Disclaimer: This is an amateur work meant in no way to infringe upon the rights of Amblin Entertainment or the Sci-Fi Channel. Lucas Wolenczak, Nathan Bridger, seaQuest, etc., are all the sole property of Amblin Entertainment and its cohorts in Hollywood. The Non-Allied Powers are my responsibility alone *sigh*> . . .
All musical lyrics belong to the fantastic work of Journey, one of my favorite bands. Most of it came from their most recent album, Trial by Fire. No disrespect (at all) is meant by inclusion into this work of fanfiction.
AUTHOR'S NOTE*: Rating: PG-13, rated as such because of some adult themes and language. This work is not meant for anyone under the age of 13--or for anyone who finds some discussion of sexual content uncomfortable. This is not explicit; however, the implications of eroticism exist.
Regarding Canon: This work is rather bizarre in its subject matter. It is certainly a product of my deranged mind! There are several instances of "canon violation" herein. The city "Crystannia" is also my own bizarre invention!
Consider this piece a lark, a digression, a distraction, etc. :) And a really, really, really strange one at that!
Okay, now that the boring stuff has been said, let the fun begin!
Prepare as you descend imagine Twilight Zone music eerily playing in the background . . .> into the Strange Zone . . . :)
Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn
Contentions
Part Four
Angrily, Lucas glared at the computer screen.And he continued to glare, refusing either to look up or to acknowledge any comments directed his way. Hell, none of the comments required acknowledgement. Or, at least, they sure didn't in his scheme of the universe.
Bridger, however, wasn't abiding by Lucas's scheme of the universe--neither were Dr. Westphalen, Ben, or Miguel. This, of course, was typical. Lucas was used to it by now. So . . . Lucas stubbornly continued his silent appraisal of the computer screen, trying to ignore any and all outrageous and absurd accusations flung his way. Damn it, if anyone had the right to be upset, it was him. They had ruined his evening. They had barged in on him and Chienna, no invitations extended, no real apologies made. They had just intruded their unwanted noses into his private business. But who was being accused? Him, naturally.
If sex wasn't a tremendously private affair . . . what was, anyway?
In Lucas's scheme of the universe, who you had sex with was your own business. In Lucas's scheme of the universe, how old you were when you had sex was also your own business--as was the age of your partner. However, it seemed nothing ran according to his ideas. Not only were Bridger, Westphalen, Ben, and Miguel furious with him for even considering the notion of sex at all, but they were also insisting on knowing the answers to all the above questions!
Sulking, Lucas decided that no, it was really none of their business and yes, he was seriously pissed off . . . but there didn't seem to be any way to keep them from poking their noses into his private life. It was frustrating. It was infuriating. It was absurd. But he was also fifteen, and he supposed a measure of absurdity was simply normal for his age.
Of course, no one had ever told him that a measure meant a freaking heap of it.
"Lucas Daniel Wolenczak, are you listening to me?" Kristin Westphalen was asking, and Lucas grimaced. In less than one hour, they had deteriorated from sympathetically calling him "dear child" to scoldingly tagging him by his full name: "Lucas Daniel Wolenczak." That was never a good sign. When the full name was used, that meant trouble. Big trouble, usually. "Will you explain to us why you deliberately set out to hide all this from us? Please, now--we're waiting to hear what could possibly be so important that you obfuscated the truth."
Obfuscated? Leave it to Kristin to use such a fancy term; she was probably trying to give him a headache. With an inward groan, Lucas merely continued to stare at the computer screen, watching as numbers and equations slid across its surface. Gads, he hated adults sometimes. They were a test on his stomach--either they were like Ben, who made him nauseated with his insistent whining . . . or they were like Kristin or Nathan, who gave him indigestion with their insistent demands. And they never seemed able to decide what they wanted him to be: an adult capable of solving any and every problem possible under the ozone layer, or a child incapable of doing anything but getting into trouble and generally wreaking havoc. If they could just decide which Lucas Daniel Wolenczak they wanted, for heaven's sake, he might be able to give it to them. But as it currently was, it was impossible! He couldn't be two contradictory forces at the same time. He couldn't be both the brilliant computer scientist-innovator and the impudent whelp at their nearest convenience, at their nearest whim. It was enough to give anyone schizophrenia!
Kristin growled angrily, now tapping her toes. However, she politely stored her argument for future use as Nathan swooped in for the prey (figuratively speaking): "Lucas, you are sulking like a little child. And sulking will not get you out of this one, young man!"
Lucas was more than tempted to stick his tongue out at the captain, but--quite intelligently--he refrained from any such activity, realizing that sticking his tongue out would only make matters worse. Instead, he decided to turn his gaze from the computer to his shoes, obnoxiously (or so he hoped) playing with the shoe strings even as Bridger paced to and fro. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of interest about his shoes, so, eventually, he again ended up looking at the computer instead.
Bridger was still ranting and raving when he at last tuned into the conversation once more: ". . . on the seaQuest for six months and you haven't once . . ."
Great. Bridger was still harping on the same topic. The captain couldn't quite seem to get past the fact that Lucas hadn't told them about Quest. Lucas wondered if the real problem wasn't as much that he hadn't told them, but that he hadn't told him, specifically. Secretly, he suspected that was the case. If he guessed the truth correctly, Bridger was just upset because he hadn't been let in on the secret before everyone else.
Well, at least they were now off the sex issue. He could do without another "birds and bees" lecture from Kristin, another "I-never-before-eighteen" lecture from Bridger, another "be sure to use a sturdy condom" lecture from Ben, or (though admittedly the most humorous of the bunch) another "when and where" lecture from Miguel. God, it was enough to make him want to crawl under a rock. He was just grateful they seemed to be more interested in talking about Quest right now than how many hickies he had on his throat.
". . . And speaking of the seaQuest, what were you planning to do about those damned bites on your neck?"
Lucas could have sworn Bridger was a mind reader; that was the only possible explanation. Slouching further into his seat, Lucas scowled, now staring at his fingernails between frustrated nibbles. He should have known the subject of hickies would return sooner or later.
Bridger continued his monologue: "What are people going to think, hmm? What are they going to think with you marching around with a set of bites like that?"
Well, if they paid attention to their own business, then we wouldn't need to worry about an explanation, now would we? Lucas asked himself sarcastically. But people on the seaQuest paying attention to their own business instead of his was about as likely as the moon turning bright purple with yellow and green polka dots . . . in other words, an event not likely to occur in a million years. Inwardly, he groaned, wishing this parody of a conversation would just end.
". . . the chief computer analyst of the UEO's flagship just doesn't . . ."
Rolling his eyes, Lucas started counting square roots backwards from a million. That should give him something to do for at least a few hours. With Bridger on the warpath, such a distraction was always a good idea. And this looked to be a mighty long and arduous warpath, indeed.
". . . and didn't you have your homework to finish?"
Lucas's head snapped up at this, and he openly stared. He was truly amazed. Had he heard correctly?
Seeing that he had at last caught Lucas's full attention, Bridger grinned wickedly, tapping Lucas's nose. He sauntered over to Lucas's side, then sat down with a huge smile. "After that last prank you pulled a week ago or so, I called one of your old professors and asked him to e-mail me some of the most difficult and complex math problems he had ever encountered. I figured, should you decide to pull yet another prank, I'd have a bit of extra work to keep you busy: kind of as incentive to behave in the future. Anyhow, he sent me some real beauties . . . with pleasure, I might add. Of course, since I couldn't solve these math problems in half a million years if I wanted to, I also asked him to review your answers. He said he'd be more than happy to check them over after you're done. So when we get back to the seaQuest, you're going to have your work cut out for you, my dear boy."
Ah, just grand. He supposed this was Bridger's way of saying he was grounded. At least it wasn't some impossibly tedious "homework," such as engineering specs or something . . .
"And then I also have some work for you to do for me . . . something a little more along my line of interest."
Oh, God. The man was psychic. Truly.
"I had some design specs I wanted you to go over for the forward bulwark. It'll take a little climbing behind instrument panels, but you're more than familiar with them." That, of course, was a dig at his meandering through the intricate labyrinth of panels onboard the Ulysses. "And did I mention . . . you're also grounded?"
Hell. The UEO's Psychic Foundation should study Bridger. The man was a true wonder. Lucas always pondered: was he just so easy to read, or did Bridger just have a gift for guessing exactly what he was thinking at any given moment?
"Goodness, Lucas," Bridger continued, amused, "you're awfully quiet today. Something wrong? Cat got your tongue?"
From up front, supposedly piloting their shuttle instead of eavesdropping, Miguel shouted, "That or Chienna does, captain . . ."
About then, Lucas could have died and gone to hell--faced Lucifer himself, in fact--and been quite happy. Anything seemed better than the look crossing Bridger's face. And Miguel was supposed to be his friend? With a mental snort, Lucas thought, some friend.
"Speaking of Chienna, Lucas . . . exactly how far did the two of you go?"
Ah . . . so it was back to the Grand Inquisition at last. He'd been wondering when they'd return to the infernal sex discussion. Lucas heard this question and truly wished for a quick, one-way trip into hell right then and there. Devils with pitch forks sounded a hell of a lot better than this (no pun intended, of course). He'd take being slowly roasted over an open flame any day to the intense eyes Grand Inquisitor Bridger was studying him with at that precise moment in time. While he supposed it was the captain's duty to ask, both as captain and as dubious friend, it certainly didn't make the Grand Inquisition any easier.
He shot Bridger an annoyed, disgruntled look. "None of your business . . . sir."
Bridger hurumphed, tilting Lucas's chin towards him. "None of my business, eh?" He repeated, snorting. In exasperation, he rolled his eyes. "It's very much my business, young man! You, if you don't remember, happen to be a member of my crew. That makes this my business. And damn it, Lucas, you are my responsibility. I can't just ignore the law!"
Stubbornly, Lucas refused to answer. He simply stared at the wall in front of him, wishing he could plant a nicely sized apple in Bridger's mouth. He wondered if anyone would notice if Miguel suddenly fell overboard one of these days . . .
Slowly, Bridger sighed. He cleared his throat. "Lucas. Stop this. Answer the question: how far did the two of you go?" As Lucas remained silent, refusing to look at him, Bridger finally said, "I can find out. But it would be best for you to simply tell us."
Lucas blinked at this. He looked at Bridger, confusion in his eyes.
Bridger glanced at Kristin, whose expression was as amazed as Lucas's, before continuing. "Lucas, there are exams that can be done to ascertain exactly . . ."
Lucas's eyes flashed up at him. "I understand your meaning, sir. I am not a fool." The teen's voice was harsh, angered--colder than Bridger had heard before. Inwardly, he winced. "However, what I don't understand is why. I once had thought you were my friend, sir. But this--interest of yours makes me think this can't be true."
"It's not simply prurient interest, Lucas," Bridger said softly. He sighed, forcing Lucas to look at him. The anger he saw in the Lucas's eyes was daunting. "I need to know because you are under my command. You are my responsibility. I also need to know in case there are legal ramifications."
"The only 'legal ramifications' that could occur from this would be if you--you, sir--disclosed what happened. I would certainly hope that you wouldn't do that." Lucas looked his captain over, then exploded, "Damn it, sir, what do you want me to do? Tell you everything that happened, every detail? Don't I get some privacy, too?"
Nathan floundered, knowing he had to discover the truth--for Lucas was his responsibility--but not knowing how to show the truth to Lucas. But, to his surprise, Kristin stepped in. "Lucas, legal exposure of this could come through Chienna, through Section Seven, through leaks in Quest's public relations office . . . who knows what. We don't even know if Section Seven taped your evening with Chienna. Simply put, Lucas, we need to know." At Lucas's surprised expression, she nodded. "It could be serious, and we need to know exactly what happened."
She inhaled deeply, then added, "And, medically, Lucas . . . if there is anything wrong with Chienna . . . if she carries anything . . ."
He stared at her in open shock. "She isn't a whore, for heaven's sake!"
Bridger saved Kristin the frustration of replying. "Lucas, she's twenty-nine years old. She has certainly . . . known other men." Bridger paused, seeing Lucas's eyes glaring at him. "You, of course, don't present the same problem for her. For your sake, if you two did go all the way, Lucas, we would want to make sure she wasn't carrying anything."
Bridger noticed that Lucas truly looked about to cringe to death right on the spot. Finally, though, Lucas said through clenched teeth, "We did not, sir. Is that fairly certain enough for you? Is there anything else you need to know? Perhaps a . . ."
Kristin asked softly, "No oral intercourse, Lucas?"
"No!" he snapped angrily, eyes narrowing. "I'm afraid the two of us didn't get the chance--thanks to you. But, of course, you're probably worried about the love bites that I noticed everyone looking at earlier. Perhaps they sometimes fester, and you're worried about that happening? Well, by all means, allow me to count each and every one of them for you so you can track them. It's not like I need any privacy or anything . . ."
"Lucas . . ." Nathan began.
"As for nudity, yes--there was some of that. I suppose you guessed that, but I'll tell you anyway. I'm certain you'll ask sooner or later. There was the bedroom. Then the jacuzzi. We were nude, yes. You're probably afraid I caught something from that, but it was limited exposure. Who took whose clothes off? Let me see . . ."
Suddenly, Nathan squeezed Lucas against him, hugging him hard even as the teen whacked at him angrily with his fists. But Lucas pulled away from him, actually shoving his elbow in Nathan's chest and leaping as far from the captain as possible. As Nathan suddenly became conscious that they were docking at the seaQuest docking bay, Lucas moved towards the entrance, tears streaming unfelt down his cheeks.
The shuttle opened, and Lucas sprang out. Suddenly, though, he turned back to his startled friends, who were just moving towards the door at a slow pace. They had never seen Lucas this angry--and they had never seen him hit Bridger.
Shaking violently, Lucas shook his head. His eyes froze on the captain, burning and angry. "You came to . . . stop statutory rape, you say." Lucas swallowed hard, more tears trailing down his cheeks. He absently brushed them away, then snapped, "But the only rape that happened today was what you just did to me. All of you. I have never felt so violated in my life."
He turned, then added, once more facing them--not even noticing their stunned expressions. "I'll be filing my papers to leave as soon as possible. You can get yourself another computer analyst."
With that, he dashed away from them, leaving them in complete silence.
*****
Agonized, Nathan stood in front of Lucas's quarters.
The response was exactly the same as it had been for the past three hours: "Get lost, Bridger."
Lucas's door was now locked. He'd fulfilled his promise to file his termination paperwork the second he'd reached his room, zooming it straight off to Admiral Noyce. Admiral Noyce, of course, had immediately called Bridger, wondering what the hell was happening. Lucas had then relayed several untraceable communications to God knew where about God knew what, and had then remained firmly bunkered within his quarters.
This wasn't a prank. Bridger knew it. Noyce had relayed in no uncertain terms that Bridger was to solve whatever problem was going on, and as soon as possible. Bridger would be held personally responsible if the UEO lost the most brilliant computer scientist it had ever worked with; Lucas Wolenczak, so Noyce explained, was the pride of the navy. He was irreplaceable. And Bridger damned well better not blow it with him.
Bridger didn't need Noyce to know that Lucas was irreplaceable. He didn't need anyone to tell him that. He already knew it all too well.
Inhaling deeply, Bridger entered the code overriding Lucas's lock. The door clicked open, and he peeked in.
Lucas's hot, angry blue eyes were on him. The teen himself was standing in front of his desk, a large pile of strange computer devices stacked in front of him. He was wrapping them with paper, carefully stacking them together in what looked like the preparatory stages of packing. With a loud thunk, Lucas slapped one object down on the stack and went back to work, turning his back on the captain and thoroughly ignoring him. Flippers stared at the entire process from the aquatubes, rather confusedly shaking his dolphin head.
Sighing heavily, Bridger approached Lucas, sitting carefully beside several piles of clothing strewn rather haphazardly across Lucas's bunk. Lucas kept his back to him, continuing to pack his equipment, the only sign that he even knew of Bridger's existence being the occasional slammed object against the desk. Bridger cleared his throat. "Lucas, please--talk to me."
Silence. Then, Lucas finally mumbled, "I have nothing to say to you, captain."
Bridger winced at the teen's cold, rigid tone. "Was I wrong, then, in caring for your well-being, Lucas?" he asked softly, trying to catch Lucas's attention. "Was I wrong in wanting to protect you from Section Seven? Was I wrong in being worried for your health?"
Again, an object slammed against the desk.
"Lucas . . . I'm sorry if I hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted to do. It was the last thing I had in mind when I came to get you." He sighed, staring at Lucas's back. Though he was still purportedly ignoring him, Bridger saw that Lucas had stopped wrapping computer equipment--that he was standing motionless, his shoulders tense. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Lucas. Please . . . just talk to me."
"What? So you can ask me more questions--questions that leave me feeling dirty and . . . somehow soiled?" Lucas asked at last, turning slowly and looking at Nathan. "You shamed me, captain. You were . . . perverse in your questioning. You hurt me."
Nathan sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I know, Lucas. I just--I had to ask those questions. You're part of my crew. If I hadn't asked, I wouldn't have been fulfilling my duties as captain of this ship." He paused, then added, "I also was worried about you. I didn't want to see you hurt."
Silence. Lucas slowly sat down in his desk chair, not looking at Bridger, but--from what Nathan could see--also not ignoring him. The captain tried a new strategy: "If you were in my shoes, Lucas, what would you have done? What could I have done to keep from hurting you?"
For a moment, Lucas was silent. He then pushed a long strand of hair out of his eyes. "I--sir, I wouldn't have asked in front of my friends. I didn't want Ben and Mig to hear that--conversation." He looked up. "It was a private conversation. It should have been between us, not . . . where everyone could hear."
Nathan was silent, realizing that Lucas had a good point; he wouldn't have wanted his best friends to hear a conversation like that, either.
Lucas paused, then continued, "Maybe, too, you could have believed me, captain." Lucas met Bridger's eyes, refusing to let him look away. "I would have thought I'd earned your trust, sir. I said we didn't go past nudity, but you didn't believe me."
Bridger was silent, not knowing what to say. Lucas was right, and the thought struck: he should have trusted Lucas. But he hadn't.
Finally, Lucas exhaled sharply. After a moment, the teen sighed. Bridger could slowly feel the charged atmosphere in the room dissolving. Lucas fidgeted for a moment, pulling at threads in the chair, before he added, "I know you see me as a kid, sir. In a lot of ways, I am." Lucas suddenly smiled. "Just ask Ben . . . though I'm not sure which of us is the worst."
The smile gradually slipped as Lucas returned to the topic. "But I'm also . . . who I am, what I am. I'm computer analyst here on seaQuest. I'm the designer of the vortex that almost destroyed the Ulysses. And I live on a ship of adults--I live in a purely adult world."
There was a second or two of silence where Bridger almost thought he could hear the ticking of his own watch. Lucas then continued, "The point is I'm not a kid, sir. I'm old enough to know the consequences of--what I do. I know enough for you to trust me when I say we didn't go too far."
Slowly, thoughtfully, Bridger nodded; he rubbed a hand absently over his chin. He cleared his throat. "You're right, Lucas; I was wrong on that. I should have listened to you rather than blustering around like an old fool." He saw a slight smile playing on Lucas's face, then added, "But that doesn't mean I was entirely wrong in this, kiddo. You're too young for this. Especially for someone Chienna's age. Twice the age just doesn't work."
"Yeah," Lucas said with a sigh. He shook his head, the smile now completely gone. He looked crushed. "I just--I love her, captain. Sometimes . . . it seems age shouldn't be such a problem. Like it means nothing. Then other times . . . it seems like a huge hole that can't be crossed." He played with his shoes for a moment, then said softly, "She understands me so well, sir. Everything. My ideas, my thoughts. About . . . my father. She doesn't freak out about any of it."
Lucas looked up. Nathan could see tears shimmering in Lucas's eyes. "Where--how--will I find someone else like that? I'm not easy to understand. I know it. Chienna . . . she just seems like someone who was made exactly for me."
Nathan sighed, shaking his head. After a second's contemplation, he said, "Except her age, Lucas. Except the fact that she's seen things, understood things that you haven't had the chance to yet. You weren't even born when she was in junior high. You need someone closer in age and maturity. That doesn't mean it has to be exactly the same age--just closer."
At Lucas's depressed sigh, Nathan stood. He walked to Lucas's side and pulled the teen to his feet, then patted his back. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go grab a snack and relax a bit. Rumor has it that there's some chocolate ice cream in the Mess." Nathan suddenly grinned. "I'll tell you about my first love, too. You'll see what a crazy young teen your old captain once was." Nathan nudged him towards the door.
Intrigued, Lucas, a slight smile forming on his face (though he steadily tried to hide it), followed Bridger out the door on his way to ice cream and some prize secrets from the captain's life.
He figured he'd cancel his resignation in a little while . . . after he'd indulged in some ice cream and prying.
And, of course, after he'd let Admiral Noyce stew over this for a bit longer.