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jeriendhalA vignette from a very wierd version of the old Star Blazers/Space Battleship Yamato show that's been brewing in my head for a while. The basic idea is that instead of the IJN Yamato being resurrected, it's the USS Arizona. And yes everyone is quite aware of the irony of having a captain named "Okita" in command.
Wilder slipped into the Arizona's sickbay, looking around cautiously. A corpsman looked up from his computer and asked, “Can I help you, Commander?”
“Is Doc Sado sob--, er, around?” he asked.
The corpsman nodded. “He's in his office. Want me to get him for you, sir?”
“No, that's all right.” Wilder walked over to Sado's office, knocking on the doorframe. The fat little surgeon actually wasn't drunk for once, for which the other officer was grateful. He didn't think he could go through with this if he'd had to sober up the little bastard first.
“Wilder!” Sado greeted him cheerfully, pushing aside the paperwork he'd been going through and standing. “How can I help you? Need a little “spring water” pick-me-up from my personal supply?”
“No thanks, Doc.” Wilder shut and locked the door, then turned around again to face him again, drawing in a long breath as he came to full attention. “Doctor, I regret to report that I must consider myself mental unfit for duty.”
“Oh for heaven's sakes, Wilder. If you're still moping about that argument you had with Sandor yesterday, I'm sure he's forgotten all about it by now.”
“It's not that, Doc.” Wilder swallowed. “I'm seeing things, seeing people, that shouldn't be there.”
Doc Sado's expression turned serious. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk as he seated himself again. “Sit down, Wilder. What are you seeing?”
He sat, folding his hands across his lap. “People, crewman, out of the corner of my eye, or so far down the corridor they're almost out of sight. But dressed in the wrong uniforms, or at least not the right uniforms now.”
“What do you mean?”
“They're wearing uniforms of American sailors, from back when the Arizona was just a wet navy ship. But when I turn around to look at them and then they're gone.” Wilder rubbed his face. “Once, when we were under attack at Rainbow Point, I got knocked silly when I was running to the hanger bay when we took a bad hit. I woke up a couple of seconds later and started running again, but the corridor was painted battleship gray and made of steel instead of plastic composite. Then I blinked and it was back to normal.”
“What do you think it means, Wilder?” Sado asked after moment's pause.
“I think it means I'm going nuts,” he answered. “I'm not fit for duty anyway. What if I start seeing Japanese Zeros when I'm flying in combat?”
Sado folded his hands on the desk in front of him and spoke carefully. “Commander Wilder, let's put things in perspective. We are thousands of light years from home, further out than any human has ever ventured into space, flying in a starship constructed from the bones of a battleship sunk over two hundred years ago, defying an empire with thousands of their own starships to hunt us with, on a mission to get a piece of technology that even makes Sandor start muttering about magic, all on the promise of an alien woman who looks like the Blue Fairy from Pinocchio. Our captain is dying, our ship's surgeon is a lush, and we've got a robot that'll probably be the first computer to be hit with a sexual harassment suit. Oh, and if we fail, every single person still alive on the planet Earth dies. With that kind of pressure on all of us, I'd be a little more worried if you weren't seeing things.”
Wilder shook his head. “What if I see something that isn't there at the wrong time, and make a mistake that costs us the ship?”
“I don't think they'd let you,” Sado replied.
“Who wouldn't?”
“Your mysterious crewman. Your ghosts.”
Wilder stared at the doc for a second, wondering if he'd misjudged and Sado really was pie-eyed drunk right then. But no, the surgeon was as clear headed and sober as he'd ever seen him. Then again, maybe he needed to be tipsy to actually talk straight. “Doc, are you seriously suggesting that the Arizona is haunted?”
Sado was quiet for a long moment before answering. “Wilder, do you know the history of this ship?”
He shrugged. “Sure, it was sunk during the attack on Pearl Harbor.”
“That's just the bare facts. The truth is that over eleven hundred of her crew died when she was destroyed during a sneak attack. Since the day she had been built until the day she'd died over twenty years later, she never got the chance to fire her guns in anger. Her destruction was avenged a thousandfold four years after that, but that was little solace for the men who died aboard her in 1941. With all that pent up destiny surrounding her, is it any wonder that a few of her old crew stuck around to make sure we get to where we're going?”
Wilder continued to stare. “You don't really believe that, do you?”
“Doesn't matter what I believe, what matters is what you see. And I think what you're seeing is the spirits of those men, following along with us, helping achieve a victory they never got the chance to see themselves.” Sado smiled widely. “Or maybe you're just stressed out and tired, and could use a good drink. Care to join me?”
“No thanks, doc,” Wilder said, standing up.
“Fine then.” Sado grabbed a prescription pad and scribbled a note on it. “Give this to the corpsman outside and he'll give you something to help you sleep better.”
He sighed. “Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem. Oh, and Commander,” he called, as Wilder turned to go.
“What?” he asked, turning back.
“If it helps any, I've seen them too. And so has the captain. Make of that what you will.”
Wilder slipped into the Arizona's sickbay, looking around cautiously. A corpsman looked up from his computer and asked, “Can I help you, Commander?”
“Is Doc Sado sob--, er, around?” he asked.
The corpsman nodded. “He's in his office. Want me to get him for you, sir?”
“No, that's all right.” Wilder walked over to Sado's office, knocking on the doorframe. The fat little surgeon actually wasn't drunk for once, for which the other officer was grateful. He didn't think he could go through with this if he'd had to sober up the little bastard first.
“Wilder!” Sado greeted him cheerfully, pushing aside the paperwork he'd been going through and standing. “How can I help you? Need a little “spring water” pick-me-up from my personal supply?”
“No thanks, Doc.” Wilder shut and locked the door, then turned around again to face him again, drawing in a long breath as he came to full attention. “Doctor, I regret to report that I must consider myself mental unfit for duty.”
“Oh for heaven's sakes, Wilder. If you're still moping about that argument you had with Sandor yesterday, I'm sure he's forgotten all about it by now.”
“It's not that, Doc.” Wilder swallowed. “I'm seeing things, seeing people, that shouldn't be there.”
Doc Sado's expression turned serious. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk as he seated himself again. “Sit down, Wilder. What are you seeing?”
He sat, folding his hands across his lap. “People, crewman, out of the corner of my eye, or so far down the corridor they're almost out of sight. But dressed in the wrong uniforms, or at least not the right uniforms now.”
“What do you mean?”
“They're wearing uniforms of American sailors, from back when the Arizona was just a wet navy ship. But when I turn around to look at them and then they're gone.” Wilder rubbed his face. “Once, when we were under attack at Rainbow Point, I got knocked silly when I was running to the hanger bay when we took a bad hit. I woke up a couple of seconds later and started running again, but the corridor was painted battleship gray and made of steel instead of plastic composite. Then I blinked and it was back to normal.”
“What do you think it means, Wilder?” Sado asked after moment's pause.
“I think it means I'm going nuts,” he answered. “I'm not fit for duty anyway. What if I start seeing Japanese Zeros when I'm flying in combat?”
Sado folded his hands on the desk in front of him and spoke carefully. “Commander Wilder, let's put things in perspective. We are thousands of light years from home, further out than any human has ever ventured into space, flying in a starship constructed from the bones of a battleship sunk over two hundred years ago, defying an empire with thousands of their own starships to hunt us with, on a mission to get a piece of technology that even makes Sandor start muttering about magic, all on the promise of an alien woman who looks like the Blue Fairy from Pinocchio. Our captain is dying, our ship's surgeon is a lush, and we've got a robot that'll probably be the first computer to be hit with a sexual harassment suit. Oh, and if we fail, every single person still alive on the planet Earth dies. With that kind of pressure on all of us, I'd be a little more worried if you weren't seeing things.”
Wilder shook his head. “What if I see something that isn't there at the wrong time, and make a mistake that costs us the ship?”
“I don't think they'd let you,” Sado replied.
“Who wouldn't?”
“Your mysterious crewman. Your ghosts.”
Wilder stared at the doc for a second, wondering if he'd misjudged and Sado really was pie-eyed drunk right then. But no, the surgeon was as clear headed and sober as he'd ever seen him. Then again, maybe he needed to be tipsy to actually talk straight. “Doc, are you seriously suggesting that the Arizona is haunted?”
Sado was quiet for a long moment before answering. “Wilder, do you know the history of this ship?”
He shrugged. “Sure, it was sunk during the attack on Pearl Harbor.”
“That's just the bare facts. The truth is that over eleven hundred of her crew died when she was destroyed during a sneak attack. Since the day she had been built until the day she'd died over twenty years later, she never got the chance to fire her guns in anger. Her destruction was avenged a thousandfold four years after that, but that was little solace for the men who died aboard her in 1941. With all that pent up destiny surrounding her, is it any wonder that a few of her old crew stuck around to make sure we get to where we're going?”
Wilder continued to stare. “You don't really believe that, do you?”
“Doesn't matter what I believe, what matters is what you see. And I think what you're seeing is the spirits of those men, following along with us, helping achieve a victory they never got the chance to see themselves.” Sado smiled widely. “Or maybe you're just stressed out and tired, and could use a good drink. Care to join me?”
“No thanks, doc,” Wilder said, standing up.
“Fine then.” Sado grabbed a prescription pad and scribbled a note on it. “Give this to the corpsman outside and he'll give you something to help you sleep better.”
He sighed. “Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem. Oh, and Commander,” he called, as Wilder turned to go.
“What?” he asked, turning back.
“If it helps any, I've seen them too. And so has the captain. Make of that what you will.”
