Disclaimer: Terra Nova is not mine.
Lucas had always liked equations. There was something soothing about the regularity of them. They were predictable. They were standard. Even the most difficult of them abided within the confines of a set of rules that allowed you to use them in any manner which appealed to you. Equations, numbers, formulas - they were all things that he could master. He could work them; he could manage them. He could use them, and Lucas had always been very fond of things that he could use. He had a special sort of fondness for the deluded individuals that thought that they were using him when they were really only a cog in the wheel of his own plans. They amused him in a somewhat morbid fashion - his sense of humor had always tended toward the morbid.
He had never doubted that he would eventually do the job for which he had been recruited and sent to Terra Nova in the first place. It was only a matter of learning the right numbers, finding the right formulas, and creating the proper equations. It had never been a question of if he succeeded. It had only been a question of when he would work his way to the proper combinations. He was methodical. Some might even be inclined to suggest that he was slow. Those comments were few and far between from his so called partners in this venture - they knew better than to make him angry. Angry did not make him work any faster. Angry only made him shrug his shoulders and suggest that he might just slip off into the jungle and never be heard from again.
He, of course, would never have done that. He was too invested in the necessity of solving the equations that littered rocks in the midst of a waterway where no one but he and his father ever bothered to venture. He never liked to leave things unfinished. It gave an appearance of him being incapable, and he would never allow the barest hint of that to occur. He did, after all, have pride in his own abilities. He was equally invested in seeing his father's face when he realized what had happened to his precious little second chance.
His father was a fool with his idealistic little speeches that he made as each new set of arrivals came to the colony. People did not get second chances; second chances could not change mistakes made. Second chances could not rectify blood spilt. There was no starting over and pretending that the dead in your wake did not haunt you at every turn. Clinging to the idea of second chances was for the weak willed of the world - the ones like his father who pretended that the past was something that you got to walk away from when it did not suit you.
No, he never would have given up on making the portal into Terra Nova function equally as well in the other direction. His associates did not know that though, and he had no qualms about leaving them in doubt and watching them squirm. He did not appreciate attitude from people who sat in the background and did not have the investment into the project that he did. Lucas had bled for his cause. He was still bleeding for it.
He was back again wandering through the jungle injured and undersupplied. It was not the first time that had happened to him. If he was going to be stuck in this place for longer, then it would (sadly) likely not be the last. Injured was practically the static state of being here. He had long ago decided that it did not matter where or when you were - nature was always out to get you. You just had to be smart enough to outwit nature. He was good at that - had a natural affinity for it even. Nature was fundamentally simple just like equations. You just had to be aware of the rules.
People were the problem. People were the things that took all of the rules and flipped them around. People inserted chaos into situations. It did not matter how much you studied them or understood their motivations; there was always the chance that they would abandon all order and reason and do something random that gummed up all the works. He hated dealing with people as much as he craved interaction with them. It was a shame that people were not inherently wired to be solitary. It was a shame that solitude drove them to want to bask in the presence of others even when those others were completely unworthy. He had suffered for that inclination. He was bleeding for it even now as he made his way toward a temporary resting place so that he could get his bearings (and stop leaving a trail for every predator in the area). He needed to regroup. He needed to think. He needed to get his head clear and redefine a few places in his thought processes.
She was completely unworthy in her worthiness. That was just another reason to hate people - Skye. She was supposed to understand. In fact, he was certain that she did understand. She had seen exactly what their father was. She had been faced with his callousness firsthand. She had borne his disappointed cold shouldering and judgment as he expected her to have even considered trading her mother's life to be loyal to him. She knew. She had seen, and she still chose him in the end. That was deeply disappointing.
Lucas did not care for being disappointed. He had had quite enough of it over the course of his life. He was adding now to the list of people who would need to be corrected. His father and Skye were probably sitting somewhere thinking that they had bested him. That would not last for long. Lucas did not get bested. He only got delayed. He was good at biding his time; he had always had to be. His father would be hearing from him again soon, and Skye . . . well, Bucket would be seeing him sooner over later.
He picked up his pace and ignored the pain that was shooting through him with each step. He had places to be; he had plans to make. He had work to do; he had so much work to do. He was going to be very, very busy, and he was going to make the others very busy as well.