The door was unlocked. He found a light switch but it did nothing when he flipped it. In the darkness, he could see locked glass cabinets containing gauze and bandages. He tried the doors, hoping he might procure some industrial-grade painkillers, but they were all locked, and despite the chaos that seemed to have descended upon the Polaris, he was reluctant to break into them and violate the thin glass and tiny locks that guarded them.
He walked farther into the room and began opening drawers until he found a thick roll of gauze and a pair of scissors. He started to fumble with the gauze but dropped it, and it rolled across the floor.
As he bent over to pick it up, he heard movement from the corner, and he flinched just enough to avoid a massive blow. It hit him on the shoulder rather than on his head, where it likely would have cracked his skull.
He rolled onto his back and quickly kicked the implement out of his attacker’s hands — it was a small fire extinguisher. His attacker looked briefly like he wanted to say something, but Pete gave him no time. He sprang to his feet, punched his assailant quickly — twice in the kidneys — then threw him to the ground and put him in a merciless choke hold.
He felt the man tapping his arm, trying to speak. He let the pressure off his throat just enough.
“Pete…” he gasped. “It’s me… Doc Haggerty.”
The name was familiar enough that Pete let him go, but he threw him to the ground and stood up, still unsure if he was friend or foe. He felt the gun in his pocket and resolved to use it if necessary.
“Jesus,” he said, rubbing his throat. “You nearly killed me.” He started to get up, but thought better of it, and sat on the deck while Pete looked him over.
“Who are you?” he said.
The man chuckled at first, but then saw he was serious. “Jesus, Peter. I’m John Haggerty. Ship’s doctor. Your friend!”
Vague memories went through Pete’s mind as he looked him over: the dark beard, the intelligent eyes, the professorial glasses. He seemed familiar enough that he reached down to help the doctor to his feet. The doctor warily took his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry,” said Haggerty. “I didn’t know what else to do when the mutiny started, so I came back here to guard my little domain.”
Pete nodded. “Trying to fix this,” he said, pointing to the gash on his head.
The doctor looked at him quizzically, and then went to work, skillfully binding up his wound. He looked Pete closely in the eye as he worked. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Pete decided that the time had come to trust someone. And this was the ship’s doctor apparently — maybe he could help. He took a deep breath.
“I don’t remember anything,” he said. “I woke up in a stateroom with this cut on my head, and a gun in my hand.”
“A gun?”
Pete nodded, and hesitated. “I think I shot Ramirez.”
The doctor took a moment to take this in, watching Pete carefully as he did.
“You really don’t remember anything?”
Pete nodded.
“You could easily have some short-term amnesia — brought on by that blow to the head. Or, maybe, the trauma of killing your friend. Your memories will probably come back with time. And with rest.”
“How much of either of those am I likely to get?”
He nodded. “Good point.” He looked Pete over hard as he finished, snipping the tape that held the gauze in place. “So you don’t remember our orders? Your mission?”
“Nothing,” said Hamlin.
The doctor sighed and leaned heavily against the wall. “Where do I start? You came here a month ago, sealed orders in hand. When you showed the captain, he brought me in — thought I might be able to help, given the nature of the mission.”
“Which is?”
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
“I wouldn’t be asking you if I did.”
“You carry the fate of the Alliance — and maybe the whole world — on your shoulders.”
“And now I don’t remember a thing. Great.”
The doctor nodded grimly, and seemed ready to speak, when loud footsteps came down the passageway. Frank Holmes appeared at the door.
“You’re needed forward,” he said to Pete. He ignored the doctor. “Captain Moody wants us both in the wardroom, now.”
“What about me?” said the doctor.
Frank smirked. “She didn’t say anything about you. You can stay here.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Hamlin turned to Haggerty. “I guess I should go.”
He nodded in agreement. Just as Pete walked out, he stopped him. “Pete…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell anybody what you’ve told me. Trust no one.”
Pete nodded at that, and followed the sound of Frank’s footsteps ahead of him. As he did, a thought crossed his mind. Why would the captain assign a doctor to help me?
WELCOME ABOARD THE USS POLARIS
The USS Polaris is the first Polaris-class submarine, and the first ship to bear that name. She was named for the Polaris missile, the first submarine-launched nuclear missile, in honor of the contribution that weapon made to world peace during the Cold War.
The keel was laid on October 14, 2020, and the crew was formed in July 2023. On May 19, 2024, Irene Gilchrist, wife of the Honorable James Gilchrist, United States Representative from New York, christened the Polaris during launching ceremonies held in Groton, Connecticut.
Builders’ sea trials were conducted between February and April 2025. Each sea trial set a record for efficiency, and the ship was delivered sixty-eight days early.
On May 25, 2025, USS Polaris was commissioned at Naval Underwater Systems Center, New London, Connecticut.
The ship then commenced shakedown operations and underwent shipwide inspections. The crew completed a Demonstration and Shakedown Operation (DASO), and launched the ship’s first C-6 missile. In April 2026, the ship conducted its first strategic deterrent patrol.
In fall of 2028, the USS Polaris spearheaded a program to assist the community near its homeport in educating local schoolchildren on water-quality issues. “Water for Life,” as this program was christened, has become a landmark project involving local, county, and state agencies in a major cleanup of the area watershed.
On May 29, 2029, operational control of the USS Polaris was given to the Alliance, to aid in their mission of supporting democracy around the world.
CHAPTER SIX
Hamlin walked into the wardroom just behind Holmes. On the table was a pitcher of slightly gray-looking reconstituted milk and a dozen tiny boxes of cereal in a metal mixing bowl. Moody was waiting at the head of the table: the captain’s chair.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “We’ve got some time before we get to the degaussing range. Wanted to get a quick status update. Frank?”
“You’re looking at the entire crew. Not counting the doctor or the one locked in the escape trunk.”
“That’s it then? Three officers. And a doctor somewhere.” She inhaled deeply. “Well, it’ll be tough. The three of us can stay on the conn as much as possible. Use the automated systems when we can. We don’t have much choice. Autopilot is driving us now, seems like that’s working at least.”