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. Why? Don't ask . . . you don't want to know the convoluted logic behind that idea! :) Some dates may appear suspiciously outside canon.
This is a "pre-seaQuest" story.
Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn
Entanglements with the Enemy
Part Two
Bridger sat rigidly on the floor, hands cuffed before him. They were on the Ulysses' bridge, staring at each other in shock. As of yet, their captors had said nothing to them but "Move" or "Stay still." Nothing had been mentioned of why they were on board the Ulysses, or of what they planned to do with their hostages. They hadn't even questioned Nathan on anything: on crew, on weapons, on computers, on engines. Nothing at all.
As far as he could tell, there were eleven of them on the bridge itself—all fully armed, all fully organized and systematic in their handling of the ship. The Ulysses wasn't running any more than it had been moments earlier, but Nathan wondered if they knew how to operate the ship. The very thought frightened the hell out of him. If these were members of the Non-Allied Powers, the renegade power in international politics, they could have no purpose in stealing this ship but to engage in warfare. They'd been threatening war against the UEO for months now. With the UEO's most technologically advanced ship in their fleet, Nathan knew the Non-Allied Powers would have an excellent chance at maiming or destroying the UEO.
A red-haired, hazel-eyed woman suddenly entered the bridge, and Nathan watched curiously as their captors stood at peak attention. She looked to be about thirty or so, small strands of gray peppering her otherwise fiery hair. Briefly, she spoke in soft tones to the men and women around her. Then she proceeded directly to the captives.
Well, if he knew anything, he knew this was the leader of their captors.
She looked immediately at him. "Captain Bridger. I see the rumors are true. You like to play with wires and fuses. Such habits can get you into trouble."
Bridger rose one eyebrow. "I have found knowing my ship to be a habit most necessary for command."
She nodded. "Of course. So have I." She then looked at the rest of his small crew, smiling slightly. "Lieutenant O'Neill. Lieutenant Krieg. Lieutenant Commander Hitchcock. Doctor Westphalen. Chief Ortiz." She paced back and forth in front of the hostages, then abruptly halted once more in front of the captain. "I see we are missing one of your crew. Who?"
Bridger looked from one face to another, stupidly examining his crew—as if he wasn't quite sure who he was missing. "Hmmm . . . O'Neill. Hitchcock. Ortiz. Westphalen. O'Neill. Ah. We must be missing Krieg. I don't see him here."
The leader's voice snapped at him, "Don't play the fool, captain. You're not generally known as an idiot."
Bridger shrugged. "We're missing crewman Orson. He took off like a stag as soon as he saw the guns. Wise decision on his part."
Briefly, the lady turned to a tall, blond-haired, gray eyed, unevenly bearded accomplice at her side. After a moment's conversation, the man typed something into a computer resting beside him, then abruptly laughed. He gestured mockingly at the screen.
The leader turned back to Bridger. "Orson seems to be the seaQuest's cook, captain. I'm sure you didn't have any need to haul a cook with you for this little mission of yours. I'm especially sure of this considering the 'food' you were just moments ago eating. Hardly what you'd eat if you had a genuine cook on board."
Bridger shrugged. He had plenty of lies to go through before the truth could be guessed. In fact, he had about two-hundred twenty-five lies to go through: every name of every crewmember on the seaQuest. Lucas's name wouldn't pass his lips. "I'd have to agree. Maybe I should fire him for his cooking. What do you think?"
She simply turned to her assistant. "Nelson, take them to the holding cell. Keep them there. Be sure they get plenty of real food . . . not the garbage their dear UEO provided for them." She glanced back at them, then at Nelson. "And run a database search. Look for a crewman with blond hair. That much was seen before he disappeared."
Inwardly, Bridger winced. That narrowed the possibilities considerably.
"Also look for someone with an engineering background. That seems most likely."
At this, Bridger had to hide a smug smile. Not quite right on that one.
"Scan the officers first. He'll most likely be one of them."
Wrong again, fire-head, Nathan thought. Just keep on thinking along that track.
She looked at the captain, trying to judge his reaction to her statements. She then smiled slightly. "By the way, I'm Alicia Noyce. How is my father lately, captain?"
At the casual mention of her name, Nathan stared in shock. Alicia Noyce? Little Alicia, who he'd watched growing up? Alicia doing this? He shook his head, refusing to believe what she'd said. But the eyes . . . they were definitely her mother's eyes. As was the hair. What the hell had happened between Bill and Alicia? What had driven Alicia to the other side?
Seeing his startled, disbelieving look, Alicia gestured for Nelson to take them to their quarters. She watched them leave, smiling somewhat wickedly as Nathan turned in his tracks and outright stared at her.
But then there was still the matter of that one missing crewmember. If she knew her father's best friend, Bridger wouldn't divulge the person's name if the very devil himself came to collect his soul. So . . . well, they'd just have to find him themselves, wouldn't they?
Excited, she turned to her work. Things were going splendidly. She had the best ship made on the face of the planet, she had excellent hostages, and she had an outstanding crew. They'd oust the UEO before the UEO even knew what had hit them.
Then she'd talk to her father and convince him of the error of his ways. And Bridger and O'Neill and Krieg and Hitchcock and Westphalen and Ortiz and whoever the missing crewman was . . . she'd convince each and every one of them that the UEO was too powerful for its own good. It was in need of some good old-fashioned iconoclasting.
But now, there was work to be done.
*****
The "holding cell" was actually the ship's brig, an immense room converted to hold more than fifteen hostages relatively comfortably. There were cots and blankets and extra clothes. Food was stock-piled for them in a small refrigerator: apples, oranges, chicken, turkey, synthetic ham and synthetic beef. There was even a stereo with soft, calming music playing. They'd been listening to the same disc for over five hours.
Lieutentant Ben Krieg, however, wanted to take that damned disc and shove it up their captor's . . .
Frustrated, he slammed his fist into the wall. Damn! He felt completely useless. Like a bunch of idiots, they'd let themselves be captured while Lucas—young, untrained Lucas—had managed to escape.
God, Lucas was out there by himself.
The very thought frightened the hell out of Ben. Especially given the firepower their captors were using.
He caught Bridger's worried, equally frustrated glance, then forced himself to look away. It did no one a bit of good if he lost his cool. It didn't help them get out of this hell-hole. It didn't help them contact the seaQuest for help. And it certainly didn't help Lucas. He circled the room, trying valiantly but unsuccessfully to ease his nerves.
Lucas: out there alone.
The very thought rankled.
Minutes later, his face red with anger, Krieg decided it was time to hit the wall again before he hit one of his comrades instead. In frustration, Ben found a nicely sized, solid-looking wall panel to pound with his anger. But as he hit the wall panel, Krieg was amazed—no, flabbergasted—when the panel abruptly began to glow. He stared, backing away from it slowly, as if afraid that it'd suck him into its core.
Bridger suddenly stood beside him, staring at the panel with equal amazement. Carefully, he touched the panel—then literally jumped back as he heard a soft voice.
"Captain?" The voice was fuzzy, diffuse. It focused a bit more, as did the panel. Nathan could see a dim outline in the panel: blond hair, slim shoulders, dark background. He blinked quickly, not believing what he was seeing. Metal panels didn't just begin glowing out of nowhere. Nor did they speak in the voice of one of his crewmembers. "Captain? Are you there? It's me. I'm trying to get this monster of a communications system to make sense, but this may be the best I'll get it to do for awhile . . ."
The voice disappeared for a moment, then returned. "Sorry about that. Technology for you . . ."
Finally, Bridger shook his head, as if to shake it of cobwebs. He frowned darkly. This was unbelievable. He'd never seen anything like this. Hell, he'd never even imagined anything like this. "Lucas? Where the hell are you? And what, for heaven's sake, what are you doing talking on a damned metal panel?"
A soft laugh was heard, and the picture cleared just enough for Nathan to see a smile on the boy's face. He also saw one hell of a large bandage wrapped around Lucas's head. Nathan's disbelief rapidly changed to concern. He quickly demanded, "Lucas, what happened to your head? Were you shot?"
But the teen shook his head. "No . . . at least, I don't think so. I'm not exactly sure, but I think I hit my head when I rammed my way through an instrument panel. I was so focused on getting out of the Mess Hall that I didn't even notice it for awhile." Lucas paused, looking carefully at each of them as the group of captives gathered around their captain. He continued, "Sir, I've made a few jumps into the communications system here. It's amazing, too: I've never seen anything like it. Every room on this ship has a metal panel capable of communications, almost like a camouflaged viewscreen or something. I'm not sure how they rigged it, but . . . well, it obviously works. I'll need to fine-tune it, of course, but . . ."
Lucas paused, inhaling deeply.
"Sir, I can keep in contact with you almost anywhere they move you. I just have to figure out the exact communications grid for the ship. I've also figured out a few more kinks in the computer system. My next stop is the ionizer." Lucas quickly glanced around himself, then said, "I have a plan, sir. It's not the best of plans, but it's the best I can come up with." He paused hesitantly. This was going to be the hard part.
"Sir, I'm going to play saboteur."
Bridger's face practically blazed with shock. Nathan leaned in to the panel, pointing his finger at the boy, his finger trembling slightly. Violently, he shook his head. "No! You will not! Do you hear me, Lucas? You will not play saboteur. You won't even consider it. It is too dangerous. These people will likely shoot first and then ask questions later. You can't do this. Do you understand me?"
Silence met Bridger's ears, and he watched as his young computer scientist, his young physicist, slowly shook his head. Nathan listened in complete disbelief as Lucas, after a moment's hesitation, said softly, "I understand you, sir, but I will not sit here uselessly as this ship floats towards the Non-Allied Powers' headquarters. They've plotted a course for Dominia, sir. If I don't do something now, this ship will reach enemy waters."
"The ship isn't even working, Lucas! No one can run the stupid thing!"
"Sir, they're working on that little problem even as we speak. And with quite a bit more success than we had. I'm thinking the engine problem is actually a result of their previous sabotage. Probably right before the Ulysses was supposed to leave port." Lucas watched as fear registered on his comrades' faces, then he looked back at Nathan. "I don't know what else to do, sir. I can't free you. They have seven men in front of the hatch, sometimes up to ten. But I can't sit here and watch them cart this ship off to Dominia, either. I have to do something. If you have any better ideas, I'm listening. Otherwise, I don't see any choice."
Nathan felt all eyes on him, but especially Lucas's. Finally, he shook his head. As the moments ticked by, he shook his head with more determination. He then looked at Lucas. "No. You will not do this. The best thing for you to do right now is to turn yourself in. That way, at least, they won't kill you at first sight."
Again, silence: heavy, heavy silence. Lucas slowly glanced at the ceiling, at the floor, and then back at his captain. He, too, shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do that. Not with the mess . . ."
"Lucas Daniel Wolenczak, you will do exactly as I say! This is not a request; this is an order. An order given by your captain!"
Flatly, Lucas replied without a blink, "No. Sir, I do understand the penalty for direct disobedience. In this case, I must accept the consequences. I didn't expect you to agree on this."
"You'd better damn well bet I won't agree on this!" Nathan snapped, furiously pacing in front of the metal panel. He glared at the boy, wishing to strangle him right then and there. "And do you truly understand the penalty for disobedience, Lucas? Do you even begin to understand what you're getting yourself into?"
Leaning into the panel, Lucas held Nathan's gaze in his own. He swallowed hard, frightened to death but feeling—no, knowing—he was right. "Captain, I would never disobey you if I didn't think the order was unreasonable. But in this, I think you're on left field, sir . . ."
"Left field? You think I'm on left field!"
"Yes!" Lucas answered forcefully, trying to ignore the panic he heard in Nathan's voice. God, he hated doing this to his captain. "Captain, you're not thinking. You're worried about my age instead. You're thinking as my friend, not as my captain. Damn it, sir, let me continue!" He snapped as Bridger tried to interrupt; surprised, the captain remained silent. "If I were anyone else, you'd not only permit my 'mission,' but you'd encourage it. If I were Ben or Tim or Miguel or Katie or Kristin, you'd understand that I'm right; you'd understand that I'm doing what must be done. Sir, for heaven's sake, I may be fifteen, but I am not a child. In this, at least, I know what must be done.
"The facts of the case are simple. You've been captured. You have a crewmember who managed to escape capture. You have an incredibly advanced ship being taken by the enemy. There is only one choice; logic suggests it. You need a saboteur, and I'm it. I have the scientific expertise to throw this boat upside down. I'm free enough to do it. It's my job, it's my duty as a member of this crew, to do what I can. And frankly, sir, we don't have any choice."
As the captain stared at him speechlessly, his conscience obviously fighting him, Lucas gently added, "I'll be as careful as I can. And I'll keep an eye out for where they keep you. They may decide to move you when the fires begin. I may be able to free you, with any luck." He looked away for a moment, then said softly, "Remember once, sir, you told me that we must act according to our beliefs, according to what we want others to remember us by? That's how I have to act now. I believe this is simply what must be done. If we don't stop this ship from reaching Dominia, people—innocent people—will die. I don't believe I have a choice. My conscience says so." Lucas suddenly glanced at his watch, then back at them. "The Big Bang is about to begin. I've got to go, sir. I'll keep in touch."
With that, Lucas's face disappeared from the screen.
As a group, they stared in amazement at the screen—then turned to Bridger.
As if someone had punched him in the face, Nathan stared at the now-empty screen—at the innocent-looking metal panel. Belatedly, he reached his right hand out to the screen, wanting to touch the boy who'd only minutes ago been on that screen, wanting to say something, anything, to him before he vanished. He wanted to say, if necessary, the good-bye he'd never had the chance to say to Robert or Carol. But the words, as before, went unsaid, unspoken.