The Iceberg

 Lieutenant Florence Franklin pulled back the hood of her parka as she returned to the bridge from the observation deck to report to Captain Katrina Townsend. "I know this is going to sound crazy, Captain." She paused. "There's something on that iceberg off the port bow."

The USCGI Archimedes had been provisioned for a three month mission to the Labrador Sea, to monitor the end of the Arctic Ice Cap in real time as it - and ultimately the planet - succumbed to global climate change. Dozens of icebergs calved from the ice shelf each month over the summer of 2070. The fracturing of the polar ice cap slowed over the winter and into the spring of 2071, but it did not stop. The Archimedes and other ships like it that comprised the survey fleet were linked to satellites, collecting and streaming data detailing the end of the world, or perhaps, as Captain Townsend liked to believe, the beginning of a new world. Her mother had believed that where there's life, there's always hope. Perhaps hope - or the memory of hope - was all she had left but she would hold onto it as long as she could.

"Put it on the big screen," Captain Townsend said to Ensign Emmy Locke. "Max zoom."

"There!" Franklin said, pointing to the blurry, black object on the ice.

"Is that the best we can do, Locke?" Townsend asked.

"Trying, Captain," Locke responded. Her hands moved over the touchscreen, rapidly tapping, swiping and pinching to bring the image into focus. 

"That's better," Townsend noted as the object became more distinct.

"Could that be a seal, maybe?" Franklin asked.

"In 2071?" Townsend responded. "That would be rather remarkable."

"There's no heat signature, Captain," Locke said, "for whatever that's worth."

"A dead seal?" Franklin asked.

Both women reflexively took a half step back from the video screen.

"I think your dead seal just rolled over," Townsend said. She tapped the comms button on the big screen. "Helm, come to course two nine zero, all ahead slow." Townsend turned to Franklin. "We can't take the Archimedes too much closer. Prep the launch and take two crewmen with you. Let's find out what this is, all right?"

"Captain?" Locke asked. Townsend followed her eyes back to the video screen. "Is that a man?"

The figure on the ice was clear enough now to see that it was indeed a man. He stood up and as they watched, he looked in the direction of the Archimedes. He waved his arms over his head.

"Permission to carry, Captain?" Franklin asked as she watched the figure of a man on the video screen. "As a precautionary measure."

"Right," Townsend said. "Granted. Sidearms only. Take Jackson and Bush. Corpsman Bush is the closest thing to a doctor that we have on board."

"And Jackson is the closest thing to a monkey that we have on board," Franklin noted.

"I should reprimand you for that comparison," Townsend said.

"Because it's unfair to the monkeys?" Franklin asked.

Townsend stifled a smile. "Yes," Townsend said, wondering if there was some subtext to Franklin's playful jibe. "I hope I don't need to remind you of the directives regarding fraternization between officers and enlisted men, Lieutenant Franklin."

Locke snickered. "Fraternization."

"Stow that noise, Ensign," Townsend said.

"Aye, Captain," Locke said.

"You can trust me, Captain," Franklin said. "And I promise. No further references to monkeys." She looked at Locke and daggers flew from her eyes. "Or fraternization."

Townsend was well aware of the fact that the crew referred to her, Franklin and Locke as the sea witches. And occasionally as a word that rhymes with witches. She was willing to cut the crew - and Lieutenant Franklin, in this case - a little slack. It isn't easy sitting in the front row for the end of the world. The darkness of the arctic winter, uninterrupted save for a few gauzy hours of sunlight each day, provided an uneasy reminder of the metaphorical darkness that lay ahead. Still, Townsend demanded the respect due the insignia on her collar as any ship captain would. She also enjoyed the subtext. She knew very well that sometimes, ship captain or not, it's better to be feared.

Townsend hoped that Franklin wouldn't need Jackson - the six foot tall, 180 pound man-monkey who had boxed light heavyweight for the Academy - but luck, as the saying went, was the residue of preparation. She returned her attention to the video screen. "Why are you still on my bridge, Lieutenant Franklin?"

"Aye, Captain!" Franklin snapped a salute and left the bridge.

"What do we know about this particular iceberg, Locke?" Townsend asked.

Locke focused on the flatscreen display at her workstation. "Let's see. Designated I-7102-108. Calved just a few days ago, February 23rd. Point of origin estimated at 64 West, 84 North."

"Geomagnetic North?" Townsend asked.

"Well, yeah," Locke answered. "If this was 1871."

"Contact Fleet Command," Townsend said. "See if there's been any report of a man overboard."

"But, Captain Townsend," Locke began.

"I know, Ensign Locke," Townsend said. "We would've received notification - should've received notification - but check anyway. And let them know we've picked up-" Townsend took a deep breath. A what? A survivor? Of what? "-a man, apparently alive, on Iceberg I-7102-108."

Townsend watched as the launch made its way to the iceberg and took the man aboard the launch. They wrapped him up in mylar blankets, and returned to the Archimedes. How had it come to be that a man would be found on a 200-year old chunk of ice in the Labrador Sea? She resisted the conclusion that there was, in fact, no logical explanation.

The notification icon flashed on the big screen and the comms alert whistled. Franklin's face appeared on screen. "We've got him in sick bay, Captain."

*****

Townsend spoke with Franklin and Corpsman Herbie Bush in the passageway outside of sickbay. The Captain looked at the man sitting on the exam bed. "He looks pretty good for a man who was found on an iceberg."

"He looks really good for a man without a pulse," Bush said.

"No pulse?" Townsend asked.

"No pulse," Bush confirmed.

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm not a doctor but that is impossible, isn't it? Could it just be - I don't know - hypothermia?" Townsend asked. 

"His blood pressure is zero over zero," Bush said.

Townsend took a deep breath. She noticed Franklin staring at the man as if in a trance. "Franklin? Franklin!"

"Yes, Captain," Franklin answered.

"Are you okay?" Townsend asked.

"I'm fine, Captain," Franklin said, "It's just-" Her gaze returned to the man in sickbay. "It's just that, I don't know but there's something about him."

"Or nothing," Corpsman Bush said. "As in zero over zero."

"All right," Townsend said. "Where's Jackson?"

"He went to the galley to bring back some food," Franklin said, nodding to the man in sickbay. "He said he wasn't hungry."

"But you know Jackson," Bush said. "He claimed he missed breakfast."

"He is a growing boy," Townsend noted. "What do we know about this guy? Other than his less than vital vitals?" she asked.

"Nothing," Franklin answered. "He said he wanted to talk to you. To the captain. I think he may think you're a man. He kept using the term 'ship's master'."

Townsend's spine stiffened reflexively. She turned an icy gaze on the stranger in sickbay. 

"I don't think it's misogyny," Franklin quickly continued. "I mean, he just feels like an old soul."

"An old soul?" Townsend said.

"Well, his clothes are about a century out of style," Bush said.

Petty Officer Third Class Drew Jackson entered the passageway with the tray of food he'd brought back from the galley.

"I'll take that, Jackson," Townsend said. "Remain on station here."

"Aye, Captain," Jackson said. Townsend noted that Jackson still had his sidearm. If it came to that, she hoped his fists would be enough.

"Franklin, take the bridge and keep an eye on things," Townsend said.

"Understood, Captain," Franklin said.

"Corpsman, come along with me," Townsend said, and entered sickbay.

The man was pale as a corpse yet his blue eyes seemed animated by a light from within. His facial features - nose, cheekbones, and chin - were well defined and in perfect proportions. His hair was long and an ebony black. His clothing appeared antique, as if it had been assembled from yard sales and second-hand stores, yet still seemed fashionable. Franklin had been right, Townsend thought, there's definitely a presence to this man.

He smiled, revealing a flawless set of pearl white teeth, framed by his thin bluish lips. 

"Thank you, but as I told the other sailor, I'm really not hungry," the man said. "I appreciate the gesture but you may as well return it to the galley."

Townsend set the tray down on the desk in the corner. "I'll just leave it here. In case you change your mind."

"If you insist," the man said. "I don't mean to appear ungrateful, but, as I told this kind young man and the others who so heroically rescued me - and I am and will be forever grateful for that - I'd really like to talk to the ship's master, please."

"I'm Captain Katrina Townsend," she said, thinking she had placed just the right amount of emphasis on the word captain.

The man stood and gave a quick bow. "Captain! I'm so pleased to meet you! I am Harker Burke. As you see, a poor soul figuratively and literally adrift in life, and forever in your debt. Though my prospects may not seem terribly bright at the moment, it is a debt I hope to one day repay tenfold." Harker glanced at Corpsman Bush then and back to Captain Townsend. "I wonder if we might speak privately, Captain Townsend."

"Did you get any breakfast, Corpsman Bush?" Townsend nodded at the tray of food. "A shame to let that food go to waste."

"Thanks, Captain," Bush said. He took the tray of food and left sickbay.

On the bridge, Lieutenant Franklin and Ensign Locke had put the video feed from sickbay up on the big screen.

"I'm coming up empty on the name Harker Burke," Locke said, working the keyboard. "I took a screen grab of his face but facial recognition will take some time."

"Carry on, Ensign Locke," Franklin said as she turned her attention back to the video screen.

"Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself, Mr. Burke," Townsend said.

"Would you mind, Captain," the man said, "if you could let me know where I am and how I came to be so lucky as to have a ship find me under these very trying circumstances? And please. Call me Harker."

Townsend fought back against an impulse - compulsion? - to answer his question. "This is a military vessel, Mr. Burke."

"Are we at war, Captain?" Harker asked.

Townsend resisted the impulse to answer his question. The ship's status was an irrelevant detail, perhaps, and anyone with a passing familiarity with current events would've known the answer. She couldn't afford to let him reverse their roles in what she sensed this man knew very well was an interrogation.

"Where are you from, Mr. Burke?" Townsend asked. "Do you have family you'd like us to contact? To let them know you've been found?"

"I hadn't thought of myself as being lost," Harker said. "But no. I have no living relatives."

"You weren't lost?" Townsend said. "Marooned? Left for dead?"

Harker smiled. "Left for dead," he said. "A curious turn of phrase, though I suppose it applies in my case."

"So, you were left for dead, Mr. Burke?" Townsend asked.

"As a strict matter of semantics, I must answer in the affirmative, Captain. Are you sure you won't call me Harker?"

"Semantics? How long have you been on the ice, Mr. Burke, and how did you get there?" Townsend asked.

"Does any of that really matter, Katrina?" Harker asked.

Townsend took a moment to compose herself. "I will ask you to address me as Captain Townsend, Mr. Burke."

"My apologies, Captain Townsend," Harker said. "I meant no disrespect. I only hoped to encourage you to call me Harker."

Was this some magician's trick? Some incantation; a hypnotic spell he was attempting to cast? "Are you sure your name isn't Rumpelstiltskin?" Townsend asked.

Harker laughed. "Well played, Captain. An excellent reference. Quite on point, really."

"How long have you been on the ice, Mr. Burke, and how did you get there?" Townsend repeated.

"Very well, Captain," Harker Burke replied, sitting down on the bunk again. "Since you insist. As anyone who has lived a full life, a life that in my case occasionally violated the bonds of accepted social contracts, I have secured the friendship of many and suffered the enmity of a few, the latter leading me to meet your acquaintance today. I was living in Boston when my story begins, enjoying the rewards of a life sustained by a sizable inheritance and the best education my father's money could buy, as well as his connections in the most exclusive of social circles. Was the affair with the beautiful and melancholy Mrs. Beatrix Cooper wrong? I hesitate to judge myself but if the crime was love then I must admit to my unrepentant guilt. Mr. Abraham Cooper, a brevet captain of industry, saw the beautiful Beatrix as little more than chatel. But marriage is a contract and Beatrix was undeniably in breach and I was undeniably the party of the second part. He sought a punishment predating Old Testament justice for my transgression. I would never again know the warmth of human contact. Mr. Cooper and his henchmen took me by surprise, bound and gagged me, and carried me away to the North. By my best reckoning, we traveled for ten days by train, by carriage, and then by horse, the last three days by dogsled onto the arctic ice. Their plans to abandon me there - to leave me for dead - was unable to sustain an encounter with a crevasse which swallowed our party whole; Mr. Cooper, his three accomplices, the sled, seven dogs, and of course, your gentle correspondent. The ice closed in above us and we were trapped. To survive, I had no choice in the matter. I killed them. And I ate them." 

"You killed them?" Townsend asked.

"As I said, I had no choice, Captain," Harker said. "Surely, you can see that."

"And you ate them?" Townsend asked.

"To survive. Mr. Cooper was unsurprisingly disagreeable, but survival is the first order of business for any living organism," Harker said.

"How did you prepare them?" Townsend asked.

Harker smiled. "Tartare," he answered.

"You ate them raw," Townsend said.

"I don't have to tell you how scarce firewood is in these parts, Captain," Harker said.

"Four men and seven dogs," Townsend said. "I suppose that explains why you aren't hungry?"

"You don't believe me, Captain," Harker said, his smile growing broader and somehow, Townsend thought, conveying an implicit threat. "I'm disappointed."

"But not surprised," Townsend said, standing. "Jackson!"

Jackson stepped into sickbay, "Aye, Captain."

"Escort our guest, Mr. Burke, to the visitor's cabin," Townsend said.

"Aye, aye," Jackson said, snapping a salute.

Harker Burke stood up and said, "May I thank you again, Captain, for rescuing me and for your kind hospitality."

"I will need to ask you to remain in the visitor's cabin except with my permission and unless accompanied by a member of the crew. I hope you understand," Townsend said.

"Of course, Captain," Harker said. "But if you don't mind, may I ask, when do you next plan to make landfall? I have affairs to attend to. In Boston."

"The Archimedes will be at sea for another 21 days, Mr. Burke," Townsend said, "but I will see if other arrangements can be made."

"Thank you, Captain - Arrangements that won't involve dog sleds, I hope," Harker said with a smile.

Townsend turned to Jackson, "Remain on station after delivering Mr. Burke to the visitor's quarters. I'll arrange to have you relieved at 1600 hours."

"Aye, Captain," Jackson said.

*****

"You got all of that?" Townsend asked as she entered the bridge.

"You mean all that crazy?" Ensign Locke asked. "Yeah, we got that. My compliments, Captain. I'm not sure I could've kept a straight face."

"Why, thank you, Ensign Locke," Townsend said. "Any other trenchant observations you'd care to share?"

"I, um," Locke began. "Yes, Captain. I mean, no, Captain. I've yet to find any record of a Harker Burke. Nothing in DOD, FBI, Interpol, Facebook, or Cambridge databases. Nothing from facial recognition so far. Without fingerprints, I'm not sure what else I can do."

"He refused breakfast," Townsend noted. "So far, he seems to have avoided touching anything since coming aboard."

"Captain," Locke said. "There hasn't been rail service from Boston to anywhere in Canada since 2059, but then, nothing in his story makes any sense. I mean, dog sleds? Seriously?"

"Eyes on the visitor's quarters, Lieutenant?" Townsend asked.

"Aye, Captain," Franklin answered. She nodded to Locke who tapped the screen at her workstation. There on the large video screen they could see Harker Burke seated on the bunk, sitting perfectly still. "How long has he been like that?"

"He hasn't moved since he sat down on the bunk. He hasn't even blinked," Locke said.

"Captain," Franklin said. "What if Harker is telling the truth?"

"Harker, Lieutenant Franklin?" Townsend said. 

"Mr. Burke," Franklin said.

"Is there anything Mr. Burke told you that I need to know, Lieutenant?" Townsend asked, her eyes never leaving the motionless figure on the video screen. "Let me rephrase that. Tell me everything Mr. Burke said on the way back to the Archimedes." 

"Nothing, Captain," Franklin insisted. "Not really. I mean, he kept thanking us, told us how grateful he was, but really, that was it."

"Captain," Locke interrupted, "I've got Fleet Command."

"On screen, Ensign Locke," Townsend said.

The image of the Archimedes' unplanned passenger was replaced by the commander of the survey fleet, Rear Admiral Norman Warring. Warring's face was a living, blue-eyed, square-jawed recruiting poster for young men who longed to die heroically on land, sea, or air.

"Captain Townsend," Warring said. "Good to see you again."

"Likewise, Admiral Warring," Townsend replied.

"I've seen the reports on the survivor you rescued from I-7102-108. It's unusual, to say the least," Warring said.

"Yes, Admiral," Townsend said. To say the very least, she thought.

"I hate unusual," Warring said. "The most recent information I have is about 30 minutes old; anything new to report, Captain Townsend?"

"He identified himself as Harker Burke. He claimed his predicament was the result of an illicit affair with the wrong man's wife. According to Mr. Burke, they intended to leave him on the arctic ice to die but the entire party fell victim to a crevasse and much like Ishmael, he alone survived to tell the tale. Unlike Ishmael, he claims to have killed and eaten his kidnappers and their dogs in order to survive. We'll be sending over the video files from the interrogation," Townsend said.

"Dogs?" Warring asked.

"Mr. Burke claims the last leg of his fateful journey was made by dog sled," Townsend said.

Warring paused, considering Townsend's summary. "Did I mention how much I hate unusual?" he said. "Let me ask you one more question, Captain. Do you believe him?"

"No, Admiral. I do not," Townsend said. "He's clearly hiding something, but-"

"But?" Warring asked.

"There is no logical explanation for his presence on the ice," Townsend said. "The clothing he's wearing appears to be tailored and expensive and perhaps they'd be considered fashionable if we were living in the late 19th century. Not to mention-"

"No detectable heartbeat," Warring said.

Townsend drew in a breath, surprised at her shock in hearing the unspoken question in his words, words - and their underlying apprehension - not unlike her own just an hour before. In her mind's eye, she had eliminated the impossible, and the truth that remained wasn't just improbable. It was insane. "Yes sir," was the best she could muster.

Warring considered the printout in his hands. "No disrespect to Corpsman Jackson but he's not a doctor and the Archimedes is not a hospital ship. Human error or equipment failure seem likely explanations." His gaze returned to the camera. "Still, it is unusual and you know how I feel about that. I'm sending the USS Nicholson to pick up your passenger. ETA 1800 hours. They'll be approaching from the southwest. They should be there soon. Thank you, Captain Townsend."

"Thank you, Admiral Warring," Townsend said, but Warring had already closed the connection from his end and the screen went dark grey.

"Give me the visitor's quarters, Ensign Locke," Townsend said.

"Captain," Locke said, looking up from her workstation to the large video screen, "That is the visitor's quarters."

Townsend checked and saw that Franklin still had her sidearm. Despite her doubts about Franklin's loyalties and the spell she feared the man - the thing - they had taken on board had cast upon his second in command, she decided to trust that Franklin would follow orders and do whatever was necessary.

"Come with me, Lieutenant," Townsend said. "Ensign Locke, contact Fleet Command and give them a sitrep. Tell them our passenger has gone missing. And see if you can raise the Nicholson. Tell them to standby until further notice."

*****

Townsend and Franklin moved quickly but quietly down the passageway to the visitor's quarters. Jackson was not at his post.

"Jackson!" Townsend shouted.

"He's in here." It was Harker Burke's voice from within the visitor's quarters.

Townsend nodded and Franklin stepped quickly through the open door, weapon drawn, with the Captain close behind her.

Burke was seated on the bunk as before, with Jackson's body lying on the floor in front of him.

"Apparently, I was hungry after all, Captain," Harker said. He looked at Franklin and said, "It's all right, Lieutenant, you can lower your weapon."

To Townsend's dismay, Franklin immediately complied. Snatching the gun from Franklin's hand, Townsend said, "I'll take that," and drew down on Burke.

"Captain!" Franklin said, shaken from the enchantment Burke had cast upon her.

"He isn't dead, Captain," Harker said.

Without taking the gun off Burke she knelt down to check on Jackson. She noticed the wounds on his neck as she checked for and found a faint pulse. "Franklin! Get Corpsman Bush and enough help to get Jackson to sickbay."

"Captain? Are you-" Franklin began.

"Now, Lieutenant!" Townsend commanded as she stood, the weapon still trained upon the creature seated on the bunk.

"Aye, Captain," Franklin said and left.

"Your sailor, Jackson, I believe you called him? He'll live. Forever as it turns out," Harker said.

"I know what you are," Townsend said.

"Do you, Captain?" Harker said.

"You're an abomination," Townsend said.

"I'm an abomination?" Harker said with a grin. "Human beings are a plague upon this earth. You think you've killed this planet, but you have only killed yourselves. Well, not all of you, which is the good news as far as I am concerned. I could live off cattle and the like in a pinch but…" he sighed and looked at Jackson. "I prefer the filet mignon. The young man has delectably low body fat content. Where was I? Oh yes. As you can see, I only wish to live in harmony with the world, taking only what I need, while the insatiable, ignorant avarice of human beings strips the planet of its essence, its life force; the  air, the water, the very things that sustain their lives. So, Captain, which one of us is truly the monster?" Harker paused but Townsend refused to take the bait. "I suspected you knew my true identity during our delightful conversation earlier. You're very bright, though I suppose that would be a given based on your rank and command of a ship of the line. Not nearly so bright as you are beautiful, if I may be so bold," Harker said.

Townsend smiled. "Nice try, Mr. Burke. But I've heard better lines in seaport dive bars."

"Bars? Surely you don't have to frequent saloons for companionship," Harker said. "A woman of your character and intelligence."

"You can pretend to know me," Townsend said. "But you don't. And you won't."

Burke smiled. "I know this world is ending. It's almost Biblical, if you think about it. The melting ice and the rising seas. A great flood, to wash away the sins and sinners of the old world. Unlike so many others, Captain Townsend, I know you do not see it as an ending, but a beginning. A renewal, perhaps. The night before the dawn of a new world."

"Shooting you may not kill you but it might shut you up for a while," Townsend said.

Burke smiled. "You're far more strong-willed than Florence. Not that she wouldn't make a delightful amuse-bouche."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Townsend said.

"On the contrary, Captain," Harker said. "I'm intrigued. You could be the queen of that new world, Katrina. My queen," Harker said.

"It's Captain Townsend, Mr. Burke," Townsend said, flicking the safety on the Beretta M9 off.

"It is exceedingly difficult to kill that which is already dead, Katrina," Harker said. "Two hundred years under the ice couldn't do it. Do you think you can do it with a bullet?"

"How about 15 bullets, Mr. Burke?" Townsend said.

Jackson began to stir, groaning as he attempted to roll over.

"You may want to save 4 or 5 of those bullets for Jackson, here. He's quite a large and strong man. A challenge even for me," Burke said. "It will only slow him down, of course."

If she emptied the clip, could she take Burke's head completely off? She wondered.

"I'm just thinking out loud here, Katrina," Burke said. "But, if you could manage to kill me, how exactly would you explain it? What was your justification in killing the poor soul you rescued from the ice? Could you risk the truth? Would the US Navy ever entrust an officer with command who professed that a vampire, a creature taken from the pages of popular fiction, tried to take command of their ship? Your career would be over, wouldn't it?" He smiled.

Captain Townsend returned Burke's smile and then her smile was gone as her face became still and serious. "I tried to tell you, Mr. Burke."

Captain Townsend fired once, putting the bullet literally right between the eyes. She noted with some satisfaction the look of surprise on Harker Burke's face as the first bullet struck home. His mouth opened to speak but before he could utter another word she emptied the clip, spraying the bulkhead wall with blood, hair, bones and brains, leaving Harker Burke with a bloody stump where his head used to be. His body remained seated on the bunk for a few seconds, then collapsed onto the floor.

"You don't know me," Townsend said.

Jackson, shocked to consciousness by the explosion of gunfire, had drawn himself into the fetal position. "What the hell?" 

"Captain!" It was Lieutenant Franklin with Corpsman Bush and three crewmen clattering down the passageway. Townsend stepped into the passageway. 

"We heard shots," Franklin said. "Are you okay?"

"Shots?" Jackson said, pulling himself up onto his knees. "More like a firefight."

"I'm fine, Lieutenant," Townsend said. "Corpsman, see about getting Petty Officer Jackson to sickbay. He's lost some blood but I think he's otherwise okay." If the lore was to be believed, Townsend reasoned, Jackson would be fine now that his maker was dead. "Probably best to keep him under around the clock observation for the next 48 hours." Just in case, Townsend thought.

Corpsman Bush helped Jackson to his feet. "That'll be all," Townsend said. She nodded to the three crewmen. "You can return to your duty stations." 

After the men had left, Townsend noted Franklin staring at the headless body on the floor. "Are you all right, Lieutenant?"

Before Franklin could answer, the body changed, dissolving into a fine dust. The blood, bones, hair, and brains fell from the bulkhead wall into a thin line of dust on the bunk. 

"I'm good, Captain," Franklin said.

Townsend handed the empty Beretta to Franklin. "I believe it's safe to return this to the armory, now, Franklin."

Franklin took the weapon and holstered it. "Captain, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. I, well, that is, there's no excuse-"

"Stow it, Franklin," Townsend said. "Extenuating circumstances." 

"Aye, Captain," Franklin said. "Thank you, Captain."

Townsend took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Lieutenant."

"Yes, Captain?"

"I may need some help on the after action report for this one," Townsend said.

"May I suggest man overboard?" Franklin said.

Townsend considered the dusty clothing on the floor. "Naked man overboard," she said.

"He was clearly insane, Captain," Franklin said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Townsend said. "Have Ensign Locke contact Fleet Command."

"Aye, aye, Captain."