As he began to relax, he setabout his work. He turned on the console. Leaning back in the chair, his feetlifted to the desk. One crossed over the other, he placed his heels on theedge. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingertips touchingabove his chest.
With an accuracy that surprisedhimself, he began to dictate his report. The words came out continuously. Hedidn’t have to consciously think about what he was saying.
He paused in midsentence as thedoor beeped and instructed the computer to wait.
“Come in,” he called, and thedoor opened.
Dunlop entered, looking extremelytired. He didn’t ask for permission before pulling up a chair and sittingdown. He offered John the medical report he held in his hand. John didn’tmove, his gaze settling on the report before returning to Dunlop. The doctorput it down on the desk beside the accident report.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” heapologised. “I thought you might like to file it with your own.”
“I would prefer not to have to…Yeah, I’ll do it.”
“Have you thought about whathappens next?”
“No, but I can guess. Coghlanlodges a formal complaint because I refuse to continue with the mission. Weget called home. I get raked over the coals again about disobeying orders. And, basically, the ship’s yours until they drag up another captain.”
“Hold on a minute,” Dunlop heldup his hands in protest. “What do you mean, the ship’s mine?”
“Well, you outrank everyoneelse.” John smiled as Dunlop shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Don’tworry. You’ll be stuck in dock somewhere. I can’t see this old girl beinghigh on the priority list.” He spoke about the ship with a warm affection.
“I’ve supported your decision notto let anyone else down on the planet. For all the good it’ll do.”
“Thanks.” John wanted to saysomething else but couldn’t think of anything appropriate.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I amoff duty. You look as if you could do with a break, too.”
“I’m fine,” John yawned. “Go on,get out of here.” He waved Dunlop out.
Left alone, he resumed hisreport. He asked the computer to repeat the last few sentences then thoughtfor a moment before continuing his dictation. A couple of drafts later, helogged his report with the doctor’s and transmitted them both to Fleet CommandHeadquarters.
As he hit Send, he wondered whyhe’d heard nothing from Command. He assumed Coghlan had sent in an immediatecomplaint and was expecting a “Please explain”. Maybe Command was waiting forBismarck’s version before taking any action.
He brought up Captain Decker’spersonnel file on screen and began to read it. He got no further than thefirst page before changing his mind and closed it. Notifying next of kin hadnever been his job and he was not looking forward to it now.
He brought up the chiefengineer’s file.
He began slowly. He didn’t wantto sound abrupt, nor did he want to appear patronising. Four draft copieslater and he was happy with what he had said. He did the same for the otherthree crewmen, using their personnel files to give each statement a sense ofindividuality.
One crewman, he didn’t know. Theman had only come aboard two weeks earlier. This was his first mission. Johnwas angry with himself. He liked to know all the crewmembers and, on a ship ofthis size, that wasn’t difficult. It was something he had meant to get aroundto, but he had never found the time. And that was what he decided to put inthe statement, along with some comments from someone who had worked with theman.
With everything else out of theway, he returned to the captain’s file. He stared blankly at it. He checkedthe bridge for the ship’s status, ordered a pot of fresh coffee, called down tosick bay to inquire about the condition of the injured men, and checked withcommunications as to whether Command had answered his report – even though heknew he’d have been notified of any reply and would have it on the desk infront of him.
The coffee arrived and he had runout of things to do. The captain’s personnel file stared back at him from theconsole screen. He tried to avoid it, but it seemed to have him almosthypnotised. He could delay it no longer.
He began his statement, but couldget no further than the first few lines. Re-reading them, he didn’t like theway it sounded and changed it. He didn’t like that any better, and sighed infrustration. He opened the top right hand drawer of the desk and pulled out apen and notepad.
A short while later, the desk wasscattered with screwed up pieces of notepaper. Each new copy was no betterthan the previous. He gathered up the paper and was about to dump it in thewaste paper basket when he hesitated. He put the basket against the wall, ametre of so to the left of the door.
Returning to his seat, he pickedup a ball of paper, judged its weight for a moment in his hand, aimed for thebasket and fired. It hit the wall, bounced off the rim of the basket andrested on the floor. It didn’t matter; he had plenty more balls. By the timethe desk was cleared, more paper had gone in the basket than what had missed. He left them there; he’d pick them up later.
Feeling a bit fresher, he pouredanother coffee and continued with his writing. His thoughts were clearer, moreorganised, although every sheet seemed to have the same fate.
* * *
McReidy beeped the office door. There was no answer. She beeped again. Still no answer. “Are you sure he’sin there?”
Giacomo was back on duty and hadthe bridge. “He has to be. Gillespie said he didn’t come out.”
The door wasn’t locked. McReidyopened it and cautiously stepped inside. It closed behind her. The floor waslittered with screwed up paper. The waste paper basket was more than halffull. John sat behind the desk, leaning over it, his head resting in his arms.
“Commander?” McReidy spoketentatively, creeping silently up to the desk. There was no answer. “John?” She could see he was asleep.
A pen poised precariously in hisright hand was about to fall. The fresh sheet
