didn’t know how to undo the
damage. Her pride and stubbornness had led to her downfall. Harry was all that
was left of the family, but after this he would likely disown her. She’d have
nobody - and she had only herself to blame. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she
rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
Finally she lifted her head
and wiping away tears, started the car. Pulling out of the driveway, she roared
towards the front gate of the Institute, scattering personnel and vehicles as
they scrambled to get out of her path. Blinded by her misery, she failed to see
Chief Sharkey’s tan Ford Torino pull through the front gate until it was too
late to stop. She slammed on the brakes and tried to swerve around the Chief’s car, but lost control and
skidded sideways. The driver’s side of her Mustang slammed into the front end
of the larger vehicle; Edith’s last conscious recollection before the impact
was the look of horror on Sharkey’s face as he realized who she was.
********
Haggen leaned back from the
kitchen table and patted his very full stomach contentedly. Jamison had already
had to beg off and pass on the strawberry pie that was dessert, but Morton and
Don were still eating. The security chief and doctor shared an amused glance.
One would never know from the banter around the table that it had been almost
thirty years since Morton had seen these people or that Patterson wasn’t even
related. Samantha O’Brien had a real knack for drawing people out and making
them comfortable. Haggen had found that even he wasn’t entirely immune to her
ability, much to his chagrin. On the other hand, he noted that Jamison seemed
quite satisfied with the manner in which events were progressing. He was fairly
pleased with the situation himself. While Morton’s aunt had been preparing
lunch, he and Don had retired to the den and discussed security. The detective
had been suitably agreeable to most of Haggen’s requests and had offered a few
suggestions of his own.
They had also discussed the
gaping hole in Chip’s personnel file concerning his maternal relatives. Don had
been flabbergasted to learn that there had been absolutely no mention of
Clarissa’s side of Chip’s family anywhere in the files, since he vaguely
recalled being interviewed by the FBI and asked questions about his Aunt
Clarissa and his cousins back about the time Chip would have been applying to
the Academy. They’d not told him who they were investigating, or why, so it was
possible, he supposed, that it had to do with something else. Haggen had been
forced to agree that it could have been just a case of misplaced files, though
privately he wondered if Chip’s father hadn’t outright lied to the
investigators. The only question remaining was whether or not Chip had. Haggen
didn’t think given the circumstances that it would be a fatal blow to Morton’s
career even if that proved to be the case, but it would leave a black mark on
his record.
On the personal side, it
turned out that Don was something of an amateur historian and had done
extensive research on the history of law enforcement in Dodge City. In his
office at home he had copies of much of the paperwork from the US Marshall’s
office from the mid to late 1800s, along with photocopies of the local
newspaper dating back to it’s founding, so he‘d been quite familiar with the
name Haggen. It had been something of a pleasant surprise for the detective to
meet a member of the Haggen family, particularly one who had an extensive
career in law enforcement. Don even had several original tintype photographs
that had Festus in them and had assured Philip that he would have copies made
and sent to Santa Barbara. He’d refused to hear of taking payment for them.
The phone on the kitchen wall
shrilled, breaking into the pleasant atmosphere. Earl answered, but after a moment
held out the phone to Doctor Jamison. “It’s for you, Jamie. A Lee Crane…?”
“Ah.” Jamison rose from his
seat to take Earl’s place by the wall. “Hello, Lee.” As the one-sided
conversation unfolded the others saw the doctor’s smile fade and his face go
still. “I’ll be back as fast as we can get there,” were his only words before
he hung up. He turned back to the table and took a deep breath. “Philip, Lee
needs you and me back at the Institute. There’s been an accident.” He paused,
searching for the words to cushion what he had to say. “It’s Edith. She’s in
Santa Barbara General with injuries from a car wreck.”
“An accident?” Haggen’s
expression asked what his words didn’t.
“Yes. It happened on the
Institute grounds. Ah, Edith lost control of her car and skidded sideways into
Chief Sharkey’s vehicle at the front gate. The Admiral is pretty upset.”
Haggen’s eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline. There was obviously far more
to the story than the bare bones that the doctor had just given him.
“Oh, dear,” said Sammy,
looking concerned, “she isn’t badly hurt is she?”
Jamison sighed. “She’s got a
head injury, along with a broken arm and shoulder.” He turned to Morton and
Patterson. “Chip, Lee doesn’t want you to cut your visit short…” Morton started
to protest but the doctor raised his hand to silence him. “I agree with Lee on
this one. It’s not something that you’re going to be able to help with, so
there’s no point in you going back. You need the down time here.” He didn’t add
that Crane had told him that Edith’s accident was the consequence of a fight
between the admiral and his sister over Morton. The man had enough on his
emotional plate without the added burden.
“Well,” said Sammy, reaching
out to pat Jamison on the hand, “I’m sorry that you have to leave so suddenly
and I hope everything turns out okay. We’ll take good care of Chip and Pat for
you.”
The doctor gave her a wan
smile. “I know you will, Sammy. I’ll call to let you know what’s going on and
keep tabs on these two.” He indicated Morton and Patterson with his thumb.
“Guess it’s a good thing we hadn’t unpacked. Philip, you want to call the
flight crew while I collect our bags?”
“I’ll drive you to the
airport,” volunteered Don. He had a feeling there was more to the ‘accident’
than the doctor was telling and his cop’s instincts had been aroused. He knew
that if it concerned his cousin’s safety that they would tell him once away
from the house. Haggen nodded as he reached for the telephone.
It took less than fifteen
minutes for the two men to gather up their luggage and get loaded. Both shook
hands with the O’Brien’s and bid Morton and Patterson farewell, then climbed
into the van with Don. Morton stood on the porch and watched as the vehicle
disappeared down the street. Now he and Patterson were alone for the first time
with just his aunt and uncle. A small shiver of apprehension wormed it’s way
into his soul. He remembered how it used to be, but that had been thirty years
ago. Another time, another life - for him anyway. A small boy’s faded memories.
What was the reality going to be like now that he and Pat were here alone?
Sammy caught her husband’s
eye; years of nonverbal communication told him that she wished to be alone with
Chip. Earl walked over and slapped Patterson lightly on the back.
“So, Pat, you’re from
Nebraska. Never been up in that part of the country. What’s it like?”
Patterson cocked his head to
one side and considered his reply. He’d seen the look that passed between the
two and had correctly interpreted it. He’d also gotten detailed instructions
from Jamison before the foursome had left Santa Barbara, so he knew far more
about what the doctor hoped to accomplish than either of the O’Brien’s
realized. Jamison had intended to fill Mrs. O’Brien in on the part he wanted
Patterson was to play, but the emergency that had called him and Haggen back to
Santa Barbara had left the doctor unable to hold a private conversation with
her. Patterson smiled calmly at Earl and said quietly, “The part of Nebraska I
grew up in was a lot different than this. My grandfather had a farm in the
eastern part of the state. Grew corn mostly, some alfalfa and soybeans. Raised
a few hogs for sale. The soil is glacial till - very rich.”
“Does sound different from
around here. This is mostly winter wheat country. Sounds like you were an
outdoors type kid as well.”
Patterson saw the opportunity
to allow Earl to gracefully exit the two of them from the company of Mrs.
O‘Brien and Morton. “Yeah, I spent a lot of time wandering around and exploring
- just me, my horse and my dog.” He shrugged. “But I like seeing how other
people live, too. If you don’t mind showing me around, could we look at the
house from the outside? I’ve never seen anything quite like this place before,
at least not up close. It‘s a lot bigger than the house I grew up in.”
Earl beamed with pleasure.
“Built most of it myself, or with my boys help. Come on, let’s grab our jackets
and I’ll give you the grand tour.” He led the way back into the house; the
sounds of their conversation quickly drifted beyond range as the two headed for
the back door. Morton watched them go, then turned a guarded expression on his
aunt.
She smiled at him. “Why don’t
we go into the kitchen so we can talk while I do the dishes? You can dry, if
you like.”
A shadow of a smile crept on
his face. “Work for my dinner?” he queried, but his tone wasn’t serious.
His aunt laughed. “Something
like that. But you can always go join Pat and Earl on the grand tour if you
like.”
He looked down at the floor
as he contemplated the offer, then sighed. “I’ll dry.”
Samantha took a deep breath
and lifted his chin with one hand so she could look him in the eye. “Chip, you
really are free to leave if you’re uncomfortable here. I know it’s been a long
time and we’re almost strangers to you now. But we do care, we always did. But
we were afraid that if we tried to interfere with your father we’d have only
made a bad situation worse.” The faint trembling in his body telegraphed his
distress to her. She pulled his head down and kissed him gently on the
forehead, just like she used to do. His resistance fled and he enveloped his
aunt in a hug, laying his head on her shoulder, eyes closed. She patted him
gently on the back, mindful of his still healing wound, and whispered soothing
words in his ear as she guided him into the house.
From the corner of the house
Earl and Patterson watched the scene unfold. As Sammy and Morton disappeared inside, Earl looked at Patterson
with trepidation, not quite sure how the young seaman would take what he was
seeing. Patterson looked at him with understanding eyes and said, “Doctor
Jamison had a long talk with me before we left about what might happen. That’s
one reason they sent me with him instead of somebody else. Mr. Morton knows
that whatever happens, whatever I see, it won’t get around the boat as gossip.”
Earl’s mouth made a round ‘o’ of astonishment and he looked at the young man
beside him in a different light.
“How come you’re only an
enlisted man?”
Patterson gave a diffident
shrug. “Didn’t have the education or inclination to be an officer. Besides, I
have a place and duty - somebody has to look out for the senior staff on the Seaview.”
The last was said with a smile. Earl simply shook his head, amazed.
In the kitchen Sammy sat Chip
down at the table and pulled a chair up beside his. His breathing was a bit
ragged, but other than the occasional tremor, he gave no outward sign of his
inner turmoil. She knew that he wasn’t ready to talk yet - right now he simply
needed reassurance that he was safe and among people who would neither pressure
nor betray him. That she could give in plenty. She rubbed the tense muscles in
his back, saying nothing, content to let him work through his feelings and
emotions at his own pace. Gradually his breathing settled and he lifted his
head to look at her. She gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his shoulder.
He reached up and caught her hand in his.
“Thanks.”
“It’s what family is for.” She leaned over to
give him a hug and this time got a real smile in return. “Now,” she said with a
twinkle in her eye, “we need to get on those dishes.” His answer was a
theatrical groan. Sammy’s laughter filled the room and a space in Chip Morton’s
soul that had been too long empty.
*********
Lee Crane paced outside Edith
Nelson’s hospital room in the ICU wing waiting for Chief Sharkey to return from
the airport with Will Jamison and Philip Haggen. He’d called the two about five
hours earlier in Kansas, just as soon as the doctors had given him and Nelson
the details of Edith’s injuries. Haggen had just called about fifteen minutes
ago to let him know they’d landed at the Santa Barbara airport, met Sharkey and
were coming directly to the hospital. Crane’s relief was almost palpable. He’d
never seen Harriman Nelson looking quite as rocky as he had during the drive to
the hospital when he’d revealed to the captain the details of the fight that
had preceded the accident. When the doctors had told them that Edith was
bleeding in her brain and that an emergency operation was necessary, he’d
thought Nelson was going to have a heart attack. The admiral’s color had gone
so pale that Crane thought he would pass out and collapse - it had concerned
the ER physicians enough that they had wanted to admit him as a precaution.
He’d adamantly refused, but since he had made it clear he was staying as close
to his sister’s side as he could, the doctors had acquiesced, then had quietly directed the nurses to keep
an eye on him until Jamison arrived and took charge of him. Right now Nelson
was at Edith’s side, holding her hand while he anxiously waited for her to
regain consciousness.
A small commotion at the end
of the hall drew Crane’s attention. Doctor Jamison stood in the doorway arguing
with a nurse, with Haggen and Sharkey peering around him. Crane headed down the
hallway to intercede on the doctor’s behalf, but the neurosurgeon in charge of
Edith’s treatment had also been attracted to the disturbance.
“What’s this about?” Dr.
Luketich demanded. The nurse pointed at Haggen.
“That man has a gun. I’ve
called security.” Her lips were pressed in a thin disapproving line.
Luketich rolled his eyes. “Of
course he’s got a gun. He’s the security chief for NIMR.” The doctor shook his
head in exasperation as the color drained from the woman’s face. “Jamie, she’s
new so you’ll have to excuse her, since unlike most of the nurses here she
doesn‘t know all of your people by sight.” The dubious look Jamison gave the other
doctor indicated that he wasn’t sure whether or not they’d just been insulted,
but Luketich had only sincere honesty on his face.
“That’s okay,” said Haggen
with a wry smile, heading off any comment by Jamison. “I’d far rather she was
overcautious than too lax.” He addressed the nurse directly, “You did exactly
the right thing, Miss. I should have checked in with hospital security and let
them know I was here.”
“No shit,” rumbled a voice
from behind the trio. Haggen turned to see Mike Donnelly, the hospital’s own
Chief of Security, coming up behind them, flanked by two of his men. “Philip,
you guys are a walking disaster zone. I’m thinking of starting to issue red
alerts anytime any of you people so much as darken the door.” His solemn
expression was belied by the twinkle in his eyes.
Haggen arched his eyebrows
and fired back. “Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black if I ever did hear
it.”
Donnelly laughed as he
slapped Haggen on the shoulder. “So far everything’s been quiet. Not even the
newsies know Miss Nelson’s here yet. I’ve got extra people stationed downstairs
to catch the media and keep them out of here when they do finally find out -
and you know sooner or later they will.”
Haggen grimaced. “Tell me
about it. I swear sometimes some of the bastards have ESP. I‘m amazed they
aren‘t camped out in the hall already.”
Jamison shook his head at the
duo as he took the other doctor by the arm to head for Edith’s room. “While you
two are discussing your business, Doctor Luketich and I will be about ours.”
The nurse followed the two doctors, again apologizing to Jamison.
“Sure, Jamie,” said Haggen,
waving them on. “Captain.” This last was addressed to Crane, who had now joined
the group. The security chief intently looked the captain over - the man
appeared exhausted. His face was drawn and he had dark circles under his eyes.
He turned back to the CPO. “Chief, take Captain Crane back to his apartment,
feed him, make him shower and put him to bed.” He’d have added that Sharkey
should call Crane’s girlfriend to come over as well, but he knew that she was
with her graduate students on an archeological dig somewhere in the Yucatan.
Crane’s head jerked up in
startled indignation. “Mister Haggen.” He was trying for a command snap, but
his tiredness betrayed him. Haggen stared back at him, arms crossed in a
posture so similar to the one Jamison used with him that Crane found himself
internally cringing. He stubbornly refused to give in, even though common sense
told him he ought to. The day had been psychologically draining - Nelson had
been worried and preoccupied over Edith, so much of the decision making
concerning business back at the Institute had fallen on Crane’s shoulders. Even
with Angie’s help, it had been a long and tiring seven hours since the accident,
especially since his day had started several hours before that. Add in the
fourteen hour days he’d been working for the last week and it was obvious that
Crane was running on sheer stubbornness.
“Lee.” The voice was that of
the Admiral, coming from the door of Edith’s room. Crane pivoted on his heel,
his weariness momentarily forgotten, and hurried to Nelson’s side, followed by
Haggen, Sharkey and Donnelly.
“Are you okay, sir?” asked
Crane, concern coloring his voice. Nelson looked worn and much older than his
years.
“As well as can be expected.”
He leaned against the door jamb for support. “I think Haggen’s right. You need
to go home and get some rest. I can get Jamie to tell you that if you like.”
Crane scowled, but made one
last effort. “It’s only 16:30 hours, Admiral.” Realizing that his statement had
sounded almost like a petulant whine, he grimaced and changed tactics. “What
about you, sir?”
“Jamie’s making arrangements
for me to get a bed here.” He smiled wryly. “He’s threatened to stick a needle
in my rump if I don’t get some rest. He‘s also muttering about having one with
your name on it too.”
Crane flinched in sympathy,
then sighed in defeat. “If you insist, sir. Come on, Chief. You get to be my
chaperone tonight.” He started down the hall with Sharkey at his heels, but
paused before reaching the ICU wing doors. “If there’s any change, call me. And
I’ll be back in the morning.” The two hospital security men slipped past him to
return to their stations, while their chief remained, waiting patiently for
Haggen.
Nelson merely nodded and
waved him on, then turned to Haggen. “Did Sharkey fill you in on what
happened?”
“Yeah. I swear, Harry, that
girl is makin’ you old before your time. I’m tempted to turn her over my knee
for this one.”
Nelson shook his head.
“That’s something I should have done twenty years ago. It’s a bit late
now.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re
right. You gonna be okay?” At Nelson’s nod, Haggen continued. “Chip was doing
fine at his aunt’s. We didn’t tell him anything about what happened before the
accident.”
“Thanks, Philip. None of this
is his fault, but he’d likely blame himself anyway. He doesn’t need the added
burden.”
“That’s basically what Jamie
said as well and I have to agree. Harry, I’m gonna get with Mike and coordinate
security. As soon as Edith’s able to be safely moved we’ll take her back to the
Institute Infirmary. Hopefully that’ll be before the media finds out she’s here
- but..”
Nelson sighed. “I know -
don’t hold my breath. We’ll take it one day at a time, Philip, one day at a
time.”
*********
Chip sat huddled in a
borrowed coat on the back steps of the house and contemplated the panorama of
the night sky spread out before him. Since his aunt and uncle lived about two
miles north of the city limit and the back of their house faced north, there
was little light pollution to obscure the sky - this being western Kansas there
wasn’t much in the way of topography to block the horizon either. The moon
wasn’t due to rise for several hours yet so the vista overhead was one of a sea
of stars. Only the occasional aircraft or satellite intruded on his
meditations.
He heard the screen door open
behind him and someone walk across the porch. “Do you mind company, or would
you rather be left alone?” His aunt stood at the top of the steps wrapped in a
fleece lined coat.
“Don’t mind company,” said
Chip, scooting over to make room for her. She settled down beside him and
looked up at the sky, wondering what he saw there. For several moments neither
spoke. He watched her out of the corner of his eye wondering what had brought
her out into the chill night air. If it had been simple concern that he was
staying out too long, he figured she would have just asked him if he was ready
to come in. Sammy wasn’t the type to beat too much around the bush about
anything, so there must be something on her mind.
Finally Sammy cocked her head
to one side and looked at him. “You seem to be looking for something.”
Chip started. He hadn’t been
aware that his search through his old memories had been quite so obvious. For a
fleeting instant his expression was one of being trapped, then his bland mask
quickly slammed into place.
Sammy watched with alarm the
swift play of emotions on Chip’s face that he’d rapidly shuttered and mentally
cursed his father for the emotional abuse she suspected he had been subjected
to. She feared she’d pressed too soon into a sensitive area and put him on his
guard. “I’m sorry, Chip. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that you were sitting
out here, looking at the sky like it had answers to an important question.” She
kept her hands in her pockets, sensing that to touch him right now would be the
wrong move.
He calmed his breathing and
shifted uneasily. Sammy’s remark was awfully close to the truth. The question
was, did he trust her enough to reveal all of the events of that
horrible day when his mother and sister died? He wrapped himself deeper in the
coat as he considered his options.
He spoke. “I was remembering
the year Mom and Cassie … died.”
Sammy’s eyes widened in
surprise. This was a subject she hadn’t expected him to broach on his on and
certainly not this soon. “Do you want to talk about it?” She wasn’t sure she
was ready to hear it, but for his sake she’d try.
He looked up at the star filled
sky while he rubbed a thumb over the rough surface of the shell necklace he’d
hidden in his left pocket. At this point he wasn’t sure himself what was
entirely real and what was imagined. More importantly, he wasn’t sure if he could explain it in a way
that his aunt wouldn’t think him crazy. The more he’d remembered about the
summer he’d spent with the Dawimhlar the more he began to wonder about their
origins. He vaguely remembered a huge black submarine - theirs - a true
submarine, not a Navy 1940’s fleet boat. At least he thought he did. The thing
that nagged at him was a picture of himself as a little boy sitting with
Scathach in a plush chair in front of windows in the bow as the boat had
glided along just below the surface. He remembered the play of light through
the water and dolphins playing tag overhead. Something similar had happened
aboard Seaview on her maiden voyage and he now realized where that odd
feeling of deja vu he’d experienced at the time had come from. That would put
Dawimhlar technology decades ahead of humans - at the very least.
He turned his head to look at
Sammy. “Not yet. I …I still have some things to work out.” His sad smile and
the far away expression in his eyes made her heart ache. She hesitantly reached
out a hand and put it on his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch away she gave him
a hug. He leaned into it and put his head on her shoulder. She kissed him on
the top of his head and gently stroked his hair. They continued to sit with
Chip wrapped in his aunt’s embrace, both silent, each lost in introspection as
they gazed at the glory of the stars blazing in the vault of the night sky.
*********
Harriman Nelson sat in the
hospital cafeteria picking at a breakfast for which he had little appetite but
that Jamison had insisted he eat. Edith had regained consciousness during the
night, so this morning the doctors were running tests to see if she had
suffered any permanent mental or physical impairment. She had still been
disoriented with no memory of the events of the day before when they‘d shooed
him out of ICU. Neither Jamison nor Luketich could offer any assure on whether
she would or wouldn’t eventually regain the lost memories. Nelson wasn’t sure
which way he wanted it to go. A part of him wanted to erase what happened, but
the rest of him knew that the day had been seared permanently into his soul.
Whether or not his sister remembered, he would.
“Admiral.” Nelson looked up
to see Lee Crane and Chief Sharkey threading their way between tables. He
pushed away the tray. This was as good an excuse as any to ignore the food that
he really had no desire to consume. The pair pulled out chairs and sat. Crane
eyed Nelson’s plate and smiled grimly.
“Jamie told us he’d sent you
down here to eat.”
“Oh, he did, did he? I guess
that means you’ve been up to ICU.” Nelson made no move to pull his tray back.
“And been sent packing. They
were still running tests.” Crane put his elbows on the table as he rested his
chin on his knuckles. Sharkey sat silently, eyes downcast, his hands worrying a
napkin, tearing it into tiny strips. Nelson and Crane looked at him and then
each other and gave almost simultaneous sighs. Sharkey looked up, startled to
find both his captain and admiral scrutinizing him.
“What, sir?” It was the first
thing they’d had heard him say since he’d walked in. Nelson gave him a wry
smile filled with sympathy.
“Chief, it wasn’t your
fault.”
Sharkey ducked his head
again. “Everybody keeps telling me that, sir, but I keep thinking that if I’d
just been driving something smaller..”
“Then you’d likely be up here
in the hospital with her, Francis. That wouldn’t do anybody any good, because
then I’d be feeling guilty about you too.” Sharkey’s head jerked up and a
horrified expression flitted across his face. He’d been so busy feeling guilty
about his part in the accident that he’d overlooked how the admiral must be
feeling.
“I’m sorry, Admiral. I just
feel bad about being involved is all. I don’t want you to feel bad on my
account.” Sharkey was starting to get animated and both Nelson and Crane had to
smile. This was the Sharkey they knew.
Nelson turned to Crane. “Not
to change the subject, but did Jamie say how much longer the tests were going
to be?”
“No,” said Crane, looking
thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. “He just said he’d be down to get us
when they were done and had something to tell us. He didn’t give me any
indications of how long it would be.”
Nelson sighed and rubbed a
hand over his face. “I guess now it’s a waiting game. Something I was never
very good at.”
**********
Somewhere far away a male
voice sang, “One day as I grew older, I found I could not hold her. She took on
a fine young skipper who soon ran her up on a boulder..” Chip Morton’s eyes
flew open as he fought his way to wakefulness from a dream filled with Seaview,
a rock that kept appearing out of nowhere and shadowy sub that he could never
quite see. He looked wildly around, disoriented, not recognizing the room he
was in. The song continued, coming from somewhere outside, but rapidly fading.
“Singin’ why, me oh my, is there a better man than I? I hope you find your way
back home before you’re lyin’ high and dry, I hope you find your way back home
before you die…”
Recognition came after a few
heart stopping seconds and he sighed in relief. He was in a guest bedroom in
his aunt’s house in Kansas. The music had apparently come from a passing car
with a very loud radio. He recognized the song and smiled wryly. It was
a favorite of the crew - Gordon Lightfoot’s High and Dry. Especially the
verse about the fine young skipper. He didn’t think Crane had figured it out
yet, though he suspected the admiral had. Even though the boat described in the
lyrics was obviously a sailing vessel, the Seaview’s crew had taken the
song as their own after they’d had a run-in with an abandoned minefield. Seaview’s
former COB, the late Curley Jones, had been the one who’d discovered the tune.
More sounds filtered up from
downstairs, indicating the rest of the house was up and stirring. He looked at
the clock on the nightstand and realized with dismay that it was already 10:30.
He’d slept through breakfast.
Damn.
His feet hit the floor and he
grabbed for his robe just as a knock sounded on the door. “Chip, you okay in
there?” The speaker was his cousin Don.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Come on in.”
The door opened and Don stepped in. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?” asked
Chip, as he fussed with the belt on his robe.
“I did peek in on you
earlier. You looked like you needed the rest. Mom said to let you sleep till
you woke up on your on.” He paused and studied his cousin carefully. “I thought
I heard you groaning in here a bit ago.”
Chip ran his hands through
his hair and managed a rueful smile. “Strange dream.”
Don chuckled. “Anything you
care to share?”
“It wasn’t anything that made
a whole lot of sense. Seaview was in it, along with a rock that she kept
bashing into. The rock kept moving around, getting in the way.” He frowned.
“There was another boat in it, but I never could get a good look at her.”
“An unknown enemy?” Don had
leaned back against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
Chip thought about his
feelings from the dream for a moment, then said slowly, “Not an enemy. A long
lost friend, perhaps.”
Don’s eyebrows arched.
“That’s an odd statement.”
Chip shrugged. “It was an odd
dream.” Their conversation was interrupted by the growl of Chip’s stomach. “I
think I need to feed me,” he said as his cousin snickered into his hand.
“Mom said to let you know
she’d fix you something when you got ready to eat.” Don had managed to stifle
his laughter, but was still wearing a broad grin.
Chip shook his head. “It’s
too late for breakfast and I hate to see her go to the effort just for me. Why
don’t I just go out to eat somewhere and save her the trouble?”
“Cause she’d skin us both if
you did. Besides, Dad sleeps late on Saturday too. He hasn’t eaten yet either.
Mom and your man Patterson are the only ones that have. They got up before
daylight and fixed some oatmeal. Pat said he never did eat a big breakfast.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, tell
her I‘ll be down as soon as I‘ve showered and dressed.” He shook his head and
added, “I forgot to tell Aunt Sammy about Pat’s eating habits. He doesn’t eat a
lot of red meat or pork. But I guess he’s probably told her himself by now.”
“You got it.” Don turned and
exited towards the stairs. Chip gathered up a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt
and headed for the bathroom at the other end of the hallway.
The smell of bacon and eggs
had permeated the house by the time Chip had finished dressing and started down
the stairs. He followed the wonderful aroma into the kitchen and found that his
aunt had also made fresh buttermilk biscuits and white gravy. Don and his Uncle
Earl were both sitting at the kitchen table with plates piled high - they’d
already started without him. Pat was helping his Aunt Sammy fetch and carry,
despite the cast he still sported on his left wrist.
“Hey,
save some for me!” Chip demanded, grabbing a chair with one hand and a plate
with the other. The other two passed him the platters while Pat poured a big
glass of orange juice and set it down by his plate. For some time there was no
conversation, only the sounds of breakfast being devoured. Pat and Sammy leaned
back against the counter and watched with amusement.
After
nearly fifteen minutes of nonstop eating Chip sat back in his chair with a
satisfied sigh that brought a chuckle from his cousin. “Don’t they feed you on
that sub of yours?”
“On
the boat, yeah. We have a really good head cook and staff. But ashore - which
is where I’ve been for almost three weeks now, that’s a different story.” He
shuddered theatrically. “The food at the Institute cafeteria isn’t too bad, but
hospital food at Santa Barbara General leaves a lot to be desired.” He looked
over at Pat and grinned. “Don’t you agree, Pat?”
Pat
looked up from the sink where he was drying dishes. “If you say so, Mr. Morton.
I‘ve never been a guest there myself, so I haven‘t had to eat the food.” Chip
knew that the bland look on Pat’s face often hid a quirky sense of humor - and
he suspected that he’d just been the object of some obscure joke. Or maybe not.
With Pat it was sometimes hard to tell, so he just shook his head and rolled
his eyes. The interplay between the two brought laughter from the rest of
Chip’s family. Don slapped Chip on the arm.
“What
say you and me go for a drive in a bit and I’ll show you around. The old town’s
changed since the last time you were here.”
“If
Aunt Sammy doesn’t have anything she needs us to do around here, sure.” He
turned an eye to Pat. “What about you?”
The
seaman shrugged. “Me and Mrs. O’Brien were going to go over some recipes. You
go on without me, sir.”
Chip
looked at him and arched his eyebrows, “Recipes?”
“Yeah.
We got to talking about food this morning and she said she wanted to try out
some of the things that I like.”
Sammy
joined in the conversation. “Yes, Chip. It seems unfair to make Pat go hungry
just because he eats differently than we do, so I thought we’d go over some of
his favorite foods. They actually sound pretty good.”
Having
eaten some of the recipes on the boat, Chip had to agree. “Cookie’s made some
of them a permanent part of Seaview’s menu. Most of the crew likes them.
Even me.”
“But
you’re the kid who would eat almost anything - even your vegetables,” commented
Don.
“So?
Just because I have healthier eating habits than you do…” teased Chip, giving
his cousin a sideways look.
Sammy
laughed at both of them. “Out, you two. I’ve got better things to do than
listen to the pair of you squabble.” They hastily pushed back their chairs and
escaped to the living room, grinning at each other.
“Come
on, grab your coat and let’s get out of here before somebody thinks of
something they need us to do.” Don had already snatched his own jacket off the
coat-rack and was headed for the front door. Chip paused uncertainly for a
second, as the little worm of fear and paranoia suddenly wriggled in his gut.
He sucked in a breath and firmly stomped on the feelings, then followed his
cousin out the door.
Don
had already settled in the front seat of his car and started the engine when
Chip came down the steps. He stopped and blinked in surprise when he realized
what Don was driving. This wasn’t Don’s personal vehicle - it was his unmarked
police car. Chip hesitantly went around to the passenger’s side and got in.
“Are
you allowed to do this?” he asked his cousin, looking worried.
“Do
what?”
“Take
civilians just riding around in your car.”
Don
looked over at him, his earlier humor replaced by seriousness. “Ordinarily no.
But your friend Haggen had a talk with both the Chief and the Sheriff, since
I’m also a reserve deputy, so the department is making an exception in your
case. It would be very embarrassing to have you survive that madman Smith and
then fall victim to some nut case who wants to make a name for himself by
finishing the job.”
“The
letters.” Chip’s expression turned haunted.
“The
letters.” Don’s look was grim. “The world has some very demented people in it.
Something I think you know all too well.” Haggen had brought copies of several
of the threatening letters that Chip and Pat had received after the death of
Smith. Despite his years as a cop, Don had been appalled at the brutal
callousness in some of them. The ones that had Haggen and the Feds worried had
all apparently come from the same individual. They had no idea who the person
was, but he seemed to know a great deal about Chip Morton. Haggen was convinced
that they were coming from someone Chip was acquainted with, possibly a
personal enemy of Admiral Nelson. Whether or not the writer intended to follow
through on the threats no one knew, but no one was willing to take the chance
that he would.
Chip
sighed, his good mood vanished. Lately it seemed whenever he was getting his
life put back together, fate would throw him another curve ball.
The
car pulled out of the driveway and headed east on Horseshoe Road. A half mile
down they came to the intersection with 110 Road that led south towards town.
Chip stared out the window at the passing fields of winter wheat, lost in
thought. Don cleared his throat to break the silence.
“Chip,
I’ve been thinking. Right now nobody knows who you are except me, Chief
Carlson, Sheriff Atkinson and the shift supervisors. I’d like you to meet a few
other officers, like my partner Ben Hanks and the deputies who normally patrol
the area around Mom and Dad’s place. I think they ought to be brought in to the
loop, because they’re the ones most likely to be responding if there should be
a problem. I really believe it would be a good idea if they knew who you and
Pat are.”
Chip
turned to study the earnest expression on his cousin’s face. “Did Haggen tell
you something that makes you think there’s going to be trouble?”
Don
shook his head. “No. But I’d rather be prepared and not have anything happen
than to pretend it can’t and go along trusting to luck.”
“Now
you sound like me. Paranoid.” Chip gave his cousin a wry smile. At Don’s
quizzical expression he continued. “I’m the executive officer on the Seaview,
Don. She’s more than just a research vessel.” He sighed. “We have to be
prepared for literally anything. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit we’ve
seen and done in just two and a half years - and that’s with the boat laid up
for six months for a refit after being sunk.”
“Sunk!”
Don’s eyes widened. “How the hell did that happen?”
“An
abandoned minefield. I wasn’t aboard at the time, thankfully, but the rescue
was a bit dicey. We lost some good men.”
Don
whistled. “That didn’t make the news, at least not around here.”
“It
wasn’t widely advertised. The government didn’t want anybody coming in and
trying to claim salvage on the boat. Not to mention the fact that it was one of
our leftover minefields.”
Don’s
forehead furrowed. “That musta caused a few red faces.” He paused for a moment.
“Wait a minute. Why would the government not want anybody else to
salvage the sub? She belongs to Nelson, doesn’t she? A private craft?”
“Nelson
did build Seaview with a lot of his own money, but even he isn’t wealthy
enough to have done it on his own. She’s civilian only in a technical sense -
we’re not in the Navy, but the idea that he can do whatever he wants with her
is pure fiction. The whole crew is in the Naval Reserve and we can be called to
active duty at a moment’s notice. Otherwise we wouldn’t be part of the Failsafe
system.”
“Failsafe?
You mean the damned thing’s got nuclear missiles? Isn’t this classified
information then?”
“Don,
if you hadn’t passed a security check, I wouldn’t be here now. Besides, who are
you gonna tell? The People’s Republic? The Soviets?” Chip snorted. “Most of it
they already know. The press? I think you like them about as much as I do. Some
of them already suspect the boat’s armed, but they can’t prove it. It’s not
like defense is the only thing we ever do - we really do engage in research at
every opportunity. That’s our primary mission. It was Seaview’s
auxiliary craft Sojourner that discovered hydrothermal vents in the
ocean floor. A whole ecosystem that doesn’t depend on sunlight. Species that
nobody even dreamed existed. Mapping the seafloor. Marine mammal censuses.
Basic research into life cycles of all kinds of commercially important fish.
Stuff nobody ever did before because they didn’t have a platform to do it
from.”
“So
why the weapons? Sounds like you’ve got enough to do without adding defense
duties to the mix.”
Chip
was silent for a moment as he organized his thoughts. Then he spoke with
serious earnestness. “Because there are those in the world who don’t want the
research done. They are making enormous profits from the rape of our planet’s
resources. Especially in some of the eastern bloc nations. And in this country.
They’ll do anything to prevent knowledge of the damage they are doing from
becoming public. That’s what happened to the research vessel Ocean Dancer back
in sixty-seven off the coast of Tahiti. It wasn’t an accident at sea
like some governments have tried to pass it off as.” He stared out through the
windshield, remembering, then continued softly. “I’ve seen the wreckage with my
own eyes. That ship was torpedoed. The science staff and crew never had a
chance.” He looked back over at Don. “Nelson didn’t originally plan on arming Seaview,
but after that incident he felt he’d better give her the capacity to defend
herself.”
“But
nuclear missiles?”
“A
compromise for some of the funding. Only part of them have actual nuclear
warheads - about half the missiles are experimental systems with dummy loads.
Weapons research where we do the field testing. Some missiles are for upper
atmospheric research - joint projects with NASA or NOAA. Of course just exactly
what the mix consists of is highly classified.” He sighed. “I’d be happy myself
if we could have done without the missiles. So would the Admiral.”
“So
you aren’t really military, but you’re not truly civilians either. That’s a
tough line to walk.”
“Oh, I
don‘t know. In some ways we’re a lot like the military pilots who become astronauts
for NASA. They’re in a situation not all that different from us. Exploring in a
civilian capacity, but still in the military.”
“Except
they aren’t hauling nuclear weapons around in their spacecraft to defend
themselves from aliens.” The statement was meant to be sarcastic, but Chip’s
reply stunned him.
“The
government figures that a crew of two or three is expendable. Any species that
has the ability to get here from another star system is far enough advanced
that anything we’ve got isn’t going to give them much of a problem.” He
hesitated a moment, then added, “At least the people with any sense know that.
There are a few hardheaded idiots in the military who think we ought to shoot
first at any ship that enters our atmosphere.” The peculiar expression on that
flitted across Chip’s face as he said the last caused Don to pull the car off
onto the side of the road and look him squarely in the eye.
“What
happened?”
“What?”
Chip refused to meet Don’s eyes.
“Chip,”
said Don impatiently, “the look on your face just now was one of intense
distaste. So you’ve got somebody very definite in mind.” Don cocked his head to
one side and added, “I’d be willing to bet there’s a specific incident to go
with it. What’d this fool do? Nearly start a war with the Russians?”
“It
wasn’t the Russians.” Chip’s tone had gone flat and his expression guarded. The
hair on the back of Don’s neck began to rise.
“Care
to tell me about it?” Part of Don wasn’t sure he really wanted to know, but the
investigator in him smelled a mystery. Chip shook his head.
“That
one I really can’t tell you about.” Chip’s blue eyes had taken on a distant
look.
“So
who’s the idiot?” At Chip’s baffled stare he added, “So I’ll know who to bust
if he ever comes to Dodge City.”
For a
moment Chip looked nonplused, but then a crooked smile crept onto his face.
“Admiral Walter Tobin. Also known as ‘Trigger-happy’ Tobin.”
“Trigger-happy,
huh? Sounds like a real throwback.” Don put the car back into gear and pulled
back out into traffic. They’d gotten inside the city limits now and were just
passing the local community college. “How’d somebody like that make admiral?”
“Dumb
luck and connections. The way he talks you’d think he was a veteran of every
battle the Navy’s ever fought, but he’s never actually been in combat.”
“Christ,”
said Don, rolling his eyes, “one of those.”
“I’m
afraid so,” agreed Chip.
The
two settled back into silence, but this time the atmosphere was thoughtful
rather than brooding. Don occasionally pointed out landmarks to Chip as they
wove though the city streets headed for the police station. Given that Dodge
City was not a large town, it took less than fifteen minutes for them to
arrive. They pulled up into the parking lot and Don killed the engine. “You
ready?”
“I
guess.”
They exited
the car and walked to the back door of the building. Just before he opened the
door Don quietly asked, “Were they really from another planet?” Chip turned to
look at him and gave him a wry smile.
“That’s classified way above either one of our
pay grades.”
“Which
means yes, because if there wasn’t something there, it wouldn’t have to be a
secret. And you would have just told me no.” Chip laughed at his cousin’s
logic, but in the back of his mind had to admit that he was right. Sometimes a
non-answer said volumes.
Don
led the way to his office inside, outwardly calm, but a part of his mind
churned. His three kids loved science fiction - they’d watched My Favorite
Martian, Star Trek, Lost in Space, Time Tunnel, Twilight Zone and Outer
Limits. Their bookshelves were lined with volumes by authors like Heinlein,
Clarke, Bradbury, Asimov and Schmitz. His own preferences ran to westerns,
though he‘d frequently watched science fiction with his kids so he could at
least speak the same language they did. And he had to admit, he had rather
liked My Favorite Martian. Too bad the Viking missions had found a cold,
dead world. But now his cousin had apparently encountered the real thing, not
the product of some writer‘s imagination. Part of him didn’t want to believe
it, yet some part of him had always wondered. But now that he had been
confronted with the real possibility of other inhabited worlds and alien
civilizations, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge. The world
didn’t seem quite the same anymore and he wasn‘t sure what to make of the
change.
Don
was still abstracted when they walked into the office he shared with his
partner Ben. His partner was buried to his elbows in paperwork, looking harried,
tie askew, jacket hung over the back of his chair. The ashtray was piled to the
brim with cigarette butts and the trashcan had overflowed onto the floor with
wadded papers. Ben’s short dark hair stood out all over his head like
exclamation points from where he’d run his hands through it during fits of
exasperation.
Don
stopped dead in his tracks and stared. Normally his partner was cool and
immaculate. “What the hell?” were the first words out of his mouth. All
thoughts of aliens fled.
Ben
looked up with a distracted expression. “I thought you were off today.”
“I
wanted to bring my cousin in to meet you and then take him over by the
sheriff’s and meet the deputies that patrol the area out around Mom’s.” He
waved a hand at the stack of reports on Ben’s desk. “What’s all this?”
“We’ve
had a multiple shooting and homicide over at White’s Moving and Storage. Fellow
they fired yesterday walked with in a shotgun this morning just after they
opened and started shooting the employees and customers. Wounded five, killed
three. Got back in his car and drove over to the mall and opened fire on
customers in the parking lot. Wounded four people before an off duty Highway
Patrolman shot back and killed him. When the sheriff sent a unit out to his
place they found his wife, kids and grandkids all dead. It’s been a madhouse
around here ever since.”
“Shit,
Ben, why didn’t you call me?” Instead of answering, Ben cut his eyes towards
Chip, who was standing in the doorway wide-eyed and pale. Dismay filled Don’s
expression. “Ah, well, do you need me to stay?”
Ben
shook his head. “Sheriff’s got the lead on this one since all the fatalities
were outside the city limit. At least for now. The Highway Patrol will probably
wind up with it since one of their officers was involved, with shots fired.
Anyway, the perp got his, so now it’s just trying to put the pieces together
and find out why.”
“I
guess today probably wouldn’t be a good day to go over to the sheriff’s office
then.” Don glanced covertly at Chip, who was starting to get a strange, glassy
expression in his eyes. He needed out - now. Ben could see it too and simply
pointed to the door with his thumb and mouthed the word ‘Go’.
Don
took Chip by the arm and steered him back out the door and down the hallway to
the exit. Somehow they made it back to the car, but once seated inside Chip put
his forehead against the dash and groaned. Don placed a hand on his shoulder;
he could feel Chip quivering with barely suppressed emotion. “Chip, do you want
to go back to the house? Talk to Mom? Go get drunk?” He rubbed his cousin’s
shoulder in an effort to comfort him. “Talk to me, man. I can’t read your
mind.”
“Don’t
want to go back to the house,” came the hoarse answer. To Don’s relief Chip
appeared to still be coherent.
“Okay.
We can just sit here if you like.” Actually Don would rather not, since they
were starting to attract some attention from his fellow officers and it would
only be a matter of time before someone came over to see what was going on.
There were a couple of the uniformed officers whom he would describe as
busybodies - and he strongly suspected that they were the source of frequent
leaks to the media. He certainly didn’t need any of them snooping around now.
“Can
we go down on the river?” Chip still hadn’t raised his head, but the tremors in
his body seemed to be tapering off.
“I
guess so. Is there any particular reason for going there?” Don wasn’t sure what
Chip wanted to do. If he wanted to go for a swim then Don was going to haul his
butt straight to the hospital.
“I
just want to listen to the water. And walk. It…it always helps me deal with
..things.” That sounded reasonable enough. Whatever it took to get Chip through
this, that didn’t endanger him or anyone else, Don was prepared to try.
“Then to
the river it is,” said Don as he started the car and shifted into gear. Once
out of the parking lot headed south, he gave some thought to just where on the
river he wanted to go. He decided not to drive to the closet point, just across
the railroad yard on the other side of Business US 50. That particular area was
a hangout for transients who were riding the rails - not a very safe place for
someone in his cousin‘s state, even though not too many were around this time
of year. There was a fishing and boating access off of US 50, a couple of miles
west of town. That was a good place, with easy access to the bank. It was a
popular fishing spot during the summer, but was largely deserted this time of
year except by the hardiest of anglers. He’d best let someone know where they
were going though.
“Chip.”
He got a sigh and a mumbled ‘What’ for an answer. “I’m going to stop at a gas
station before we get out of town and call Mom, let her know where we’re
going.” And see if she thought going was a wise idea or not. He was also going
to call his partner and the sheriff’s department dispatcher, but Chip didn’t
have to know that.
Chip
lifted his head and looked at his cousin. “I guess that would be wise.” He
pushed himself upright for a moment to look around, then leaned back in the
seat and put his head against the window glass. The haunted look in his eyes
tore at Don’s soul and he could have kicked himself for not calling in before
taking Chip to the station. He offered a mental curse to the gods of perversity
that had chosen this day and place for such a tragedy.
The
gas station was relatively deserted as Don pulled in next to the building and
got out to use the pay phone. The clerk poked his head out the door. Don had
met the man several months before while investigating a series of armed
robberies - this convenience store had been one of the places hit. “Hey,
Detective,” the man called. “Are you on that big murder case?” It was obvious
the man was looking for juicy details. It was with relief that Don was able to
tell him that he wasn’t involved in the investigation. Disappointed, the man
disappeared back into his store. Don spared a quick look back at the car to see
how Chip was doing, then stepped up to the phone. He called his mother first.
“Mom,
it’s Don.” He sighed, wondering how to explain what had happened.
“Don,”
asked Sammy, “is Chip alright?” His tone combined with the very fact that he’d
called told her that something was wrong.
Honesty
was the best policy when dealing with his mom, so Don took a deep breath and
plunged in. “Mom, I took him down to the station to meet Ben and we walked in
on the aftermath of a spree killing. Guy killed his wife, kids, grandkids, then
went down and shot a bunch of people where he’d just been fired from. Then he
went over to the mall and shot some more before being killed by an off-duty
Highway Patrolman. I should of called Ben before I went in. I’m sorry, Mom.” He
heard her sigh.
“What
kind of shape is he in?”
“Well,
he didn’t break down completely at the station, but he looks like a lost soul.
He’s still talking though. He said he wants to go down on the river and walk.
Do you think I should let him?”
Sammy
thought about it for a moment. With a lot of people a walk down the river bank
would be an invitation to suicide, but Chip had always turned to the water for
solace, even before the loss of his mother and sister.
“I
think he’ll be okay, Don, but stay with him. Where are you going to be?”
“I
thought I’d go out to the boat access off US 50 west of town.”
“Be a
good place. But find a way to call if you’re going to be gone more than a
couple of hours.”
“I’m
going to call the sheriff’s dispatch next and let them know where we’re gonna
be, so they can cruise by every so often and check on us. And I’m gonna call
Ben.”
“Good.
Your Uncle Cliff and Aunt Janice are due in in a little bit. I’m going to put
my head together with him and see what the best course might be from here. If
Chip wants to just walk and think that’s fine, but if he wants to talk to you,
just listen.”
“I
will, Mom. I’ll see you later.” He sighed in relief. It could have been much
worse. He placed his calls to Ben and then Dispatch - his conversations with
them were short and to the point. Hanging up from the final call with another
sigh, Don walked back to the car and got in. Chip hadn’t moved; he was still
staring out the window with a lost look.
“Okay,
Cousin, next stop is the river.” Chip only nodded.
It
took only moments to reach their destination. Don scanned the area, noting that
there were only two vehicles in the parking area. Both were pickups with empty
boat trailers, so the occupants weren’t going to be roaming the bank. That was
a relief. He parked at the end closest to the water. Don got out quickly and
hurried around to the passenger side of the car. Chip stood, swaying slightly,
a bit unsteady on his feet. He’d left his jacket unzipped and now it flapped in
the breeze. Don clucked at him and zipped it closed. He reached into one of the
pockets and found a knit cap that he put on Chip’s head, pulling it down over
his ears. Searching through the other pocket produced a pair of lined gloves.
He handed them to Chip.
“Put
these on.” Chip gave him the barest hint of a smile, but complied. In the
meantime Don had found his own cap and gloves and was putting them on. Once
both were adequately bundled up against the brisk wind blowing down the river
Don led the way to the river bank. Here in this spot the sandy bank was fairly
wide and lined with cottonwoods and willows. The river itself was split into
several small, shallow meandering channels. The water wasn’t very deep - this
far upstream the Arkansas River wasn’t navigable by anything much bigger than a
bass boat. It was deep enough to drown in, however, and this time of year
chilly enough to produce hypothermia fairly quickly. Don resolved to keep a
very close eye on Chip.
That
proved to be easier than he’d expected. Chip set a slow pace, walking upstream
along the sandy shoreline, stopping frequently to examine flotsam tossed up by
the river. Don had never quite realized what sorts of things one could find.
The driftwood, of course, but chunks of glass worn smooth, odd looking stripped
stones carried down from the Rockies, even the odd fossil or two. Plus all the
outright garbage that wound up in the river. They’d been walking for nearly
thirty minutes and covered perhaps half a mile when Chip found a big cottonwood
log that formed a natural windbreak. He sank down beside it and put his hands
in his pockets. Staring out at the brown muddy water flowing sluggishly by, he
huddled into his jacket as he leaned against the log, knees pulled up against
his chest. Don was starting to feel the bite of the wind as well, but wanted
something a bit warmer than the dubious shelter of a fallen tree. There was
plenty of driftwood in the immediate area, so he quickly gathered a pile of
small chunks and sticks and built a small fire in the lee of the log. He
squatted down on his heels to get close to the blaze and soak up the welcome
heat. The warmth soon drew Chip close as well. He joined Don in staring into
the dancing flames.
“It
was a rainy day in late September,” said Chip, breaking his silence. His tone
was flat, distant. Don lifted his gaze from the fire. “Cassie and I should have
been at school, first grade, but Smith hadn’t let Mom enroll us. Course I
didn’t know that at the time.” Chip paused, a look of anguish on his face as he
searched for the words to describe the events that had occurred that terrible
day so long ago. “I’m sure it was because he was afraid that Cassie would tell
somebody what he was doing. Mom was working, but something had happened and she
came home early. Smith was in the bedroom with … Cassie.” Here Chip stopped and
covered his eyes for a moment. When he lowered his hands Don could see the
unshed tears pooling in his eyes. He took a deep breath and continued. “He
always locked me out of the bedroom when he was doing anything to Cassie. But
that day, when Mom came in early and asked me where everybody was. I told her
he was in the bedroom playing games with Cassie. I told her I didn’t like his
games and that he’d locked me out. She got a real funny look and went and got a
hairpin and picked the lock. When she opened the door she caught him red-handed
molesting Cassie. She went ballistic, started screaming and cussing him. Cassie
started crying that he’d hurt her. That’s when Mom screamed that she was going
to the police. Smith grabbed a knife and went after her. I tried to stop him
but he threw me into a wall. He kept stabbing her. There was blood everywhere,
but she got a lamp and smashed it over his head and stunned him for a few
seconds. She was trying to get to the phone, but he got there first and ripped
it out of the wall. That’s when he killed her. Knocked her down and stabbed her
though the heart. Cassie ran up and started kicking him in the leg and he just
snatched her up by the hair of her head and cut her throat.” At this point the
tears were flowed freely down Chip’s cheeks. “By then I’d managed to get back
up. I was so scared. He threw Cassie’s body across the room and then came after
me.” Chip closed his eyes for a moment as he fought to keep from breaking down.
Don
sat stock still trying to keep the utter astonishment off his face. The police
report he’d read had assumed that Chip was in another room when the attacks
occurred and that was how he had managed to escape. No one had dreamed he
really had been in the room and actually seen the deaths of his mother and
sister. So how the hell had he gotten out?
Chip
took another deep breath and wiped his eyes with the back of his glove. “I’d
have never made it out alive if it hadn’t been for Scathach.” He turned a
rueful smile to Don. “I’ve never been quite sure just where she and her people
were from. I can tell you that they weren’t human. When the cops in Searsport,
Maine wrote their report, they left everything I’d told them about Scathach and
the Dawimhlar out. Probably just as well. I’d have probably been considered
crazy if anybody later on had found out about it. Back then people sure didn’t
believe in nonhuman sentients. Anyway, before Smith could grab me again,
Scathach smashed the back door down. Roared at me to run to Officer Danbury’s
house. He was a cop that lived there in the neighborhood. Then she jumped on Smith
- bit him - took a hell of a chunk out of his left arm. He was swinging and
slashing at her with the knife. Caught her across the face. But I did what she
told me and ran for the neighbor’s house. When the cop got back over to my
house Smith was gone and so was Scathach. There wasn’t anything they could do
for my sister and Mom. So I wound up back with my father.” Chip dropped his
head and stared into the fire. “He acted like my mother and sister had never
existed. Put away all their pictures. Wouldn’t talk about them or what
happened. Hank was the only one who would talk to me. If it hadn’t been for him
and his wife more or less adopting me, I think I’d have gone mad.” He let out a
long sigh. “As far as I was concerned, my dad died right along with Mom and
Cassie.”
By now
Don’s mouth was hanging open. When he finally found his tongue he blurted, “But
how did you meet aliens in the first place?”
Chip
shrugged as he picked up a stick and poked at the fire. “I’m not sure if they
were aliens or not, Don. I always thought they were Selkies, though they
weren’t much like the legends and called themselves Dawimhlar. Told me it meant
Sea People. And I never saw a spaceship. Anyway, I was running from Smith just
a couple of weeks after we’d moved to Searsport. I’d found an old dock down
along the shore. It was fairly rocky and Smith wouldn’t come down into the
rocks after me. He’d been drinking one day and started cussing me and throwing
things so I took off. Scathach was holed up under the pier herself. She befriended
me. I spent a lot of that summer tagging along with her and her people. They
taught me how to swim, sail a small boat, fish, even the rudiments of
navigation.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “They did have one hell of a
submarine though. Way ahead of anything we had at the time.”
“Selkies?
Then they weren’t the same ones where Tobin was involved?” Don was having
trouble grasping the fact that Chip had possibly encountered an intelligent
nonhuman race as a child, then encountered a second alien race as an
adult.
Chip
shook his head. “No, that was an entirely different species. The technology was
different too.”
“So
what were they doing here?” Visions of invaders loomed in Don’s head.
“The
starship, where Tobin wanted to shoot first and then ask questions, had been
damaged in a collision with a meteor. All that pilot wanted was to get the hell
out of here. The Admiral and Captain Crane helped him do just that. The
Dawimhlar…” Chip shrugged, “were just
watching.”
“Watching?
Watching what?”
“Everything,
I guess.” Chip looked up to see the unsettled expression on Don’s face and
correctly interpreted it. “I doubt that they had any designs on us. They’re
marine mammals for one thing. Land based living isn’t their preference.
Besides, if they’d wanted to invade they could have done it then. Their
technology was already advanced enough that they could have beaten us.” He
looked back down at the fire as he thought about his friends. “If they really
are the source of the Selkie legends, then they’ve been around for a very long
time, Don. I think that they were - and are - just keeping a wary eye on us.
Humanity doesn’t have a real good track record on interspecies relations you
know.” A bit of wryness had crept into his voice.
“Are?”
Don’s eyebrows threatened to shoot off his forehead.
Chip
looked over at his cousin and said softly, “It was Scathach that tossed the
hornets into the cab of Smith’s truck. Pat and I both saw her. So they’re still
around.”
“What?!”
His yelp echoed up and down the river, causing the occupants of a fishing boat
anchored upstream from them to turn and stare. He lowered his voice and
demanded, “How do you know it was this Scathach? And that wasn’t in the
briefing that Haggen gave me.”
“Haggen
doesn’t know. And before you jump down my throat, when the police interviewed
me I thought I’d hallucinated it, so I just didn‘t mention it. I didn’t know
Pat had seen her too. I might add that nobody else who was there saw her. Not
the cops, not the Admiral, not the media. I didn’t realize until later that it
really was her. I didn’t want to wind up in a padded room - or get kicked out
of the Navy.” He had begun to speak with some heat in his voice. “People like
Tobin would consider me a security threat just because I tagged along one
summer with some not-human people who may or may not have been from this
planet. I was six years old, for crying out loud! And my mother was living with
a serial killer!” Chip’s eyes had begun to flash a dangerous shade of icy blue.
“So
what clued you in later?” Don was trying hard not to shift into cop mode and
wasn‘t entirely succeeding.
In
answer Chip reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small shell strung
on an odd looking braided cord of some kind. “Faileas, one of the other
Dawimhlar, gave me this that summer. I left it with them because Smith liked to
destroy my personal belongings when my mother wasn’t around and then tell her I
did it myself. I found it, along with a toy fire engine that I’d left with them
that summer, in the seat of my car after I got out of the hospital.”
The
furious expression that had been building on Don’s face vanished. “Are you sure
it was them that left it?”
“No
one else even knew they had anything of mine. I certainly never told anyone
when I was a kid. My father nearly beat me half to death the one time I tried
to talk to him about them, so I kept my mouth shut. The only person who ever
even heard me mention their existence is Lee and he didn’t know about the toy
engine or the necklace.” Chip’s anger had collapsed and he seemed to shrink
back into himself.
“So
now what?” asked Don. He had mixed feelings that Chip hadn’t leveled with the
police back in California, but he could understand why his cousin hadn’t. He
wasn’t sure that if he’d encountered an alien that he’d feel comfortable
telling even the officers that he worked with. Some of them would flatly refuse
to believe it.
Chip
shrugged. “I guess I’ll tell Lee. Maybe the Admiral. Probably Haggen. Then it’s
up to them. Knowing the Admiral, he’ll probably want to try and find them
before he makes any final decision. Talk to them. It’s something more than a
police matter, Don. This is about contact with a nonhuman race that most likely
has vastly superior technology. We certainly don’t want to piss them off! We
screw this up and it could have serious, world altering repercussions.
Regardless of where they’re from. Like I said before - way above our pay grade,
Cousin.”
And
that’s exactly what it was, Don realized. Something in the realm of diplomats,
politicians and scientists, not the purview of a small town cop. He shivered
with the realization of the implications of Chip’s revelations and found his
sense of the structure of the universe and his place in it was being twisted
into new shapes that he wasn’t sure he liked. This was something he was going
to have to reflect long and hard on.
The
fire was starting to die down. Don poked halfheartedly at it, debating whether
or not to gather some more wood and build it back up. He heard Chip sigh
tiredly.
“Don,
I think I’d like to go back to the house now. I think I need to lay down and
rest.”
“Are
you sure?” He did notice that Chip was looking a bit paler than normal. Chip
nodded. “Okay. Think you can make it back to the car okay?”
“I
think so.” Chip got to his feet and brushed the sand off his pants as Don
kicked sand over the fire to smother it. Once he had it sufficiently buried to
suit him the two men set out at an easy pace back to the car. Don stayed close
by, not quite touching his cousin, but close enough to catch him should his
strength give out. It was becoming increasingly obvious to Don that Chip had
pushed himself past his limits and was now paying the price. It had after all,
been less than three weeks ago that Chip had been shot in the back and just
over two weeks since the encounter with Smith. He still wasn’t fully recovered
and wouldn’t be for several weeks yet.
It
took them nearly fifteen minutes to return to the parking area. A Ford county
sheriff’s cruiser was parked beside Don’s unmarked car. The deputy was sitting
behind the wheel of his car sipping coffee from the cap of his thermos and
munching on a sandwich, so it obviously wasn’t an emergency that had brought
him here. As Don moved closer he recognized the officer and wondered at his
presence here. Alan Donaldson normally patrolled the district around his
mother’s house on the night shift. Don guided Chip to the front passenger’s
side of his car and helped him in as Deputy Donaldson got out and ambled around
to greet them.
“You’re
either out late or up early,” said Don as he turned to face the deputy. The man
yawned sleepily.
“Up
early. With the business this morning, they called me in a half shift early.
Sheriff Atkinson told me I needed to talk to you before I went on patrol.”
Donaldson turned a look in the direction of Don’s car. Chip was huddled against
the door, head against the glass. He nodded in Chip’s direction. “I don’t
recognize the fella in your car. You gonna take him in to the station or over
to the hospital?” The man didn’t really look intoxicated, but he did look ill.
“Actually,
I’m going to take him over to my Mom’s house.” At Donaldson’s startled
expression, Don slyly added, “This is my first cousin, Lt. Commander Chip
Morton.”
“Cousin?”
Donaldson was puzzled for a moment, because he didn’t recognize the man as one
of Don’s kin, but then the light dawned. They’d all sat around the break room
at the sheriff’s department and talked about the serial killer Smith and Don’s
aunt Clarissa when the news about events in California had made the national
news. This must be her son, who’d escaped the killer not once but twice. So
what was he doing here? Donaldson knew that the man hadn’t seen any of his
family here in nearly thirty years. “The one from California?”
Don
nodded and then added, “Can you follow me back to the house? I need to talk to
you.”
“Sure,”
said Donaldson, nodding as he headed back to his car. Both climbed behind the
wheels of their respective vehicles and pulled out.
It
took them less than twenty minutes to pull up into the driveway at the O’Brien
place. The entire family along with Pat came out the door when they saw the
police cruiser pull up behind Don. Pat and Sammy practically bounded off the
porch; they were the first to reach the car. Their looks of apprehension turned
to relief when Chip opened the door to get out. His exhausted appearance turned
their relief into concern, especially when Pat had to help him out of the car
and up the steps. Doctor O’Brien and Earl followed them in while Sammy lingered
to get in a brief word with her son.
“How
is he, Don?” she asked, darting a sideways glance at Donaldson. She had met the
deputy on a several occasions, so he was no stranger to her, but she did wonder
what he was doing here now.
“Wore
out more than anything, Mom. I think he just overdid things today.” He didn’t
want to go into too much detail about some of the stuff Chip had told him in
front of Donaldson. His mother knew him well enough to realize that he had more
to say in private, so she patted him on the arm and followed the others inside
while Don quickly briefed the deputy on the threats his cousin had received and
Don’s own concerns about security.
Inside
Pat had guided Chip over to the overstuffed couch and gotten him settled. Earl
had introduced his brother and sister-in-law. Cliff had brought out a medical
bag and begun to examine Chip when Sammy rejoined them.
“Cliff,
how is he?”
“Exhausted
more than anything. A good night’s sleep will probably do more for him than
anything else.” Cliff had pulled the bandages off of the incision on Chip’s
back where they’d removed the bullet and cleaned up the groove it had carved
along his rib. The stitches looked good with no redness or swelling. Cliff
nodded in approval and taped another pad over it to keep it clean. “I think
you’ve just not gotten your strength back yet, Chip. Your incision is fine,
though you may be a bit sore in the morning.” As Chip put his shirt back on
Cliff continued. “Did Doctor Jamison give you anything for pain?”
“Yeah,”
Chip was tired enough that he was mumbling. Pat stepped in.
“His
meds are up in his room. Do you want me to get them for you?”
“That
would help, yes.” Pat stepped briskly out of the room and up the stairs. It
took him less than a minute to find the bottles and return. He handed them to
Cliff, who examined the labels carefully. One was an antibiotic, the other a
painkiller. He took one of the painkillers out and handed it to Chip, who
grimaced.
“I
hate those things, Doc. They make me groggy.”
“You
won’t heal if you’re in pain, Chip. Right now you need the relief and the
rest.” Chip sighed in resignation and accepted the glass of water his aunt had
brought to wash it down. He grumbled half-heartedly as he swallowed the pill
and then stretched out on the couch. Sammy covered him with a light quilt and
tucked it in around his feet. He was asleep in a matter of minutes, far too
quickly for the pill to have taken effect. Sammy shook her head as she and her
husband retired to the kitchen with her brother-in-law and his wife, leaving
Pat to watch over him.
She
fidgeted around the kitchen, making a pot of coffee while waiting for Don to
put in an appearance and fill them in on exactly what had happened over the
course of the day. It wasn’t long before Don appeared. Sammy put cups down
around the table and indicated for the others to all sit while she poured. Once
done, she took a seat and addressed her son.
“What
happened, Don? Why’d you take him down to the station?”
Don
ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I wanted Ben, that’s my partner,” he
added as explanation to Cliff and Janice, “to meet Chip. One of the reasons
that Admiral Nelson and Haggen wanted Chip and Pat out of California was that
they had been getting threatening letters. Apparently there was one letter
writer who knew enough about Chip that it alarmed both Haggen and the local
authorities. Sheriff Atkinson knows about this, as does Chief Carlson. But it
seemed to me that the officers who patrol out here ought to know about it too,
so they could keep an extra careful lookout and maybe come by a little more
often. I felt Ben should know since he’d most likely be with me if something
did come down, or get called in on it. I didn’t expect some idiot to have
decided to kill his family and ex-coworkers this morning, or go on a rampage
shooting people at random. That‘s what we walked in on at the station - that‘s
what triggered this.”
Cliff
looked thoughtful. “How did he react?”
“Well
at first he got wide-eyed and pale, but I was able to walk him out to the car
and get him in it. He put his head down on the dash and moaned a bit, trembled
some, but then he said he wanted to go down on the river and walk. That it
would help him get through it. I called Mom to see if she thought it was a good
idea or not.” Cliff nodded; Sammy had told him about the call. “So then I drove
down to the boat access and we walked down the river bank maybe a half mile. We
found an old log for a windbreak, I built a fire and we sat. He just started
talking about the day that his Mom and sister were killed.” At this point Don
hesitated. “Cliff, what he told me was in confidence. Anything more - I think
he’ll have to tell you himself.”
To his
surprise Cliff simply nodded. “Don, it’s not important that he has to talk to me
- just that he has to talk it out with somebody. You’re probably going
to actually be a better choice than I would, because you’ve seen the kind of
violence he was a victim of. You’ll have a better appreciation for some of the
details than perhaps the rest of us would. I don’t see a lot of patients in my
practice with his kind of background, so I’m a bit out of my area of expertise
here. If there are aspects you feel you need to discuss with an expert,
particularly about Smith’s motivations, we can consult with an associate of one
of my partners. We can do that without revealing any of Chip’s confidences,
especially if you can get some of the files on the other cases.”
Don
nodded. “I can get those from Haggen if we really need them. Will Monday be
soon enough?” Privately he was amused that Cliff thought he was any better
prepared to deal with Chip’s revelations than a shrink might be - though who
among them was really prepared to deal with the idea of aliens anyway? But
maybe Cliff was right. He certainly wanted to talk with Haggen about that particular
subject too. Perhaps he’d have a better idea of what to do and who he could
tell after that.
“Should
be. I wouldn’t be able to talk to my colleague until Monday anyway. He’s out on
vacation until then. On a cruise in the Caribbean with his wife to celebrate
getting the last of the kids into college and out of the house.”
Sammy
leaned forward. “Cliff, we were going to have the rest of the family come over
for dinner tomorrow and meet Chip. Do you think we should postpone the
gathering?”
Cliff
rubbed his chin as he mulled over the idea. “Were they all coming, with kids
and grandkids, or was it going to be just adults?”
“All,”
noted Sammy wryly.
“Might
want to limit the numbers until we see how he’s going to handle things. But I
must admit, he has hung together better than I expected given his father’s
attitudes.”
“Probably
because from what he told me it wasn’t his father who raised him,” snorted Don.
“It was his brother Hank and his wife.”
Cliff’s
face brightened. “Really? Well, that could make a big difference. If he had
someone to provide the sort of emotional net for him growing up that parents
usually provide, even if was an older brother who served as a surrogate father,
then he may not be as emotionally in danger as we’d feared. Don’t get me wrong,
now. It won’t be cakewalk for him. But it won’t be as devastating as it could
have been.” He turned to Sammy. “Have you had any contact with Hank over the
years?”
Sammy
thoughtfully ran a finger around the rim of her coffee cup. “I’m not sure.” At
the questioning expressions on the faces of the others she explained. “For
several years now I’ve gotten unsigned cards at Christmas with a Chicago
postmark. I initially thought it might be Chip, but now that I know he lives in
California and has for some years now, I think that it has to be Hank or
Daniel. Are you thinking that we need Hank to come down here?”
“Not
necessarily. But it would help if he would at least talk to us.” Cliff sipped
his coffee as the others considered his statement.
“Doctor
Jamison told me that Hank flew out to Santa Barbara while Chip was in the
hospital and stayed a week. I think he might care enough about Chip to at least
cooperate,” said Sammy slowly. “Jamison said he actually stayed there in Chip’s
room the whole time he was in Santa Barbara General; that the police would’ve
had to arrest him and dragged him bodily out to get him to leave.”
“Hmmm.
Perhaps the best way to approach him would be to get Doctor Jamison to make the
initial call, since they are apparently on cordial terms. That way Hank would
at least hear us out. It also reduces the chance for Henry Morton to find out
about it and interfere if Hank does decide to aid us in Chip‘s recovery.” Nods
all around indicated that the others agreed with him. The next step was to
decide exactly what they wished Jamison to tell Hank. The family settled in for
a long brainstorming session, determined to get it right for Chip’s sake.
********
The
day had dragged by with agonizing slowness for Harriman Nelson. Crane and
Haggen had returned to the Institute to take care of business shortly before
lunch; Sharkey and some of the rest of the Seaview’s crew had come by to
check on him and his sister not long after the two had left. The chief had
brought a briefcase from Angie, full of paperwork that only he could do. It
made him briefly wonder if they had coordinated plans so as to not leave him
sitting and brooding by himself all day in the cafeteria or ICU waiting room.
The idea brought a brief smile to his face. But he appreciated having something
to occupy his mind while he waited. Otherwise he feared that he might have been
beating his head against the wall by now.
Jamison
had come in a couple of times to check on him as well, but so far had no news
on the results of the tests they’d been running on Edith. At least he hadn’t
been by with any really bad news yet. Motion caught his eye again as someone
entered the waiting room from the hall wearing a white coat. As he looked up he
realized the approaching figure was Doctor Luketich - Jamison was only a few
paces behind him. This was it, then. Nelson took a deep breath and steeled
himself for the coming ordeal. By the time the two doctors had gotten to where
he was seated he had gathered all of his papers and returned them to the
briefcase. After snapping it shut, he rose to greet the two men.
“Admiral
Nelson, why don’t we go down to my office so we can speak privately?” Luketich
said as he approached. Nelson simply nodded. A few heads in the waiting room
turned to watch their exit, surprised to have it confirmed that the tired
looking red-haired man whom they thought resembled the famous Admiral Nelson
really was him. However, most were too buried in their own misery and anguish
to care, seeing him only as another fellow sufferer awaiting word on the fate
of someone he cared about.
One
man, however, saw opportunity. He leaned over and asked some of the others if
they knew why the red-haired man was there. One woman, who had been there since
before Edith had been brought in and who had offered Nelson her sympathy after
learning the circumstances from Sharkey, spoke.
“His
only sister was in a car wreck. The doctors had to do an emergency operation on
her because she was bleeding in her brain. Poor man. The doctors have been
running tests all day to see if she’s going to be brain damaged or not. I know
what he’s going through.” The woman dropped her head and dabbed at her eyes
with a tissue before continuing. “We’re waiting on word about our son too.”
“Were
they in the same wreck?” asked the man. What a scoop if they had been!
“Oh,
no. Our Jeffrey was in here the day before they brought his sister in.” She
didn’t see the disappointment flicker in the man’s eyes. “But that short
dark-haired fellow that was in here earlier, the one called Sharkey, he was.
She ran her car into his car from what I understand. Even though it was her
fault, he still feels real bad about it. I understand that he works for Mr.
Nelson.”
A
thrill flickered through the man. Yes! Now he needed the police report to find
out exactly where and when the wreck occurred and what the circumstances were.
He was eager to make up for missing the big story on Smith because he’d left
too soon. This might just be the break he was looking for. He soon excused
himself and went to find a payphone.
Inside
Doctor Luketich’s office Nelson found himself wishing he was anyplace but here.
His greatest fear at this moment was that they would tell him that his sister
Edith was going to be permanently disabled in some way. His own mind was his
greatest treasure and the thought of no longer being able to function mentally
one of his greatest fears.
Luketich
plopped down in his chair and yawned. “Excuse me, Admiral, but it’s been a long
weekend already.” The man placed a file folder on the desk in front of him and
opened it. He perused the top page for a few seconds, then continued. “You’ll
be glad to know that I don’t think there’s going to be any long term impairment
to your sister.”
For a
moment Nelson froze in place, not quite daring to believe what he’d just heard,
but a glance at Jamison nodding in agreement confirmed it. He exhaled a sigh of
relief and let himself slump in his seat. “Doctor, you have no idea how
relieved I am to hear that.” He also offered silent thanks to whatever higher
powers had listened to his heartfelt prayers.
“Well,”
said Luketich as he leaned back in his chair, “she’s not completely out of the
woods yet. There’s always the chance of a setback after a major surgery like
this. But the tests show what we would like to see at this stage of her
recovery, so there aren’t any red flags up. She’ll need some therapy to get
completely back to where she was before and it’s going to take time. Her short
term memory is going to take a while to sort itself out again, so if she seems
forgetful for the next few months, it’s not something to get upset about. Only if it continues beyond that or she
starts forgetting things that happened before the accident should you worry.
Right now her long term memory of the past seems to be okay. She’s fortunate
that she was brought in quickly, diagnosed rapidly and the bleeding relieved
before it could cause a lot of damage. Plus she’s fairly young and healthy.
Jamison tells me she’s not a smoker and doesn’t do drugs or alcohol. That’s
definitely in her favor. So if nothing untoward happens in the next week and
she continues to progress as well as she has, you’ll be able to transfer her
back to the Institute’s Infirmary by next weekend.”
“Can I
see her now?” As reassuring as the doctor’s words were, he still needed to be
with her. Not until she was safely back at NIMR and on the road to recovery
would he allow himself to relax his vigil. When he might forgive himself for
his own behavior and the guilt he felt wasn’t even in the equation at the
moment.
A
knock on the door interrupted the conversation at that point. Jamison got up to
open the door and found Donnelly, the hospital Chief of Security, standing
there. His presence and the expression on his face presaged less than welcome
news. His words confirmed it.
“I’m
afraid we got a problem, Admiral. The media just arrived.”
Nelson
and Jamison looked at each other and sighed in perfect unison. What Nelson was thinking
would have blistered the paint on Seaview’s bulkheads.
********
His
mouth felt like sun baked sharkskin and tasted like fermented old socks basted
in bearing grease. Man, that must have been some party - except that he didn’t
care much for parties and couldn’t imagine why he would have gone to one. He
sure felt like the morning after the night before, though. Chip blinked
groggily as he stared up at a ceiling that was oddly familiar, but that he
couldn’t quite place. His muddled mind sluggishly tried to spin up to speed and
start functioning properly so he could orient himself to time and place. He had
to get home. Man, Lee would kill him if he was late back to the boat.
He
tried to sit up. Big mistake. His muscles groaned in protest. That was strange
- he hadn’t been aware that you could actually hear muscles. He belatedly
realized that the groan was coming from his throat, not his muscles. A blurred
figure came into his field of view. When he finally got focused on the face, he
realized with shock that it was Patterson hovering over him. Patterson? With
recognition came remembrance as the memory of recent events flooded his mind.
He groaned again, but this time it came from his soul.
“What
time is it?” he croaked.
Pat
looked at his watch. “A little bit past 19:00 hours sir.”
“Same
day?”
“Yes,
sir. You hungry, sir?”
“Need
something to drink first.” As dry as his mouth was it was hard to speak; his
tongue kept trying to stick to the roof of
his mouth. He still hadn’t connected to his stomach to see if he felt
hungry, though he was dimly aware that he’d missed both lunch and supper.
“I’ll
get you a glass of water.” Pat moved out of his line of sight as Chip
contemplated the strange and tragic twist the day had taken. Since he was still
at his aunt’s house and not in a padded cell, he supposed that either Don had
believed him about the Dawimhlar and the Seaview’s encounter with the
other aliens or that he’d decide to humor him for the time being. Only time
would tell if confiding in Don about what had happened the day his mother and
sister were killed had been wise.
A hand
with a glass of water moved into his field of vision. Chip looked up from his
introspection to see Don offering him a glass with a straw. He sipped
gratefully. As he did he could feel his body coming back to life, making it’s
demands to be filled and emptied in the appropriate places.
“Help
me up,” he told his cousin with some urgency, “I’ve got to go.” Don
smiled crookedly, but helped Chip to his feet and offered a shoulder for
support for the short trip to the bathroom. On the way Chip looked over at Don
and asked, “Do the others think I’m crazy?”
Don
shook his head. “I didn’t tell them what you said, only that we’d talked about
what happened.”
Chip
stopped and stared at him. “Cliff didn’t ask?”
“Nope.
He said he didn’t get a lot of patients in his practice that had been through
what you had. He said I was probably a better choice for you to confide in
because I have seen the sort of thing you went through, dealt with the victims.
Of course, he doesn’t know that part of it I’m definitely not qualified
for.” Don shrugged wryly and added. “But then, who is?”
Chip
attempted a rusty sounding laugh at the last statement. He put his hand on his
cousin’s shoulder and said sincerely, “Thanks.”
“I
don’t know what for. I’m as crazy as you are, I think.”
“Still.”
Chip’s body made it’s needs known again and he shuffled on into the bathroom.
Sammy entered the hallway as he was closing the door.
“He
awake?” she asked Don.
“I
heard that and the answer is sort of,” came a muffled reply through the door.
She
laughed and called out, “I wasn’t asking you. Anyway, are you hungry?”
“Probably.
I just can’t tell yet.”
“I
saved you some pot roast. When you get ready, just come on into the kitchen and
get it.” She patted Don on the shoulder in passing as she headed back into the
kitchen where the others were still sitting at the table conferring. Now that
Chip was awake, they were going to suspend their discussion.
A
disheveled looking Chip Morton appeared at the door of the kitchen. Sammy had
set a plate of reheated roast beef and vegetables at the table for him, along
with a glass of milk. He slumped into the chair. At first he didn’t feel
hungry, but after a couple of bites his stomach decided that it was pretty good
after all. It took him longer than normal to finish his plate, but in the end
he sopped up the last few bites with a slice of homemade bread and then leaned
back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. He was starting to feel human again.
He
looked around at table at his family and realized just how much he’d missed
them over the years. The old resentments towards his father stirred and were
mirrored for an instant in his eyes. Cliff caught the flash and cocked his head
to one side in question. Chip looked down at the table and hunched his
shoulders defensively. Sammy looked a question at Cliff, but he shook his head
in the negative to indicate that now was neither the time or place to address
the problem. When no one commented, Chip looked up, puzzled at the lack of a
response. His father would have raked him over the coals good for such a slip.
He didn’t expect that sort of a reaction from anyone here, but he had expected
someone, especially Cliff, to ask for an explanation.
No one
did. Sammy simply leaned over and gave him a hug. His initial startled reaction
quickly vanished and he leaned back into her embrace, burying his face in her
shoulder, wrapping his arms around her. The understanding that seemed to flow
from her was balm to his wounded soul. Don and Earl looked at each other, but
said nothing to disturb the moment of healing. Patterson likewise remained silent.
Cliff
had been watching carefully and found Chip’s reaction to the lack of response
telling. He had a gut feeling that the fleeting look of hostility in Chip’s
eyes hadn’t been directed at them - he also had a pretty good idea of who might
have been the true target. It was going to be tricky to draw Chip out. He had a
lifetime of practice at keeping his emotions concealed.
A part
of him questioned the wisdom of being involved in treating Chip himself since
he was technically family, but he knew from what little he’d seen that his
sister-in-law’s nephew would be unlikely to open up completely to a total
stranger. There was the added complication of Chip’s position as executive
officer of a nuclear submarine, even though Seaview was civilian -
something Cliff privately had his doubts about. Another doctor would have been
obligated to report it to the Navy, since Chip was still in the Reserve. Cliff
was aware from his conversations with Sammy that the Nelson Institute’s doctor
had sent Chip here, knowing that Cliff was part of the family and a
psychiatrist. He suspected that they preferred to find out on the quiet if Chip
was unbalanced or not, rather than put him through an examination by strangers
that might go in his personnel file and be subject to being misconstrued
somewhere down the line. It might be a good idea for Cliff to talk to Doctor
Jamison himself and find out just exactly what they were looking for. In the
meantime, Chip needed to rest and recuperate from his physical wounds. There’d
be time enough to tackle the older psychological ones later. Since Chip had
already confided in Don about what happened with Smith, most of that part of
the problem would be his task rather than Cliff‘s, anyway. It was the
relationship that Chip had - or rather didn’t have - with his father that lay
within Cliff’s field of expertise. However, tonight was reserved for recovery
from the stresses of today. There’d be no questions for now.
The
family retired to the living room and the TV for Starsky and Hutch. Don
begged off.
“I get
enough of that at work,” he said wryly. “Besides, Carolyn is threatening to
come over here and make sure my cousin is really a Chip and not a Chippette.”
Chip’s fleeting guilty expression caused Don to put his hand on his cousin’s
arm and tell him, “I’m just kidding. She’d rather have me over here than out on
the street on duty. Not that Dodge has a high crime rate, but still, it’s safer
with you.”
“You’re
sure?” Chip’s body language betrayed a lingering uncertainty, though he was
trying to laugh it off as the joke Don meant it to be.
“Yeah,
you lunkhead, I’m sure. Look, I’ll bring her by tomorrow and she can tell you
herself. Trust me on this one, Cousin. If she didn’t want me hanging out with
you, we’d both hear about it. Besides, as long as it really was my cousin, she
wouldn‘t care if you were a Chippette.” Don moved his hand up to Chip’s
shoulder and stared him in the eye, trying to project certainty.
Earl,
overhearing, joined in. “He’s right about that, Chip. One thing about my
daughter-in-law, she’s not afraid to speak her mind.”
“Okay.
I’m convinced.” There was relief in the blue eyes that was hard for Don to
miss. Don mock punched Chip in the jaw and slapped him on the arm.
“I’ll
see you tomorrow after Mass. Mom, Dad, I‘ll meet you at church in the morning
and follow you back over here with Carolyn. Her sister is going to take the
kids home with her for the afternoon.” He kissed his mother goodnight, then let
himself out the front door and vanished from sight.
“Mass?”
Chip looked after him and knitted his eyebrows together for a moment. “I guess
tomorrow is Sunday, isn’t it?” He looked over at Sammy and Earl.
“Do
you want to come too?” Sammy asked.
Chip
looked uncomfortable. He didn’t really want to go, but at the same time he
didn’t want to say so and perhaps keep them from going. He looked to Pat for
support.
“I’m
Methodist. I don’t mind staying here with Mr. Morton. We’ll be okay by
ourselves.” Pat had seen the silent plea for help and understood it. Sammy had
seen the look between the two as well. It saddened her that he appeared to have
lost his faith in God, but then he had been through an awful ordeal. Perhaps
when he’d healed enough to regain his perspective he’d change his mind. She remembered
that he used to love to go with them to Mass when he was a little boy. The old
Sacred Heart Cathedral that stood on the corner of Central Avenue and Cedar
Street had seemed to fascinate him. She had to briefly wonder where his path
might have led if Clarissa had come home instead of marrying Smith and going to
her death in Maine.
“Okay
then. We’ll go to the 8:00 AM Mass and be home in plenty of time for lunch.
Cliff, what about you and Janice?”
Cliff
shrugged. “I’ve lapsed, I’m afraid. Janice?” Sammy read the unspoken message -
it would be a good time to start prying Chip out of his shell, with a minimum
of people around.
“I
guess I’ll go with you.” Janice had gotten the message too.
“Then
we’ll leave the three of you here while we go. I’ll warn you, though, I don’t
usually fix a lot of breakfast since we leave so early.”
“That’s
okay, Mrs. O’Brien,” said Pat. “I think we can survive till you get back. If
not, then I’m a pretty good cook.”
Sammy
laughed. “Yes, you are, Pat. Sounds like everything is under control then.”
Starsky
and Hutch started, ending the
conversation. Sammy settled on the couch, while Chip planted himself on the
floor so that he was pressed against her leg. The others sorted themselves out
into chairs. It didn’t take long for Chip to turn so that he could lay his head
in Sammy’s lap, allowing her to gently stroke his hair and rub his neck and
upper back. By the second round of commercials he was sound asleep. Sammy
smiled sadly down at him. Cliff reached over and patted her on the hand.
“He’ll
be okay. We’ll all muddle through somehow.”
She
certainly hoped so.
*********
The
sounds of people stirring around downstairs penetrated his consciousness. Chip
raised his head, peering around to orient himself. He was in his room upstairs.
As he contemplated how he got here - the last thing he clearly remembered was
sitting on the floor by the couch with his head in his aunt‘s lap - he seemed
to vaguely recall Pat guiding him up the stairs last night, still half asleep,
and putting him to bed. From the light coming through the window, it was just
barely past sunrise. He heard the front screen slam, followed in a few seconds
by the sounds of car doors. By the time he’d gotten to his feet, the sound of
the car crunching away on the gravel of the driveway had faded. He checked the
clock sitting on the dresser. It was almost 7:30.
Well,
now that he was awake, he might as well get dressed. He gathered up a shirt and
jeans, put on his robe and headed for the guest bath. To his relief it was
unoccupied, so he was able to get his morning rituals done at his leisure. By
the time he was ready to descend to the lower floor, the smell of fresh coffee
was wafting through the house. He entered the kitchen to find Pat and Cliff sitting
at the table eating breakfast. Cliff was sipping on a cup of coffee and eating
a ham sandwich while Pat had a plate of fresh fruit he was working his way
through.
“Sandwiches
for breakfast?” asked Chip as he poured himself some coffee and set down at the
table.
Cliff
shrugged. “Leftover bad habits from my days as an intern. You ate what was
quickest and could be carried or went hungry.”
“Sounds
like war patrol in the Navy,” observed Chip. “But it does look good. I think
I’ll have a sandwich myself.” He got up and went over to the refrigerator and
rummaged around. There was a bit of the roast left, so he pulled that out and
sliced it. He added tomato, lettuce and mayo. Pat shook his head at the thick
sandwich Chip carried back to the table. Chip just grinned at him, while Cliff
worked to smother a laugh. The three finished their meal with small talk,
avoiding the real issues, preferring to put off the serious business of why
Cliff had been called in until later.
After
breakfast was finished and the few dishes washed and dried, Chip gathered up a
jacket from the rack by the back door and walked out onto the back porch. Cliff
followed. He found Chip standing at the bottom of the steps looking out towards
the garden and barn.
“Want
to go for a walk?” Cliff had decided that he wouldn’t push Chip into speaking
with him about his problems. Nonverbal communications would do for the start,
if that was what Chip wanted. The two set out at a leisurely pace towards the
back of the five acre plot that surrounded the house. There were actually
several hundred acres that the O’Brien’s owned, but since Earl wasn’t a farmer,
they had for years leased the rest of the land to one of their neighbors for
wheat cultivation.
As the
walk progressed in silence, Chip darted baffled looks in Cliff’s direction. Whatever
he’d been expecting, clearly this wasn’t it. Finally he spoke.
“Cliff,
why are you here?”
“Here
as in ‘what am I doing in Dodge’ or here as in ‘why am I out here freezing my
butt off walking with you’?” Chip blinked, taken aback at the directness, even
though Cliff’s tone conveyed a touch of amusement.
“Both,
I suppose.”
Cliff
shrugged. “Part of it’s because Sammy asked me to. Part of it’s because I
remember you as a kid and I liked you. I haven’t seen anything to make me not
like you since I’ve been here. I was somewhat miffed at your old man for the
way he shut out your mother’s family when she was killed. That added a lot of
grief that really was unnecessary to an already tragic situation.” At this point
Cliff stopped walking and turned to face Chip. “I’ll be the first to admit that
I’m probably too close to the situation to be unbiased. Ethically, if you were
a paying patient, I’d have to pass you on to someone else. On the other hand,
that familiarity with the situation means that we can skip a lot of the beating
around the bush about what happened. I know a lot of what happened because I
was there myself. Your people at NIMR sent you out here knowing who I am and
what I do, so I suspect they’d like your problem handled off the record. If you
were a paying patient then all of this would wind up in your Navy personnel
file.”
Chip
blanched at the mention of his personnel file. This situation was a potential
career killer. Suddenly he was glad that Nelson had come up with the idea of
having him recover with his mother’s family. If Jamison had called in a
psychiatrist at NIMR, even a civilian one, the rumors would have flown and
Tobin, who was always on the lookout for ways to shaft Nelson, would have pounced
on it. It wouldn’t have mattered what Chip’s real mental or emotional state
was, Tobin would have used it to oust him as Seaview’s XO, just to spite
Nelson. Chip couldn’t help but shiver.
Chip’s
apprehensive reaction roused Cliff’s interest. Chip noticed and smiled grimly
as he explained. “There’s another Admiral, Walter Tobin, that hates Harriman
Nelson’s guts. Every chance he gets to try and cause problems he does. If Jamie
had called in a shrink, even a civilian one, and Tobin got wind of it, he’d have
me relieved of duty so fast my head would spin. Whether or not it was justified
and what it might do to my career wouldn’t even enter into the picture.”
Cliff‘s
mouth made a small ‘o‘ of sudden understanding. A lot that had concerned him
about why Nelson would want to handle things the way he was suddenly became
clear. “I see,” he said slowly. “Nelson’s protecting you, keeping Tobin from
using you as a pawn in his power game.”
Chipped
nodded. “Tobin’s not the only enemy Admiral Nelson’s got like that, but he’s
one of the worst.”
“Any
particular reason for his enmity?”
“Admiral
Nelson was right in a dangerous situation that could have led to a war that
would have destroyed this planet. Tobin was dead wrong in wanting to press a
fight, and actually went so far as to try and arrest Nelson and relive him of
his command when he wouldn‘t. The whole crew of the Seaview knows about
it, but those of us who were on duty in the control room were actual
eye-witnesses.”
“Ah.”
A lot of things that had worried Cliff about becoming involved in Chip’s
problem no longer looked quite so sinister. He considered for a moment and
decided that he could treat Chip with a clear conscience. “I must admit that
makes me feel a whole lot better about this whole situation being handled under
the rug. But what you’ve described doesn’t sound like Seaview is a
civilian ship.”
Chip
sighed. “Boat. Submarines are traditionally called boats. And in that
particular instance, no, we weren’t civilians. See, the boat and crew are in
the Navy Reserve, so we can be called up on a moment’s notice for active duty.
That was what had happened, so technically we were a Navy vessel when it
happened. Tobin is still active duty, but he’s only got two stars. Nelson has
four. Within days they’d stood us back down and we were technically civilians
again.”
“Must
get confusing at times.”
Chip
gave a small laugh. “I have heard crewmen returning from leave ask the COB as
they come aboard whether or not they were in the Navy today.”
Cliff
chuckled. “And what’s a cob?”
“Chief
of the Boat. Senior Chief Petty Officer aboard. That’s Francis Sharkey now. We
lost our first COB, Curly Jones, to a heart attack a while back.”
“Sounds
like despite all the confusion you love what you do.”
Chip’s
eyes took on a faraway look. “Seaview is the greatest boat on the
planet. I consider myself one of the luckiest men alive to be her executive
officer.”
“The
excitement?”
“The
thrill of discovery.” Chip grew more animated as he warmed to his subject. “Most
of the time we’re civilians and oceanographic research is what we do. I was
piloting the Sojourner on the trip where we discovered hydrothermal
vents. A whole ecosystem that doesn’t depend on light, but heat and chemistry.
Amazing things and creatures no one had ever seen before. Every time we go out
on a scientific mission we usually discover something new, see something no one
has ever seen before. It’s exhilarating.” His eyes had taken on a sparkle.
“That’s why when Admiral Nelson offered me the position of XO on the Seaview
I didn’t have to think about it. Personally, I’d be just as happy had the
boat been totally civilian.”
“The
explorer rather than the warrior,” noted Cliff. Chip looked a little sheepish
at having gotten carried away, but the Seaview and her scientific
exploits were his passion. He nodded agreement.
“Lee
isn’t quite as gung ho about the science missions as I am, but the Admiral
hired him for different talents than I have. He’s got a command instinct and
feel for the boat that has to be seen to be believed. We make a well balanced
team.”
“A man
you respect then.”
“He’s
also my best friend. We were roommates at the Naval Academy. Seaview was
the first time we’d ever served together, though.”
“It’s
always good to have friends.” Cliff was both relived and encouraged to find
that Chip had a long term friend. So often individuals who’d been emotionally
abused the way Chip had been found it very difficult to form any sort of
relationship, even short term. They tended to be dysfunctional loners, out of
sync not only in a family setting, but often with society in general. Chip was
at least able to function around other people. The loyalty of Patterson proved
that. Cliff had observed closely the interaction between the two men and it was
obvious that the young seaman had a great deal of respect for his superior
officer. Cliff suspected that once Hank had taken his younger brother under his
wing, Henry Morton’s importance in Chip’s life had rapidly waned.
“Don
told me that Hank and his wife were a big part of your life.”
Chip’s
eyes took on a wary look again. “I suppose.”
“Care
to tell me about it?” Cliff waited patiently as he mulled it over.
“I
guess. It’s not like it was a big secret. I moved in with Hank and Rachel when
I was ten, six months after they were married. It was her idea, by the way. She
came from a big, boisterous, normal family. When she saw the way my father was
just … ignoring me… she threw a fit. Hank had always tried to be there for me
before they got married, but…” Chip shrugged. “She treated me like I was her
own, even after she and Hank had kids of their own.”
“And
what did your father have to say about it?”
“Not
much that I ever heard. I guess he was just glad to be rid of me. He didn’t
come around much, which…” Here Chip paused, as if embarrassed.
“Was a
relief?” Chip’s startled expression told him that that was exactly what had
been his feeling. Cliff put a hand on Chip’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, you’re
not the only person who’s ever been in this situation. You’re luckier than some
I’ve seen - you had an older sibling who was willing to walk in and take up the
slack. The fault wasn’t yours. You didn’t do anything wrong.” The troubled
expression on Chip’s face indicated doubt. “Let me ask you something. When you
first got back to Chicago with your father, how did he act?”
“Distant.
Like I wasn’t there half the time.”
“And
how did you feel?”
Chip
cast his eyes down as a blush crept up his cheeks. “Angry. Betrayed. And guilty
for being mad. Then just lost.” He sighed. “Part of me wondered what I’d done
to deserve it, so I could try and undo it, but…” Chip stopped.
“But
you hadn’t done anything, so you couldn’t undo it. Did you feel like sometimes
you’d lost him too when you lost your mother?”
“Yeah,
I did.” Chip looked at him speculatively.
“Chip,
what you felt towards him was normal - even healthy. His reaction to your
mother’s and sister’s deaths - that was abnormal. You weren’t the one with the
problem, he was. When he emotionally abandoned you, well you went through the
same process that you would have if he had literally died. I’m wondering if
perhaps Hank did too.”
The
look in Chip’s eyes grew thoughtful. “We talked about it some. I remember he
said once that he didn’t know our dad anymore. He said it was like a dead man
walking - just the ashes of someone he used to know, pretending to live.” Cliff
was impressed. That was a pretty insightful observation for a fireman. “He told
me that the change started even before Mom and Cassie were killed. Just before
Mom left him in fact. Hank wouldn’t say much about it, but he did say once that
he heard dad cursing her, saying that he hoped the next bastard she married
killed her.”
“And
then it really happened.”
“Yes.
And that’s when Hank said he got really weird.”
“Sounds
to me like he was feeling pretty guilty himself and couldn’t handle it.”
Some
of the tenseness was starting to ebb from Chip’s posture, which Cliff took as
an encouraging sign. Chip’s expression grew contemplative. “I just never looked
at it from that perspective before.”
“So
how did Hank handle it?”
“I
think Rachel got him to go to the parish priest at her church and talk to him
about it. She’s a pretty devout Catholic. Mom had kinda raised us that way,
though dad was Lutheran.”
“Sounds
like he got through it. Don’t you have another brother, though? How did he
handle it?”
“Daniel.”
Chip sighed. “Not quite as well as Hank. He was still sixteen when it happened
- he started running with a rough crowd, drinking, raising hell. It’s a wonder
he didn’t wind up in prison. I guess he finally worked through it, because he’s
an engineer with the state highway department now.”
“And
what about you, after Smith came back after you?” Despite his calm exterior,
Cliff was holding his breath. This was potentially shaky ground.
Chip
seemed to gaze off into the distance, but his introspection was turned inward.
After several minutes he turned to Cliff with a wry smile and said. “It brought
back some old hurts, but in a way the whole thing is finally over. There’s been
a sort of justice done. He’ll never hurt anyone else and I survived. I’ll keep
going on, one day at a time.”
Cliff
let out the mental breath he’d been holding. Chip was in far better shape
emotionally than any of them had dared hope. All he really needed was some TLC,
a sympathetic ear and sufficient time for his body to heal. He smiled and
clapped Chip on the shoulder. “Seems to me that it’s about time for everybody
to get back from church. What say we go back to the house? Unless you want to
be alone for a while?”
“Think
I’m safe to leave alone?” The wry smile wavered only slightly.
“Quite
safe, my friend. If all of my patients were as well grounded as you, I’d soon
be out of work.” The blue eyes brightened with relief.
“Actually,
I’d kinda like to walk a bit more. I need to start getting myself back in
shape.”
“Not a
problem. I’ll trail back up to the house. Just remember to show up for lunch or
Sammy will send out a search party. She hates for people to miss meals.” Chip
muffled a snort of laughter, feeling far better than he had for some time now.
He tucked his hands in his pockets as he continued on down the path towards the
orchard. He soon heard the screen door slam on the back porch, indicating that
Cliff had gone in.
It only
took a few minutes for Chip to reach the old rail fence that surrounded the
orchard. He let himself through the creaky old gate. The apple trees at the
front showed signs of having been neglected for several years now - they were
badly in need of pruning. If he recalled correctly, the taller trees on the
west side were all pears while the trees at the back were peaches, plums and
apricots. The fruit was all gone now, as were the leaves. The grass was knee
high, brown and sere. He surprised several large flocks of birds that were busy
hunting seeds in the tall grass - they took wing with the muted sound of
miniature thunder. He startled a rabbit, it’s tail a flash of white marking the
path of it’s panicked flight deeper into the grass.
He
stopped and breathed in the sights and sounds, recalling snatches of times he’d
played here as a child with his cousins. The cool shady places under the trees
in summer, climbing the pear trees, pretending to be pirates or Indians, games
of hide and seek. He remembered too the time they’d gotten caught in a violent
spring thunderstorm and hail had started stripping the leaves from the trees as
the children had fled to the house, where Sammy had promptly bundled them into
the storm cellar. There’d been a tornado touch down several miles to the east -
afterwards Earl had taken them to the site and showed them the twisted trees
and destroyed buildings. Where the funnel had crossed the highway it had
actually scoured the asphalt from the ground. Chip had been suitably impressed and
awed.
A
smile played across his face. There’d be no storms today. The sky was a crisp
blue without a cloud in sight. The overnight frost had already vanished. Though
it was still chilly enough that he could see his breath in the still air, the
day promised to be nice for this time of year. He found the old millstone that
Earl had set up for them to use for a picnic table and sat on the edge to rest.
From here the house was out of sight, hidden by the edge of the old chicken
coop. He humphed softly to himself as he contemplated the conversation he’d
just had with Cliff. It certainly hadn’t been what he expected. In fact, it
sounded a lot like one of his conversations with Scathach.
The
orchard gate creaked, bringing him out of his revere. He turned to see
Patterson picking his way down the path. He had to grin. Even if Cliff had
pronounced him mentally fit, he still had his ‘mother-hens’ that would worry he
was overdoing things. Pat looked relieved to see that he was sitting.
“You
okay, Mr. Morton?” The young man quickly scanned the surroundings, checking for
any hidden dangers. Chip waved him to a seat on the millstone.
“Have
a seat, Pat.”
The
seaman hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude sir.”
“You’re
not. I was just remembering playing here with my cousins.” The perplexed
expression on Pat’s face told him he was having trouble imagining the Seaview’s
XO as a little boy. Chip was hard pressed to not laugh. “So, did Cliff send
you or did you come on your own?”
“Doc
and the Admiral told me not to let you go anywhere alone, Mr. Morton. It’s not
that they don’t trust you,” he hastened to add, “but until they find who wrote
those letters, they’d rather be safe than sorry.” Pat sounded apologetic to
have brought the subject up, since it cast a pall over the glorious morning.
Chip
sighed. “Those damn letters. I hope whoever wrote them chokes on the next one.”
“I
agree with that, sir!” was Pat’s heartfelt response.
“Speaking
of the Admiral, have you talked to him or Doc lately?”
Pat
grinned self-consciously. “I just got off the phone with Doctor Jamison. Doctor
O’Brien was talking to him when I left.”
Chip
just shook his head, but his smile took any criticism out of the action. “How’s
Edith doing?”
“Doc
says it’s looking pretty good. They’re hoping to bring her back to the
Institute by next weekend at the latest. He did say the newsies had found out
she was in there and have been snooping around looking for a story.”
“Damned
vultures,” growled Chip.
“Yessir.”
Most of the personnel at NIMR felt the same way about the media. “Uh, Doctor
O’Brien said to tell you that everybody will be back from Mass in less than an
hour.”
“I
see. Well, I guess we’d better go back to the house. Wouldn’t want Aunt Sammy
to send out a search party, would we?”
Pat
grinned at him. “No, sir.” Chip rose from his seat and with Pat trailing close
behind, walked slowly back to the house, conserving his energy.
He’d
just gotten comfortable under an afghan in the big recliner in the living room
when the crunch of tires on gravel announced the return of the rest of the
family. Sammy and Earl were the first in, followed by Don and another woman
that Chip assumed was his wife Carolyn. Janice brought up the rear. Don
immediately brought his wife over and introduced her. Out of the corner of his
eye Chip noticed Sammy and Earl cornering Cliff in the kitchen. He had no doubt
that his aunt was demanding a full report. He allowed himself a small smile.
Don followed his gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Your
Mom’s getting a full report, I would imagine.”
“So
did he give you his verdict?”
“I’m
not the one that’s crazy - dear old dad is.” Chip looked a little sad as he
continued. “I guess I always knew that deep down someplace, but just needed to
hear it from somebody who knew what they were talking about. An objective third
party. Or at least as close to objective as I could find.” He paused for a
moment, reflecting. “I guess between Hank and Scathach, they kept me from going
around the bend. I owe both of them.”
“In
that case, do you feel up to visitors?”
Chip
eyed him skeptically. “What kind of visitors?”
“Your
cousins - or part of them anyway. Jean, Jane and Sissy are coming by. The twins
have never met you and Sissy was young enough she doesn‘t remember you. They’ve
all promised to leave the kids home until you feel up to it.”
He
thought about it. Even though he really wanted to just sit for a while and
contemplate, he also didn’t want to appear rude. It was Sammy and Earl’s house
after all, not to mention their kids. “Well, as long as it doesn’t get too
crazy. I’m not up to much physical activity yet. I‘ve already had my walk for
the day.”
“Not a
problem. Sissy’s a nurse like Mom and Jean and Jane are both teachers.”
“In
that case, sure. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to stay right here until
lunch.”
“Not a
problem.” Don and Carolyn joined the rest of the family in the kitchen, leaving
Chip in his comfortable nest in the recliner. He soon dozed off.
The
aroma of food and the rattle of plates being placed on the table woke him some
time later. He yawned and stretched, but was comfortable enough that he was
reluctant to throw off the afghan and get up. He watched the bustle in the
kitchen through half closed eyes. There were three more women in there now that
he didn’t recognize - though there was a certain familial resemblance. These
must be his cousins. He looked them over carefully. If they were, then the
twins Jean and Jane must be fraternal rather than identical twins, since all
three looked different.
Sammy
poked her head through the door and saw that he was awake. “I thought the smell
of food would bring you around.”
“Your
cooking will, anyway. Smells great.”
“Flatterer.
You’re just looking for extra helpings.” She smiled at him fondly. Cliff’s
report had relieved a great deal of her worry about him, but the business with
the threatening letters had her concerned. Not for herself or Earl, since
neither the city police nor the sheriff’s department would give out information
on where they lived because their son was a cop. They had an unlisted phone
number, so couldn’t be located through the phone book. Her worry was for Chip
when he returned to California.
Oblivious
to her concerns, Chip grinned back at his aunt and responded, “If it wasn’t so
good, I wouldn’t want extra helpings.”
They
both heard Earl’s laugh from the kitchen. He called out, “He’s got you there,
Ma.”
“Well
then, get yourself to the table and I’ll feed you.”
Chip
got stiffly to his feet. The nap he’d taken had felt good, but he was still
sore, especially in his back and shoulders. He could use a good massage - but
he rather doubted that he’s find a masseuse in a place like Dodge City. However,
the tantalizing aroma of fried chicken prompted him to ignore his aches and
find his way to the table. He managed to conceal his stiffness and get seated
with a bit of surreptitious assistance from Patterson, who snagged the seat
next to him. His three female cousins were seated across the table from him.
Their brother Don introduced them, verifying Chip’s suspicion that Jean and
Jane were fraternal rather than identical twins. Their curiosity about him was
obvious. It was Jane who initiated the conversation.
“Don
says that you’re the second in command on the research submarine Seaview.
What do you do exactly?” She taught high school biology and general science.
Chip
smiled ruefully. “Mountains of paperwork mostly.” The reply brought a moment of
silence followed by titters of laughter.
“I can
relate to that,” muttered Jean, who taught history and English.
“Doesn’t
sound very exciting. But I was reading not too long ago about something called
hydrothermal vents that your boss Nelson discovered. Can you tell us anything
about it?”
He
snorted. “I was Sojourner’s pilot on that dive. I saw the smokers and
pointed them out to the Admiral.”
“Smokers?”
The others had paused in eating to take avid interest in the conversation.
“The
superheated water coming out of these vents is so mineral laden, especially
with metal sulfides, that it sometimes looks like black or white smoke coming
out of the vents. The temperature difference between the vent water and ocean
is unbelievable - we’ve measured temperatures at the mouths of some of the
vents up to 750 degrees Fahrenheit while the ambient temperature of the deep
sea is less than four degrees above freezing. The vent discharge doesn’t flash
into steam because there’s 8,000 feet of ocean over it and the pressure is just
unimaginable.” Chip paused to shovel in a few bites before continuing.
“The
minerals start to precipitate out as soon as they hit the colder ocean water
and build these incredible natural chimneys. The largest one we’ve seen so far
is nearly fifty feet tall. There’s some of the most astonishing sea life you’ve
ever seen that lives there. The whole ecosystem runs on hydrogen sulfide and
bacteria rather than sunlight. Some of the vents have colonies of these giant
tube worms that are about four feet tall and live in thickets. On the feeding
end they have red plumes that can make the scene look like a field of poppies.
There’s unique species of crabs, clams, mussels, shrimp, worms, fish - even
octopi. None of them are found in any other environment.” He bolted a few more
bites.
“We’ve
got a program underway to look for more of these vent fields by looking for
temperature anomalies in the water column. That’s how we found the first one. Seaview
had encountered a plume of seawater that was warmer than it should have been
and had an odd chemical composition. We tracked it as close as we could get but
the bottom was way below Seaview’s crush depth. So we then took Sojourner
down to pinpoint the source on the sea floor.” He paused again, this time
for some tea.
“Every
time we take Seaview out we discover something new. Three-fourths of the
surface of the earth is covered with water, but we know less about the deep
oceans than we do the surface of the moon.”
“I had
no idea,” said Sammy, “that what you did was so exciting. It must be like
exploring an alien world.”
“That’s
a pretty good description, Aunt Sammy. It’s a hostile environment, just like
space. People can’t survive in in the oceans without special equipment and
training.”
Jean
shook her head in amazement. “I guess Captain Sligo’s genes must have settled
in you. I can’t imagine living like that.”
“About
that…” He turned to Sammy. “You mentioned him in your letter. Was he really a
sea captain?” Chip’s skepticism was evident. Kansas, he felt, was a very
strange place for a man who’d spent his life on the sea to retire to.
“Oh,
yes,” responded Jean, accompanied by nods around the table, “he was. He’d been
a whaling captain. Owned a ship named the Emerald Rose. He sold her in San
Francisco in 1883 and drove a wagon east to Kansas, reversing the route that
the Forty-niners took. His bosun, a man named Watney, came ahead of him and had
a house - of a sort - built by the time the Captain got here. His land was next
to that of a widow named Josephine Burney. Well, to make a long story short,
with the help of her two kids, he wooed and won the hand of his neighbor. So
this is where he and Mr. Watney spent the rest of their days, raising cattle
and eventually wheat, along with large families.”
“But
why Kansas?”
Sammy
spoke. “When I was still relatively young, he used to tell us grandkids that
the reason he came to Kansas was that he wanted a house built on the hundredth
meridian.”
Chip
blinked and did some rapid navigation in his head. “Okay,” he drawled out
slowly, “but there are places on the hundredth meridian that are a lot closer
to an ocean than Kansas. Why this far inland?”
Sammy
looked thoughtful for a moment. “My impression was that he wanted to be some
place far enough from the sea that he wouldn’t be constantly tempted to go
back. He’d been married once before, when he still home ported his ship in
Ireland. His wife died in childbirth while he was away at sea and the baby
daughter died too. They’d both been buried for several months before he even
knew they were dead. Though he never came out and said so, I think he wanted to
make sure that the next time he had a wife, that he’d be there, no matter what.
I know that he still mourned them, because he’d get real sad when he spoke
about happened.”
“Oh.”
Chip mulled the information around, analyzing it. “So just how old was he when
he came here?” The man had to have been middle aged at the very least.
“He
was forty-five when he married Josephine. She was thirty-two. I have a feeling
that one reason he allowed himself to fall for her was that she already had two
children by her first husband, so pregnancy was something that probably wasn’t
going to be a problem. They wound up having eight together, including two sets
of twins. Plus he adopted her two.” It was Jean who supplied this information.
“You
knew him, Aunt Sammy?” Chip had managed to finish most of his plate while the
others had talked.
“Oh,
my yes, Chip. He didn’t die until I was thirteen years old. He used to have the
most wonderful tales of the sea and the great seaport cities he’d visited.” A
shadow momentarily crossed her face and she stopped, not meeting Chip’s eye.
Chip
reached across the table and took her hand. “Something about my Mom?”
She
smiled sadly. “Clarissa used to love to listen to his tales of far away places.
She always wanted to go see them for herself. I guess she had a restless soul.”
She gazed off into the distance, remembering her sister, and sighed. “If she’d
been a boy, I have no doubt she would have gone to sea.” The unspoken thought
was that she’d probably still be alive then.
“Born
too soon,” commented Chip thoughtfully. At the others questioning looks, he
added, “The Navy accepted it’s first female cadets for the Academy this year.”
Jaws dropped around the table.
“Are
they going to send them to sea with the men?” asked Don, a flabbergasted
expression on his face.
“Not
yet,” said Chip wryly, “but you know if they have the training and do as well
as the male officers that there will be no real excuse in the future to keep
them off of vessels at sea. I can see it happening in the next decade or so.”
“Would
you work with a female officer?” This from Cliff.
Chip
thought about it. “Yes.” The disbelieving looks on some of the other’s faces
prompted him to explain. “The first ones are going to have to be better than
their male counterparts to get half the credit. That’s what happened when the
military first started accepting blacks for officers - especially for pilot
training and other technical specialties. I’ve worked with some of those men.
They have incredible ability and dedication. I have no doubt it will be the
same way with the women. I’d rather work with people like that than somebody’s
who merely adequate for the job.” He paused, then added, “Merely adequate can
get you killed, especially on a submarine.”
Particularly
on a submarine like Seaview, though he didn’t say so out loud.
“You
aren’t worried about girls applying just to look for husbands?” asked Don.
Chip
shook his head. “The ones who would do that are unlikely to get past the
screening process. It requires commitment just to get considered for admission.
It’s not like a regular college setting - military discipline applies. Those
who can’t hack it get out pretty fast. By the time you graduate, you’re pretty
well indoctrinated into the traditions of the Navy. No, I’m not worried about
husband hunters graduating out of the Academy.”
He
shook his head as he reflected. “It’s going to be rough on the first ones.
There are a lot of men in the military who are pretty much what the feminists
call male chauvinists. Especially amongst the older officers and career
enlisted men.”
“What
about your boss?” inquired Jane.
“Nelson?
I think he’d hire a purple sea slug if it had a skill he needed. He’s one of
the more open minded flag officers. About a lot of things.” His eyes met Don’s
briefly and they shared a wry smile.
“What
about you, Pat?” asked Jean.
He
shrugged. “Lotta men don’t have what it takes to serve on Seaview. You
gotta be the best of the best. If a woman has what it takes to make the cut,
I‘ll work with her.” If they were expecting him to disagree with Mr. Morton
publicly, it wouldn’t be on this subject. Like Chip, he’d served with black men
who were pioneers in their fields and knew firsthand how much more dedicated
they tended to be - in fact had to be in order to survive despite the bigotry
they encountered.
“Well,”
said Sammy, “once we get dessert and the dishes taken care of, I’ll get down my
photo albums and show you some pictures of Captain Sligo. In his own way, he
was a man ahead of his time. One of his reasons for quitting the whaling trade
was that he felt sorry for the great beasts, as he put it. He also raised a few
buffalo to keep the breed from going extinct.”
“Really?
He sounds like a man I might have liked to know.”
“Oh,
he was quite a character. I’ll have to fill you in on some of the shenanigans
he got into. Drove the US Marshal in Dodge City a bit crazy at times.’
“You
can say that again,” Chip heard Don mutter under his breath. He had the US
Marshal’s personal papers and he’d had plenty to say about Captain Aaron Sligo.
Matt Dillon had found him to be a very unique individual - which was saying
something given the time and place. The West was a place that had been filled
with colorful characters.
Chip
had by now finished his plate and was ready for dessert. Sammy made the most
mouthwatering peach cobbler he’d ever eaten. Add a scoop of ice cream and it
was a taste of heaven. Conversation was therefore temporarily suspended while
everyone dug in. Once the cobbler had been devoured, the women shooed the men
out of the way, sending them into the living room while the ladies made short
work of cleanup.
Chip
had once more retreated to his nest in the recliner and gotten comfortable when
Sammy entered carrying two large photo albums. Her daughters followed close
behind. Don vacated the chair he’d pulled close so he could talk to Chip,
relinquishing it to his mother. She placed the smaller of the two albums in
Chip’s lap as Pat took up station behind him, peering over his shoulder. Chip
flipped the cover of the album open. There on the first page was a photo of a
middle aged man in a civilian sea captain’s uniform of the mid 1880’s. The face
that stared back out at them was one the two men knew well.
The
shocked gasps that came from both Chip and Pat had Don and Cliff scrambling
over to see what was wrong.
Pat
found his voice first and pointed a shaking finger at the photo. “That’s
Admiral Nelson!” he exclaimed.
“What?”
asked Sammy in a confused voice, peering uncertainly at the photo. “That’s
Captain Sligo. The picture was taken shortly after he moved here to Dodge
City.”
Chip,
beginning to recover from his shock, examined the picture more closely. “It’s
not the Admiral, Pat.” He looked up at his aunt. “But let me tell you, except
for his mustache and that scar on his hand, this guy is a dead ringer for
Admiral Harriman Nelson.” The mouths of the others dropped in shocked
astonishment. Chip ran a finger thoughtfully over the photo. “Looks like his
eyes were blue.” He got a nod of confirmation from Sammy, whose eyes had gotten
wide in amazement. “What color was his hair?”
“Red,”
answered his aunt, still somewhat stunned.
“It
would be. I wonder if he had any relatives who wound up in Boston?”
Pat’s
eyes widened at the implications inherent in the question. “Wow, Mr. Morton.
You think you and the Admiral might be related?”
Chip
pointed at the picture. “I’d say it’s at least possible. But probably not
closely related. Third or fourth cousins at best. Great-great-great
grandfathers or something.”
Pat
looked thoughtful as he considered the possible ramifications. “You know, sir,
if you are related, that might just be the thing to get Miss Nelson off
your back.”
Chip
blinked. That was an aspect he hadn’t considered. A contemplative expression
settled on his face. “You could be right,” he drawled slowly. This was
something that bore looking into. He would have to ask the Admiral to check and
see if Sligo really was related and determine just how close the biological
kinship was. This might be an instance of the closer, the better. He looked at
his watch to check the time. 1:30 PM. That would make it 11:30 in Santa
Barbara, just before lunch. In all probability Nelson was at the hospital. The
question was whether or not he was in Edith’s room or if Doctor Jamison had
managed to persuade him to go to the cafeteria and eat. Ordinarily Chip would have
waited for a face to face meeting to broach a subject like this to his
employer, but he knew that Nelson was as tired of the situation with Edith as
he was. If there was a possibility of resolving it without any further injury
to feelings and egos, he suspected that Nelson would jump at the opportunity.
The
others were looking at him oddly when he looked up. “Miss Nelson?”
queried Don.
“Ah,
the Admiral’s sister.” Sammy was the only one of his family who knew about his
problems with Edith, a state of affairs he preferred to maintain. However, it
didn’t look like he was going to be able to let it slide. He sighed. “Since she
can’t get my friend Lee to marry her, she thinks she wants a relationship with
me. I’m not the least bit interested. The Admiral knows what’s going on and has
been trying to help me shoo her off gently. So far,” he added glumly,
“nothing’s worked.”
“Sometimes
kinship does have a way of cooling one’s ardor,” grinned Cliff.
“I
certainly hope it does in this case,” responded Chip fervently. “Give me some
details on the good Captain so the Admiral will be able to know for sure if
he’s a relative or not. Wait, where’s something so I can write this down?” Don
silently handed him a small notepad and a pen. “Okay. What’s his full name,
when and where was he born, everything you know about him.”
Sammy
reached over and turned to a page near the back of the album. There in precise
hand printed letters was all the information he needed.
Aaron
Patrick Sligo born August 31, 1839
Mullaghmore , Ireland
Died
March 11, 1920 Ford County, Kansas
Father
- Patrick Ryan Sligo born June 7, 1811 - ship’s carpenter - died at sea Nov 23,
1852
Mother
- Shanna Muirin O’Donnell born September 12, 1814 - died Jan 2, 1872
Married
Anne Collins (born Jan 10, 1840 Sligo Town, Ireland) on Aug 2,1859
Died
April 18, 1860 in childbirth. Daughter Jennifer Anne also died.
Married
Josephine Gabriella Bristol Burney (widow) on July 8, 1884
Born
Dec 6, 1852 Cleveland, Ohio - died Sept 1, 1926
The
rest of the pages were neatly filled with the names, dates of birth and death
of all Aaron Sligo’s descendants and their spouses.
Chip
arched his eyebrows as Pat put a hand up trying to muffle a snicker. It was
obvious that stubbornness wasn’t the only trait he’d inherited from his
mother’s side of the family. Chip lifted
his eyes to meet his Aunt Sammy’s and grinned. She blushed.
Don
leaned over with a feral grin and said, “Don’t tell me. You inherited the
‘things gotta be neatly organized’ curse too.” Pat couldn’t hold his amusement
in any longer. At the sardonic look Chip gave him he exploded into outright
laughter, along with everybody else.
“Very
funny. The ballast tanks could stand to be scrubbed with a toothbrush when we
get back,” he mock growled, trying hard to maintain a stern demeanor. The
others just laughed harder, even Pat, since he knew Chip wasn’t serious. He
lacked that certain tone in his voice that told one and all aboard Seaview
when the XO was seriously ticked off. The smile that couldn’t be contained
confirmed it. Chip finally gave up and joined in with a chortle of his own.
Once
the mirth died down, he said to Sammy, “Can I borrow your phone and the album
to call the Institute? The security people will know where everyone is.”
“Of
course, Chip.” The shining expression in her eyes told him that she was excited
at the prospect that the famous Admiral Nelson might be related, even if only
remotely. He uncurled himself from the recliner and made his way to the kitchen
table, followed by the others. They all settled around the table, leaving him
the seat closet to the phone. He dialed the number from memory. Tamara, one of
the switchboard operators that he’d occasionally dated, answered.
“Hi
Tamara, it’s Chip Morton.”
“Chip!”
was her delighted response. “How are you?”
“I’m
doing okay. Say, who’s on the duty watch today?”
“Oh,
that would be Nole O’Hara. Do you want me to connect you through?”
Chip
furrowed his brow. He didn’t particularly like O’Hara, though he had nothing
specific against the man. “Is Philip Haggen around?”
“No,
he’s at home. Do you need him?”
“Well,
no. Actually I need the Admiral. Do you know where I can reach him?”
“As a
matter of fact I do. He left the number at the hospital where he could be
reached. He hasn’t left except when Jamie or Lee have dragged him bodily out.”
Chip’s
expression brightened with relief. He really didn’t want to talk to O’Hara. “In
that case, if you’ll give me the number, I’ll get out of your hair.”
“No
problem, Chip.” She read him the number. “Any idea on when you’re coming back?”
“Probably
not until after Thanksgiving. And thanks.”
“I’ll
expect payment for the favor when you get back.” Her voice had turned sultry,
causing Chip to blush.
“Uh, okay,”
he said as the others held in titters of amusement at his obvious
embarrassment. He hastily hung up. Sammy patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
He rolled his eyes and quickly dialed the number Tamara had given him,
forestalling any comment about the cause of his blush. The phone was answered
on the second ring.
“Hello?”
The voice was Jamison’s.
“Jamie?
It’s Chip.”
“Chip!
It’s good to hear from you. There’s not anything wrong is there?” Worry colored
the doctor’s voice.
“No,
no. In fact just the opposite.” Chip heard a sigh of relief from the Seaview’s
doctor. “We’ve been going through the family tree and run a cross a fellow who
is a dead ringer for the Admiral. My great-grandfather, a sea captain named
Aaron Sligo. Given the astonishing resemblance, we were wondering if he might
be related to the Admiral as well.”
“Ah,
well, I see.” Chip grinned, for clearly a question of kinship had been the
farthest thing from the doctor’s mind as a reason for him to be calling.
********
The
phone in Edith‘s room rang. Glancing over at Nelson slumped in his chair,
Jamison decided he’d better answer it himself. He froze momentarily when the
caller was revealed to be Chip Morton. Nelson looked up at the mention of
Chip’s name, dread in his eyes at the prospect of some new disaster. Jamison’s
sigh of relief by the second sentence was a massive relief to the beleaguered
admiral. The totally baffled expression that settled on the doctor’s face by
the third sentence of the conversation had him arching his eyebrows questioningly.
Jamison held the phone out to him.
“He
wants to know if you’re related to some sea captain named Aaron Sligo.”
Edith
stirred in the bed. “Great-grandfather,” she mumbled.
“What?”
asked Nelson, turning to her. Why did that name seem so familiar?
Edith
looked at him through half open lids. “Remember Mother telling us about
Grandmother Jennifer’s father? How her mother died while he was at sea and when
he came back they told him she’d died too. Then told her when she got old
enough that he’d just not come back? How she’d found out from an aunt that
they’d lied because they were angry at him and had been against the marriage?
That when she found out she’d left for America to try and find him but never
did?” Edith was breathless by the time she’d finished. Nelson’s mouth made a
round ‘o’ of astonishment as he recalled what she was talking about. He’d been
eight when his grandmother Jennifer died, but he remembered the feisty old lady
clearly. He also now recalled her sad story about her search for her father,
Captain Sligo.
Jamison
had a peculiar expression on his face. “Ah, it can’t be the same guy - can it?”
“Who?”
By now Nelson was getting exasperated.
“Chip’s
great-grandfather was also named Aaron Sligo.”
Edith’s
eyes flew open and Nelson’s jaw dropped in shock. He snatched the phone from
Jamison’s hand.
“Chip?”
His voice was gruffer than he’d meant it to be.
“Yes,
Admiral.” Nelson could hear a note of trepidation in Morton’s voice.
“Tell
me what this is about.” He softened his tone, but he still heard the young
officer swallow nervously.
“We
were looking at some old pictures of my family and my great-grandfather Sligo
looks just like you, sir. The question came up as to whether or not we might be
somehow related.”
Nelson’s
eyebrows nearly climbed off his forehead. He covered the phone and looked over
at Edith. She’d gone through a phase at one time of researching the family
tree, so she’d know more about their great-grandfather than he would. “Edith,
do you know the name of Aaron Sligo’s wife? His birthday? Middle name? Anything
like that?”
She
thought for a moment, a pained expression on her face. The look cleared. “His
birthday was the same as yours, August 31. His middle name was Patrick. I know
his wife’s first name was Anne. I think her maiden name was Collins.” She
closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I just don’t remember much
more than that.”
“That’s
enough for a start.”
“All
of the papers are in a closet in my house back in Boston, if you need them.”
Her expression was a mixture of emotion, with dismay dominating.
Nelson
uncovered the phone and lifted it to his ear. “Chip.”
“Yessir.”
“What
was your great-grandfather’s full name and birthday?”
“Aaron
Patrick Sligo, August 31, 1839.”
“Christ,”
was Nelson’s startled exclamation. He‘d really expected it to be something
totally different. “Do you know the name of his wife?”
“Which
one?”
“You
know the name of his first wife?”
“Yeah
- it was Anne Collins. She died in childbirth along with their daughter
Jennifer.”
Nelson
didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It had taken a hundred years, but Captain
Sligo had finally been found. In Kansas of all places. No wonder his daughter
had never been able to find him. A strangled laugh escaped him.
“Sir?”
There was alarm in Morton’s voice.
“She
didn’t die.”
“What?”
Now it was Morton’s turn for incomprehension.
“Jennifer
Sligo didn’t die. Anne Collins parents lied to her husband. She was my
grandmother, Chip.”
“Shit!
Oops, sorry, sir. But that would make him…”
“My
great-grandfather too.”
“Then
we’re…”
Nelson
looked over at Edith, who had tears rolling down her cheeks. “Second cousins,”
she murmured, looking stricken. “I’ve been trying to marry my cousin.”
“Second
cousins,” he repeated into the phone. There was a shocked silence at the other
end.
********
“Second
cousins,” repeated a stunned Chip to the rest of the family.
“How?”
demanded Sammy. For them to be second cousins Harriman Nelson would have to be
Aaron Sligo’s great-grandson. He certainly wasn’t descended from any of the
Kansas Sligo’s.
“He
said Jennifer didn’t die. That Anne’s parents lied to Sligo about it. That
Jennifer was his grandmother.”
“Wow,” murmured Pat. “I think your problem
with Miss Nelson just got solved, sir.”
“No
shit, Pat,” said Chip, looking confounded. Second cousins was a lot closer
relationship than he’d reckoned on. This had the potential to seriously alter
his relationship with the Admiral - and the crew.
Don
looked at his mother. “That means that you and the Admiral are ..”
“First
cousins once removed,” she breathed in awe. “Oh, my.” She looked over at Chip,
who was staring at the phone like it might bite. She reached over, took it from
his hand and put it to her ear.
“Chip?
Are you okay?” Nelson was asking.
“Admiral
Nelson?” she queried. “This Sammy O’Brien.”
“Ah,”
said the rich voice on the other end of the line, “is Chip okay?”
She
shivered. Though it had been decades since her grandfather had died, she
immediately recognized the voice as being nearly the same. It was uncanny. “I
think he’s just momentarily stunned.” She paused, then blurted out, “You sound
just like him too.”
“Aaron
Sligo?”
“Yes.
It’s kind of spooky.”
“How
old were you when he died?” asked Nelson, now intrigued.
“Thirteen.
He was such a wonderful storyteller. He could paint pictures with words. You
don’t quite have the Irish accent that he did, but otherwise…” she sighed.
“This is so bizarre. Chip said that Anne’s parents lied to him about his
daughter being alive. Why would they do such a cruel thing?”
It was
Nelson’s turn to sigh. “According to Grandma Jennifer, they’d been opposed to
her mother marrying Aaron. His ancestry wasn’t good enough. His father was a
common sailor.”
“A
ship’s carpenter, he told us.”
“To a
city merchant with money, that’s still a common sailor.”
Sammy
snorted. “And Aaron Sligo was a twenty year old sailor himself. Oh, yeah, I bet
that did thrill them.”
“Then
when she died in childbirth, I guess they wanted to hurt him, so they told him
both his wife and daughter had died.”
“How
did they justify that to your grandmother?”
“They
didn’t. They told her that he’d abandoned her when her mother died.”
Sammy’s shocked gasp interrupted him. “One of her aunts apparently felt the
same way. When my grandmother was eighteen and about to be married off to the
son of one of her grandfather’s business associates, the aunt came to her and
revealed the truth. She walked out, disowning her mother‘s parents, vowing to
look for her father. She apparently found someone who told her that he’d
emigrated to America, so she did too. She never did find him though.”
“But
now you have. And you’ve got all these kinfolk you never knew existed.” She
laughed. “Oh, my. I never dreamed when I brought out my photo albums to show
Chip that we’d find more of the family. It’s really too bad that your sister
Edith is in the hospital - it would have been nice to have the two of you here
for Thanksgiving. Do you think she‘ll be recovered enough to travel by Christmas?
Unless you‘ve got other family you‘re going to visit, of course.”
“No,”
he answered somewhat sadly, “Edith and I are the only ones left out of our
family, except for three older first cousins and their children and
grandchildren on our mother’s side.”
“Then
they are our family too! You and I are first cousins once removed, you know. So
are my brothers and sisters. My dad and his siblings are your great-uncles and
aunts - about half of them are still living. You’ve got lots of family.”
There
was a moment of silence from the other end of the phone. “I hadn’t thought of
that, but you’re right. How many are there of you?”
“Let’s
see.” Sammy thought for a moment. “From Aaron Sligo’s eight kids there were
thirty-seven grandkids and one hundred ninety-four great-grandkids - that’s
Chip’s generation - and I’d have to count to see how many
great-great-grandkids, but it’s over two hundred.”
There
was a moment of stunned silence. “Christ. Haggen wasn’t kidding when he said
Chip had a horde of relatives.” The numbers boggled Nelson’s mind.
Sammy
laughed. “Irish Catholics. What can I say?” Nelson found himself chortling with
her. It felt good to laugh. It was also a relief to have the problem of his
sister and Morton solved, if Edith’s expression was anything to judge by. He’d
have to give Crane warning, though.
“Well,
since we’re family, I guess you can call me Harry if I can call you Sammy.”
Sammy
was delighted. “Oh course you can. I’d be insulted if you didn’t. I’ll get
copies of some of the family photos made for you and fill Chip in on who they
are so he can fill you in.”
“I’ll
look forward to it,” said Nelson. “Is Chip recovered enough to speak now?”
“I
believe so. Here he is.” She handed the phone back to Chip.
“Admiral?”
“What,
you aren’t going to call me Harry?” Nelson asked in a droll tone.
“Well,
not in public anyway,” answered Chip dryly. “I think my tongue would fall off.”
He heard Nelson’s guffaw at the other end of the line.
“I
suppose I could get used to it in private,” said Nelson when he’d stopped
laughing.
“How
is Edith taking this?”
“I
think your problem is solved.” There was a touch of sadness in Nelson’s voice.
Chip sighed. “Not your fault, Chip. This is probably the best solution all the
way around. At least the relationship was revealed before anything happened
between you and Edith.” There was that. “This doesn’t have to change anything
aboard Seaview. I know you’re too professional for that.”
“I
wasn’t worried about my relationship with you, sir.” Nelson knew what he meant.
There would be a handful of fools who would insist on believing that Chip got
his position through nepotism, despite the fact that he’d been XO now for
nearly three years without Nelson having any idea they were related.
“We’ll
deal with anybody else as the situation warrants.”
“How’s
Doc handling this?”
Nelson
snorted. “Sitting over in the corner grinning like a Cheshire Cat. And I’ll
never hear the end of it from Philip once he finds out.”
“Lee’s
the one who’s gonna be bent out of shape.” It wouldn’t be because Chip had
turned out to be Nelson’s cousin; no, he‘d be dismayed because there was now no
one to deflect Edith’s attention away from him. Chip inwardly cringed at the
thought.
Nelson’s
sigh told him that the admiral’s thoughts probably paralleled his own. “I’ll
speak to him myself about it.”
“I do
appreciate that, sir.”
“Otherwise,
how are you getting along?”
“Better
than I was, actually. I really needed this. Thanks for making the arrangements
for me to come out here.”
“I’m
glad it worked out, Chip, even if it did have a surprise ending. Do you need
anything?”
“No,
I’m fine. We’ll talk when I get back. There’s a few things we need to discuss
about something else, but it can wait.” Nonhuman visitations was a subject he
didn’t want to air over the phone - or in front of his other relatives.
“Then
I’ll see you when you get back.” There was a click as Nelson hung up the phone.
Chip thoughtfully hung up his as well.
He
spent the rest of the afternoon enthralled by stories of Captain Aaron Sligo
and his days in Kansas.
********
Nelson
sat for a moment, a bemused expression lighting his features. Jamison was
hiding behind the Sunday paper, trying hard not to burst into laughter. Edith
was the only one not amused by the turn of events; she’d turned her head away
from the doctor and allowed her tears to flow freely onto the pillow.
A
knock at the door pulled Nelson from his reverie. Haggen stuck his head in,
followed by Lee Crane. Nelson looked over at Edith and decided that the coming
conversation needed to take place somewhere out of her hearing. He got up from
his seat and motioned for the two to join him. “We need to go down to the
cafeteria and have a little talk.”
Haggen
and Crane looked at each other, perplexed. They’d expected to have to drag him
out to eat. When he strode out the door headed for the elevator, the pair had
no choice but to follow. Once in the elevator with the door closed Haggen
cocked his head to one side and said, “Give, Harry. Edith didn’t look very
happy about something.”
Nelson
harrumphed but turned a lopsided grin on them. “You know that horde of Kansas
relatives that you found for Chip?”
“Yeah?”
Haggen was giving him a wary look, wondering if he’d missed something, while
Crane looked on in bafflement.
“Turns
out they’re my horde of relatives, too.”
“What!”
Haggen and Crane yelped in unison.
“Wait
a minute. Just how close kin are we talking here, Harry?” Haggen was looking at
Nelson like he’d suddenly sprouted horns.
“Chip
is my second cousin,” said Nelson blandly, arms folded across his chest. Both
men’s jaws dropped. Haggen put a hand to his chest and Crane backed against the
rear of the elevator car in shock. The captain’s face had gone chalky white.
“But
how?” came Crane’s plaintive question.
“Let
me tell you the story of my great-grandfather, Captain Aaron Sligo.”
“Oh,
hell,” said Haggen, recognizing the name. Nelson grinned at him and clapped him
on the shoulder as the elevator came to a stop and opened its doors. The three
men stepped out and headed for the cafeteria. Nelson began his story.
“Aaron
Sligo met and married my great-grandmother…..
*******
Patterson
pushed back from the table. “Mrs. O’Brien, that was delicious and now I’m stuffed.”
Sammy
looked delighted, but shook her finger at him. “Now, Pat, I told you to call me
Sammy.”
He
blushed and mumbled, “Yes, Ma’am.” She just shook her head at him while Chip
smothered a laugh.
“Lost
cause, Aunt Sammy.”
Pat
rolled his eyes but smiled. “I think I’m going to have to walk off supper. Does
anybody want to go with me?” There were head shakes all around. Pat shrugged
and rose from his chair. “I’ll be down in the orchard if you need me.” He
collected his coat from the entryway, along with a flashlight and headed out
the back door.
The
sun was nearly below the western horizon. The few wispy clouds in the sky were
bathed in oranges and reds that were rapidly deepening in color. Twilight was
swiftly spreading across the landscape. The eternal prairie wind rustled the
dry grass as he opened the orchard gate and sought out the old stone millwheel.
Settling down on the stone, he looked carefully around to make sure that no one
had changed their mind about coming with him. Just to be sure, he waited
patiently until the last bit of red had faded from the evening sky.
Satisfied
that no one would see or hear him, Pat reached into his shirt pocket and pulled
out a small rectangular object only a little larger than two matchbooks placed
end to end. He flipped open the cover, revealing a small screen that lit up
with a series of odd symbols as he pressed a series of buttons. Then it
cleared.
Silver
eyes in a face covered with short grey fur looked out at him.
“Scathach,”
said Pat, saluting with his right fist over his heart. “Vannaks Seerid
bhannak.”
“And
to you, Pat,” said a voice filled with strange undertones. “I wasn‘t expecting
you to call - has something happened?”
“No
and yes,” he answered. “More like a peculiar development.”
“Oh?”
“Mr.
Morton has discovered that he has a biological relationship with Admiral
Nelson. They’re second cousins.”
The
figure on the screen scrunched her eyes closed and sighed.
Obviously not the end…