Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview, and his first officer, Chip Morton, strolled leisurely past the colorful booths and persuasive sellers, eyeing their wares, and delighting in the simplistic pleasure of talking about anything but Seaview and her missions.
At the far edge of the festivities, a plain brown tent caught Chip’s attention. Strikingly drab compared to the other multicolored booths, the tell-tale signs of a worn tarpaulin were easily seen even from his point of view. Curiously eyeing the tent as they passed, Chip arched an eyebrow as he read the sign in front of its entrance: "A palm reader!"
Beside him, Lee looked up indifferently from the caramel corn he was munching on. "Only the fourth one we’ve passed so far," he said with light sarcasm.
"No, no..." Pausing, Chip crossed his arms, scrutinizing the tent carefully. "This one is different. This one looks like it means business." The blond man dug into his pocket as a mischievous glint came to his blue eyes. "I dare you twenty bucks to go in."
"Me? Why me? Why don’t you go in?"
"Because I’m happy were I am. You on the other hand...," Chip said with a devilish grin. "I’m curious whether you’ll end up taking the Old Man’s place at the Institute, or as a janitor in the Pentagon."
Giving his friend a double-take, Lee finished off the popcorn with a wry grin of his own. "No one will ever replace Nelson at the Institute," he said with amused resolve.
"Yeah, but when he goes, someone will have to serve as Executive Director, and I’m betting on you."
Wiping his hands on a napkin, the dark-haired man thoughtfully tossed it and the box into a nearby trash container. "Twenty, you say?" he questioned, glancing tempted between the tent and his Exec.
A sawbuck appeared in Chip’s hand. "Absolutely."
In a blink of an eye, Lee snatched it from his friend’s raised hand, announcing with a impish grin: "You’re on!"
Striding to the tent entrance, Lee paused at the flap, peering inside. It was dark, but only for a second as his eyes adjusted to the change in light conditions.
"Come in, sir," a deep, soothing voice invited. "Welcome."
His eyes having adjusted, Lee found a dark-haired woman sitting before a square table in the middle of the tent. In contrast to the plainness on the outside, colorful throw rugs covered the entire floor of the interior as numerous tapestries lined the walls, all seeming to emphasize the singularly solid, red cloth that topped the table.
The woman herself was just as colorful. Much older than the Captain, the kaleidoscopic of her surroundings only served to highlight her olive-toned face and dark, brown eyes, made even darker against her stark white blouse.
"You have a question you want to ask of Madam Lucia?" Her smile was warm, and despite Lee’s misgivings, found himself liking the woman. "Or did a friend put you up to it?" Her eyes sparkled knowingly.
Unconsciously Lee glanced over his shoulder, at the same time feeling the red come to his face. He was glad it was too dark to see it.
"Oh, don’t feel bad," the Madam continued. "It happens all the time. Men, as much as women, want to know the future, they’re just more afraid to look. Come, sit down."
Stepping closer to her, Lee dropped his money into the basket beside the table before lowering himself to the cushion that served as a chair. "My apologies, Madam. I didn’t mean to offend."
Lucia waved her hand in dismissal. "Sticks and stones, Captain. The only real pain is when it comes from the heart." Taking Lee’s hands into her own, her expression turned serious as she looked them over carefully. "You are right-handed," she said with much thought.
Lee frowned. Telling if a person was right- or left-handed was an old trick he had learned as a kid, and wondered if this was going to be more of a waste of time than he had originally thought.
"And although you don’t look it," Lucia raised her head, staring searchingly into his eyes, "your hands show an ancient lineage. One filled with much chaos and strife." Her eyes seemed to peer deeper. "A bridge from north to south... Armenian I’d say," she grinned confidently before returning her attention to his hands.
Lee’s heart leaped to his throat. She was right! Most people were unaware, and even more surprised when they found out he was of Armenian decent.
Dropping his left hand, Lucia brought his right one closer to her. "You will meet a blonde---a woman with a fiery soul. You will help each other."
The Captain grinned modestly. Sailors were well-known for their romantic pursuits, and he was of no exception. "I’ve met a lot of blondes, Madam, how will I know this one from the others?"
Lucia looked at him levelly, her expression serious. "You have already met," she said sternly. "It was your path that sent her on hers, " causing Lee’s grin to quickly fade as his heart began to race. "Your fates are already joined," she solemnly continued, her grim eyes never wavering from his. "But not necessarily together."
Not liking where this was going, Lee begun to withdraw his hand, "Madam, I-", but Lucia held onto it, curling it tightly into her own.
"There is another," she persisted softly. "Her heart is cold as steel, and she will give you her heart, yet will want even more in returnóbut beware, do not give in to her even a little, or she will take it all."
Instantly Lee’s mind hardened towards the fortune teller as his objectivity evaporated. It was already modern folklore how ships and submarines were told to have captured the hearts of the men that served on them, and since he was wearing his uniform, it wasn’t a prediction as much as a statement of common belief.
"I think I’ve heard all that I need to hear, Madam Lucia," Lee said, his dry tone convening his thoughts as he stood, withdrawing his hand, this time successfully.
"Good-bye," he replied. Spinning on his heels, he didn’t give her time to protest as he hastily joined Chip outside.
"So what did she say?" Chip asked, hiding his smirk behind a stalk of cotton candy. "Are you going to become Director of the Institute, or President of the United States?"
"Neither," Lee relayed, in none too happy terms. "She said I would meet a woman with a steel heart, who would take all that I had to give."
"Sounds like Seaview."
"Exactly!" Lee spat.
"Wrong, Captain," the mellow voice rang behind them, causing the two men to turn. "This is why people are so skeptical of us. They never get their readings right!" Gravely Lucia shook her head decisively as she walked towards them. "It is not to your submarine that I refer to, although she has caused you much pain and heartbreak." Lucia’s eyes once again fixed on Lee’s. "This woman will not view the sea as you do," she warned, her voice strikingly somber. "Take heed of her."
Lee felt his back stiffen. "Then tell me who she is so I can avoid her."
Frowning, Lucia slowly shook her head. "No, for it is your choice that leads you to your future, and yours alone. However, take heed for it will be the crossroads of your life."
Abruptly the fortune teller’s eyes then shifted to Chip’s, causing the man to suddenly feel like he was made of glass.
"I see much doubt in your friend’s eyes." A slight smile came to her face. "You, sir, will be gray before you want to be." Looking back at Lee, her smile disappeared. Glancing between the two, she gave each a brief, friendly nod. "Enjoy the day, officers," she said before returning to her tent.
Watching as she walked away, neither friend said anything for a moment. Then seeing the tight expression on Lee’s face, Chip broke the spell with a nudge.
"Hey... you don’t really believe that hocus-pocus she gave you, do you?"
"No, not at all," said Lee, too quickly for Chip’s taste. "Come on, let’s get back to Seaview."
Heading back to the boat, Lee Crane immediately began to push the soothsayer’s predication out of his mind. But as hard as he tried he couldn’t keep the lingering question from haunting him: How did she know I was Armenian?
* * * * *
"You haven’t said much since we got here, Stella," Nelson voiced with concern. "Aren’t you enjoying yourself?"
Sucking down the last of the float, Stella shyly glanced at him, and nodded. "Yes, I am. I can’t remember the last time I had a root beer float, or a corn dog. I’m enjoying them both very much," she insisted, but her voice lacking conviction.
"But... Patiently the man waited, watching as she raised a hand to finger the locket around her neck.
Peering longingly at the carnival activities, Stella frowned, letting out a sigh that was long and deep.
"I expected to be here with Brianna," she quietly confessed. "It’s just not the same without her."
"Which is exactly why I brought you here," Nelson insisted in no uncertain terms. "You can’t keep shutting yourself off from the world. You have to get out... meet people... get some sun."
"I’ve been going for my doctorate," she replied indifferently, dropping the empty soda cup into the trash can as they walked by it. "I don’t exactly call that shutting myself off."
"You’re using it as a excuse," Nelson pushed. He had to---for her sake.
"I’m using it to live!" she snapped suddenly, her eyes turning hard. "It’s the only thing I’ve got left!"
Despite her quickly turning away, Harry still saw the pain on her face; the pain she tried to hide from everyone.
"You’ve got me," he said softly, and meant it.
Stella’s laugh was short and brittle. "My Dutch uncle to the rescue, is that it?"
Indignantly, Nelson raised his head. "And why not?"
"I haven’t seen you in years, then all of sudden you show up at Brianna’s funeral? Come on, Uncle Harry, that’s a cliche' of the worst kind."
Harry’s face clouded over as his Irish temper rose. "Somebody had to be there for you, and damn it, if your father wasn’t, then I wanted to be!"
"I can tak-"
"No," he waved his hand impatiently. "Let’s not get into 'I can take care of myself' bit again. It’s too beautiful a day to argue about that. I know you can take care of yourself, you’ve been doing it since you were eleven."
Stella cringed. One bad memory was all she could handle in a day. Gazing apprehensively down at her folded hands, she knew what was coming next---she just didn’t want to hear it. "So why did you bring me here?" she asked suspiciously.
Surprised, Harry shook his head, chuckling softy. Even at age five she never pulled her punches with him. "I want you to join the Institute," he said in all seriousness.
"No," she instantly answered with a hard shake of her head. "You asked because you felt sorry for me."
His temper once more on the rise---the young woman could irritate him no end sometimes---Harry nonetheless pushed it aside. "All right, I do feel sorry for you."
Stunned, Stella stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him, her eyes wide with hurt.
"But only on a personal level," he quickly clarified, stopping to face her fully. "However, I’m asking you on a professional level."
"A professional level? I don’t understand," she said guardedly, wondering if he was conning her.
"Doctor Glacier," the Admiral emphasized with restrained patience. "Despite what you think, I’ve been watching you for years now. You’ve proven you have a gift in your field. It’s a gift I want to put to work at the Institute."
Feeling her pride kick in, Stella withheld giving an immediate answer; choosing instead to continue their wandering. She and Harry had become close in the months since Brianna’s death, but she despised the reasons behind it.
"I can’t," she said flatly. "I’ve already taken a position with the University."
"Yes, yes, oh, I’ve heard about that position," Nelson said in that subtle tone of sarcasm only he could deliver. "Strictly research, analyzing samples other people send back."
"That’s what I’m good at, Uncle Harry."
"Stella, that’s not for you! You love the water! Exploratory research is what I’m talking about. Scuba diving to places many of your colleagues could care less about seeing. Taking a chance, and finding out what truth lies at the bottom of the ocean---not sitting back and waiting for the stuff to come in by people who don’t know the difference between a tube worm and a starfish!"
Frowning, Stella glanced at the plain, brown tent they stood in front of---the same tent Crane and Morton had visited only a short time before---and sadly shook her head. "I’ve already signed a one year contract."
"I can take care of that."
"No!" she fiercely snapped, surprising even Nelson. "If I go with the Institute, I don’t want any favors! I don’t want people to say my achievements were due to help from you, or of..." she winced, "because I’m Admiral O’Toole’s daughter. I have to do this on my own."
Leaning back on his heels, Harry studied her long and hard. She had a stubborn streak he hadn’t noticed in her before. "Agreed. A year then?"
"Agreed," she answered easily, gazing vacantly out at the grounds.
Too easily, Nelson noted, fearing she would later renege on the deal. Behind her, the sign before the brown, weathered tent caught his eye.
"You still don’t believe I’m sincere, do you?" he asked, an impish grin appearing.
Guiltily, Stella looked away. Too many people had let her down to make her believe in anything any more. "I believe you’re sincere," she said quietly. "It’s just your reasons behind it that make me wonder."
"All right..." he nodded, indicating the time-worn tent that stood near them. "As a superstitious old Irishman, I dare you to find out." A ten then appeared in his hand.
Following his lead, Stella stared incredulously between him and the tent. "A palm reader? You’ve got to be kidding!"
"You’re of Irish blood. You believe in fate and destiny, and all that stuff." Taking her hand, he shoved the money into it. "Ask someone who knows!"
Harry was patronizing her, and she knew it. She also hated it. Once again, her eyes hardened, but this time with determination. "Fine! Wait here!" she ordered him over her shoulder as she marched towards the tent.
Reaching the entrance flap, Stella paused, allowing for her hazel eyes to adjust to the darkness.
"Hello," the woman inside greeted warmly.
"Hello," Stella returned, feeling her anger dissipate at the woman’s kind face and friendly welcome. Self-consciously putting the money in the basket beside the table, Stella then took a seat on the cushion. Conscious of the woman’s studious eyes on her face, Stella felt the redness come to her cheeks.
"My name is Madam Lucia," the older woman announced clearly, keeping her voice purposely low. "I see much pain and confusion in your face."
Uneasily Stella eyes darted about the room. "I tend to wear my feelings on my sleeve," she frowned nervously.
Taking the young woman’s face in a surprisingly soft hand, Lucia turned her chin back towards her. "As well as your love and your passion. Don’t ever forget that for that can be even more attractive than beauty."
Stella’s heart began to beat fast as she gazed at the fortune teller’s face. There was no hint of deceit in the woman’s expression.
Moving her hands to Stella’s, Lucia next turned the thin hands upwards, examining them thoroughly. "You do a lot with your hands," she stated quietly. "You are precise, methodical. You also need to eat more," she teased, raising her eyes momentarily to Stella’s; pleased to find she had least gotten a snicker from the young woman. Her expression then again turned serious.
"You trust your hands more than you trust people which is why you carry a heavy heart." Lucia felt Stella flinch, but held on, continuing to gaze at her palm.
"You’ve had a lonely life, but that is about to change," Lucia nodded thoughtfully. "I see many..." Unsure, the Madam hesitated, frowning at her own confusion. "You are surrounded by a lot of people. A lot of changes are coming up. A new home... new job possibly."
"With all due respect, Madam," Stella said impatiently, pulling her hand away. "You overheard me talking outside with my uncle."
With a devilish grin, Lucia nodded towards the entrance. "Can you hear him?"
Curiously Stella turned around. Outside the tent several yards away, Admiral Nelson and another man were talking, even laughing at times, but the conversation was noticeably lost in the distance between them and the tent. Even Harry’s boisterous laughter was barely audible.
Stella’s head whipped back to the grinning woman; her astonishment saying everything.
"Now," smugly Lucia retook Stella’s hand, "as I was saying," and looked down at the hand. "You will changeójobs, probably." She then shook her head, uncertain. "I also see someone in your life. Ah...," the woman abruptly smiled. "A man. I’m embarrassed to say this, but he is tall, dark, and handsome." Glancing at Stella, Lucia gave a casual shrug. "It was bound to happen some day."
Stella’s stomach tightened. She couldn’t stand another failed relationship.
"The changes surround him as well."
Her expression hardening, Stella tugged her hand away. "Enough."
But Lucia held firm. "There is more."
"I don’t want to hear more!"
"You have to, Domicella!"
Stella froze, staring wide-eyed into the face of the fortune teller---no one knew her middle name! No one!!
"There is a turning point coming in your life. A big one. I see water." Furrowing her brow, Lucia drew Stella’s hand closer. "You and water are connected, but this time, there is much more---much more." She then cocked her head as if doing so would make it clearer. "And danger. Possibly even death." Lucia’s head suddenly snapped up to stare at the young woman. "Your destiny is joined to this one man, but that doesn’t mean for all eternity."
Feeling her eyes bear into her, Stella felt a chill run down her spine.
"It is a fate neither of you will be able to change except to effect those around you." Reaching over, Lucia grasped Stella’s other hand, holding it firmly, her voice gentle. "Trust in yourself, and do not be afraid to fight for what you love."
Stella swallowed hard. She didn't know if she would have the strength for another relationship.
As if reading her mind, Lucia leaned into her. "You want children," she said softly. "I see that in your palm, as well as in your eyes."
Her words stung, more than Stella wanted to admit, and bit her lip to keep the hurt from showing.
But the hurt wasn’t lost on Lucia. Standing, the woman then squatted before her client. "Domicella...," her voice was tender, as if talking to a child.
Hearing her middle name, Stella’s eyes locked on the Madam as her heart raced.
"Domicella," Lucia smiled warmly. "The path you take will determine whether you will be a successful scientist," her smile got bigger, "or a successful wife and mother..."
Stella’s heart dropped like a stone. Slowly she withdraw her hand from the baffled woman. "I’ve already been a wife and mother," she said sadly, staring down at her own palm. "So I guess that leaves..." Looking up, her insides went coldóshe was alone in the room. Frantically whipping about, she found the tent was empty, and the fortune teller was indeed gone!
Swallowing hard, Stella stood, still scrutinizing the tent unbelievingly as her shaky legs carried her to the entrance. Nobody can disappear that fast!
Rushing outside to where Nelson and his friend had just parted company, Stella anxiously grasped Nelson’s arm: "Harry! Did you see the fortune teller leave?"
Seeing her flushed face, Nelson raised a curious eyebrow. "She could have, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. Why?"
"I need a drink! Is there a beer tent anywhere around here?"
"I-"
Wanting to ask more, the man never got the chance as Stella unceremoniously begun to drag him towards a giant beer can in the distance.
* * * * *
"Looking good, Kowalski!" Crane called up to the crewman on the sail.
"Thank you, sir!"
A few feet away, Chip stepped around the conning tower to inspect the other side when suddenly his eyesight was obliterated, followed by panicked shouting from overhead.
"Oh, gosh, Mr. Morton! I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry!!" sputtered the horrified Patterson. "The board must not have been level."
Pushing the paint away from his eyes, Chip was mad, but restrained himself.
Hurrying around to the side, Lee tried not to laugh, but it wasn’t every day he saw Chip wearing gray paint. GRAY paint! Lee stared dumbfounded at his Exec.
"Chip, you’re wearing gray paint!"
"Tell me something I don’t know," he growled at the stupidly obvious as he gazed over the side of Seaview into the salt water, wondering if it would at least take off most of the paint.
"No," Lee explained, having caught the tone but ignored it. "The psychic at the carnival, she said you would be gray before you knew it."
The two men peered at each other, momentarily speechless.
Feeling a drip drop from his forehead, Chip reluctantly cleared his throat, not wanting to break the spell---the spell broken meant washing off with paint thinner, something Mr. Morton was not looking forward to doing. "Guess I’ll go get started," he said calmly, knowing he had to face the inevitable. At least it didn't happen on Friday he thought gratefully as he walked away.
Out of nowhere, Chief Sharkey appeared beside the two men. Towels in his hand, he wrapped them around his senior officer, then hustled the man inside like a mother hen.
Suddenly alone, Lee felt a chill run through him. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but thinking back to the carnival and Madam Lucia, he felt uneasy. In trying to remember what she had said, he found, to his annoyance, that his self-induced brainwashing had worked, and he could remember nothing of her predications---only the severity of her warning.
Gazing thoughtfully into the water he loved he much, Lee Crane could only hope that her warning had been more exaggerated than it had sounded at the time...
...Their fates were sealed.
THE END
Return to story index, OR
Return to Home Page,
Patterson was a good man, and rarely messed up. He just wished he hadn’t messed up this time.
The Story Index
The New Captain's Log