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 the products of this author's own deranged mind, as is the Ulysses . . .
Alternative Reality: 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.
Sequel: "Entangled Alliances" is a sequel to--yeah, you guessed correctly--"Entanglements with the Enemy." Let me know what you think of the new title (it used to be "More Entanglements with the Enemy"! I'd love to hear them!
Rating:PG-13, rated as such because of some adult themes and language.
Summary: Lucas plays boom-boom once again with his vortex. The only real question is . . .who is his enemy? :-)
Copyright 2000 by SheriAnn
Entangled Alliances
Part Eleven
Rats in a Cage
Fatigue darkening the skin around his eyes, Lucas rubbed a hand over his aching neck. He moved his head back and forth, trying to loosen tight, strained muscles. He'd been at the computer for at least eight hours straight--this after a restless night of worrying. He now stared at a large stack of computer printouts, tired eyes carefully studying line after line of computer code. Unfortunately, the lines were beginning to blur. Already, he'd had to stop himself from falling asleep three times.
He sipped at a glass of water, wincing slightly as the movement irritated his throat. His throat was hurting today, the wound to his skin throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. He supposed, though, that it was better than the alternative: not feeling at all because he was dead. Even if suicide still seemed the best plan of attack against Thomas and his madness, being dead was still just that . . . being dead. He liked being among the living.
He glanced up as a groan sounded in his ears. It was soft, barely noticeable; however, he quickly turned towards the sound. His own eyes widened as he saw Admiral Noyce's haunted gaze on him.
Immediately, he was at the Admiral's side, kneeling beside him on the floor as he gently squeezed the man's hand--just about the only unbruised spot on his body. "Hey, sir . . . how are you feeling?"
Noyce grunted, pained eyes meeting his own. "Li-living. Lu-Lucas, where . . . is . . . e-everyone?"
"At dinner." As Noyce's puzzled eyes tried looking around--unfocused but diligent in their attempt to see what was happening--Lucas gently said, "Nelson's still here . . . but Dr. Westphalen and the Captain are at dinner. They'll probably be back in twenty minutes or so. Then Nelson and I will be led off for our dinners." He didn't bother mentioning that their "escort" to dinner always consisted of at least five fully armed men--and that dinner was fully supervised. There was certainly no chance of stealing forks, knives, or the likes . . . especially for himself. Thomas, in an attempt to halt any further suicide attempts, had ordered that all his "silverware" would now consist of plastic utensils.
Noyce grunted. He stared around himself again. "A-Alicia?"
Uncomfortably, Lucas looked down. His eyes then slid towards the back corner of the room. He could clearly see Alicia Noyce's battered body on the floor--well, perhaps body wasn't the correct word, for she was alive . . . but barely. Dark bruises blossomed across her skin, and there was a suspicious swelling in her ribs--one that Dr. Westphalen said indicated internal bleeding. Kristin had tried to get Thomas to provide anything to help Alicia, but Thomas didn't seem to care if Alicia lived or died.
Lucas suspected her sole reason for being taken here--as well as Admiral Noyce's--was as a threat to make Nelson and Lucas do as ordered. Nelson was obviously quite attached to Alicia, and Lucas respected Admiral Noyce--he certainly didn't want to see the man injured. Thomas had played his Game quite well by bringing the two in . . . though he sometimes wondered if there might be more reasons involved behind their presence. Noyce was high in the chain of command; he seriously wondered if Thomas had plans for that very fact.
He cleared his throat, looking into Noyce's eyes and trying not to let his fear show. He bit his lower lip before saying, "She's . . . she's alive, sir. Nelson is with her right now."
Noyce's eyes narrowed. The Admiral studied him for several long moments. "Is . . . is she l-likely to stay a-alive long?"
Lucas released a charged breath. He shut his eyes against the pain he saw on Noyce's face . . . God, how did you tell a man his daughter might die? How did you tell him that she was bleeding internally--or that she hadn't regained consciousness once since her beating?
"The truth, L-Lucas. The truth."
Slowly, he nodded. He looked back at Noyce. "I don't know, sir. Honestly. Kristin's been worried that she's bleeding inside. Other than that . . . I . . . don't know."
Noyce nodded, looking towards the corner where Alicia was . . . but undoubtedly unable to see her. "Thank you, Lucas. For the t-truth." Noyce then looked back at Lucas. He seemed to pull himself together; he inhaled deeply. "What's . . . happened since the b-beatings?"
Admiral Noyce had awakened several times since his torture, but he hadn't been lucid; this was the first time he'd been able to string two words together to make a coherent thought. Lucas knew, thus, that Noyce didn't know . . . any of what had happened. Wondering how much he should tell him, he briefly wished Bridger were here instead of him--at least Bridger would know what to tell him.
But Bridger wasn't here: he was. Again, he cleared his throat. "We're all alive, sir. No one was killed."
There was a long silence. Noyce watched him, his sharp eyes seeming to know that Lucas wasn't telling him something very important. Finally, when the silence threatened to continue, Noyce carefully asked, "What happened? How . . . how did w-we get Thomas to stop?"
Ah. That was exactly the question Lucas had wanted to avoid--fiercely, even. But he'd also known there was no chance in hell that Noyce wouldn't ask that question; Noyce was a lot like Bridger in that way. Neither man let anything slip past him.
Lucas fidgeted, playing with his shirt hem for a moment. After a moment, he whispered, "Thomas . . . Thomas continued beating on you. Until you dropped. He hit . . . Alicia next." Pain crossed Noyce's face, and he turned away from Lucas's searching eyes. Hoping to move Noyce's mind to different territory than his daughter's torture, Lucas continued, voice soft: "He then went for . . . for Dr. Westphalen." Noyce's eyes widened at this. "The Captain tried to stop him . . . I tried to stop him. I . . . I punched one of the guards--he tried to strangle me."
Noyce's eyes were wide as he listened to Lucas.
"T-Thomas killed him. Just . . . just like that. He--he killed his own guard." Lucas swallowed heavily, mind traveling back to that instant when he had looked up to see dead eyes gazing at him, blood pooling around his own body. He fought down the bile in his throat. "The Captain . . . he ended up with a gun at his head. Thomas . . . Thomas's gun."
Silence greeted his words. Noyce simply listened, horror etched in every plane of his face.
"The . . . the guard. The dead guard. He had a knife . . . I stole it." He looked away. "I-I told Thomas . . . that I was going to kill. Kill myself. I even . . . I even tried." Absently, Lucas touched the bandages at his throat--mute testimony to what he had done. "Nelson . . . he stopped me. But not . . . not before I had cut into my throat enough to . . . to scare everyone."
He met Noyce's eyes. Slowly, Noyce asked, "Are--are you okay?"
"Yeah. I guess." Lucas didn't want to consider if he was really "okay." He wouldn't be until this whole mess was over . . . with all of them alive. "Anyway . . . Thomas put us all together in this room. He hasn't broken us since then."
Carefully, Noyce asked, "H-have there been other . . . sessions with Thomas?"
Frowning, Lucas shook his head. "No. We've since . . . developed a new strategy for dealing with him."
A moment passed before Noyce finally prompted, "Yes?"
"Umm . . . yeah." Lucas again fidgeted. "We're giving him what he wants." He picked at his fingernails. "Kind of."
What little color remaining in Noyce's face rapidly fled. "You're . . .? No. You can't!"
"We have to, Admiral. It's the only way any of us will stay alive." Lucas frowned, then explained, "It's a dangerous game. I know it. But it's the only game plan we can make."
Noyce stared at him--hard. Finally, he said, voice hoarse, thready, "You know what this vortex of yours can do, Lucas. You know it better than any of us. It . . . it can't be allowed to fall into Thomas's hands. No matter what." Noyce tried to sit up, wincing as pain erupted in his chest. He settled back to the floor with Lucas's help. After a moment's wheezing, he continued: "That thing can kill too many people, Lucas. You know it. I know you do . . ."
Lucas simply nodded.
"You promise me something, Lucas. On everything you hold dear." At Lucas's hesitant nod, Noyce spoke, "If it looks like that vortex is going to fall into Thomas's hands . . . you find a way to stop it. If that . . . if that means blowing up everything and everyone here, you . . . you do it. Do you understand me?"
Shutting his eyes, Lucas nodded. However, he--as well as Bridger, Nelson, and Westphalen--had already decided this.
He prayed this would never happen, though. Killing himself was one thing. Killing everyone--his friends included--was something entirely different.
But, if he had to, he would do it.
He would do it.
*****
Hours later--several, if he weren't mistaken, though he wasn't quite sure since he'd lost track of time sometime after dinner--Lucas looked up from a puddle of scalding water. He looked straight up into dark, angry eyes. The eyes were trained on him.
Ah, hell.
A large, iron-like grip ground into his shoulder. Before he could breathe, before he could utter a sound, he was toppling to the ground. Hot water burned into his skin. He yelped, unable to stop himself as pain shot through his hands and knees.
Thomas's lips were hissing into his ear seconds later. The man knelt beside him, seemingly incognizant of the steaming water lapping at his shoes. "Listen, Wolenczak . . ." the words seethed into his ear, poisoned by the man's anger ". . . and listen well. I don't have time to play your games. You don't have time to play your games. Your friends most certainly don't have time."
Swallowing hard, frightened tears brimming in his eyes, Lucas looked at his oppressor. In the background, he could see Kristin and Bridger, both held back by guards.
"This recent screw-up here?" Thomas gestured at the puddles of water surrounding them. "No more. Do you understand me? Get this vortex online. Get it ready now--because your time just ran out."
Thomas hit him in the cheek, standing even as Lucas swayed from the strike to his face. His finger pointed into Lucas's view. "Do we understand one another now, Wolenczak?"
Frightened eyes looked anywhere but at Thomas. Lucas nodded, unable to trust his voice.
"Good." Thomas adjusted his the jacket to his uniform, pulling it down. He straightened his collar. Lucas stared, unable to believe that Thomas could go from hitting him to . . . straightening his collar in less than twenty seconds. "Now that that is settled . . . go ahead and get back to work. Make sure to clean this mess."
Thomas marched out of their room, Lucas's eyes watching him until the door closed behind him. Slowly, Lucas's shoulders slumped. He looked at his friends. They returned his look, concerned.
Their time was running out.
Quickly.
All too damnably quickly.
With a frustrated thump of his fist against the floor--and a wince from the hot water burning into his hand--Lucas wearily rose from the floor. He resumed his work, desperately hoping that their plan would hope . . . and that they'd have the time to use it.
After a moment's hesitation, Kristin returned to her chemicals, again mixing and matching whatever it was she was mixing and matching. Nelson returned to the lasers, positioning them once more--getting ready for another vortex test run. Captain Bridger simply patted his shoulder and helped him clean up the mess.
Noyce watched from the sidelines, obviously wanting to help, but unable to do anything--anything at all.
They were trapped: every one of them.
They were trapped rats in a cage--desperate to escape, but utterly incapable of biting through their bars.
*****
In the middle of the night, body slumped wearily over the computer, Lucas heard something. For a moment, exhaustion muffling the world around him, he shrunk from the noise . . . incapable to comprehend what it was and equally incapable of investigating its origin.
His mind was about to drop once more into that dark place from which it had been dragged--sleep, or at least a facsimile of it--when the sound reemerged.
It was soft. Almost not even something that would have been heard.
But it was the sound of loss.
It was an edged whimper, a jagged cry . . . one that seemed almost not to be there, but for the pain behind it.
"Oh, God . . . no," a voice--a ruined voice, its sound bleeding, torn--begged. Pleaded. "No . . ."
Slowly, Lucas forced heavy eyelids open. Blearily, he gazed around himself. He blinked, eyes unable to focus.
In the corner . . . darkness made it difficult to see correctly. But in the corner, he could see Nelson, Bridger, Dr. Westphalen . . . Noyce. They crouched together, shoulders touching, hands all on Noyce's heaving shoulders.
Numbly, Lucas shook his head, trying to grasp what this could mean. What had happened?
Dragging his body, Lucas joined the group. Almost.
Suddenly, he understood. Oh, God, he understood.
Admiral Noyce was bent over, doubled at the waist. His hands uselessly touched Alicia's face, her hands. Tears streamed unnoticed down his haggard face . . . down Bridger's face . . . down Nelson's. Kristin sat, eyes shut, pain clearly stamped in the lines around her mouth and eyes.
He, too, shut his eyes, shut his eyes against what he himself was, at least in part, responsible for.
Alicia was dead. And he was the reason for her death.
Brokenly, Lucas slumped to the floor. Tears burned in his eyes, blurring the nightmare scene before him. He shuddered--once, twice. Oh, God . . . God . . . no. No! It wasn't . . .
His knuckles ground into his forehead. He breathed sharply, fighting the tears back. Nnnnoo. It couldn't be . . . it couldn't.
Agony ripped through him, for he knew--inside--that it was. No denying, no wishing, no pleading with God--if there even were one in this godforsaken mess of a world--would change this.
She was dead.
And he had killed her. As surely as if he had pointed a gun at her and pulled the trigger, Lucas had killed her. He had invented the damned vortex. He had used it on the Ulysses. And he damned well had led to her death at the hands of Thomas.
A sob tore through his throat, then another. Seconds passed, then he felt arms circle him, squeeze him. Kristin's. She drew him into the group around Alicia, but he shook at the very thought . . . he was the murderer, wasn't he? Wasn't it perverse to bring the murderer to the victim's side?
A tortured cry escaped his lips as Noyce--Admiral Noyce, the only Noyce now alive in this room--as even Noyce accepted him at Alicia's side. Didn't the Admiral understand? Didn't he see that Lucas . . . that Lucas was the one who had led to this?
Almost as if reading his thoughts, his eyes steady--filled with a haunted concern rather than the hatred he felt they should have shown--Noyce shook him. "No, Lucas. You didn't do this." He again shook him. "This wasn't your fault." Brushing back tears from his face, Noyce looked at Alicia's body, then back at Lucas. His grip on Lucas's shoulders tightened. "You--did--not--do--this."
Helplessly, Lucas shook his head . . . wanting to believe . . . God, wanting ever so much to believe . . . but not . . . able to.
Noyce's voice strengthened. He again shook Lucas. "Thomas did this, Lucas. Thomas is the one who did this, not you." He tilted Lucas's face up to his own, his words repeating, "Not you."
The choked cry finally came out completely. He collapsed against Noyce, cheek resting on the man's shoulder as Noyce, too, cried--cried hard, a wounded sound that tore at his own soul. Gradually, Lucas was aware of Bridger's hand on his shoulder, of his support--then of Kristin's.
One . . . one of them was dead.
Thomas had won . . . that much. The bastard had won that.
But . . . God . . . ohgodohgodohgod . . . Lucas wanted to kill. He wanted to kill the monster behind this. He wanted to . . . to . . . kill.
Yet he couldn't help but think that . . . the monster was himself. It was him.
But he wasn't . . . he wasn't the monster.
He didn't know. Not anymore. He simply--did--not--know.
God above, he wished that he did know. He wished that he did understand, that he could find who was responsible for this . . . that he could clearly see who had caused this. He wondered, too, if, finally, he would find himself staring at his own reflection.
He didn't know. And that was exactly the problem.