by Debbie Kump
By the end of the summer, Alyssa had risen from the rate of Seaman Recruit to Seaman Apprentice Kensington. She was stationed on the United States Ship Siren, the second member of the Hydra class of attack submarines–a class so secretive the Secretary of Defense had not yet announced their arrival to the general public (despite taxpayers footing the $3 billion price tag per ship). Here, she would be part of the team of submariners conducting a series of classified sonar tests in the Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea.
True, Alyssa felt slightly guilty for leaving her mother alone back home with only their golden retriever, Tucker, for company. But Alyssa was compelled to ensure the security of her future. She needed an impressive resume to attract future employers–one that would make her stand out from the long list of applicants vying for the limited positions available. Something that living at home and attending community college could not guarantee.
Although the first month was an adjustment, Alyssa had coped well with the cramped living spaces and lack of privacy aboard a nuclear submarine. Yet her recent infatuation with Officer Hidalgo complicated the situation. Compounded with the deadly testing exercise she conducted yesterday, Alyssa had really begun to resent her decision to volunteer for the U.S.S. Siren.
Chapter Three
Ducking through the rounded opening of the small watertight door joining the Medical Office and the hallway, Alyssa tried to avoid bumping her head or knees on its hard, metal edges. She hesitated momentarily outside, blinking to allow her naked eyes to readjust to the dimly lit hall. And with great difficulty, she resisted the urge to rub her eyes clean to improve her visual clarity.
It felt extremely odd for Alyssa to function with normal, unaided eyesight. Since the military’s invention of night vision mode had been incorporated into the eye DOTS last year, the Navy found they could reduce energy usage by dimming the red lighting required in regions devoted solely to foot traffic. The night vision product was not yet available for civilian use, but the military utilized the innovation regularly. Now the Navy reasoned all submariners could see their surroundings clearly as the mode automatically took effect with insufficient lighting–albeit everything appeared bathed in an eerie greenish tint, like something from a B-movie horror flick. Though Alyssa merely used her night vision capabilities to assist her in safely navigating from one part of the ship to another without collision, she imagined the Marines stationed to regions of conflict within the perpetually war-torn areas of the Middle East found the night vision and infrared heat signature modes highly effective in locating their enemies…and in ensuring their own survival.
However, without her eye DOTS in place right now, Alyssa felt blind. She reached out, searching for the wall as she crept down the narrow, darkened passageway to locate her meager belongings. Wary, she inched forward along the grated metal floor. Normally, she could see straight through the steel grates to other seamen working on decks below. But without the DOTS, the lower decks appeared utterly black, like a bottomless chasm beneath her feet.
Though the doctor’s office was positioned just down the hall from crew quarters, her laborious effort made it seem more like they were on opposite ends of the ship. Step after cautious step, she stole past the berthing areas of closet-sized rooms containing triple-stacked racks with privacy curtains for sleeping nine enlisted men at a time. Since submariners adjusted their routines to fit into an 18-hour schedule–usually six on, twelve off–each berth was shared, easily accommodating eighteen men over the course of a typical day underwater.
However, Alyssa and the other women onboard were segregated from the men for privacy issues. And as this was one of the first subs to set sail with female submariners, they grouped the women together in a less desirable location–squeezed into the crannies of the Torpedo Bay. She knew she shouldn’t complain; they had their own private head. And a mattress to claim. Often, Alyssa found exhausted submariners curled up directly on the metal, grated floor. Alyssa always slept comfortably until awakened by her berthmate, Rosemary Dela Cruz, on the next shift. At least she had…until this past week. How could she sleep when thoughts of that illicit night spent with Officer Hidalgo corrupted her mind?
Despite her arduous progress and stopping regularly to back against the wall as others overtook her, she finally managed to reach the Torpedo Bay in the bow of the ship. The overhead emergency lighting’s thin red beams reflected off the polished finish of the torpedoes’ hulls. In the dim gleam, Alyssa extended her arms, searching for the uprights of the first set of racks sandwiched between the rows of torpedoes.
In the darkness, she overestimated the distance and stubbed her shin against the lowest rack jutting out into the aisle. Doubling over, Alyssa grabbed her leg, cursing under her breath. A nearby sleeping seaman grunted before rolling over on her mattress. Alyssa gritted her teeth, whispering a strained, “Sorry,” as she rubbed the rapidly forming bruise. Then she limped forward, hand over hand toward her rack between the second and third rows of torpedoes. All the while, she forced herself to restrain from touching her unbearably itchy eyes and spreading germs to every surface she groped.
Upon reaching her rack, she glanced down at the shadowed lump of Seaman Apprentice Rosemary Dela Cruz’s dozing form. She rarely saw her berthmate since dining space onboard the Siren was so limited and they worked at different stations. Their meager exchanges consisted of a few garbled words while Alyssa dragged her bleary-eyed body off the thin mattress, allowing Rosemary the cherished opportunity to rest.
Guilt consumed Alyssa for contracting conjunctivitis in the first place. With the pathogen as contagious as Medical Officer Knolls had described, she felt horrible for Rosemary whose cheek pressed against the contaminated pillowcase, her thick black hair spilling in waves as she unsuspectingly slept.
Medical Officer Knolls was justified in quarantining her.
An outbreak would undoubtedly occur if this disease were not immediately contained.
To avoid further disturbing Rosemary and the two sleeping seamen stacked above her, Alyssa carefully slid open the sturdy storage pan beneath the rack to remove her small bag of toiletry items, knowing she couldn’t return here until the end of her quarantine.
The trip back to the Quarantine Room felt like a walk-of-shame. Alyssa imagined she wore a bright red “Q” embroidered upon her chest, as recognizable as the pus accumulating in the corners of her red eyes. Granted, the submariners she passed were more likely engaged with one of the numerous sources of entertainment available through the DOTS and supporting mobile uplink technology, it seemed each gaze bore directly upon her.
She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact. Each time she encountered someone, she turned sideways, standing at attention with her back pressed firmly against the wall, allowing the other seamen and officers to pass unobstructed through the narrow corridors.
“S.A. Kensington? Why aren’t you at your station?”
Crap.
Alyssa froze, recognizing the voice of authority immediately. Why did she have to bump into him, of all people?
Chapter Four
Slowly, Alyssa spun around to salute the commanding dive officer from her shift. “Sorry I won’t be there today, Officer Hidalgo,” she replied, diverting her eyes in embarrassment. “I was sent to Quarantine.” With head hung low, she continued her laborious journey down the hall.
She had only advanced a few steps when she felt him grasp her forearm, wheeling her to face him. “Alyssa,” Officer Hidalgo asked, his tone softer now, “are you alright?”
Alyssa shrugged in response as she peeked upward, attempting to gauge his expression. Was he sorry that her crewmates would have to do additional work in her absence? Or did he seem genuinely concerned about her? Since last week, she’d spent countless hours overanalyzing his actions at the Mess Hall, unsure of his true feelings toward her.
“About earlier. I should’ve stood up for you, Alyssa. But I–”
“Didn’t want to make waves,” she finished for him in a
deadpan voice. “I understand.”
Justin was career. And she was just using this experience to help pay her college bills down the road. Did she actually think he’d speak up in front of the XO–the Executive Officer, second in command–when she expressed concern over the unexpected whale strandings in the Bahamas following their recent sonar testing? The test that she had conducted. In her heart, she knew the two incidents were linked. Too many different species had beached themselves to be deemed coincidental.
Worse, their next active sonar test was only a few days away. She couldn’t disobey her orders by refusing to comply; training instilled her to follow the chain of command without question. Nor could she live with herself for causing more deaths of innocent marine life, not after she’d spent months listening to the natural noises of the ocean: humpback whale songs, dolphin clicks, even snapping shrimp. But when she mentioned her concerns to her superiors aboard the Siren, they readily dismissed her.
And Justin Hidalgo had watched the entire conversation. Without uttering a word in her defense.
At least she knew where his loyalty lay. In self-preservation. Then why jeopardize losing his commission by getting involved with her?
Unless he didn’t think he’d get caught.
Alyssa knew the Navy frowned upon relationships between seamen of different rates, the naval equivalent of military rank. Yet she couldn’t resist Dive Officer Justin Hidalgo’s infectious smile, his upbeat disposition, or his charming personality. Even the military’s standard high-and-tight buzz cut looked stunning on him. He was far more mature in appearances and behavior than any of the guys she’d dated back in high school, especially Steve Summers. Plus Justin Hidalgo was one of the few people onboard who’d paid her any personalized attention since she’d arrived. Naturally, the other enlisted men and women spend the majority of their free time accessing the variety of sources of virtual entertainment–movies, games, ebooks, and music. Why not, when everyone wore DOTS and mobile uplinks continuously throughout the tour of duty?
At first, Alyssa had been preoccupied with those distractions as well. Yet basic training demanded intense amounts of physical exertion, leaving Alyssa too exhausted to keep up with her old friends on a daily basis. But once she found out that Ellen Carmikey (“The Backstabber”) had started dating Steve (“The Self-absorbed Jerk”), Alyssa stopped replying to their text messages altogether. Wasn’t it taboo to hook up with your best friend’s ex?
Alyssa didn’t care that Ellen and Steve had loads in common–music, sports, movie genres–not to mention they both lived at home this year and took classes at Commonwealth Community College. With the Siren’s limited communications to the outside world, she had no choice but to disassociate herself from the small-town gossip in quaint Madison, Virginia, nestled against the backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains. She’d wanted a different life.
And this was how she would pay for it.
But Alyssa often felt empty; as if a part of her soul longed for sights and possessions she couldn’t have with the choices she’d made for her future.
Justin Hidalgo filled that void in her life. He was considerate. Sweet. Interesting.
It would’ve been wonderful…if she weren’t consumed with trepidation of ruining his career.
“It’s just pinkeye,” Alyssa told Officer Hidalgo, finding her voice at last. “I guess I’ll be out of commission for a few days.”
“Oh.” He recoiled as he made the connection between her bloodshot eyes and the infamous disease. His expression turned blank and formal as he stiffened abruptly.
Alyssa frowned, chiding herself, What did I expect? That he’d actually miss me while I was gone? Don’t be absurd, Alyssa.
Then she detected the sound of footsteps approaching as another submariner rounded the corner. Alyssa’s heart thumped rapidly inside her chest while her cheeks flushed hot. Instinctively, she and Justin stepped away from each other with their backs flat against the wall, allowing the submariner to pass by unobstructed.
This crewman didn’t appear concerned. But eventually, someone would.
From the bottom of her knotted stomach, Alyssa dreaded the day their secret got out, wondering if Justin felt the same concern. How could he not? she reasoned. His future is at stake.
“Well, cheer up, Kensington,” said Hidalgo, maintaining formalities in the event of a repeated interruption. “I s’pose I’ll see you back in a couple of days, then.” His lips turned into a grin that illuminated his eyes. With a casual wave, he headed back down the hall toward the Command and Control Room.
Alyssa stood rooted to her spot, catching her breath. Though only a week had passed since they’d last been together, it felt like a month. How could she possibly keep this hushed for the remainder of their tour? Especially when his mere presence affected her so strongly? She had to stop blushing every time she bumped into him. Her feelings were too obvious to any onlooker.
That settles it, Alyssa decided. I’d better end things before this gets out of hand.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. She knew deep within the confines of her heart that it was too late to break things off.
She was already in love.
Composing herself once more, Alyssa hurried down the last few sets of darkened hallways, hoping to avoid additional injury. Fortunately, she didn’t bump into another soul she knew en route to her assigned destination. In fact, she was almost grateful to near the Quarantine Room.
Until she stood before its door.
Alyssa couldn’t believe some people actually enjoyed being quarantined to avoid work; like a vacation from the regimen of sub life for a few days. Rather, she felt deeply ashamed for being incapacitated. Forcing others to work harder in her absence.
She stared at the engraved gold letters spelling QUARANTINE on the plaque bolted to the door. How many times had she passed by, almost mocking those inside for becoming quarantined? It wasn’t like the Navy hadn’t set precautions in place. No one went anywhere barefoot; shower shoes minimized the spread of athlete’s foot. And seasickness patches were readily available for the times they surfaced in rough seas. But below depths of 350 feet, not even the turbulence generated from a hurricane above could toss the sub, so few submariners (herself, included) bothered to use the patches during the majority of the trip.
Entering the miniscule room, Alyssa’s heart sank. And she’d thought the Medical Office was confining!
No floor space of the Quarantine Room was left unoccupied. A single, extra thin and abnormally stubby pull-down berth lay squeezed between the metal wall and the head. She could only use the saltwater head with the bed stowed away. Alyssa had to scramble onto the mattress to even shut the door behind her. Plus the new Hydra class relied entirely on the DOTS for daily announcements, eliminating the need for flat screen monitors, even in Quarantine.
She gazed into the mirror, disgusted by her appearance, embarrassed by her heart-driven actions, and disturbed by the unnecessary deaths she had caused. Dropping onto the tiny mattress in despair, she sat on her hands to suppress the burning desire to rub her eyes.
Three days.
With absolutely nothing to do but dwell upon circumstances that were beyond her control.
How did this happen to me? Alyssa wondered. I let my defenses down for a second and end up falling for some guy. And not just any guy, but an officer. What was I thinking?!
She frowned. And what will he think of me if I ruin his career?
Unable to restrain her emotions any longer, contaminated tears rolled off her cheeks, washing away her grief.
Chapter Five
Coombs Science Center, Southern Florida State University, Miami Springs, Florida
“Blasted outdated technology!”
Simon Greene, Associate Professor of Marine Biology, muttered a string of obscenities under his breath as the screen of his Smart Board froze for the third time this morning. He glanced at the clock on his DOTS, a muted lime green display in the upper corner of his
right periphery. At this rate he’d never finish his lecture notes in time.
He restarted the computer again, drumming his fingers impatiently while the screen buzzed to life. This entire process would be far easier if only the University permitted him to purchase the software to prepare the Power Point Presentation on his DOTS and interface with the students directly. But that would allow non-matriculated students access to his notes–and the Southern Florida State University had its monetary interests at stake. Though Simon knew that 7G’s recording capabilities would make this a challenge to monitor for much longer.
Perhaps if the University devoted a fraction of its million dollar alumni donations to improving his Department’s high-end data processing programs, the wasted hours fine-tuning lecture notes on a desktop computer or fumbling around with an outdated mouse and manual keyboard wouldn’t prove as frustrating. Or deduct as much precious time that could be better spent securing another grant to fund his research in toothed whale communication and echolocation.
The next American telecommunications upgrade to 7G Network–allowing instantaneous optical and audio recording through the DOTS and smaller MUDEs–proved promising. Simon anticipated interacting directly with a dolphin’s brain to view the dark, murky underwater world through sound waves. Only a few days remained before he could test his software with the new system. But he couldn’t afford to think about that now.
Simon glared out his office window at the new Cyclones football stadium under construction. Twin Bobcats rumbled over uneven terrain, dragging dirt across the spacious field and flattening it to a perfect grade. Contractors had trucked in and replanted mature palm trees around the outside perimeter of the stadium. A crane towered above, its mobile arm swinging rows of bleacher seats into position. Deluxe box seats circled the upper row, each luxuriously furnished. And to think of the innovations and educational resources his department could enjoy at the cost of one of those boxes alone!
