Bumpy seas

I had to get this down before going to bed this evening. Not because it is so profound, but because it is the kind of thing that if it progresses, people in my line of expertise always look back on and say “If I knew more about how things progressed, this would be a lot easier to understand.”

Eugene Skyped me this evening and said that one of his crew had taken ill. This news was somewhat less than shocking considering the number of research assistants and other people on board not heavily experienced with ocean travel. However, as he explained the circumstances, I became steadily more concerned.

There is a thermometer on the bridge of the ship to monitor the temperature in the cargo hold. It had been fluctuating somewhat since they sealed the hold, and a malfunction of the refrigeration unit was suspected as the culprit. As the bulk of the machinery is outside the hold, a mechanic was sent aft to inspect it and see if there was any obvious problem. After giving it a thorough check, he radioed the bridge and reported no apparent problems. The captain ordered him to return to his regular duties and began discussing the problem with Eugene.

A couple minutes into the conversation, another troubling indicator light appeared on the console -- this one reporting that the passage between the lower decks and the hold had been breached and then re-sealed. The following part of the story is conjecture because the intruder was later unable to give a full report. What the captain believes happened is that the mechanic, knowing nothing was wrong with the refrigeration unit, decided the problem must be with the thermostat inside the hold itself. He apparently took it upon himself to investigate and ventured into the hold. He opened the first door and sealed it behind him, then moved to the second half of this “airlock” created by progression of bulkheads. He probably peered through the small window in the second door before going in, but was unable to see much in the dimly lit interior. When he opened the door and began to step through, a wall of blue mist tumbled out of the hold like the toys in a hastily jam-packed teenager’s closet, hitting him full in the face. He pulled back quickly, resealed the hatch and began to move back to the other door at the other end of the twenty foot corridor. No more than ten feet into the return trip, he collapsed to the floor.

A short time later, Eugene and the captain discovered him by looking through the little window in the door the mechanic had been moving toward. The captain turned to a telephone on the wall and screamed for the ship’s doctor to join him. Eugene grabbed the captain and spun him away from the phone and told him bluntly that they could not open the door, they did not know what was in the mist that blanketed the bottom six inches of the passage.

“We’re sure as hell not going to fuckin’ leave him in there!” the captain roared back. “For all we know, he had a heart attack that has nothing to do with that stuff and getting in there now is the difference between his wife greeting him at the dock in person or in a pine box!”

“Captain, everybody on board understood that nobody was to enter the hold under any circumstances,” Eugene reasoned, “and if that mist is infectious and we release it, there could be a lot more pine boxes to stack at the dock, assuming anybody is left to operate the crane.”

Eugene says the captain boiled with frustration, but relented on the condition that someone be posted at the door to report if the mechanic moved.

“If he so much as twitches, we’re gonna to get in there and help him, fuck all else.”

Eugene disagreed, but did not push the point as the captain was obviously in no state for debate.

It was about two hours after this event that I spoke with Eugene, encouraged him that he was doing the right thing, and begged him to make sure that door stays shut (this time thinking of Amanda and not wanting her to have to wait an extra three weeks for lengthier quarantine to pass before she could see her husband).

At this point in our conversation, word came over the general speaker that the captain should return to the bulkhead immediately. Eugene disconnected and went to meet the captain and make sure the seal would not be broken. He assured he would call me back first thing in the morning to report what transpired.

Eugene is certainly capable of handling the situation appropriately, I just hope the captain and crew will not prevent him from doing so.

By the way, the boat did get permission to dock in Savannah, and I am getting a temporary transfer to go down and supervise the study of this blue biological substance. It would appear this is going to be more of an extensive operation than I would have originally guessed.