Predator Prey - 15. Threatened

"Well, I'm very glad to have you."

These words greeted him in the first few moments he spent working with the Marine Technician, Mel Haskins. They'd met before, of course, but this was a welcome change from the way the Mate had pretty much brushed him off.

Their first morning together, Haskins took him on a fairly detailed tour of the labs and equipment on board. At least, as detailed as it could be without interfering with the work of the scientists and their research. The Feigenbaum didn't have enormous labs, but what space there was got used with incredible efficiency. Everything was incredibly tight, and demand for the resources of the ship was always high. Still, most researchers managed to reserve daytime slots for their time in the labs, preferring to use the onboard computer network or their own laptops later in the day or in the evening hours.

His early morning watches had already told him how few researchers used the pre-dawn hours for time in the labs.

Equipment which could not be left out in lab cabinets was stowed carefully away in compartments below decks. Part of the Marine Tech's job was to be able to locate, pull out and set up portions of lab apparatus according to the daily request schedule worked out with the Chief Scientist. There was plenty of variety in Mel Haskins' job, and it wasn't as confusing as Engineering, which seemed to require a vast amount of technical knowledge.

Some of the stuff he saw in the storage areas looked fascinating, though he hadn't the least idea what it was used for.

In fact, his tour and discussion of procedures for basic equipment setup went long enough to make him a little bit late for his own regular watch at noon with Cookie.

He hustled down the ladder and darted into the galley to find the big man sweating over a huge pile of sandwiches on a tray.

"Here, Wally, grab this tray and put it out on the counter," he instructed shortly. "You can serve today."

Most of the time, he'd been relegated to dishwashing and cleanup, followed by prep for the next meal and galley maintenance.

"Sure thing, Cookie," he returned, manhandling the tray over to the serving counter.

Already, scientists and members of the crew were filtering down to the mess for lunch. Nearly all the time, Cookie stood by the counter, bantering with scientists, chatting up interns, kidding around with the crew. Everybody liked Cookie.

But on this day, the usual assistant who helped prep lunch was missing, so Cookie had done it all himself. Cookie chose to immerse himself in cleanup, so he was left to serve the meal out. No way could he perform the social duties that went with Cookie's performance. The lunch procession in front of him was decidedly quieter, more mute, though he managed to greet a few people he knew.

Toward the tail end of the line, a balding, round faced member of the scientific party slouched along the counter, filling his plate. He was dressed in the usual academic uniform: shorts and faded graphic tee shirt, the relic of some long forgotten conference or other. The man stopped, and stared at him a moment, then looked away, and moved on to a table in the mess.

He thought it a bit strange, but soon forgot the incident as he began to set out more food, followed later by the need to clean up the mess room and the meal. Cookie stood aside and had him complete the dishwashing, the hot water welcoming his hands in the deep sink. But maybe twenty minutes later, as he reached deep into the sink to wash out a large mixing bowl, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise – he sensed he was being watched. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the same round faced scientist at the counter, staring at him again.

"You need something?"

The scientist narrowed his eyes. "No, not right now," the moon face breaking into a thin, knowing smile. The effect was ghastly. There was something deeply unsettling about the look on the man's face. Something predatory. Fortunately, another researcher deposited plates and cups onto the counter just then, and the episode ended. But not before he shuddered inwardly.

"You're getting to be real good at this, Wally," Cookie said to him proudly afterwards when it was time to begin prepping for supper. "I think I'll be able to trust you with most of the midnight watch. Won't need me until four in the morning."

He sagged a little. Cookie's company had made the long hours of the dark morning go by quicker. Now it sounded like he would be on his own.

The next two days saw the tempo of life on board quicken. The January cruise was nearing its end, and every researcher in the ship scrambled to collect and tabulate every last available scrap of data. Mel Haskins had him assisting on set up and take down for half a dozen projects in the lab. He was getting proficient at the fine art of repacking instruments and stowing them in their respective compartments.

Cookie let him alone for a couple of overnight watches, arriving with a yawn at four in the morning to prep breakfast.

And with forty eight hours left in the cruise, the Mate tapped him on the shoulder in the middle of his morning's work. "The Captain wants to see you," he said in a neutral voice.

What could that mean?

He climbed the ladder to the next level and crossed to the Captain's stateroom. He knocked carefully.

"Come!" the Captain's voice sounded through the door.

He entered, and the older man nodded to him from his tiny desk. "Sit down, Wally."

He sat, taking the only other seat available.

"I've been talking to the chiefs I've assigned you to," the Captain went on, "and all of them seem satisfied with your work. Haskins and Cookie both gave you glowing reports."

A wary nod seemed a sufficient answer at that point.

McCallum allowed himself a smile. "That means you've worked out well."

"Thanks…sir."

The Captain shifted in his chair. "I've talked with Dr. Boudreau, and I think it might work out well for you to ship out again for the next six week cruise. Technically, you'd be doing twelve credit hours for the semester – you'd start working on board, mostly working with Cookie to learn ship's accounting and the role of the Purser. When we return, you'd finish your other coursework ashore. You'd have to stand watches – nothing too strenuous – and you'd get a small stipend, and your tuition paid. What do you think?"

He considered. Where else would he go? Back into business? He wasn't at all sure about doing that. Remembering Marc and Lee made him want to try something else. But what? For now, perhaps this would do.

"I'd like that, sir, thank you."

"Good," the Captain replied, nodding. "We'll berth at the Station Sunday. The ship will get a five day refit while the next research party assembles and undergoes onshore orientation classes. I'm going out on the next cruise, and so is Cookie, so there will be familiar faces aboard."

"Will I be able to stay on the ship?" he ventured.

"No, sorry, Wally. You'll need to take your gear with you and find a bed on shore for a few days. Let me know if you have trouble with that."

So he'd have to figure something out. He'd manage it.

"Yessir."

"I'm glad you're coming, Wally. We need more people doing the Operations courses," McCallum grinned. "It’s the only way we'll convince the University to make it a major." The Captain nodded at the door. Clearly the interview was over.

He stepped out onto the deck feeling a little lost. Someone actually wanted him for something? Someone who would give him a chance without wanting something in return? He wasn't sure he knew what to think about that.

But the pudgy scientist from a few days earlier was at the lunch counter again, staring hard at him during lunch. When he glared back, the man smiled a creepy smile. Toward the end of the meal, when the counter was vacant, he returned a second time.

"Excuse me, there's something wrong with this." Even the man's voice slouched.

He looked at the plate the man held up for examination. The sandwich looked all right. "What's matter with it?"

The moon face split into a leer, and the rounded shoulder shrugged. "You'll see." The man turned and walked off.

Puzzled, he opened the sandwich. Under the bread, a bit of paper, smeared with a little of the sandwich's mayonnaise. Meet me on the upper deck by the bow anchor, right after supper. I know you're available, the note read.

He felt sick at his stomach. He did not want to know what the fuck the guy wanted. It couldn't be anything good.

He stewed about it all afternoon. Cookie noticed his mood and commented on it. "Something wrong, Wally?"

No discussion about this little problem was possible. "No, thanks, Cookie. Just thinking about what I'm going to do when we pull into harbor."

"Raise hell, right?" Cookie chuckled.

He tried to grin back. "Yeah, Cookie, that's it. Raise hell."

But the dilemma distracted him for the rest of his watch. What was he going to do? He could meet the guy after supper up on deck. The Feigenbaum wasn't a cruise ship, and very few of its crew or scientific party spent time lounging about, let alone loafing on the bow. He recalled the scheming look on that pasty round face and shuddered. He really didn't want to find out what the note was all about.

All afternoon, he pondered over what to do. A little tension seeped into the evening meal; it was one of the last suppers of the cruise. Everyone was going to spend the next twenty four hours trying to wrap up work as the journey came to an end. He'd been anxious, and this just made it worse. By the end of his watch and supper, he'd decided to ignore the note. Maybe the guy would get the hint and just go away.

He slept restlessly before his late night watch began at midnight. He met Cookie in the galley.

"You know the drill, now, Wally," the Purser told him, "coffee and snacks for the browsers working late. You'll probably want to make more than usual, 'cause I bet there's half the scientific party is up tonight."

He nodded. "Sure, Cookie."

"Good boy, Wally" Cookie grinned. "I think you can handle it yourself. I'm going to turn in for a few hours. See you around four."

Cookie had been right, of course. He could easily manage the early morning shift on his own. He probably could have started breakfast alone, too. Perhaps Cookie just had to be there, or something.

Cookie had correctly predicted the increase in traffic through the mess, too. A fairly steady stream of researchers trickled in from the various labs on board over the ensuing couple of hours; enough that he discovered the galley had run out of coffee. Cursing under his breath, he headed forward in the ship to the compartment where galley stores were kept.

The heavy door swung into the little room and the corridor light illuminated the supplies stored in shelves from floor to ceiling. He stepped inside and inspected the items carefully. Where was the coffee?

His search was interrupted as a shadow in the doorway blocked the light. Before he could turn, an arm put a chokehold around his throat, and something awfully sharp jabbed him in the side.

"You didn't show up after dinner," a soft voice growled in his ear. There was a powerful odor of terrible breath, of unwashed man.

"Let go of me," he said, irritated. He started to break free, but the stabbing in his kidney suddenly felt more piercing, more painful.

"Oh, no, I don't think so," the voice chuckled. "Besides, you'll like what I have planned."

"I don't know what you're thinking about, but I don't want to."

"Yes, you do. You like doing it."

"Doing what?"

"You can't play dumb with me, Wally. I watched you. You loved it. And if you can do it for them, you can do it for me."

A shudder ran through him. Somebody who had seen the video; someone who wanted the experience for himself. He was about to be forced into sex in a closet with an evil smelling psycho. The whole thing made him feel sick.

"I didn't like it, I was drugged. Tied up –" and he tried to break free again, unsuccessfully. "Shit, you fucker, that hurts," he cried out as whatever he was poking him in the kidney was pushed in harder.

"You struggle again, and I'll have to cut you open," the voice spoke to him less quietly, more frustrated. "Push your pants down," the man directed, "now."

"You're crazy, you know that? You hurt me, and there's no place for you to run."

There was a moment's hesitation. "Do it. Or you're going to bleed. A lot. You'll just be an intern who had an accident." The pain in his side felt sharper still. What blade was the guy using? Something from the lab equipment?

He didn't want to do this. But he didn't want to get himself killed, either. His assailant seemed insane enough to do just that. His hands slowly moved to the waistband of his jeans, ready to push.

Just then, he heard a voice just outside the door. "Yo, Wally, got any new coff – what the hell?"

Instantly, he was released. Something clattered loudly to the deck plating, rolling away under a shelf. "Yes, well, thank you, that was very helpful…" began his attacker loudly. He started to make his way out into the corridor, but Cabrera blocked his way.

"I asked what was going on," the Engineer said evenly. The lean, muscled Cuban looked lethally ready for a fight.

"Nothing, nothing," the pudgy scientist insisted, even whiter than earlier, trying to pull thinning hair back across his scalp, "I just got lost looking for an instrument in storage."

"Didn't look like that to me, man," Cabrera stated flatly. "Wally, you okay?" The Engineer hadn't relaxed.

He'd managed to recover his breath. "I'm okay," he said slowly. "Fine."

"You see? Nothing. No problem," the scientist tried to bluster.

"Good thing he's fine," Cabrera told him stepping up and facing the flabby researcher squarely. The older scientist might have been taller, but it hardly looked that way. "Wally here is crew, understand, old man? And you never, ever mess with crew. Got that?"

His assailant nodded rapidly. Message received.

The Engineer stood aside, letting the scientist flee down the corridor.

Softly now. "Wally, look at me."

He lifted his head, met deep, dark eyes.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm all right." Deep breath. He felt himself begin to calm. "Thanks."

Cabrera's face relaxed. It might almost – almost – have been called a smile. "So, Wally. New coffee?"