My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

5

It’s been a few days and we’ve arrived in Tokyo safe and sound. Good thing too, or Lee would have our hides. He can talk all he likes about not being in command of Seaview, but his heart can’t lie. It’s like they’re joined in Holy Matrimony!

As for Chip, well, he’s sort of like their best man. Even if he did resort to patting Seaview’s bulkhead and giving her a little peck,(I know he did because I overheard Kowalski reporting the same to his buddies), in Chip’s heart he’s  still the XO and only Acting Captain. God, I hope that will be case once Lee’s optic nerves return to normal. I have to believe they will even if he can’t.

My meeting with the aquaculture experts did not go well. For the life of me I can’t recognize the cause of the cancerous like growths on the seaweed samples. Yet.

I invited Dr. Akemi Fukui, ( loaned by the Japanese government to assist me), aboard and gave her the nickel tour before we got to work in the lab. If the crew was expecting one of my usual ‘egghead scientist buddies’,  they were pleasantly surprised that one, Dr. Fukui was female, and two, that she’s rather attractive.

But as a good scientist, she’s only concerned about finding out about what’s eating the seaweed from inside out, not 124 red blooded American males aboard.

“Well, that went well,” she said sarcastically, as she stretched the kinks out of her back after bending over her microscope for hours on end. “We’re never going to find it.”

“We’ve only just begun,” I said.

“Are you always so optimistic?”

“Not at all, in fact about certain things I can be downright pessimistic. Personal things, family matters…I try to be hopeful even during the worst of times, but it’s a bit like having the ‘Sword of Damocles’ hanging over my head. But something like figuring out what disease or  parasite is destroying your seaweed, well, we’ll find it…let’s take a break. Perhaps you’d care for some tea?”

“Why does everyone and their brother think that just because I’m Japanese, I like tea? Frankly, I can’t stand the stuff. Besides it’s almost dinner time.”

“I meant no offense. Besides, your official bio says you worked in a tea house while putting yourself through school.”

“Well, I know how to perform the traditional tea ceremony, but give me a good old fashioned American milkshake any day. Thank goodness for McDonald's.”

“McDonald’s it is.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to take me there…”

“It’s my pleasure, and I’m a bit partial to milkshakes myself,” I lied.

It was a typical McDonald's from an architectural viewpoint, but catered for the area with Squid Ink &  Teriyaki Burgers, Mc Pork Sandwiches, etc. Chip would have to visit here as a religious experience before we went home.

We settled down in the last available booth, shakes, fish sandwiches, and fries in hand, when I noticed one of the TV’s on the wall (it’s a progressive McDonald's) tuned to London’s Heathrow airport, reporters crowding around, of all people, Lee! He had a noticeable five o’clock shadow from his long flight, and was attired in his favorite jeans and green turtleneck.  Jackson was wearing, of all things, a business suit! Contrast indeed. There was a speaker at our table with hygienic earplugs that for a little yen would let us listen in to the channel of our choice. I really had no option, and also paid for my companion’s earplugs, who, when seeing Lee, as in most women, showed an interest.

“Captain Nelson-Crane, do you intend to stay long in London?” one of the reporters was asking.

“As much as I’d like to stay a week to a month here, I’ve joined a gastronomic tour of Europe. I think it will only allow a couple of days in the UK. I don’t know exactly where we’re going yet.”

“The brochure indicated that scheduled sights and restaurants are subject to change,” Joe explained.

“Any particular dishes that you’re interested in while you're here, Captain?”

“Well, I came over nine thousand miles just to experience England’s famous Fish &Chips.”

“And I’d like  to try some traditional Plum Pudding,” Jackson said.

“Don’t forget Haggis,” Lee added.

“You are brave,” one of the reporters laughed. “Captain, have you had any more visions about the Spanish helmet and breastplate?”

“No, but I will visit the Madrid Museum when we get to Spain. The curator may have some information on who the original owner could have been. I understand that only a select few conquistadors were equipped with that sort of armor.”

“And  Spanish cuisine?”

“I’m just going to have to be surprised about that. Oh, we have Mexican and some Spanish restaurants in Santa Barbara, but as good as they are, I’m sure there’s no comparison to the real thing.”

Just then a couple of men in black accompanied by British police approached, moving the crowd away.

“Captain Nelson-Crane, Commander Jackson, if you’ll accompany us?”

“And you are?” Lee asked turning toward the sound of their voices.

“O’Malley,  Downing Street Chief of Staff.”

“Have we done something wrong? Customs checked our passports…or, is something wrong at home? Seaview?”

“Just a social call for the PM, that’s the prime miister. To be  followed by a light breakfast with Her Majesty and some members of the royal family, if you will. We’ll take care of getting your luggage. Don’t worry, you won’t be late meeting up with your tour group at the hotel.”

“Er, what kind of breakfast?” Jackson asked. “Not those Kippers and Marmalade I’ve been warned about?”

“It’s a culinary adventure we’re on, isn’t it?" Lee asked Joe. "And it was your idea in the first place. You’ll have to forgive my traveling companion. It’s been a long flight from California and across the pond. He needs coffee, real coffee,  to think clearly. Not the instant stuff we had on the planes.”

“I’m sure Her Majesty can oblige,” O’Malley said.

“Then lead on,” Joe said, “will the prime minister have real coffee waiting too?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir, I believe he’s partial to Earl Gray Tea.”

I could tell Joe wasn’t pleased, but said nothing offensive. Lee, of course, simply used his stick to follow the men toward the exit as reporters wished him well, suggesting other typical British fare such as ‘Bangers &Mash, ‘Spotted Dick’, and ‘Toad in the Hole’, whatever they were.

As the station went to other news, I pulled my earplugs out as my dinner companion did hers as well.

“You look worried, Admiral.”

“Sorry. I just can’t help wondering what on earth the prime minister wants to talk to Lee about. He’s certainly not there in any kind of official capacity, for me, or for the Navy.”

“Probably just wants to welcome him to England.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” I replied, and didn’t enjoy my meal one bit after the broadcast.

As for our further tests on the seaweed, results were pretty conclusive that it was a parasite, not a disease that was affecting the crops. Now we only had to isolate it and figure out how to exterminate it.

I called ONI as soon as I bid my guest goodbye, but no, they didn’t have a clue about what the prime minister of England wanted with Lee. The US Ambassador didn’t know either.

All I could do was bite my fingernails.

To the quick.