Brodie paused behind Graves’ chair and Jason felt a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’ll see you at zero-eight-thirty, XO,” Brodie said in answer to the question.
“Aye, sir,” Graves replied and watched his friend head for the door only to pause briefly and look back at Jason.
“Oh,” the captain said offhandedly as he motioned with his cup toward Kristen, “I forgot to tell you, she has a photographic memory.” He then continued on his way.
Jason watched Brodie disappear through the doorway leading into the passageway and then looked back at Kristen who was watching him over her glasses perched low on her nose. “A photographic memory?” he asked incredulously. “Is that true?”
She nodded her head but then added, “More precisely, the term is ‘eidetic memory,’ sir.”
Graves knew she was smart, but this was something he hadn’t expected. Curious, he pressed, “What’s the difference?”
Hesitantly, she explained, “People with photographic memories just recall images….”
“And you?” he prodded.
“Everything,” she said almost with embarrassment.
“What do you mean, ‘everything?’”
“Every sight, sound, touch, smell… everything, sir.” While speaking she’d unconsciously stiffened her shoulders and fidgeted slightly before lowering her head a bit, clearly uncomfortable talking about it.
“Well hell, Lieutenant,” he observed, “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She shrugged a shoulder slightly and explained, “Just the same, sir, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. People tend to treat me as an oddity already, and I’d prefer not attracting more attention than I already do.”
Fat chance.
Graves knew the chance of her just hiding in and among the crew was impossible. She was hardly unattractive, and once at sea, the good looks she hid behind her tightly-bound hair, slightly-baggy overalls, and austere exterior would become more evident with each day they were underway. After three months at sea, she’d look like a goddess to every red-blooded man on board, except for Gibbs. The fact Gibbs was a homosexual wasn’t lost on Graves nor Brodie. But Graves knew the captain had always had a soft spot for those who broke with convention.
Kristen returned to her studies, trying to maintain her concentration as more officers filtered in over the next hour. Other than a few incredulous glances, the reaction by most of her fellow officers upon seeing her seated in the wardroom was to ignore her.
This suited her just fine. She had no time for socializing. She was far behind her peers, and she hoped to take the engineering exam within the first two months of being on board. No small feat, but she felt she could manage it.
At first, none bothered to introduce themselves or welcome her aboard, which she accepted in stoic silence. However, just when she thought they’d never speak to her, a rather handsome Lieutenant Junior Grade paused and studied her a little longer than most. He offered her a jaunty smile and stepped over, leaning across the table.
“Hi there,” he said with a friendly grin. “I’m Terrance Hall. My friends call me Terry,” he offered in introduction, “but you can call me anything you want.”
She hid her thoughts at the glib line, nodded politely and shook his hand.
“Give it a rest will ya, Terry,” another officer grunted as he slipped behind Terry on his way to the coffee pot. “She’s been on board less than a day, and you’re already making an ass of yourself.” The other officer’s name was Massanelli, and he didn’t bother to stop and introduce himself as he made a beeline for the coffee.
Kristen responded with an appropriate, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Terry. I’m Kristen.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Kristen,” he said with a smile she was certain had wooed more than his fair share of ladies.
She released his hand and attempted to return to her studies as more officers drifted in. Kristen, her concentration broken, sat quietly and observed the various relationships and studied her fellow officers’ personalities. She would spend the next six months with these men, and considering the close confines they would experience, she needed to know just which of them she could trust and who might be a problem. They were all qualified submariners, and from the sound of their light-hearted banter, they’d all spent an entire patrol together so knew one another well. Ski arrived just after 0800 and the chitchat subsided somewhat as he entered, a perpetual scowl on his face. The XO paid no attention to any of his fellow officers as they joked around with one another prior to the morning meeting. Terry was an obvious flirt, and she assumed he was the kind of guy with a girl in every port. But she’d resisted better looking temptations than him while at the Academy, and she knew she could handle him. Most of the others were married and were more interested in getting their specific areas of responsibility ready for sea than toying with her.
Except for Ski.
Kristen knew nothing about him other than he didn’t like having her on board. He’d glanced her way briefly when he entered, and she’d seen a flicker of a scowl forming before he wiped it off. She didn’t like to judge people too quickly, but over the last three-plus years, her circle of friends had faded from many to only one, and she had learned she couldn’t afford to trust anyone too quickly. She would have to be careful around Ski. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to screw her over.
Daniel Martin, the man who’d met her when she first came aboard, was the last officer to arrive. He came through the doorway at 0820, just ten minutes before the meeting. Kristen noticed how he tried to insert himself in a couple of conversations as he slowly made his way down the table to take a seat across from her. None of the others seemed any more interested in talking to him than they were in speaking to her.
You’re a Nub, remember? What did you expect?
Martin sat down, having failed to find anyone anxious to speak to him. He looked at her as Gibbs appeared and made his rounds filling coffee mugs with a fresh pot. He was greeted with several grunts of disgust at the coffee which was apparently strong enough to wake the dead. But no one gave the steward a hard time.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Martin offered, hoping to engage her in conversation.
“Good morning, Ensign,” she responded politely, noticing that Gibbs lingered over the XO a few seconds longer, asking if he needed anything. Gibbs all but ignored Ski, but greeted a few of the other officers politely.
Gibbs stopped by her last. “Is there anything else I can get you, Lieutenant?” he asked. “The skipper will be here in seven minutes.”
Seven minutes? Not five or ten?
She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was 0823.
“Might I have another cup of tea, Mister Gibbs?” she asked politely.
“With pleasure, ma’am,” he answered with a smile and stepped back into the galley to see to it. She noticed that Gibbs hadn’t said a word to Martin, and she briefly wondered why. Her usual — and at times annoying — attention to detail was allowing her to quickly compile a large amount of information on everyone in the room. The steward returned a moment later with a fresh pot of tea and set it down on the service tray beside her. He also brought a fresh creamer of milk.
“Thank you, Mister Gibbs,” she replied as he hovered over her for a few seconds. The other officers moved to their seats as if on cue, and then Gibbs stepped over to stand near the head of the table. Kristen took a sip of tea and glanced at the clock again.
The friendly banter faded.
The digital clock advanced to 0830.
The door opened and Brodie stepped in. He was dressed in a fresh set of coveralls with his sleeves rolled up. He’d shaved, and other than the swollen eyes, he looked relatively refreshed. As he entered, everyone came to their feet, but he waved them back down immediately as he was greeted by a chorus of, “Good morning, Captain.”