Predator Prey - 29. Misery

Four days to go.

Four days and the cruise would be over. The past two days had been eternal enough; how was he going to make it through four more? He hadn't spoken with Graham since he'd disappeared back to his lab. It was hard to completely avoid someone on a ship as small as this, but Graham was managing it. He'd looked for the brunette at meals, and caught a glimpse, but no more. But in that glimpse, at least Graham looked as haggard as he felt himself.

He sighed, deeply, for the millionth time. Four days.

He deserved this. In fact, he deserved far worse. He knew how badly he had hurt dozens of people. He had directed his frustration and anger wrongly, and now the universe was paying him back. Again.

At one point the previous night, he'd been called to deliver some coffee to the bridge. On the trip back to the galley area, he directed his steps outside, to the stern of the Feigenbaum. He wished the great green wave had taken him in the storm. He watched the wake of the ship spread out from the rear of the ship, mesmerized. The sea seemed to speak to him, calling him with the many whispered voices of people whose lives he'd damaged.

Perhaps it would be best if he simply fell off the stern of the Feigenbaum in the quiet pre-dawn hours, and never came back to the surface, he reflected. In the big picture of the world, his death wouldn't amount to much. His drowning would be a bother to his parents, but he doubted they would mourn. Perhaps causing his father to curse the extra hassle would be worth it. But even that was a dubious proposition, as he was sure his father would very likely hire an extra flunky to take care of all the messy details involved in his disappearance. That is, if his parents continued to care at all.

It would be so easy. He could just climb up and over the rail and hop off.

His thoughts were interrupted by a pair of researchers coming onto the deck. They spoke volubly together about some technical point as they approached the stern. No, drowning was not going to be an option, not at that moment

In his more rational thoughts, he considered what he would do at the end of this cruise, at the end of the four eternal days which now seemed to stretch endlessly before him.

There was activity in the mess area, despite the early hour of the morning. Just like the January cruise, the scientific party was working extra hours to make sure their experiments and data were complete and that all the loose ends that could be tied up at sea were knotted. But even though a steady stream of coffee-and-snack takers came to the mess counter, he barely noticed any of them.

None of them were the particular tall, lanky researcher he'd hoped to see.

He simply executed the tasks of his watch robotically, in a kind of fog. He prepped breakfast and got it ready to serve. He had very little to say, not even exchanging much banter with Cookie or Matilda when she showed up. This earned him an odd look from the older man, but he really didn't notice or care.

It had been that way for forty-eight hours.

He took his bowl of cereal, bagel, and juice over to a recently vacated table in the mess area and sat down. He ate, head down, paying no attention to anything else. He didn't look up when the chair opposite him scraped.

"You okay, Wally?" Cookie asked.

He had to face the man. He looked up and met Cookie's worried eye. "Sure. I'm okay. Just tired, is all."

It wasn't a complete lie, of course. He was very tired. He couldn't sleep, ate mechanically, and still had plenty of work to do, just the same. He was tired of being himself, of being what and who he was. Tired of life.

"You don't seem too good. You eat something gone bad?" the Purser's voice was all concern.

And perhaps he was worried. But Cookie was probably more anxious that a case of food poisoning was going to run right through the Feigenbaum.

"My stomach's fine, Cookie. Really."

"Yeah, well, good thing we're going to be done on Friday. You look like you need a rest," the man said artlessly.

He laughed without mirth. "Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that as soon as we dock."

"Good," said Cookie without missing a beat, "because for now, we got plenty of work to do. When I get Tilly settled after breakfast, you come meet me in the chartroom, okay, Wally? We've got some spreadsheet stuff to look at."

Cookie had shortened his own nickname for Matilda – whose real name was Katie. And he wanted to work on that damned spreadsheet again. They'd put so much work into it this voyage, he thought he could recite every accounting category in the manual in his sleep; he knew he could count, categorize, apportion and credit any item in the stores without hesitation. And now there was more? God, did the man never stop?

He nodded wearily. "Sure thing, Cookie."

His arms had to practically drag him up the ladder to the bridge and chartroom about an hour later. He had to pass through the lab on the way up, but there had been no sign of Graham. He'd taken a perfunctory shower and tried hard to wake up. He had to be ready to do battle with Cookie, but he felt ill-prepared for it that morning.

His eyes bulged at the sight that met him when he stepped inside the chartroom door.

Cookie sat in front of a laptop computer opened on the chartroom table, facing away from the door. A small pile of accounting chits sat on the surface of the table to his left. What was on the screen grabbed and held his attention.

Cookie was clearly working with accounting software. Perfectly functioning, up-to-date accounting software. There was no mistaking the look of that screen. He'd seen that kind software in one of his business courses – one of the few he'd really paid attention to.

Anger rose in his chest. What the hell had Cookie been playing at? "You bastard!" He shouted, feeling like he'd been played for a sucker.

Cookie turned, grinning. "What's the matter, Wally? You like my computer program?"

"You – you – son of a…" He spluttered with a combination of frustration and fury.

"Everything okay, Cookie?" A voice sounded behind him. He felt a hand on his right shoulder.

He turned to find the Master standing directly at his elbow.

"Everything's fine, Cap," beamed Cookie, "Wally's just figured out my accounting methods."

The Captain gave a short chuckle. "Oh. I see." The hand left his shoulder. The Captain withdrew a few steps to the wheel.

He struggled to contain himself; he managed to keep his voice lower, but he remained angry. "All this time, you've made me…and I…"

Cookie continued to smile beatifically. "Yup, I sure did." The Purser held up a hand. "And before you tell me what an asshole I am, I want you to think."

He paused, trying very hard not to say the biting words he'd wanted to utter. He'd been played, totally played.

"Because I made you create that whole project from scratch, think about what you know now."

Cookie didn't ask him to think about what he'd learned, the man talked about what he knew. Hell, he knew the shipboard accounting manual inside and out. He knew the little tricks and exceptions from listening to endless hours of Cookie's stories.

Instead of another choice curse, all he could manage was: "Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh' is right, Wally," Cookie smirked, following up his advantage, "do you think if I'd just told you to go memorize the manual or read a friggin' textbook you'd actually know the ship's accounting as well as you do now? Think you'd know how shore suppliers can cheat? Think you'd know where the swindle was if it was a good one?"

He remained silent. He knew that he wouldn't have gotten half as much out of a classroom course. Hell, he'd have slept or cheated his way through it, if he could have, before. Months ago.

Cookie turned back to the screen. "Instead, you created a first-rate tool for shipboard operations. In fact, it beats the commercial software in a couple of places."

He blinked.

"Come on, don't you want to see where?" Cookie twisted his neck and beckoned with a gesture of his head.

Cookie was absolutely right, of course. He definitely wanted to see.

They worked through the differences between his own spreadsheet and the professional software for about two hours. And, for the first time in the two days since Graham had disappeared, he managed to forget his misery. In fact, he found himself absorbed in the comparison of the professional software and his own work. He was oddly pleased. Cookie was right; his project was superior in several ways.

With about an hour before lunch, Cookie stood, stretching and holding his back. "God, I'm getting' old. Gotta stop sittin' for so long."

"So what am I supposed to do now?" he asked, rising with the Purser.

"Do? Well, I suppose what we ought to do is take this to the guys up in computer science, or maybe business. We get them to write it into some kind of computer code, and sell it, that's what."

"You think we can do that?" he asked. He'd sold lots of stuff, moved plenty of product, but never his own work.

"Hell, I don't know." The older man shook his head. "But I sure wish I'd had your spreadsheet a few years ago when I had to sort things out the first time."

He wanted a catnap before lunch but couldn't seem to settle. Thoughts of Cookie's approval and Graham's loss battled in his head.

At the midday meal, Graham either managed to sneak in unnoticed – which was enormously unlikely, given how sharply he was watching – or the lanky researcher had missed lunch again. His mood had gone dark again by the end of lunch. He was wiping down the counter, when a solid female figure planted herself on the other side.

Ellie, the blond Amazon, stood there. "Um, hey there Wally. Can I, um, get a sandwich?"

"Just finished lunch," he replied, tersely.

"I know that, I just, um, kind of…lost track of time," she said, looking sheepish.

He eyed her more closely. She certainly looked tired, and she appeared to have lost a lot of her bounce. And it was broad daylight, not the middle of the night. She was probably working as hard as any of the other researchers. He made a face but turned to the cupboard where snack materials were kept.

"Okay. I can make you something." His voice was flat, neutral. "PB and J all right?"

"Sure, that's great," she said. Perhaps her voice betrayed a hint of relief. "Can you make me a couple?"

He fished out bread, jam, and the tub of peanut butter, and started slapping sandwiches together in silence.

"Wally? What's up with you and Graham?"

He stopped moving. "What do you mean?" They'd tried to be discreet about themselves.

"Oh come off it, Wally, I know you and Graham were kind of a thing."

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody had to tell me anything. I'm a trained scientist, Wally. I observe." A few weeks ago, Ellie might have been smug. Now, she just sounded tired. "But I finally got it out of Graham yesterday, or at least some of it, anyways."

He smeared peanut butter on bread. "Nothing's going on."

He heard Ellie make a rude noise behind his back. He turned and handed the pair of sandwiches off to her. She fixed him with a skeptical stare.

"Well, for a lot of nothing, you seem to be pretty miserable, Wally."

He shrugged. Miserably.

Ellie turned to go.

"Wait."

She turned back.

His single word had startled both the woman and himself. He knew it would hurt, but he had to do it. He fumbled around in the small space behind the counter, retrieving something.

He handed her the tattered, dog-eared comic. "Here. I'm done with it. Thanks."

Ellie looked at the book proffered in his hand, considering. "Nah. You keep it, Wally. You have four days yet," she said at length.

And she stalked off with her sandwiches.

He was kept very busy all afternoon with snacks and coffee for the crew and scientific party alike. The frantic push to get everything completed was on. Cookie was more omnipresent than usual, helping with meal prep, even though the older man insisted that he, Wally, give the orders and direct operations. By the time his short afternoon watch was done, he was ready for some sleep.

He still hadn't sighted Graham, and maybe it was just as well. His heart would probably break.

After supper, he headed back to his cabin. Wearily, he decided to skip a shower. He'd get one later, when he got up for the early morning watch. He stripped down to his briefs and was asleep in his bunk within seconds.

It was from a deep, deep well of sleep that he felt himself roused. A noise. Someone knocking on the door. He sat up and shook his head to clear it. Another knock. He rose and shuffled through the darkness over to the door.

"Okay, okay," he grumbled, "this had better be good."

He opened the door.

Graham stood there, his hand raised, poised to knock again. He looked drawn, exhausted, his dark brown eyes filled with apprehension.

"Hi." No other words would come to his mouth.

"Hi." Graham returned, tentatively. "Um. Scott? Can we talk?"