Entanglements with the Enemy
Part Nine
Opening her eyes to the feeling of something cool pressed against her cheek, Alicia Noyce carefully looked around herself. Beside her sat Dr. Kristin Westphalen; she was holding the cold compress against her cheek. Beside her sat Tim O'Neill, who offered her a small smile as he saw her awaken. Miguel Ortiz sat next to O'Neill, his face expressionless as he met her eyes. In the back of the room, Lucas Wolenczak, Ben Krieg, and Katie Hitchcock sat quietly talking. Ben saw her looking their way and began to nervously tap his foot--or, at least, Alicia thought he certainly looked to be nervous as he shuffled restlessly beside Lucas and Katie. A few feet away, Captain Bridger paced the confines of their small prison. He saw her eyes focused on him and frowned, simply continuing to pace as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Several seconds later, Bridger's fingertips began dancing across the wall as he stared at it: simply stared at it, as if the gray wall would answer all his questions and solve all his problems.
Alicia laughed at this thought. Fat chance. Nothing short of a battering ram or a cauldron of boiling oil could take care of their problem: Captain John Stewart Brigg. And a huge problem he was going to be if they didn't do something quickly.
Bridger at last turned away from the wall and faced Alicia, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied her battered face. He absently ran a finger over his lower lip, then curled his fingers below the chin. His eyes were sharp onyxes when he finally said, "So . . . here you are, Captain Noyce. Here with us." He paused, then continued, "What brings you to our part of the ship?"
Alicia glanced around the room, looking for a kind face. The only non-hostile face in the entire party seemed to be Tim's, so she focused on him instead of Bridger. Nervously, she cleared her throat. "Because of the recent . . . difficulties . . . we've been experiencing, we ended up calling NAP for help. They sent the Apache after us to . . . recover the mission."
Bridger stared at her, visibly blanching at her information. His fist suddenly pounded into the wall behind him--hard. The absolute silence in the room was deafening. "The Apache? You can't be serious."
Alicia merely stared at him, eyebrows arched haughtily despite the bruises swelling her face.
For a moment, Bridger continued to stare, then he shook himself, as if from a bad dream. He narrowed his eyes. "That's Brigg's ship. Was Brigg the pleasant fellow who dumped you in here?"
Again, Alicia remained silent. She simply nodded.
"Damn," muttered Bridger as he continued his pacing. He shoved his hands behind his back, tightly clasping the hands together, the muscles tautly corded. For several silent seconds, he continued to pace, refusing to look at anyone in the room. Alicia shut her eyes, waiting for Bridger to accept the unacceptable: that Brigg was now their captor.
Her eyes snapped open as Bridger bent over her, roughly tilting her face up towards him. "You let Brigg do this? You let Brigg come aboard your ship?"
"And what was I supposed to do, Bridger? Tell him to take himself and his crew on a long journey through hell?" snapped Alicia, meeting his eyes with equal fury. "It wasn't as if I had much choice on this. We needed help; we requested it from NAP; Brigg came aboard. Believe me, I didn't roll out the carpet for the bastard."
"How did he take you, then? How did he manage to take you and your entire crew? Weren't you expecting something like this from him?"
Having heard enough of Bridger's outrageous accusations, Alicia pushed herself away from Kristin and faced Bridger with eyes blazing. She stood a good foot below Bridger, but her anger more than made up for the discrepancy. "Look, Bridger, I'm not the only captain here who's had their boat hijacked. So don't you dare ask me how I could let this happen!"
Bridger shook his head, then snapped, "You had more people. I had a handful. You can't even compare them."
"Yeah, and my crew has been hit pretty hard by a certain young man's inventions." She glanced at Lucas, who watched the conversation with interest, then looked back at Bridger. "Accept it: I was taken by surprise. I didn't expect Brigg to do this. Not even Brigg, Neanderthal-head though he is, hijacks NAP ships! It's like . . . like Ford hijacking the seaQuest!"
Bridger inhaled sharply, then nodded. He studied the floor for a moment, then looked back at her. "If Brigg is crazy enough to pull a stunt like this, what will he do with us? We're not exactly his comrades-in-arms." His frown lengthened as he looked at Lucas. It was obvious to Alicia what the Captain was remembering: the stare Brigg had knifed through Lucas earlier. She'd be worried, too, if she were Bridger.
"I don't know, Captain. It's hard to say with that man. He's unstable, at the best of times." She sighed, then settled to the floor as her head began throbbing. After a second's consideration, she admitted, "I'm not sure, but I think one of my men may have escaped. If so, we may have a chance . . ."
Eyes widening, Bridger began, "Who? Would they be able to . . ."
Even as Bridger's question slipped from his lips, the door hurled open, striking against the wall with a loud, intimidating crash. A figure strode in. Alicia placed a staying hand on Bridger's arm, her eyes keen, as she saw anger color Bridger's face.
Beside her, Alicia heard Doctor Westphalen curse softly.
It was Brigg.
And judging by both the crashing door and the callous twist to his lips, he was furious.
*****
Brigg moved all too quickly. Before Bridger could intercept his path, Brigg stormed to Lucas's side and grabbed the boy by the arm. Eyes wide and face white, Lucas was yanked from the floor and hauled away from his friends. Brigg's hands dug into the teen's shoulder like iron claws: controlling, omnipotent. A startled yelp tumbled from Lucas's lips as Brigg wrenched his good arm behind his back and started dragging him towards the door.
The yelp rapidly turned into a frightened "No!" as Ben leapt to his defense--and as Brigg pistol-whipped the lieutenant. Blood trickled down Ben's forehead as he slumped to the floor, his hands reaching frantically towards his head. Katie ran to his side, then stared at Brigg, venom in her gaze.
Brigg only smiled. The smile spread as he looked from Katie to Ben, a menacing, almost mad expression on his face. He chuckled. "Eldon! I think I may need your assistance after all." A wiry, unkempt man joined Brigg's side. He looked at Katie and Ben. "They seem unusually keen to leave this place. By all means, why don't we take them with Mr. Wolenczak!"
Bridger warily walked towards the Captain. He stopped beside Lucas, his eyes slipping to the youth's, trying to reassure Lucas that he would handle this mad captain--that he could handle this mad captain. Lucas breathed deeply, eyes icy blue globes against blanched skin. Fear struck from the blue depths of his eyes.
"Leave them here, Brigg. All of them."
Brigg's eyebrows rose several inches. After a second, a dark, cruel chuckle filled the silence. "Captain Bridger! What an amusing little thought." Abruptly, the chuckle died. Brigg stared at Bridger. "To think you believe you have a say in this, Bridger." Something suddenly seemed to amuse him, for he leaned towards Bridger, tugging Lucas's arm further behind his back and smiling as he heard Lucas choke back a moan. "Really, they must be feeding you Captains some great drugs back at UEO headquarters, eh, Bridger? Only a drug-crazed idiot would think he had a right to order his captor around."
Bridger ignored the man. "Let them go. Now."
Brigg tilted his head. Quickly, in almost a blur, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at the bleeding lieutenant. Bridger stared at him in amazement. "There's only one way they're staying here, Bridger. And that's after I've fired this into them. Is that better, Captain?"
Bridger would have given just about anything he owned to wipe the bastard's smirk from his face; as it was, though, he was stuck silently nodding his head. If he didn't, he had no doubt that Brigg would kill Ben, then Katie, then Lucas. And then probably all of them.
Bridger had heard of this nut case before. He knew what he was capable of. He also knew he couldn't take chances. Bridger was their captain: their lives depended on his ability to act carefully.
Even if it meant letting the jerk have his way.
But, God, his fingers ached to kill the man.
*****
Thirty minutes later, in a different part of the ship thoroughly separated from the prisoners, his body huddled over a tiny computer he'd managed to steal from the Ulysses' property room, Commander Dean Nelson stared at his screen. He stared at the images glaring back at him, video transmitting from his connection to the ship's communications network.
His eyes were horrified.
After a second of silent, speechless staring, Nelson leaned back. Momentarily, he forced his eyes away from the screen.
But though his eyes were no longer watching, he could still hear the screams.
He could still hear the pounding.
Brigg's sneering voice cut through the pounding, through the screams. Nelson heard that voice demand, "How did you do this to my ship? Answer me, boy: how did you destroy my ship?"
Ludicrously, Nelson focused on the man's words--on the completely irrelevant--as screams of pain followed Brigg's question. What could Brigg mean by my ship? With the screams playing in the background of his mind, shoved to the hidden corners of his brain to preserve what little was left of his sanity, Nelson pondered the question as systematically as he could. Had he misunderstood, perhaps?
More screams clawed at his awareness. Nelson pushed their knowledge away, refusing to identify them, to acknowledge them. He returned his mind to the question at hand: how could Brigg call the Ulysses "my ship"? The Apache was his ship, not the Ulysses . . .
More cries, more screams of agony . . .
God, when would the seaQuest get here . . .
The Apache was Brigg's, not . . . not . . . not . . .
Sharp, violent pain. Nelson's faltering shields ruptured, snapped. His eyes froze on the screen.
Brigg plunged a needle into the young man's arm. The needle was full of Diphorline-Pyroxine.
Nelson swallowed hard. Earlier, when they'd captured Lucas Wolenczak, he'd only used a quarter of the amount Brigg was using. And he'd been careful not to harm the young man. Without doubt, Nelson knew Brigg wouldn't be careful. The wretch wouldn't care if he hurt his prisoner. He simply wouldn't care.
Silence passed as the teenager struggled against the drug's effects. Nelson knew, however, that it was a losing battle. Diphorline-Pyroxine was strong. Eventually, Brigg would learn what he wanted to learn. Give it about an hour or two, and Lucas, though he fought as hard as could be, would rattle off anything Brigg asked for. Even if Alicia hadn't used it in this fashion, the drug had been designed for interrogation and torture.
Nelson shut his eyes for a moment, mentally silencing the pained cries Lucas was beginning to make. He blanked from his mind the angry shouts of Lieutenant Krieg and Commander Hitchcock as they stood by, helpless, chained to the bulkhead, utterly incapable of even comforting their friend. He ignored Brigg's dark questions, ignored the mad gleam in the Captain's eyes. He pushed it all away from his mind.
He focused inwardly, calmed himself.
His eyes then refocused on the screen. He squelched the anger that immediately burned within the pit of his stomach as he saw Lucas doubled over in pain, Brigg pulling his head up by the hair.
Calm. His fingers trembled as they moved across the keyboard. Keep calm. Lucas's sharp scream was abruptly erased from his computer as Nelson terminated the connection. Nelson was sure, though, that he could still hear the agonized cry whispering around him, a silent, haunting call. He plunged forward, fingers now flying comfortably across the keys.
A brief whirring . . . lights dimming, flickering.
The red emergency lights flashed. Sounds of confusion swarmed from outside the door: "What the hell happened? . . . I don't know, just went down . . . Power's out everywhere . . . Brigg'll be furious . . . The SOB who did this better run now . . . Brig'll have their balls for dinner . . ."
The voices drifted towards Nelson's hearing, but he ignored them. Right now, they were inconsequential.
His fingers continued to type.
He suddenly smiled. Thanks, kiddo, he thought silently, wishing that "kiddo" were with him right now rather than staring at the end of Brigg's fists. The electronic path Lucas had traveled to contact the seaQuest was still there; Lucas hadn't had the chance to erase it. Nelson figured the timing for the teen's capture must have been preordained. If he'd captured the boy any earlier, Lucas wouldn't have finished the pathway; if he'd captured him any later, Lucas would've erased the pathway. And Nelson wasn't so sure he'd be able to work such a pathway to the UEO by himself. He simply didn't have the codes to do it.
Quickly, he followed the pathway, then clicked *send*.
Seconds later, Commander Jonathon Ford's startled face appeared before his eyes. Ford blinked before snapping, "Who the hell are you?!"
At any other time, Nelson would have found the greeting humorous; however, today wasn't any other time. He glanced warily around himself, then looked back at Ford. The Commander had obviously followed Nelson's glance; his eyes were staring with interest at the darkened background and flashing red lights. Nelson simply replied, "I'm a friend. I'm also on the Ulysses."
Ford's eyes widened even further. He nodded after a second's thought. "Who are you? You're obviously not UEO."
That much was obvious. Nelson pushed his frustration to the back of his mind, trying to keep calm. "No, I'm not UEO. I'm NAP . . . or, at least, I was."
A second's pause passed between them. Finally, Ford asked, "Oh?"
"Yeah. Long story." Nelson glanced at the computer's clock, then winced. He didn't have time for this nonsense. "To make that long story short, the crew that originally hijacked the Ulysses has been hijacked. I'm part of the original crew."
Ford crossed his arms, eyebrows shooting towards the top of his forehead. "The hijackers have been hijacked?" At Nelson's nod, Ford shook his head. "That's absurd. Who would do it?"
"Absurd or not, it's obviously happened. Look around me." Ford did, his frown deepening, but he didn't say anything. He merely regarded Nelson with an inscrutable face. Nelson sighed in frustration. "Have you heard of Captain John Brigg before?" Ford's reaction told him enough: yes, Ford had heard of the man. Nelson explained, "He's the one who hijacked us. That, of course, would be inconsequential to you . . . except that he's interrogating your crewmembers."
Ford began to pace, dark thoughts obviously twisting in his mind. Whirling towards Nelson, he asked, his voice sharp, "How do I know this isn't some trap? How do I trust anything you say? I don't know you."
Nelson thought for a moment. Softly, he answered, "Lucas Wolenczak has been working on something called a vortex . . . actually, a renegade vortex." Though Ford clearly tried to hide his surprise, Nelson could easily see a flicker in the man's stony expression. He continued, "Your young genius used that vortex to cripple the ship. It worked--beautifully, in fact. We called NAP, and they sent in Brigg to help us. He then proceeded to hijack us. Right now, he's literally pounding into that genius scientist of yours to find out what he can about the renegade vortex. And, of course, being the bastard he is, Brigg is using Diphorline-Pyroxine. Is that enough to convince you, Commander? Hmm? If not, I don't have any other proof for you. I don't have time to gather proof."
Silence. Ford studied him. The moments ticked by before the Commander abruptly said, "Okay, Nelson. I believe you. For now." He paused, leaning into the screen. "But if you betray me . . . if you try anything . . . I'll attach you to the end of one of our torpedoes and launch you into the nearest rock. Got it?"
Swallowing, Nelson nodded. It was probably nicer than whatever Brigg would do to him. "Yeah, got it."
Ford nodded. "Do you know your coordinates right now?"
"Yeah. We're about 36.5 degrees south by 156.1 degrees east. That's where we were the last I checked."
With a brief nod, Ford looked at his charts. He looked back up. "We can be there in about thirty minutes. What's the status of the ship right now?"
Nelson actually smiled at this. "Crippled. The power's out. No lights, no engines: no anything. Communications are down, too, except for this line. I'll make sure all weapons are down, too, though they should be. The main computer's still down."
"Good." Ford briefly discussed something with a stocky man. According to his ID tag, the man was named Crocker. Ford turned back to him. "We'll have a full attack team with us when we reach the Ulysses. Again, about thirty minutes. Keep out of sight until then."
Though that was obvious, Nelson nodded obligingly anyway. He then cut the transmission, stowing away his computer as he prepared to check on the weapons systems.
With a last glance around himself, Nelson crept towards the door.
*****
Back on the seaQuest, a nightmare of activity bustled through the corridors. Red lights flashed through the gray halls as the crew was called to battlestations. Security personnel ran in several directions, dressed in full combat gear. MedBay checked over its supplies, looking at every piece of equipment that might be needed with hostages involved. The seaQuest itself swept along at 170 knots, speeding towards its destination.
Amidst the general rush and clamor, Chief Crocker briefed his staff on what might be expected once they managed to reach the Ulysses. As they all walked off to finish last minute preparations, he shook his head and muttered to himself, "Hijackers hijacking hijackers . . . What will happen next in this crazy world?"
Flinching, Crocker stopped himself the moment the words were out of his mouth. He certainly didn't need to tempt fate into answering his question with something even worse . . . it had done its damage already.