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azombiewritesTitle: The Battered Collection of Captain Lee Crane
Fandom: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (TV Series)
Genre: Hurt/comfort | Angst | Horror | Science Fiction
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Captain Lee Crane, Admiral Harri Nelson, Chief Sharkey, Chip Morton, Kowalski, Patterson, Doc and Sparks.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Irwin Allen.
Challenge:10100-Hurt-Comfort on Livejournal.
Chapter Word Count: 4,834
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
Summary: Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview, thought he lived a dangerous life . . . and then he met me; a writer whose only purpose in life is to physically and emotionally whump Lee Crane in a descriptive and bloody manner in a collection of short stories.
Chapter One
Prompt: Phone Call
Genre: Hurt/comfort
Chapter Summary: Someone . . . or something is stalking Captain Crane through Seaview's intercom system.
The radio crackled.
A broken sound.
A burst of static, the noise irritating . . . almost painful.
Words spoken, hard to hear. Hard to understand.
Sparks adjusted the signal, long, thin fingers turning the dials. The static grew. An explosion of sound, of irritation, of pain. Sparks grimaced, pulling the radio headset from his head and dropping it on the desk as he began to rub the pain from his right ear. He turned his upper body, gaze lifting as he looked up at his commanding officer.
“Sorry, sir,” said Sparks. “There’s just too much static. I can’t get a clear signal.”
Captain Crane nodded in understanding; he had heard the noise, his own body reacting to the sound. “But you heard a voice?”
“Yes, sir, just like the last time.”
“Did they identify themselves?”
“Couldn’t tell, sir. Like I said, there’s too much static.”
“Okay, Sparks,” said Crane. “Keep trying.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leaning his weight against the edge of the desk and folding his arms across his chest, Crane waited a moment, watching as Sparks placed the headset back over his head . . . as another grimace of pain crossed his features. Watched as he adjusted numerous dials, experience guiding his hands. Still able to hear the static, Crane felt a touch of remorse, a moment of regret but there was no other choice; possible it was a call for help. If lives were at risk . . . it was something they couldn’t ignore.
Another burst of static.
Another grimace of pain on the young RM’s face.
Not wanting to see that particular pain filled expression again, Crane reached out and tugged the headset off Sparks. Ignoring Sparks’ look of surprise, Crane placed the headphone cuff against his right ear. Frowned in confusion when the static tapered off, replaced with a stagnant silence. Seconds passed, the silence remaining.
“Sounds fine now,” said Crane.
“Any voices, sir?”
“No. Nothing.”
Snapped his head away as the static exploded once again, a sharp tone, his own face creasing with pain in response to the noise vibrating through his skull. Damn, that had hurt.
“It’s not usually this bad, sir,” said Sparks.
“Bad enough,” said Crane as he looked down at Sparks.
“I can’t figure out what’s causing the static, sir.”
Putting the headset back in place against his ear, the static now a soft hum of noise, Crane said, “Is it some sort of interference? Could someone be using electronic equipment to block the signal?”
“No, sir. I’m sure it’s not electronic interference.”
“What about something natural? We are sitting on the bottom of an oceanic trench.”
“No, sir.”
“A fault with the radio?”
“The radio, sir?”
“Not the radio,” said Crane, the expression filling Sparks’ features the only answer he needed; there was nothing wrong with the radio. “Do you think you can keep trying? If not, I can have you relieved--”
“No, sir,” said Sparks. “I mean, yes, sir. I can keep trying, sir.”
“You’re a braver man than I am.”
“I doubt that, sir.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Try again,” said Crane, nodding toward the radio board of dials.
Sounds shifted, the volume increasing before dropping back into a silence never lasting more than a few seconds at a time, the static always returning. Patience a virtue, Crane waited, body relaxed as he listened to the jumbled sounds, an uncoordinated selection of noise . . . as he waited to hear a voice amidst the chaos.
The effort was taking up too much of his time, other duties ignored. He couldn’t stay here; this wasn’t his job. Decided it would be best to yield the headset back to Sparks and his experience and return to the Conn . . .
Something changed, Crane pausing as he realised a pattern was beginning to form . . . three short bursts of static, a moment of silence. Another three bursts of static, wincing as the noise reverberated through his skull. Confident he was hearing an SOS signal, Crane handed the headset back to the RM and said, “It sounds like Morse code. An SOS. Try and get a location of its source.”
Taking the headset, Sparks nodded in confirmation and said, “They’re using a low frequency signal, sir. It’ll be hard to locate it with any sort of accuracy.”
“Do what you can.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sparks as he put the headset on, a look of concentration on his face as he listened to what Crane had heard.
Seconds passed, Crane frowning when Sparks’ look of concentration morphed into an expression of doubt.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t hear anything.”
Crane reached out with his right hand, Sparks hurrying to return the headset. Settling the headphone cuff back over his right ear, Crane listened. Nothing at first, a moment of silence . . . three bursts of static, silence, three bursts of static. Limbs full with annoyance, Crane gave the headset back to Sparks and waited.
It was a tense moment, Crane beginning to think he was hearing things. Shook that thought off; he hadn’t been mistaken. He could still feel the vibrations, his brain humming within his skull. A feeling of dread when Sparks frowned, his head shaking with denial.
“Nothing, sir.”
“I heard an SOS signal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crane stared back at the young RM. “You didn’t hear anything?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Sparks with a flicker of fear in his blue eyes.
An uncomfortable sensation crawled across Crane’s skin. Reached out and snapped his fingers, snatching the headset from the RM’s hand. A sound of static, continuous and without interruption. A high-pitched tone pierced through Crane’s skull, a quick spike of debilitating pain. Dropping the headset, Crane closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as he bent forward, his balance waning.
Sparks stood up quickly, his chair forced back in the small space of the radio shack. He gripped Crane’s left elbow, holding him steady as Crane swayed on his feet. “Skipper?”
Crane opened his eyes, his unsteady gaze finding Sparks. “I’m all right.”
“Are you sure, sir,” said Sparks, letting go but staying close.
“I’m sure.” Crane didn’t know what had happened. He’d felt fine and then . . . he didn’t know, realising he had no memory of the last few seconds . . . of Sparks standing. Noticed he’d dropped the radio headset. Picked it up and turned it over in his hands. What in the hell had happened? Shifted his gaze to look at Sparks, the young RM staring back with concern. “It’s all right. I’m fine now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sparks, unwilling to pull his gaze away as he sat back down.
Crane took a deep breath, his chest tight. Certain that, whatever it was, had passed, he set the headphones back in place, over his right ear . . . hesitated. Held the headset away from his ear, a precaution, enough distance created to stop whatever had happened from happening a second time . . . he hoped.
“Put it on speaker.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sparks as he flicked a switch.
A short burst of static from the speaker and then silence. Nothing more . . . A soft sound of static in the background, close to Crane’s right ear. He frowned, bringing the headset closer, the static becoming louder as Crane pressed the cuff against the side of his head. The speaker remained silent.
Nodding toward the speaker, Crane said, “Check the speaker.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crane waited, muscles tight with tension as Sparks checked the speaker’s connection. No words required, the RM’s body language a telling sign. Slowly handed the headset over to the younger man and said, “What do you hear?”
Sparks frowned. “Nothing, sir.”
“I want you to check the radio equipment. All of it. Twice if you have to,” said Crane as he turned and walked away.
Confusion set in as Crane made his way to the sonar station. His movements slow, his body clumsy as he stepped around the periscope island. Stopping behind Patterson, he placed his left hand on the back of the chair and his right hand on the circuit free panel next to the sonar. He leant forward, close to Patterson.
“Is there anything on sonar?”
Patterson turned his head, a moment to look at his Skipper before returning his gaze back to the sonar screen. “No, sir. It’s all clear.”
Crane watched the screen, confirming that it was clear. “Send out an active ping. I want to know if it bounces off anything . . . unusual.”
Grateful when Patterson didn’t question him. Waited as he had in the radio shack.
“Nothing, sir,” said Patterson.
“Again.”
He could feel a soft humming vibration within his skull . . . could feel a dull ache at the back of his skull, an unwanted headache forming. A hint of vertigo . . . a glimpse of darkness on the edges of his vision. His stomach rolled with nausea. There was a feeling of exhaustion, something he hadn’t felt earlier.
Understood something was wrong as his thoughts began to drift . . .
“Still nothing, sir. Do you want me to keep checking?” said Patterson as he looked up at Crane, a frown forming. “Skipper?”
“What?” said Crane, flicking his gaze back to Patterson, certain the man had spoken to him.
“There’s nothing on the sonar, sir. Do you want me to keep checking?”
Crane shook his head as he pushed away from the sonar station. “No.”
Limbs heavy, he moved toward Kowalski and radar, the man already wearing a look of confusion. Crane leaned his right hip, his weight against the edge of the radar station, a crutch to keep his body upright. “Anything on radar, Kowalski?”
A quick response. “No, sir.”
Felt his temper flare, not a common emotion, always fair with the men, only allowing his anger to emerge when a crewmember disobeyed an order; something this crew didn’t do very often, a rare occurrence. “Don’t you think you should look before you give me an answer.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kowalski as he looked down at the radar screen. “Nothing, sir. It’s all clear.”
“I seem to be getting that answer a lot lately.”
“Is something wrong, sir?”
Crane smiled, humor refusing to show in his eyes, and said, “This is the Seaview, Ski. There’s always something wrong.”
Kowalski frowned. “Yes, sir. So . . . what is wrong?”
“I have no idea,” said Crane, turning his head to the left, gaze searching the control room as he watched the crew of Seaview carry out their duties. “No idea.”
“Is there something I can do to help, Skipper?”
Confusion heavy in his mind, he wasn’t sure what he was doing . . . what he should be doing. Feeling his balance shift, Crane adjusted his stance, corrected his balance. Felt the exhaustion pulling him down . . .
Closed his eyes.
“Skipper!”
Crane’s hazel eyes snapped open, a moment of clarity as he looked down at Kowalski and said, “No, nothing.” Grimaced in disgust when he realised what he’d said, at his own use of the negative term.
“Sir, are you all right?”
Not willing to admit anything, to explain the way he felt, Crane said, “Yes, I’m fine.”
“It’s just . . .”
Narrowed his gaze as he stared at Kowalski. “Just what, Kowalski?”
“You don’t seem to be . . . well, sir, you just don’t seem to be yourself.”
“And what self would that be?”
“Your self, sir.”
Mentally, Crane acknowledged he didn’t feel like his normal self. A silent reflection as Kowalski watched; he felt different physically and if he admitted it to himself . . . emotionally. Anger simmered at the back of his mind, his temper ready to snap, to bite and draw blood. His body felt ill, as though he were suffering through an uncomfortable bout of flu. He’d felt fine earlier, no warning signs, no onset of symptoms.
His brain was still humming.
Maybe the Captain of Seaview was the thing that was wrong.
“Maybe you should go and see the doc, Skipper,” said Kowalski. “Make sure there’s noth . . . that everything’s okay.”
Distracted, Crane nodded, stood up and walked away, toward the navigation table. The Conn a familiar place; as Captain, he’d exhausted so many hours . . . so many days commanding the Seaview. Stopped beside the navigation table, hip against the edge. Rested his left hand on the table, fingers brushing back and forth across the topographic map.
A few moments of thought before he decided to follow Kowalski’s suggestion. Again, Crane walked away, past crewmembers as they followed his movements with interest, their curiosity turning to confusion. Stepping through the open hatchway and into the main passageway, Crane slowly and methodically made his way toward sickbay.
He hadn’t gotten far, passing an intercom handset when he heard the burst of static, grimacing in pain at the abrupt sound. Dismissed it as a technical fault, about to move on when he heard the voice.
“Crane. Help me.”
Crane turned on his heels, searching for the source of the voice, the request for help; the movement too quick, his balance not happy, he stumbled, falling back against the bulkhead. He leaned back, allowing the bulkhead to hold his weight, to hold him up. To the left, the passageway was empty. Turning his head, gaze looking to the right . . . empty.
Another burst of static from the handset, Crane flinching with surprise.
“Help me. Crane. Help me. Please.
A frown of confusion when he realised the voice had come from the intercom. Reality hit, slamming into him; someone aboard Seaview was calling out for help. Reacting, Crane snatched the handset from the wall, pressed the button and said, “Where are you?”
Static exploded through the handset speaker, Crane turning his head away. The soft hum filling his skull increased, a sharp stab of pain collapsing his knees, body falling to the floor.
Seconds of darkness, of confusion . . .
Crane opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light in the passageway. No idea why he was sitting on the floor or how he got there, no memory of what had happened. Nothing to explain why he was here and not in the control room . . .
A crack of static to his right.
Turned his head, a slow movement, a hint of vertigo . . . of nausea; a reminder . . . he’d been on his way to sickbay.
The intercom handset swung on its cable. Tried to remember if he’d used the handset before . . . before what? Before he collapsed . . . before he fainted. Before he lost consciousness. Had it been seconds? Minutes? Knew with a certainty if more time had passed, a crewmember would have found him; waking up in sickbay instead of an empty passageway.
Crane pushed upward. Legs trembling with weakness it was a poor attempt, taking longer than it should. Once he was on his feet, he felt light-headed, ready to fall back down. Didn’t think he would make it to sickbay on his own, body unwilling to continue; he didn’t want to collapse a second time.
Hesitating, not sure why, Crane reached for the handset, a soft grip as he raised it . . . his intent to call for assistance, for a crewman . . . anyone . . . someone to make sure he made it safely to sickbay.
A grumble of static.
A broken voice.
“Help me, Crane. Help me or die.”
An explosion of static, the noise so loud he could feel the impact against his skin, flesh stinging. Pain tore through his skull, the darkness flooding in, dragging him under . . .
.
.
.
Crane fought his way to consciousness, stumbling all the way, body resistant, fighting him with everything it had and more. Struggled to open his eyes, lids too heavy, body embraced with a level of exhaustion he’d never felt before. Confident he hadn’t felt this weak fighting his way through a serious sepsis infection after he’d taken a bullet to the stomach; shot by Nelson . . . after Kruger . . .
He didn’t want to think about that particular part of his history . . . didn’t want to remember the feeling of betrayal . . .
His brain hummed, a soft, continuous vibration. A flash of memory . . . of confusion. A pinch of pain at the back of skull, Crane turning his head away from the source, the pain moving with him, a groan of discomfort escaping . . .
“Lee?”
A release of breath, a deep sigh. He didn’t have the energy to respond. Too tired, his body exhausted . . .
.
.
.
“Skipper?”
The voice familiar, Crane turned his head, his neck stiff . . . sore. A pounding, vibrating ache through his skull. Opened his eyes, fighting to keep them open. Vision blurred, exhaustion a blanket over his eyes, he stared back at the man beside him.
Chief Sharkey.
“No need to talk,” said Sharkey, leaning forward and patting Crane’s shoulder. “I can do that for the both of us.”
Crane frowned.
“Well, you see, Skipper, it’s like this. You walked right out of the control room without a second glance and Mr. Morton said you didn’t even hand over the Conn and that isn’t like you and Skip said you were acting kinda weird . . . sorry, sir, not acting like yourself so Mr. Morton asked me to look for you.”
Certain the frown he wore wasn’t intended to be a question, an expression of curiosity.
“You know, to make sure you were all right. I’m tellin’ ya, Skipper, when I saw you lying on the floor I thought . . . well . . .” Sharkey rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs, body language uncomfortable . . . afraid. “I thought the worst, sir. The doc thinks . . . well, it doesn’t matter what the doc thinks.”
Tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position, to lessen the pain in his skull. A failed attempt, the exhaustion in his limbs debilitating, keeping him still, dormant; a feeling of vulnerability Crane didn’t like.
“I can get him if you need him?”
Crane tried to speak, a difficult thing. He swallowed, a painful lump moving through a throat too dry. Shook his head instead . . . a mistake. Closed his eyes and held his breath.
“Easy, Skipper,” said Sharkey, glancing over his shoulder toward the small office on the other side of the sickbay. “I’ll get the doc.”
“No,” said Crane, grimacing at the pain in his throat. The last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded. Opening his eyes, he looked at Sharkey. “How long?”
“Hold on a sec, Skipper.”
Crane’s gaze followed the chief as Sharkey stood up and moved toward a small table. A moment of relief when Sharkey returned with a small cup. After a few sips of cold water, he felt more prepared, more confident in his ability to hold a conversation.
“How long?”
Not looking at his watch, Sharkey said, “Almost four hours, sir. You’ve got us all worried, Skipper.”
“Why?”
“Why, sir?” said Sharkey, frowning at Crane.
“What’s wrong with me?”
It was a few moments before Sharkey answered. “The doc doesn’t know, sir. The Admiral is in his lab running tests tryin’ to figure out what’s wrong.”
Crane didn’t like the hesitation, Sharkey not telling him everything.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“Me, sir?”
The man could be infuriating and Crane wouldn’t have him any other way, the chief always dependable . . . always loyal. Too loyal at times. “Yes. You.”
“I’m not a doctor, Skipper but if you ask me . . . I think you’ve been working too hard. I mean, the last couple of weeks have been one thing after another--”
Crane flinched, body shifting with surprise and pain as the sound of static flooded the sickbay. Pinpricks of pain stabbing through his skull, Crane closed his eyes.
“Skipper?” said Sharkey, an expression of concern as he leaned forward, watching Crane with a worried gaze.
A reduction of noise, a steady, continuous level of sound, almost bearable, pain simmering at the base of his skull. Body thrumming with exhaustion, Crane opened his eyes, turned his head further, gaze searching for the intercom’s handset.
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what, sir.”
Frowning with confusion, chest filling with a feeling of trepidation, Crane flicked his gaze toward Sharkey. Heart sinking at the expression of innocence on the chief’s face, Crane understood he was the only one hearing the sound of static coming from the intercom.
“You don’t hear anything.”
“No, sir. Should I?”
“Get the Admiral, chief.”
.
.
.
“Static?” said Nelson with a look of disbelief.
“Static.”
“And a voice?”
Forcing eyelids to stay open, Crane stared up at Nelson. “And a voice.”
“On the intercom?”
“Yes and the radio.”
“Have you heard it anywhere else?”
“No,” said Crane as he watched Nelson with caution, certain the Admiral didn’t believe a word.
Raising his right hand, Nelson tugged at his ear as he turned to look at Doc, his expression asking a question he refused to voice. An unspoken converstion, the doctor shaking his head in response, a shrug of his shoulders. Turning back to face Crane, Nelson smiled in consolation . . .
“You don’t believe me.”
“Lee--”
“I can hear it,” said Crane, tone full of frustration. “I can hear it now. It--”
The static increased, the noise deafening, increasing his pain to an excruciating level. Closing eyes watering with pain, Crane clenched his jaw, muscles twitching as he raised heavy limbs. Slapped his hands over his ears, long fingers embracing his head. His attempts did nothing to lessen the noise, the pain.
“Lee!” Nelson reached down toward Crane, hesitating at the look of pure agony on his friend’s face.
Emerging through the sound of static . . .
“Help me, Crane. Help me or die.”
Rolling onto his side, Crane drew his knees up to his chest, an awkward and uncomfortable position in the small bunk bed. He’d been tortured more than once in his career, so much pain created in an effort to force him to talk . . . this was so much worse. Willing to release his secrets, his fears . . . vital information, anything . . . anything to make it stop.
Moving forward, Doc pushed Nelson out of the way and leaned over his patient. He gripped Crane’s wrists and tried to pull Crane’s hands down and out of the way. It was useless, Crane using more strength than the doctor thought he had to fight his grip. “Admiral, I need some help here.”
The pain too much, Crane shouted. “Make it stop! Please, make it stop . . .”.
“Admiral!” Doc turned his head, gaze searching, finding Nelson. The Admiral stood still, the expression of fear and uncertainty giving Doc an explanation. Behind the Admiral stood Chief Sharkey. “Chief, help me.”
Moving quickly, Sharkey knelt down beside Doc. Not sure what he should be doing, the chief pulled his gaze away from Crane to look at the doctor, searching the man’s face for instructions.
“Hold him as still as you can. I don’t want the Skipper hurting himself,” said Doc as he let go and stood up.
“What are you gonna do, Doc?” said Sharkey, holding Crane’s upper arms, a gentle strength as he tried to keep his Captain in place.
A succinct answer as the doctor walked away. “Prepare a sedative.”
“Make it a strong one,” said Sharkey, his voice low as he stared down at Crane. “I think the Skipper’s gonna need it.”
Crane struggled against the hold, weakness and pain leaving him helpless. Unable to move, to break the hold on his arms, he fought to remember his training, lessons learnt to get him through the pain of torture. Tried to separate his mind from his body, to shut himself away from the pain. The pain only seemed to increase . . . harsh breaths as his heart pounded against his ribs. His body began to shake . . .
“Lee,” said Nelson, pulling himself together and taking a position next to Sharkey. Reaching out, he placed his hands over Crane’s white knuckled grip and leaned forward, close to his friend, close enough to feel Crane’s rapid breaths brush over his skin. “Lee, hold on. Just a minute longer. Can you do that? Lee?”
He couldn’t answer. He didn’t want to answer, to admit that he was about to break, body and mind ready to surrender . . . to talk, to give up the information required.
“Lee. Look at me,” said Nelson, his frustration, his fear evident as he began to shake Crane’s head. “Lee! I’m ordering you. Look at me!”
Hazel eyes snapped open, his mind trained to obey a direct order. Too difficult to see the man so close, his eyes full with tears of pain, his vision blurring.
“Hold on, Lee.”
“Sharkey,” said Doc as he elbowed the chief out of the way. Sitting on the edge of the bunk bed, he pulled back the thick blankets. With no intravenous drip in use, his intention was to inject the sedative into Crane’s hip.
Crane’s gaze shifted at the sound of the doctor’s voice.
“Lee! Look at me.”
It took only a moment, the sedative quick to do its job, Crane’s body, his mind filling with the heavy weight of sleep.
.
.
.
He felt tired, exhausted; sleep the best medicine, or so the doctor had told him.
Good advice.
Except for one minor detail.
Crane didn’t want to sleep. For a reason he couldn’t understand, he wanted to enjoy the quiet. His body free of pain, he wanted to reflect, to understand what had happened. No information given, they had left him alone to figure it out for himself. He didn’t put too much effort into it, didn’t dwell on it. It didn’t make a lot of sense to try. He couldn’t remember what happened, his memory empty, the previous twenty-four hours a blur of confusion. There were moments when he thought he remembered the pain, moments he couldn’t decipher.
Eyes drifting close, body relaxing, he was tempted to give in, to wait for answers. Forced his eyes open, gaze staring at the bunk above him. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted an explanation. Knew the Admiral well enough to know he would be arriving at any moment, the explanation an excuse to visit, his concern hidden beneath a veil of neutrality; not hidden very well, Crane always able to see the concern, the worry . . . only revealed after Crane recovered from injury or illness.
Smiled when he heard footsteps in the corridor. Turned his head, gaze drifting toward the sickbay door as it opened. Not disappointed when Nelson stepped into the room.
“Lee, glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?”
“Tired. I feel like I could sleep into the next century.”
Nelson chuckled with amusement as he moved closer. He sat down on the small chair next to the bunk bed and said, “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”
“You know why?”
“You want to know what happened.”
“Yes, and Admiral, please make it quick,” said Crane with a serious expression. “I don’t want you to think your company bores me if I fall asleep during a long explanation.”
“I want to apologise first.”
“Why? You--” said Crane, stopping when Nelson held up his hand.
“I didn’t believe you,” said Nelson, a look of regret and torment on his features. “It wasn’t until . . . I’ve never seen anyone suffer through so much pain.”
Crane looked away, searching his memory. Nothing. Looked back at Nelson and said, “I don’t remember. It’s strange, Admiral. I know I was in pain. I think I remember how it felt but I when I actually try to remember . . . I can’t. Does that make sense?”
“In a way, it does make sense but believe me, Lee, you don’t want to remember.”
“What happened, Admiral?”
“We’re not sure. After speaking to some of the crew, I was able to determine that it started in the radio shack--”
“What started?”
A look of impatience from the Admiral. “I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
“Kowalski and Patterson told me you hadn’t been acting like yourself. You seemed distant . . . the chief found you unconscious in the passageway. Once you were awake and coherent you told me you could hear static and a voice coming through the intercom. And, as I said, I didn’t believe you, not at first.”
“And you’ve no idea what caused the noise?”
“No,” said Nelson.
“I don’t hear it now.”
“Once we realised you were telling the truth, I came up with a plan. Of course, I wasn’t sure if it would work but it was the only thing I could think of under the circumstances.”
“What did you do?”
Nelson smiled and said, “I sent an electromagnetic pulse through the entire ship.”
Crane frowned, confused for a moment, mind catching up. “But that would damage all the electrical equipment. We’d be dead on the ocean floor.”
“If you remember, we were already sitting on the ocean floor,” said Nelson. “Seaview has a failsafe system and I put it to good use. The only thing damaged by the pulse was the radio and intercom system.”
“Were?”
“I had Chip change our position as a precaution, in case the trench was the cause of your distress. We’re one hundred nautical miles west of our previous position.
Nodding in acceptance, Crane said. “How did you know the electrical pulse worked?”
“You’re not in pain and you don’t hear the static or the voice.”
Crane turned his head to look at the intercom . . . the handset. “How can I be sure it won’t return?”
“We can’t be certain of anything, Lee.”
Next
An Organised List of Chapters
Fandom: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (TV Series)
Genre: Hurt/comfort | Angst | Horror | Science Fiction
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Captain Lee Crane, Admiral Harri Nelson, Chief Sharkey, Chip Morton, Kowalski, Patterson, Doc and Sparks.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Irwin Allen.
Challenge:
Chapter Word Count: 4,834
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
Summary: Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview, thought he lived a dangerous life . . . and then he met me; a writer whose only purpose in life is to physically and emotionally whump Lee Crane in a descriptive and bloody manner in a collection of short stories.
Chapter One
Prompt: Phone Call
Genre: Hurt/comfort
Chapter Summary: Someone . . . or something is stalking Captain Crane through Seaview's intercom system.
The radio crackled.
A broken sound.
A burst of static, the noise irritating . . . almost painful.
Words spoken, hard to hear. Hard to understand.
Sparks adjusted the signal, long, thin fingers turning the dials. The static grew. An explosion of sound, of irritation, of pain. Sparks grimaced, pulling the radio headset from his head and dropping it on the desk as he began to rub the pain from his right ear. He turned his upper body, gaze lifting as he looked up at his commanding officer.
“Sorry, sir,” said Sparks. “There’s just too much static. I can’t get a clear signal.”
Captain Crane nodded in understanding; he had heard the noise, his own body reacting to the sound. “But you heard a voice?”
“Yes, sir, just like the last time.”
“Did they identify themselves?”
“Couldn’t tell, sir. Like I said, there’s too much static.”
“Okay, Sparks,” said Crane. “Keep trying.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leaning his weight against the edge of the desk and folding his arms across his chest, Crane waited a moment, watching as Sparks placed the headset back over his head . . . as another grimace of pain crossed his features. Watched as he adjusted numerous dials, experience guiding his hands. Still able to hear the static, Crane felt a touch of remorse, a moment of regret but there was no other choice; possible it was a call for help. If lives were at risk . . . it was something they couldn’t ignore.
Another burst of static.
Another grimace of pain on the young RM’s face.
Not wanting to see that particular pain filled expression again, Crane reached out and tugged the headset off Sparks. Ignoring Sparks’ look of surprise, Crane placed the headphone cuff against his right ear. Frowned in confusion when the static tapered off, replaced with a stagnant silence. Seconds passed, the silence remaining.
“Sounds fine now,” said Crane.
“Any voices, sir?”
“No. Nothing.”
Snapped his head away as the static exploded once again, a sharp tone, his own face creasing with pain in response to the noise vibrating through his skull. Damn, that had hurt.
“It’s not usually this bad, sir,” said Sparks.
“Bad enough,” said Crane as he looked down at Sparks.
“I can’t figure out what’s causing the static, sir.”
Putting the headset back in place against his ear, the static now a soft hum of noise, Crane said, “Is it some sort of interference? Could someone be using electronic equipment to block the signal?”
“No, sir. I’m sure it’s not electronic interference.”
“What about something natural? We are sitting on the bottom of an oceanic trench.”
“No, sir.”
“A fault with the radio?”
“The radio, sir?”
“Not the radio,” said Crane, the expression filling Sparks’ features the only answer he needed; there was nothing wrong with the radio. “Do you think you can keep trying? If not, I can have you relieved--”
“No, sir,” said Sparks. “I mean, yes, sir. I can keep trying, sir.”
“You’re a braver man than I am.”
“I doubt that, sir.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Try again,” said Crane, nodding toward the radio board of dials.
Sounds shifted, the volume increasing before dropping back into a silence never lasting more than a few seconds at a time, the static always returning. Patience a virtue, Crane waited, body relaxed as he listened to the jumbled sounds, an uncoordinated selection of noise . . . as he waited to hear a voice amidst the chaos.
The effort was taking up too much of his time, other duties ignored. He couldn’t stay here; this wasn’t his job. Decided it would be best to yield the headset back to Sparks and his experience and return to the Conn . . .
Something changed, Crane pausing as he realised a pattern was beginning to form . . . three short bursts of static, a moment of silence. Another three bursts of static, wincing as the noise reverberated through his skull. Confident he was hearing an SOS signal, Crane handed the headset back to the RM and said, “It sounds like Morse code. An SOS. Try and get a location of its source.”
Taking the headset, Sparks nodded in confirmation and said, “They’re using a low frequency signal, sir. It’ll be hard to locate it with any sort of accuracy.”
“Do what you can.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sparks as he put the headset on, a look of concentration on his face as he listened to what Crane had heard.
Seconds passed, Crane frowning when Sparks’ look of concentration morphed into an expression of doubt.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t hear anything.”
Crane reached out with his right hand, Sparks hurrying to return the headset. Settling the headphone cuff back over his right ear, Crane listened. Nothing at first, a moment of silence . . . three bursts of static, silence, three bursts of static. Limbs full with annoyance, Crane gave the headset back to Sparks and waited.
It was a tense moment, Crane beginning to think he was hearing things. Shook that thought off; he hadn’t been mistaken. He could still feel the vibrations, his brain humming within his skull. A feeling of dread when Sparks frowned, his head shaking with denial.
“Nothing, sir.”
“I heard an SOS signal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crane stared back at the young RM. “You didn’t hear anything?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Sparks with a flicker of fear in his blue eyes.
An uncomfortable sensation crawled across Crane’s skin. Reached out and snapped his fingers, snatching the headset from the RM’s hand. A sound of static, continuous and without interruption. A high-pitched tone pierced through Crane’s skull, a quick spike of debilitating pain. Dropping the headset, Crane closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as he bent forward, his balance waning.
Sparks stood up quickly, his chair forced back in the small space of the radio shack. He gripped Crane’s left elbow, holding him steady as Crane swayed on his feet. “Skipper?”
Crane opened his eyes, his unsteady gaze finding Sparks. “I’m all right.”
“Are you sure, sir,” said Sparks, letting go but staying close.
“I’m sure.” Crane didn’t know what had happened. He’d felt fine and then . . . he didn’t know, realising he had no memory of the last few seconds . . . of Sparks standing. Noticed he’d dropped the radio headset. Picked it up and turned it over in his hands. What in the hell had happened? Shifted his gaze to look at Sparks, the young RM staring back with concern. “It’s all right. I’m fine now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sparks, unwilling to pull his gaze away as he sat back down.
Crane took a deep breath, his chest tight. Certain that, whatever it was, had passed, he set the headphones back in place, over his right ear . . . hesitated. Held the headset away from his ear, a precaution, enough distance created to stop whatever had happened from happening a second time . . . he hoped.
“Put it on speaker.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sparks as he flicked a switch.
A short burst of static from the speaker and then silence. Nothing more . . . A soft sound of static in the background, close to Crane’s right ear. He frowned, bringing the headset closer, the static becoming louder as Crane pressed the cuff against the side of his head. The speaker remained silent.
Nodding toward the speaker, Crane said, “Check the speaker.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crane waited, muscles tight with tension as Sparks checked the speaker’s connection. No words required, the RM’s body language a telling sign. Slowly handed the headset over to the younger man and said, “What do you hear?”
Sparks frowned. “Nothing, sir.”
“I want you to check the radio equipment. All of it. Twice if you have to,” said Crane as he turned and walked away.
Confusion set in as Crane made his way to the sonar station. His movements slow, his body clumsy as he stepped around the periscope island. Stopping behind Patterson, he placed his left hand on the back of the chair and his right hand on the circuit free panel next to the sonar. He leant forward, close to Patterson.
“Is there anything on sonar?”
Patterson turned his head, a moment to look at his Skipper before returning his gaze back to the sonar screen. “No, sir. It’s all clear.”
Crane watched the screen, confirming that it was clear. “Send out an active ping. I want to know if it bounces off anything . . . unusual.”
Grateful when Patterson didn’t question him. Waited as he had in the radio shack.
“Nothing, sir,” said Patterson.
“Again.”
He could feel a soft humming vibration within his skull . . . could feel a dull ache at the back of his skull, an unwanted headache forming. A hint of vertigo . . . a glimpse of darkness on the edges of his vision. His stomach rolled with nausea. There was a feeling of exhaustion, something he hadn’t felt earlier.
Understood something was wrong as his thoughts began to drift . . .
“Still nothing, sir. Do you want me to keep checking?” said Patterson as he looked up at Crane, a frown forming. “Skipper?”
“What?” said Crane, flicking his gaze back to Patterson, certain the man had spoken to him.
“There’s nothing on the sonar, sir. Do you want me to keep checking?”
Crane shook his head as he pushed away from the sonar station. “No.”
Limbs heavy, he moved toward Kowalski and radar, the man already wearing a look of confusion. Crane leaned his right hip, his weight against the edge of the radar station, a crutch to keep his body upright. “Anything on radar, Kowalski?”
A quick response. “No, sir.”
Felt his temper flare, not a common emotion, always fair with the men, only allowing his anger to emerge when a crewmember disobeyed an order; something this crew didn’t do very often, a rare occurrence. “Don’t you think you should look before you give me an answer.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kowalski as he looked down at the radar screen. “Nothing, sir. It’s all clear.”
“I seem to be getting that answer a lot lately.”
“Is something wrong, sir?”
Crane smiled, humor refusing to show in his eyes, and said, “This is the Seaview, Ski. There’s always something wrong.”
Kowalski frowned. “Yes, sir. So . . . what is wrong?”
“I have no idea,” said Crane, turning his head to the left, gaze searching the control room as he watched the crew of Seaview carry out their duties. “No idea.”
“Is there something I can do to help, Skipper?”
Confusion heavy in his mind, he wasn’t sure what he was doing . . . what he should be doing. Feeling his balance shift, Crane adjusted his stance, corrected his balance. Felt the exhaustion pulling him down . . .
Closed his eyes.
“Skipper!”
Crane’s hazel eyes snapped open, a moment of clarity as he looked down at Kowalski and said, “No, nothing.” Grimaced in disgust when he realised what he’d said, at his own use of the negative term.
“Sir, are you all right?”
Not willing to admit anything, to explain the way he felt, Crane said, “Yes, I’m fine.”
“It’s just . . .”
Narrowed his gaze as he stared at Kowalski. “Just what, Kowalski?”
“You don’t seem to be . . . well, sir, you just don’t seem to be yourself.”
“And what self would that be?”
“Your self, sir.”
Mentally, Crane acknowledged he didn’t feel like his normal self. A silent reflection as Kowalski watched; he felt different physically and if he admitted it to himself . . . emotionally. Anger simmered at the back of his mind, his temper ready to snap, to bite and draw blood. His body felt ill, as though he were suffering through an uncomfortable bout of flu. He’d felt fine earlier, no warning signs, no onset of symptoms.
His brain was still humming.
Maybe the Captain of Seaview was the thing that was wrong.
“Maybe you should go and see the doc, Skipper,” said Kowalski. “Make sure there’s noth . . . that everything’s okay.”
Distracted, Crane nodded, stood up and walked away, toward the navigation table. The Conn a familiar place; as Captain, he’d exhausted so many hours . . . so many days commanding the Seaview. Stopped beside the navigation table, hip against the edge. Rested his left hand on the table, fingers brushing back and forth across the topographic map.
A few moments of thought before he decided to follow Kowalski’s suggestion. Again, Crane walked away, past crewmembers as they followed his movements with interest, their curiosity turning to confusion. Stepping through the open hatchway and into the main passageway, Crane slowly and methodically made his way toward sickbay.
He hadn’t gotten far, passing an intercom handset when he heard the burst of static, grimacing in pain at the abrupt sound. Dismissed it as a technical fault, about to move on when he heard the voice.
“Crane. Help me.”
Crane turned on his heels, searching for the source of the voice, the request for help; the movement too quick, his balance not happy, he stumbled, falling back against the bulkhead. He leaned back, allowing the bulkhead to hold his weight, to hold him up. To the left, the passageway was empty. Turning his head, gaze looking to the right . . . empty.
Another burst of static from the handset, Crane flinching with surprise.
“Help me. Crane. Help me. Please.
A frown of confusion when he realised the voice had come from the intercom. Reality hit, slamming into him; someone aboard Seaview was calling out for help. Reacting, Crane snatched the handset from the wall, pressed the button and said, “Where are you?”
Static exploded through the handset speaker, Crane turning his head away. The soft hum filling his skull increased, a sharp stab of pain collapsing his knees, body falling to the floor.
Seconds of darkness, of confusion . . .
Crane opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light in the passageway. No idea why he was sitting on the floor or how he got there, no memory of what had happened. Nothing to explain why he was here and not in the control room . . .
A crack of static to his right.
Turned his head, a slow movement, a hint of vertigo . . . of nausea; a reminder . . . he’d been on his way to sickbay.
The intercom handset swung on its cable. Tried to remember if he’d used the handset before . . . before what? Before he collapsed . . . before he fainted. Before he lost consciousness. Had it been seconds? Minutes? Knew with a certainty if more time had passed, a crewmember would have found him; waking up in sickbay instead of an empty passageway.
Crane pushed upward. Legs trembling with weakness it was a poor attempt, taking longer than it should. Once he was on his feet, he felt light-headed, ready to fall back down. Didn’t think he would make it to sickbay on his own, body unwilling to continue; he didn’t want to collapse a second time.
Hesitating, not sure why, Crane reached for the handset, a soft grip as he raised it . . . his intent to call for assistance, for a crewman . . . anyone . . . someone to make sure he made it safely to sickbay.
A grumble of static.
A broken voice.
“Help me, Crane. Help me or die.”
An explosion of static, the noise so loud he could feel the impact against his skin, flesh stinging. Pain tore through his skull, the darkness flooding in, dragging him under . . .
.
.
.
Crane fought his way to consciousness, stumbling all the way, body resistant, fighting him with everything it had and more. Struggled to open his eyes, lids too heavy, body embraced with a level of exhaustion he’d never felt before. Confident he hadn’t felt this weak fighting his way through a serious sepsis infection after he’d taken a bullet to the stomach; shot by Nelson . . . after Kruger . . .
He didn’t want to think about that particular part of his history . . . didn’t want to remember the feeling of betrayal . . .
His brain hummed, a soft, continuous vibration. A flash of memory . . . of confusion. A pinch of pain at the back of skull, Crane turning his head away from the source, the pain moving with him, a groan of discomfort escaping . . .
“Lee?”
A release of breath, a deep sigh. He didn’t have the energy to respond. Too tired, his body exhausted . . .
.
.
.
“Skipper?”
The voice familiar, Crane turned his head, his neck stiff . . . sore. A pounding, vibrating ache through his skull. Opened his eyes, fighting to keep them open. Vision blurred, exhaustion a blanket over his eyes, he stared back at the man beside him.
Chief Sharkey.
“No need to talk,” said Sharkey, leaning forward and patting Crane’s shoulder. “I can do that for the both of us.”
Crane frowned.
“Well, you see, Skipper, it’s like this. You walked right out of the control room without a second glance and Mr. Morton said you didn’t even hand over the Conn and that isn’t like you and Skip said you were acting kinda weird . . . sorry, sir, not acting like yourself so Mr. Morton asked me to look for you.”
Certain the frown he wore wasn’t intended to be a question, an expression of curiosity.
“You know, to make sure you were all right. I’m tellin’ ya, Skipper, when I saw you lying on the floor I thought . . . well . . .” Sharkey rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs, body language uncomfortable . . . afraid. “I thought the worst, sir. The doc thinks . . . well, it doesn’t matter what the doc thinks.”
Tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position, to lessen the pain in his skull. A failed attempt, the exhaustion in his limbs debilitating, keeping him still, dormant; a feeling of vulnerability Crane didn’t like.
“I can get him if you need him?”
Crane tried to speak, a difficult thing. He swallowed, a painful lump moving through a throat too dry. Shook his head instead . . . a mistake. Closed his eyes and held his breath.
“Easy, Skipper,” said Sharkey, glancing over his shoulder toward the small office on the other side of the sickbay. “I’ll get the doc.”
“No,” said Crane, grimacing at the pain in his throat. The last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded. Opening his eyes, he looked at Sharkey. “How long?”
“Hold on a sec, Skipper.”
Crane’s gaze followed the chief as Sharkey stood up and moved toward a small table. A moment of relief when Sharkey returned with a small cup. After a few sips of cold water, he felt more prepared, more confident in his ability to hold a conversation.
“How long?”
Not looking at his watch, Sharkey said, “Almost four hours, sir. You’ve got us all worried, Skipper.”
“Why?”
“Why, sir?” said Sharkey, frowning at Crane.
“What’s wrong with me?”
It was a few moments before Sharkey answered. “The doc doesn’t know, sir. The Admiral is in his lab running tests tryin’ to figure out what’s wrong.”
Crane didn’t like the hesitation, Sharkey not telling him everything.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“Me, sir?”
The man could be infuriating and Crane wouldn’t have him any other way, the chief always dependable . . . always loyal. Too loyal at times. “Yes. You.”
“I’m not a doctor, Skipper but if you ask me . . . I think you’ve been working too hard. I mean, the last couple of weeks have been one thing after another--”
Crane flinched, body shifting with surprise and pain as the sound of static flooded the sickbay. Pinpricks of pain stabbing through his skull, Crane closed his eyes.
“Skipper?” said Sharkey, an expression of concern as he leaned forward, watching Crane with a worried gaze.
A reduction of noise, a steady, continuous level of sound, almost bearable, pain simmering at the base of his skull. Body thrumming with exhaustion, Crane opened his eyes, turned his head further, gaze searching for the intercom’s handset.
“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what, sir.”
Frowning with confusion, chest filling with a feeling of trepidation, Crane flicked his gaze toward Sharkey. Heart sinking at the expression of innocence on the chief’s face, Crane understood he was the only one hearing the sound of static coming from the intercom.
“You don’t hear anything.”
“No, sir. Should I?”
“Get the Admiral, chief.”
.
.
.
“Static?” said Nelson with a look of disbelief.
“Static.”
“And a voice?”
Forcing eyelids to stay open, Crane stared up at Nelson. “And a voice.”
“On the intercom?”
“Yes and the radio.”
“Have you heard it anywhere else?”
“No,” said Crane as he watched Nelson with caution, certain the Admiral didn’t believe a word.
Raising his right hand, Nelson tugged at his ear as he turned to look at Doc, his expression asking a question he refused to voice. An unspoken converstion, the doctor shaking his head in response, a shrug of his shoulders. Turning back to face Crane, Nelson smiled in consolation . . .
“You don’t believe me.”
“Lee--”
“I can hear it,” said Crane, tone full of frustration. “I can hear it now. It--”
The static increased, the noise deafening, increasing his pain to an excruciating level. Closing eyes watering with pain, Crane clenched his jaw, muscles twitching as he raised heavy limbs. Slapped his hands over his ears, long fingers embracing his head. His attempts did nothing to lessen the noise, the pain.
“Lee!” Nelson reached down toward Crane, hesitating at the look of pure agony on his friend’s face.
Emerging through the sound of static . . .
“Help me, Crane. Help me or die.”
Rolling onto his side, Crane drew his knees up to his chest, an awkward and uncomfortable position in the small bunk bed. He’d been tortured more than once in his career, so much pain created in an effort to force him to talk . . . this was so much worse. Willing to release his secrets, his fears . . . vital information, anything . . . anything to make it stop.
Moving forward, Doc pushed Nelson out of the way and leaned over his patient. He gripped Crane’s wrists and tried to pull Crane’s hands down and out of the way. It was useless, Crane using more strength than the doctor thought he had to fight his grip. “Admiral, I need some help here.”
The pain too much, Crane shouted. “Make it stop! Please, make it stop . . .”.
“Admiral!” Doc turned his head, gaze searching, finding Nelson. The Admiral stood still, the expression of fear and uncertainty giving Doc an explanation. Behind the Admiral stood Chief Sharkey. “Chief, help me.”
Moving quickly, Sharkey knelt down beside Doc. Not sure what he should be doing, the chief pulled his gaze away from Crane to look at the doctor, searching the man’s face for instructions.
“Hold him as still as you can. I don’t want the Skipper hurting himself,” said Doc as he let go and stood up.
“What are you gonna do, Doc?” said Sharkey, holding Crane’s upper arms, a gentle strength as he tried to keep his Captain in place.
A succinct answer as the doctor walked away. “Prepare a sedative.”
“Make it a strong one,” said Sharkey, his voice low as he stared down at Crane. “I think the Skipper’s gonna need it.”
Crane struggled against the hold, weakness and pain leaving him helpless. Unable to move, to break the hold on his arms, he fought to remember his training, lessons learnt to get him through the pain of torture. Tried to separate his mind from his body, to shut himself away from the pain. The pain only seemed to increase . . . harsh breaths as his heart pounded against his ribs. His body began to shake . . .
“Lee,” said Nelson, pulling himself together and taking a position next to Sharkey. Reaching out, he placed his hands over Crane’s white knuckled grip and leaned forward, close to his friend, close enough to feel Crane’s rapid breaths brush over his skin. “Lee, hold on. Just a minute longer. Can you do that? Lee?”
He couldn’t answer. He didn’t want to answer, to admit that he was about to break, body and mind ready to surrender . . . to talk, to give up the information required.
“Lee. Look at me,” said Nelson, his frustration, his fear evident as he began to shake Crane’s head. “Lee! I’m ordering you. Look at me!”
Hazel eyes snapped open, his mind trained to obey a direct order. Too difficult to see the man so close, his eyes full with tears of pain, his vision blurring.
“Hold on, Lee.”
“Sharkey,” said Doc as he elbowed the chief out of the way. Sitting on the edge of the bunk bed, he pulled back the thick blankets. With no intravenous drip in use, his intention was to inject the sedative into Crane’s hip.
Crane’s gaze shifted at the sound of the doctor’s voice.
“Lee! Look at me.”
It took only a moment, the sedative quick to do its job, Crane’s body, his mind filling with the heavy weight of sleep.
.
.
.
He felt tired, exhausted; sleep the best medicine, or so the doctor had told him.
Good advice.
Except for one minor detail.
Crane didn’t want to sleep. For a reason he couldn’t understand, he wanted to enjoy the quiet. His body free of pain, he wanted to reflect, to understand what had happened. No information given, they had left him alone to figure it out for himself. He didn’t put too much effort into it, didn’t dwell on it. It didn’t make a lot of sense to try. He couldn’t remember what happened, his memory empty, the previous twenty-four hours a blur of confusion. There were moments when he thought he remembered the pain, moments he couldn’t decipher.
Eyes drifting close, body relaxing, he was tempted to give in, to wait for answers. Forced his eyes open, gaze staring at the bunk above him. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted an explanation. Knew the Admiral well enough to know he would be arriving at any moment, the explanation an excuse to visit, his concern hidden beneath a veil of neutrality; not hidden very well, Crane always able to see the concern, the worry . . . only revealed after Crane recovered from injury or illness.
Smiled when he heard footsteps in the corridor. Turned his head, gaze drifting toward the sickbay door as it opened. Not disappointed when Nelson stepped into the room.
“Lee, glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?”
“Tired. I feel like I could sleep into the next century.”
Nelson chuckled with amusement as he moved closer. He sat down on the small chair next to the bunk bed and said, “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”
“You know why?”
“You want to know what happened.”
“Yes, and Admiral, please make it quick,” said Crane with a serious expression. “I don’t want you to think your company bores me if I fall asleep during a long explanation.”
“I want to apologise first.”
“Why? You--” said Crane, stopping when Nelson held up his hand.
“I didn’t believe you,” said Nelson, a look of regret and torment on his features. “It wasn’t until . . . I’ve never seen anyone suffer through so much pain.”
Crane looked away, searching his memory. Nothing. Looked back at Nelson and said, “I don’t remember. It’s strange, Admiral. I know I was in pain. I think I remember how it felt but I when I actually try to remember . . . I can’t. Does that make sense?”
“In a way, it does make sense but believe me, Lee, you don’t want to remember.”
“What happened, Admiral?”
“We’re not sure. After speaking to some of the crew, I was able to determine that it started in the radio shack--”
“What started?”
A look of impatience from the Admiral. “I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
“Kowalski and Patterson told me you hadn’t been acting like yourself. You seemed distant . . . the chief found you unconscious in the passageway. Once you were awake and coherent you told me you could hear static and a voice coming through the intercom. And, as I said, I didn’t believe you, not at first.”
“And you’ve no idea what caused the noise?”
“No,” said Nelson.
“I don’t hear it now.”
“Once we realised you were telling the truth, I came up with a plan. Of course, I wasn’t sure if it would work but it was the only thing I could think of under the circumstances.”
“What did you do?”
Nelson smiled and said, “I sent an electromagnetic pulse through the entire ship.”
Crane frowned, confused for a moment, mind catching up. “But that would damage all the electrical equipment. We’d be dead on the ocean floor.”
“If you remember, we were already sitting on the ocean floor,” said Nelson. “Seaview has a failsafe system and I put it to good use. The only thing damaged by the pulse was the radio and intercom system.”
“Were?”
“I had Chip change our position as a precaution, in case the trench was the cause of your distress. We’re one hundred nautical miles west of our previous position.
Nodding in acceptance, Crane said. “How did you know the electrical pulse worked?”
“You’re not in pain and you don’t hear the static or the voice.”
Crane turned his head to look at the intercom . . . the handset. “How can I be sure it won’t return?”
“We can’t be certain of anything, Lee.”
An Organised List of Chapters
no subject
Date: 2018-07-28 05:59 pm (UTC)Hi beautiful,
You wove a fabulous story here. You have me on the edge of my seat wondering if It (Whatever or whomever was coming through the intercom and handset) will return. You always weave a story that pulls me in emotionally that leaves me wanting to know more about that character. I love the journeys that you take them on. I adored how Captain Crane interacted with Sparks, Kowalski, Chief Sharkey and Admiral Nelson.
*Waves pom-poms* and cheers you on to continue "The Battered Collection of Captain Lee Crane" short stories. *Waves pom-poms*
{{{{Hugs}}}}
gemspegasus
Also left this comment on A03.
P.S. Love your new header. :D
no subject
Date: 2018-08-04 08:41 am (UTC)*hugs madly*
Thank you!
I don't know if I'll ever manage 100 shorts stories but I'm going to try. They're a distraction while I'm writing multi-chapter stories.
Ah, my new header. I got tired of always changing it. This way, if I discover new fandoms, I only have to replace an icon.
*Loves your pom-poms* Frown face. I know what I did there.
*I love the pom-poms you're waving in support*
*HUGS YOU MADLY*
no subject
Date: 2018-08-18 05:39 pm (UTC)** hugs madly back***
You're welcome!
You have done two super short stories. Great distractions while you are writing multi chapert stories.
Your second story, "Intoxication" is wonderful. Oh, Captain Lee Crane wanted to apologize to Patterson for shooting him while he Crane was under the alien's control. I loved how Crane hesitated opening the door to sickbay where Patterson was and then he found him asleep. And later Lee Crane getting dutch courage drinking the admiral's whiskey. Adore the conversation between Admiral Lee Nelson and Captain Lee Crane and how the conversation bolsters Crane to believe that Patterson would forgive.
Smart idea on the header.
More ***Poms-Poms*** cheering you on your further stories. :D
*hUGS YOU MADLY BACK*
no subject
Date: 2018-09-03 04:34 am (UTC)Thank you! I really enjoyed writing Intoxicated. I think this is the only fandom where I can hear and see the characters as I write them.
*Hugs you who is awesome*
no subject
Date: 2018-09-08 02:14 pm (UTC)You are welcome! Your enjoyment shines through in your stories. That is so neat that you can both hear and see the characters as you write them.
I am looking forward to the other stories in "the battered collection of captain lee crane."
And I enjoy all your stories in all the different fandoms that you have written in and are writing in.
{{{Hugs you back who is also awesome.}}}