My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

13

I had just examined one of the smaller sea turtles, and moved it back into one of the specimen tanks with its similar sized companions, when Cookie knocked on the door frame.

“Are you sure we can’t have any of the clams the skipper brought back for supper?” he asked, almost drooling in anticipation.

“Sorry. I haven’t even identified the species yet. It could be of great scientific importance.”

“But once you do that…I mean, the divers didn’t pick up all of them. So it’s not that we’d be making them go extinct or anything.”

“No, but I still need to investigate to my satisfaction that I have all the information the scientific community needs. Plus, we really need to be sure that these particular clams don’t carry any toxins that have been found in some varieties. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? So, you’d better plan on something else for supper. At least for tonight. Any ideas?”

“Maybe an egg and Spam quiche? Or perhaps cheese soufflés? That powdered cheese substitute can’t be too bad.”

“Sounds fine,” I lied.  While I do enjoy quiche or a cheese soufflé on occasion, those are made with real eggs and cheese. I doubted I’d really enjoy something made from dehydrated and processed powders.

After Cookie left, I picked up one of the jumbo clams and got to work. While I didn’t have any kind of shucking knife, I was able to open up the thing up by breaking the hard shell with a mallet. After all, this was not a clam to be served on the half shell.

I used both regular and infrared microscopes, and found no little beasties in the flesh or juice. So far, so good. Then I ran a chemical test, but those results will take awhile.

Job done for now,  I decided to hobble  to my cabin and call Emmie.

As I passed by Lee’s cabin, the door of which was closed, I heard raised voices. Naturally, I stopped to eavesdrop.

“Damn it, Lee, can’t you get it through your thick skull that the mission’s a bust!” Joe was shouting.

 “Excuse me, sir,” Sparks said from behind me, startling me nearly to the point of losing my balance. “I was going to give this to the skipper, but since you’re going in….”

I read the top line of the communique as I took it from Sparks. Most of it was in code except the ‘from’ line.

“ONI?” I muttered.

“Yes, sir. In the skip’s personal code.”

“Thank you,” I tried to say casually (not giving any indication that I’d been eavesdropping), and rapped once on the door, entering without permission. Well, she’s my boat after all. (All right, she’s Lee’s too, but I still have a few unwritten and unspoken perks.)

“Message from ONI, Lee,” I said, handing it to him.

Joe got up from his chair to leave, but Lee grabbed his arm.

“No, this probably concerns you as well.”

“Yeah, sure it does,” Joe said sarcastically.

“Am I interrupting something between you two?” I asked, sitting on the edge of Lee’s desk.

“Joe doesn’t think my plan will work.”

“Frankly, Lad,” I sighed, “I’m not too sure of it, myself.”

“Even if ONI’s decided to have Bethesda make me a replacement eye?” Lee said as he handed the communique back to me.  Good God, he hadn’t even needed a code book to decipher it, he was so used to their coded messages, I guessed.

“The thing is,” Lee sighed, “the replacement is top secret, even from the Sec Nav, at least for now. It will be brought to us by Institute couriers posing as computer techs to ‘help us out with the downed sub’. They’ll arrive by private chopper. Paid for by us. So there may be some press coverage.”

“Oh joy,” Joe said.

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

“In,” Lee called out.

“Excuse me, Skipper, Admiral, Commander,” Sharkey said, “but um, I gotta’ know if you’ll be sparing us some of those clams you got.”

“Not on the menu,” I said. “As I informed Cookie, I need to study them, and check for toxicity before I can release any to the galley.”

“Damn, er, I mean…well, poor Mr. Morton’s been really looking forward to fried clams….”

“I think he can put up with imitation quiche like the rest of us. At least that’s what Cookie’s inclined to make for tonight.”

 “From that powdered stuff?” Sharkey asked, aghast. “I tried making quiche from with the imitation stuff. Gotta’ tell you sir, I ended up throwing it into the garbage.”

“You’re not just saying that to hurry the admiral up with his tests on the clams, are you?” Lee asked.

“Who me, sir?”

 Lee suddenly clicked the intercom.

“This is the captain. Sonar? What do you have on any biologics in the area?”

“Not too much,” Chip answered. “Pat’s got a couple of isolated readings. Kind of hard to profile exactly what. Some slow moving bottom feeders, maybe.”

“Bottom feeders…Harry?”

“Well, there are several species of ocean bottom feeders. Hagfish for one. Wouldn’t recommend it for consumption though it is popular in some Asian dishes. Flatfish, Gargoyle fish, etc. Catfish and crustaceans.”

“Depth?” Lee asked.

“I know what you’re thinking, Lee, but the topography is too deep for conventional scuba.”

“How many deep dive suits do we have that are operational?”

“Three. But only you and I are qualified.”

“Fine. Give the conn to O’Brien. No, wait. He should be getting a few zz’s right not. Make it Sparks. Now, let’s go get us some catfish or crabs and lobsters or something. We may have to try something else down there, but it’s worth the dive to keep the crew happy.”

“There really weren’t very many readings….”

“Then Cookie can cut up whatever we find into teensy little pieces and put them in a stewpot or something.”

And so, I gave up my idea about calling Emmie and am parked in the nose along with two lookouts, and all cameras giving us a 360 degree view of the waters around and under Seaview, still moving along towards our faux destination.

 I can’t see much of anything, the visibility limited to what Seaview’s searchlights can illuminate and the neon glow from the deep dive gear that Lee and Chip are wearing.

My watch’s timer dinged informing me that my chemical analysis of the clam should be finished. I reluctantly headed aft, giving Sparks a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Oh, he’s had the conn before, but he doesn’t like it.