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: several elements have 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. In addition, 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. Consider this piece a lark, a digression, a distraction, etc. :)
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.
Okay, now that the boring stuff has been said, let the fun begin!
Copyright 1999 by SheriAnn
Contentions
Part One
Encased in his world of wires and circuits and cables, Bunsen burners and electrical testing equipment and physics treatises, fifteen year-old genius Lucas Wolenczak suddenly grinned. Another twenty minutes and he'd be talking to her.
He quickly corrected himself: not simply talking to her, but also seeing her. He'd get to see those dark eyes, that dark hair, that wicked little smile . . . And it'd been a long time since they'd seen each other, either in person or over the vidlink, as it would be this time. They were excruciatingly careful about their contact with one another; always, secrecy was crucial for them. Because of this, their past few contacts with one another had been via e-mail, typewritten messages accompanied only with audio insertions.
It was hard, not seeing her. Though he wasn't entirely certain how far his feelings went for her, he did know one thing: his pulse raced every time he saw her. And not seeing her . . . it was hell. It was surgery without anesthesia. It was a sword sticking through the guts. But it was also necessary, given their current situation.
And that situation was simple: Lucas was a member of the seaQuest crew, its chief computer analyst. The seaQuest was the UEO's flagship submarine; in fact, it was the most powerful submarine in the world. Because of this, its crew was held to very rigid standards. Their movements and their social lives were known all too well by those that watched: Section Seven, the UEO's internal security and intelligence-gathering force. If it got out that he was seeing Chienna Turneau . . . well, put simply, life would suck. His involvement would be reported to several key figures, all but one of whom he couldn't care less about. But that one person he did care about knowing the truth . . . that forced him to keep his relationship with Chienna underground. Especially since their relationship had some interesting side twists to it. All things taken into consideration, he didn't want him to know about it. It was that simple.
That "one person," of course, was Captain Nathan Bridger of the seaQuest. Lucas respected and genuinely liked Nathan Bridger; hell, he thought of the man as a father. Nathan was certainly more of a father to him than his real father, Dr. Wolenczak, had ever been. But that, indeed, was the problem. If news of his relationship with Chienna reached Nathan's ears, which it surely would if he weren't playing cloak and dagger with their relationship, he'd never hear the end of it. He'd never be allowed on shore leave. He'd never be allowed off the damned boat without six or seven chaperones.
And besides, he liked having a degree of privacy on something in his life. God knew he didn't have enough of it. The fact that he'd managed to keep Chienna secret from both Section Seven and Bridger was a miracle; the fact that he'd also managed to keep his involvement in Quest, Chienna's flourishing music group, secret was beyond the simply miraculous. He had no words to cover that one crucial bit of luck.
He quickly grabbed his keyboard, turning it on and playing a few keys to make sure it was correctly set; he then glanced around himself. The door to his quarters was firmly shut. He'd turned on the Enhanced Magnetic Energy Wave, a little device he himself had designed; in plain English, it was an energy current that effectively blocked sound, acting like an insulator. The Navy was enthusiastically urging his further research into the project to create a sort of noise cloak for ships and submarines on stealth missions. However, Lucas was more interested in it right now for its rather practical uses: blocking all sound that he made while he was on the link with Chienna. That way, he could play the keyboard and sing the latest songs he'd composed without worrying about everyone on the boat hearing him.
And he certainly didn't want anyone overhearing him. As it was, his companions had no idea whatsoever that he--Lucas Wolenczak, their ingenious and very young computer geek--could sing. In fact, they had no idea that he could sing exceedingly well, that reviewers had called his voice "phenomenal" . . . and that he was the lead vocalist for Quest. They knew nothing of this part of his life. Lucas intended to keep it that way.
He grinned as the link suddenly went active; Chienna was finally calling him. He glanced at the clock knowingly: one minute early. Chienna was always a little early for their contact sessions. Grin still hanging lopsidedly on his face, Lucas opened his side of the link and said, "Well, I think I'm going to have to get you that clock I keep threatening you with! You're off by a minute!"
Chienna grinned, too, looking him over with a wicked smile. "Sorry, my boy, but I couldn't wait to see you. Don't worry, though, I'm sure it'll happen again . . . I mean, it won't, of course." He laughed; as she saw the look of delight on his face, her grin widened. "Well, you're looking well. Deliciously good, if I may say. I miss you, my delectable young friend."
Lucas blushed furiously, then said, "I miss you, too, you bad woman. I see the past few months haven't changed any of your usual wickedness."
"Guilty as charged." Cackling, Chienna quickly added, hoping to see him blush again, "You look entirely too sexy to be staring at me across these miles. Am I mistaken, or do you get sexier with each new day?" Inwardly, she laughed as his cheeks flushed red. Then: "But fill me in on what's been happening. How have you been? Getting into trouble with women? Causing trouble for your captain?"
Making a face, Lucas joked, "Oh, only blowing up half the ship lately. The captain's loving it, of course. It was getting too boring out here. Darwin was getting bored, too. He sure thought the fireworks were fun. Fried his fish for him--almost right to order."
Sometimes, Lucas swore he should just dump every file and design spec on the vortex right through the largest hole in the ship and simply concentrate on his vocorder program instead. However, having a little something stewing as he worked on the vocorder always seemed to help. This time, though, his "something stewing" seemed to be worse than the main project, the vocorder, had ever dreamed of being.
Chienna chuckled, blowing a hair out of her eyes. "What? Is your vortex having mood swings?"
Again, Lucas made a face at her. He groaned. "You wouldn't believe the number of them. I almost blew up the lab today. Captain Bridger thinks I've got a twisted Guardian Angel assigned to me or something . . . of course, he could be right, given the amount of explosions lately."
"You've been careful, though, haven't you? I mean, you haven't been hurt by any of these little explosions?" she asked in concern, suddenly very serious.
He shook his head. "I'm fine. It's getting to the point where I'm expecting explosions, so I proceed only after a myriad of checks and counter-checks, and with abundant fire extinguishers at hand." He sighed. "I just wish I could get the stupid thing to work. I keep doing great at these renegade vortices, but . . . no stable ones yet."
Chienna smiled, studying his face with intense, alert eyes. Finally, after her stare had made him shift nervously several times, she said, "Well, I owe that renegade vortex of yours a big, big favor. It saved the life of someone I love very much: you."
Shyly, Lucas smiled at her, his cheeks coloring slightly. The renegade vortex had, indeed, saved his life. A month ago, while Bridger and a skeleton crew had been trying to get the highly sophisticated UEO ship Ulysses working, they'd been hijacked by the Non-Allied Powers; Lucas had been among that skeleton crew. Fortunately, he'd escaped the hijackers. He'd started sabotaging the boat . . . and as one of his spectacular surprises, he'd unleashed a level nine renegade vortex right smack in the middle of the ship. It'd stopped them from floating towards enemy territory, making it possible for the UEO to organize and conduct a hunt for them.
"You know, dear one, I miss you," she said gently, softly. "It's been a hell of a long time since we saw each other in person."
He nodded, sighing. "Yeah, I know. This position on the seaQuest makes it hell on earth to see anyone off ship. And especially since . . . well, you know."
Chienna sat back in her chair, inhaling deeply. "Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know--all too well." Lucas was referring--or, rather, not referring--to his age. At fifteen, he was the youngest crew member on the seaQuest. Because he was so young, his fellow crewmates tended to watch over him too much; though Chienna found it amusing, even comforting, to know he was watched over, it sure made seeing Lucas difficult. They'd tag along with him on almost any shore leave, not letting him out of their sights. And the recent hijacking on the Ulysses had just made this worse. Now, they feared someone from NAP would try to kidnap Lucas, the brilliant young man who'd invented the world's first true vortex. Lucas was just lucky Bridger hadn't decided to require an armed escort for him every time he went on shore leave. She rubbed at her forehead, then said, smiling, "I see you've gotten out your keyboard. I haven't heard you play in months, dear one. What have you been putting together lately?"
"Well, not overly much . . ." he lied, shyly looking at her dark eyes. Lord, he could get lost in those dark eyes: utterly, completely lost. "I just have a few new songs for you to hear. One of them . . . well, one of them is for you."
She grinned at this, clearly elated. As she watched him set the keyboard comfortably in front of him, Chienna pushed a heavy, curly mass of hair back from her face. Lucas noticed this, glancing up at her--and he stared, again struck at her dark beauty, as he was every time he saw her. Clearing his throat nervously, he said, "Well, this is the first one . . . I call it 'Wait for Me.'"
He began, his fingers quickly sliding across the keyboard, no uncertainty in the finger positioning at all; Chienna's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Lucas's keyboarding had certainly improved--and he'd only started playing the instrument several months before. Though she knew he was a genius, though she had seen his intricate and vivid mind in action more than enough times to give her a new definition for the word "brilliant," she was always amazed to see how quickly he learned: how quickly he learned not only mathematics and physics and abstract theories, but how quickly he also learned rhythm and nuance, tone and feeling in his music. Lucas was a natural at music; but, then, she supposed he was a natural at just about anything he chose.
That wasn't why she cared for him, though. His brilliance aside, his natural abilities aside, she loved him for what he was: she loved him for that gentle smile, those beautiful eyes that shined when he looked at her, that spirit that warmly wrapped itself around her every time she saw him. She simply wished . . . she wished that he didn't live aboard a submarine, that he didn't routinely nearly lose his life, that he were safe with her instead of miles and miles away.
And that he were older, much older, than he was.
The song was beautiful, its lyrics, as always with Lucas, innocent but somehow erotic, though she knew he didn't realize this. There was nuance in his music, all right, enough nuance to create a virtual hidden text; she'd never seen anyone quite so capable of weaving together music that spoke simply of gentle touches and gentle thoughts . . . and somehow evoked images of intense, hot passion. In this song alone, she heard "I'll give you my everything," a simple line, and she couldn't help thinking that "everything" really meant his body. That simple "everything" made her dream of a night spent in a hotel room holding and caressing, kissing and making love to this young, beautiful teen.
Not that this would be the first time such a dream had entered her mind.
Swallowing hard, she allowed her eyes to travel across his face, down his throat, along his chest, over his hips, to his slender hands, so softly touching the keyboard. The touch almost seemed a caress. But she couldn't let him see her looking at him like this; her passion, her ardent glance, might very well scare him. He was so very young; as she'd told herself a million times before, her feelings for him weren't right. They weren't what they should be. She should see him only as a very close friend, as a dear young man she cared for extensively--not as a dear young man she wanted to rip out of his clothes and carry into bed every time she saw him. She wanted him; God, she wanted him. She knew his feelings for her were confused, sometimes very passionate and sometimes very frightened. She had no right, no right, to take advantage of that confusion, to take advantage of his feelings. Damn it, he was a child . . . a child of fifteen!
Breathing deeply, she tried to keep her mind off the caressing, almost lilting seduction in his voice; instead, she focused on his lyrics. Goodness, he was good, and he didn't even realize the half of it. Quest's popularity had shot through the roof since Lucas started as lead vocalist. He thought it was coincidence; she knew otherwise. In fact, the entire group saw who was responsible for their ever-increasing popularity, even if Lucas did not. They'd listen to his singing, they'd listen to the newest songs penned by their young genius, and they'd feel chills spreading across their flesh. He was good, all right. He was an enormous talent. And damn it, he didn't even understand that. He didn't even know just how good he was, despite their numerous attempts to show him the truth. He could leave the seaQuest and never face another day of madness, of near-disaster or near-annihilation, if he wanted to; he could begin a full-time musical career with their group and be rich in a year or so. She knew it was the truth. Her group knew it was the truth. Only Lucas did not--or he simply refused to admit it.
Again, she suspected Lucas was confused about his own desires: to remain on the seaQuest, working with the science he so craved . . . or to begin a new career in music, working where the only danger came from fans, not renegade submarines or nuclear disasters. The choices were there for him, but he truly loved both worlds. To choose between them . . . she understood all too well what this must feel like to him. It was the same choice she faced every time she looked at him: to tell him of her passion or to keep silent on what ate away inside.
Lucas's second song was much like the first: beautifully rendered, highly erotic in what it didn't say, and exquisite in sound. This one was about love coming to an end, about one fatal betrayal. Two of the lyrics especially caught her attention, sending goose bumps down her spine. Her eyes widened at the refrain, for it was splendidly sexual, but, again, quite simple: "I hear her voice in the night, cries of joy, we were good . . . good . . . good." Following right in that lyric's footsteps came "I still recall how we'd touch, soft caresses in the night." This seemed to be Lucas's most sexual song to date, one that touched at the thoughts of love and passion, but never outright said it. Very subtle, my sweet, she thought, smiling at him as he sang, smiling at the perfectly gentle expression on his face.
As Lucas plunged into his third song, Chienna was surprised to find that this song, with little doubt, was talking about something exceedingly personal: his father. She listened in amazement as Lucas, without pausing, spoke of abuse in the family, of blood between fathers and sons, of anger and confusion. The song was outwardly about repetitive violence: how it consumed the innocence of its victims, how it made those victims either break or shatter apart until they, too, became the violent aggressor, the father hitting the son or the son destroying himself, killing himself. However, there was no question in her mind that he was truly singing of his own abuse at his father's hands. The song had passion in it, no doubt, a passion that made its lyrics unforgettable. She'd never heard Lucas's voice so strong, so filled with power, with emotion. The range his voice plummeted and soared through seemed impossible.
And this was the child who'd once told her he couldn't sing a bathroom ditty?
Yes, critics of Quest's latest music said their new lead vocalist was spectacular, that he carried notes most musicians could only dream of carrying. "Young One," as he was known, was a treasure. When they saw this song--and the other two--they'd be flabbergasted.
At last, Lucas looked at her, sighing as he put the keyboard aside; he ran an absent hand along his chest, clearing his throat as he did so. He quickly chugged down some nearby water. Though Lucas had a voice to kill for, he also had a tendency to overstrain it, especially since his experience at singing was still relatively new.
She inhaled deeply, shivering slightly as she felt his eyes once again upon her. Slowly, she smiled. "That, my handsome one, was splendid. I don't know which of them I liked best. They were all wonderful."
He blushed, looking away for a second. Chienna smiled at this. He never seemed to know how to deal with praise. After a second, he looked back up. "They all have . . . different meanings in them to me. I think the hardest one is the last. I . . ."
He paused, unable to continue. Chienna finished the thought for him. "You were singing about what happened with your father, weren't you, Lucas?" As he simply nodded, she said, "It was beautifully done. The emotions in that song leant your voice extra power, extra strength." She paused, then added, "You've gotten better, too. Your voice is stronger altogether, as is your keyboarding. Have you been practicing?"
He smiled at this, shaking his head quickly. "Nah. Not a lot, at least. I haven't had time . . . hell, the captain hasn't given me much time lately for anything." At her look of surprise--she clearly heard the agitation in his voice--he sighed, making a face. "We have some Big Wigs coming aboard in a few days, and the captain has it in his head that he'll parade me around like some sort of freak show. He wants me to gather up as many of my latest projects to show off. Real fun, obviously."
Chienna was genuinely surprised; Bridger didn't seem the type of captain to act like that. "What's up? Your captain doesn't strike me as a circus manager."
At this, Lucas grinned, quickly nodding. "No, usually, he's not. It's just that these Big Wigs have heavy purses attached to them. Our science team is severely under-funded right now, so . . . well, he was hoping we could convince them to dish out some extra money. And since I'm fifteen . . ."
"Ha . . . I know where that sentence is heading!" Chienna interrupted, laughing at Lucas's disgruntled face. "He wants to show off that brilliant mind of yours, the brilliant mind of his youngest computer expert. I can picture it now: 'This young fifteen year-old genius--whose projects are currently funded at half their intended budget, mind you--just created a vortex in the middle of the Ulysses, thus saving all of our lives in the process. He's trying to scramble together enough money to continue exploration into vortex engineering, not to mention continuation of his vocorder work, but, considering the inadequate supplies, he may have to just go back to paper and ink. . .'"
Lucas laughed, grinning with delight at her mimic of Bridger. "Actually, I think you're pretty much right on target. I'm surprised he hasn't made me hide all of my computers and replace them with pens and notebooks. Umm . . . on second thought, don't give him the idea." He smiled, looking at her. "You know, it's usually not that bad here. I love it. But when the Big Wigs are around, life sucks."
"Well, I suppose they're there in any career . . . someone always has to have the money and the power." She paused, then, "Are we still on for next week? Will the Big Wigs be gone by then?"
Without hesitation, Lucas nodded. "Yeah. I made sure of that. Hell, even if they weren't, I'd beg for shore leave until Bridger let me go just to shut me up." He suddenly grinned. "I still can't believe the size of the concert. Are you sure about this? I mean, positively sure? Maybe we could cut the tickets in half or something . . ."
At this, Chienna snorted. "No, we can't cut the tickets in half--and yes, I'm sure about the size of the concert. We're ready for it, Lucas. Truly. I think if we add your latest work, too, it'll be an even more amazing concert."
Lucas groaned, nervously nibbling at his fingernails until he realized that Chienna was watching him with sparkling eyes. "You may be ready for this, but I don't think I am. What if I . . . suddenly lose my voice or something? What if I see the crowd and have a panic attack? What . . . ?"
Again, she interrupted him. "Lucas Wolenczak, my dear young man, you are being silly. Downright silly, at that. You'll do fine. You're a wonderful singer. You're a wonderful performer. Don't stress over it."
"Easy for you to say," he grumbled, then sighed at her reproving look. He knew he was sulking; he didn't need her to tell him this. "Okay. I'll do my best. Really. My best may suck, but I'll do it . . ."
"Lucas, your best will never suck. When will you ever realize that?"
Uncomfortably, he looked away, doubt still lingering in his mind. He had doubts, all right; he knew she didn't understand them; he knew Bridger didn't understand them; but he did understand them. They came from his father's abuse--from that fist always traveling towards his body. They came from the endless trips to the hospital, the endless self-questioning of what he had done to anger his father. They came from the tracheotomy, from the broken bones, from the concussions and lost blood. When someone lived in the perpetual fear that anything they did might anger those they loved, doubt became a part of life--and it was hell itself to vanquish.
With a small smile, he looked back at her, looking into those dark eyes and feeling a degree of healing reaching out from them. Though she didn't understand the source of his doubts, she did know how to help ease them. Chienna always seemed to known when to pressure him . . . and when not to. Finally, he asked with a groan, trying to change the subject, "What on earth am I going to wear?"
Suddenly, she grinned. "I've already taken care of that," she said, reaching out of view for a moment. She returned with a royal blue silk shirt and a . . . Lucas's eyebrows suddenly rose. A pirate shirt? No, she wouldn't do that . . .
However, as she continued to grin at him, he knew that she had, in fact, bought him a pirate shirt. A pirate shirt! He wondered briefly if she'd bought a sword, too. "Chienna . . . you don't really expect me to wear that--thing--do you?"
Her grin turned into a wicked laugh. She held up a pair of tan pants, placing them beside the pirate shirt. Again, he groaned; this wasn't looking good. Maybe she had bought him a sword, after all. "You'll look absolutely ravishing in this outfit. And the group loves it, too. We'll all wear pirate-like outfits."
Great. A pirate motif for their biggest concert to date, Lucas thought wryly, shaking his head. He briefly wondered which was worse: being the resident Genius Freak Show on a submarine, or being dressed in a pirate outfit for a huge concert. The answer on that one was still open for debate.
As he was about to reply with a suitably witty remark (or so he hoped), Lucas was interrupted by his PAL beeping at him. He quickly placed his fingers over his lips at Chienna, then turned his PAL on. "Yeah, Lucas here . . ."
"Hey, kiddo," Nathan Bridger's voice began, an almost comical tone in his voice. Lucas's eyebrows rose quizzically at his captain's voice. Bridger continued: "Those Big Wigs we've been fretting about? They'll be here in about ten minutes, and then they should be gone in an hour or so. They've already written a check, according to their spokesman. All we have to do is parade around a bit . . ."
Lucas snorted at this, glancing at Chienna with a roll of the eyes. "You mean all I have to do is parade around a bit, don't you, sir?"
Bridger laughed. "Well, you caught me on that one. It'll just be for a few minutes, though, and then it'll all be over . . . and we'll have some money in the old coffers. What'd'ya say, eh, Lucas?"
"Ha! I think I should suddenly become the slowest-thinking idiot you ever saw," Lucas replied with another snort, then laughed at Bridger's mock-wailing sound. "Yeah, okay, sir. I'll be up in a minute. I'll even try to bring my brain with me."
"Humph! See you in a few."
As the PAL went silent, Chienna laughed heartily, grinning as she saw Lucas's smile. "You'll even try bringing your brains, eh?" she said drolly, running a hand through her hair. "My dear Lucas, you are quite the imp!"
"Ah, it's no biggy. We joke around all the time," Lucas told her, smiling comfortably. "Look, I hate to do it, but . . ."
"You've gotta go. I know." She smiled suddenly, reaching her hand towards the vidlink. "You take care, love. I can't wait to see you. And go impress the hell out of those Big Wigs. Your captain sounds like a pretty cool guy."
He grinned, nodding. "He is. I'll try my best. We could really use the funding. And I'll see you soon, gorgeous. Though I'm still not too sure about that pirate thing . . ."
As she laughed, Lucas blew her a gentle kiss, then turned off the vidlink. He sighed, groaning inwardly as he thought of the blessed Big Wigs awaiting him in the not-too distant future. Sometimes being a young genius really, really sucked.