* READ AUTHOR'S NOTE *: some elements have been changed from canonical tradition. For example, Lucas Wolenczak graduated from Stanford with an M.S. in Artificial Intelligence, as well as a subject concentration in physics/mathematics. Some dates may appear suspiciously outside canon. In addition, because of the Non-Allied Powers (situated in a place called "Dominia," another element outside the seaQuest canon), this work can be seen as an Alternative Universe piece.
* NOTE ON SCIENTIFIC (DIS)REALITY *: Unfortunately, I'm not Steven Hawking when it comes to the sciences. There may be some content in this section (particularly surrounding the creation of a certain renegade vortex) that are absurdly nonrealistic. I'd encourage a dose of "suspension of disbelief."
Rating: PG-13, rated as such because of some adult themes and language.
Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn
Entanglements with the Enemy
Part Six
It was somewhat humiliating to call for help . . .
Alicia paused mid-thought, then sighed. Euphemism, though comforting, certainly didn't squeeze someone out of a touchy situation.
So, rephrased, the comment went as follows: it was damned humiliating to plead for help. Especially when that help would likely come at the hands of no other captain than Brigg.
She hated Captain Brigg.
It'd all happened some three years ago when Alicia'd first "migrated" to the Non-Allied Powers. At the time--understandably--she'd been quite the catch. Daughter of Admiral Noyce, fleet captain of the Defender (the most powerful submarine with the exception of the seaQuest), she'd joined NAP with quite the honors parade. NAP had outfitted her with their top submarine, the Hellion . . . the ship Brigg had aimed at since his induction into NAP's forces two years before hers. And he'd been furious, of course. Alicia understood his anger, his fury. He had an excellent record; he was always ready for combat; he was a superb strategist. She, on the other hand--at least in his eyes--was only a UEO fleet captain in the first place because of her father, Admiral Noyce; she was only a captain in NAP's forces, too, because of her infamous treachery against that very same father. According to Brigg, she had no skill for battle, and even less brains for command.
Alicia, however, knew the truth: she was good at her job, and she needed no one's help to advance in the ranks.
She just bloody well wished Brigg weren't here to see her fall flat on her face because a child--a genius, no less--had sneaked behind her back and blown up half her ship. The Ulysses would have been NAP's prize catch; she likely would have been its captain. Would have been, though, were empty words when the elusive prize simply slipped right through her fingers.
Or should she say blew right through her fingers?
Damn. She was going to have to face that smug, conceited, half-witted fool of a captain. And she was going to have to do it smiling.
Smiling. Yeah, right. She'd just as soon put a bullet through Brigg's fat head than smile at him . . . though she might just put a bullet through his fat head with a smile upon her face.
Speaking of bullets . . . she truly worried what Brigg would do to her prisoners. He was ruthless, cunning: cruel. She had no doubt his tactics would be equally inhumane . . . particularly with the boy. Though she wasn't a humanitarian by any stretch of the imagination, she also wasn't a sadist; she couldn't see hurting a fifteen year-old child who just happened to use his brains in the wrong place at the wrong time. She would've been proud to accomplish a tenth of what he'd done under the same circumstances, especially at his age. However, she doubted Brigg would see it her way. And, Lord, this worried her.
But the Apache was on its way even now, as was its captain. She really had no choice, for Lucas had left her with none. The Ulysses was her enemy's crème-de-la-crème of ships, and she was hijacking it . . . or, well, she'd been trying to hijack it before Lucas and his little "vortex run amuck" had whirled into her life. Naturally, that enemy would do just about anything to regain possession of the ship. She was stuck on this stupid boat until she could either be "rescued" by Brigg or captured by the UEO . . . though she seriously wondered which would be the worst fate.
However, at the rate her luck was going, the boat would sink like the bloody Titanic before she saw Brigg or any UEO personnel, for it was leaking at the seams.
And, to top off her already perfectly hellish day, Commander Nelson had informed her of two very dire omens: one, Lucas had been captured outside main engineering, right by a communications console; and two, a signal had somehow bounced off their heavy communications security grid to the seaQuest . . . which could only mean that Lucas, the devil himself of wizardly techniques and miracles, had somehow, some way managed to link up with the seaQuest before his capture. Thus, obviously, the seaQuest knew the Ulysses had been hijacked and, equally likely, all ships even marginally equipped for a submarine hunt were even now prowling her way, the seaQuest included. Nice.
She wondered what she could've done in a previous existence to deserve this.
Again, her thoughts returned to the problem at hand: Brigg. If it'd been any other captain, she'd have been perfectly comfortable with his "rescuing" her; however, with Brigg, she was frightened to death for Lucas's welfare. He was a child, damn it; a child! She couldn't let good old John hurt him.
But what on earth was she to do, truly?
With a sigh, Alicia sat back in the chair: her chair. The captain's chair. This was her responsibility, her command. Though Brigg was rescuing her and her crew and her prisoners, though they'd be on his boat among his crew, they'd still be one thing: hers. She'd be damned if she were going to let a petty imbecile like Brigg take over her people--if she were going to let him dictate her decisions to her. And that included her decisions regarding certain prisoners; they were hers and hers alone.
Quietly, she set her pistol to heavy stun--then, considering the nature of her opposition--she set it to kill. It was a terrible feeling, this: setting a pistol to kill against your own people. That it should be necessary simply to do what was right her. To be forced to kill simply to protect an innocent, to be forced to consider such an action against what should have been her comrade . . . it was unthinkable. Why had NAP promoted Brigg in the first place? Did they not understand that placing him in a position of control, in a position of power, was dangerous--was, indeed, tackling a storm of fire? Why had NAP overlooked Brigg's dementia when the UEO had years ago refused him a command? In fact, she remembered that Brigg had even been expelled from the UEO Armed Services . . . expelled! And the UEO by no means had a highly rigorous qualification system for command when it came to psychological weaknesses; if an officer was brilliant on the high seas, they were perfectly willing to overlook any "psychological idiosyncrasies." That the UEO had expelled him was enough evidence of psychological impairment to warrant extreme concern. NAP forces never should have let him set one foot into command shoes. Never.
It was madness. Plain, simple madness.
Or greed--greed for power, for acquisition, for political and military prestige.
Disturbed, Alicia sighed. Somewhere out there, out in that expanse of freezing waters she loved to travel upon (or call home), was Brigg. He was heading towards her even now.
There was no doubt in her mind. Trouble lay ahead: deep, intense, shattering trouble.