6

Sparks, appearing on the radio shack's monitor, informed me that the captain was in sickbay after a little mishap.

“Mishap? What mishap? What happened? Why wasn't I informed?” I shouted, slamming my hot coffee down on the kitchenette's countertop, spilling some of it on to the phone and the morning edition newspaper on my desk. At least it hadn't spilled on my laptop.

“He’s fine,” Chip’s voice preceded him as he approached the radio shack's monitor. “Just re-opened some of his stitches and earned himself a few more when the bell hit a little turbulence, but that’s all. Shall I ask him to call you back or can I help you with anything?”
“What turbulence? Why was he in the bell? Did a whale try to eat it?" I asked, my heart in my stomach, remembering my own trial as a kind of 'Jonah'. "Did he take the bell down alone? What the….”

“Nothing like that, sir. We noticed some uncharted methane vents, so Lee took the bell down to retrieve some water samples. They’re sealed and in the lab waiting for you to investigate when we get back. But, on the trip back up, the bell hit some turbulence. Well, Lee's harness  broke and he tumbled into one of the oxygen tanks. Broke open a couple of his stitches and needed a few additional. Also got himself a few bruises. Would you care to wait to speak with him or shall I take a message?”

“Er, well, actually,” I hesitated, running a hand through my hair, “I was wondering if he’d seen the press conference….”

“He did,” Lee said as he rounded the hatch and came to stand by Chip. What Chip had failed to mention was that the bruises were dark ugly looking things and that Lee also sported a black eye.

“Doc have to hit you to get you to sickbay?” I asked, joking.

“Very funny. So, how are you holding up on your end? ‘Are’ wedding bells in the offing for you and Jessica as some of the press thinks after last night’s dinner?”

“Oh gawd, do they? I haven’t read this morning's newspaper or seen the TV yet. I guess I tried too hard to be sociable.  To make matters worse, Lee, Ronald is actually expecting a job. Claims he doesn’t want any undue favoritism but he does want to apply for the the Budget Dept. vacancy. It’s nothing major, thank God, just an office assistant. The problem is that  I actually have to allow him to apply but...."

“Go on.”

“I’m not sure I can tolerate the thought of Ronald working with us if he's considered. He’s been trying very hard to ingratiate himself to me. Even chose the wine last night. Actually, it wasn’t bad,” I added with a wince.

“Headache?”

“Stomach again. Just had a twinge.”

Lee frowned and scratched his new stitches.

I was about to scold him when Chip, without a word, removed Lee’s hand from them.

Lee glared at him in response, then returned his attention to me.

“You’ve been getting more than a few stomachaches lately. Maybe Will should take a look at you when we get back, or maybe the Med Center….”

“Just a little stress or too much fine cuisine and wine last night."

“Well,” Lee said, “if it continues or gets worse, you're seeing a doctor."

"Aye, aye," I joked.

"What are your plans for today?”

“Actually. I’m waiting on the machine shop to finish making then install the new sign."
“Oh God, I forgot all about that. Look, Harry, it’s not necessary….”

“You let me be the judge of that. Besides, the Nelson-Crane Institute of Marine Research has already been registered with the city, county, state, country, and the IRS not to mention the Pentagon. It's time for the rest of the world to know.”

The Control Room crew applauded, slapping each other on their backs.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Lee?” Chip asked him, delighted.

“That’s great news, Skipper!” Kowalski shouted from his console.

“You don’t have to do this, Harry,” Lee complained.

“I want to. Live with it.”

The crew was still cheering and applauding.

“Okay, okay,” Lee said, “pipe down," he ordered his crew, then returned his attention to me. “Well, make sure you get in a little relaxation at least. Maybe take my sailboat out for a spin when you feel better. It's not as if you have to work eight to five.”

“Taking that wreck out is not my idea of relaxation….the Lamborghini on the other hand….”

“Scratch her paint and I’ll demand satisfaction."

“I’ll stick with your sailboat,” I laughed. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. And please, no more injuries. It’s hard on my nerves when you’re damaged.”

“I’ll try,” he said, and grinned.

“Right. Good luck. Bye, son.”

“Bye, Harry,” he said and broke the connection.

‘Harry’, he’d said this time.  Damn, I’d hoped he would have called me Pop again, at least today. Especially after I’d had to suffer Ronald’s effusive efforts to claim my paternal affections.

I wonder what the press or the Hawthorne's will make of the new business name. But to paraphrase a famous literary character, ‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn.’