"Dammit!" Jim couldn't help the loud curse of frustration from bursting out of him as he reached the pressure doors just a moment too late to do anything about it. That didn't stop him from thumping one fist against them, every inch of his body feeling tight with that frustration and the anger that bubbled up along with it, tangled heatedly with disbelief and disappointment. It was a potent enough cocktail of emotions that for a moment he felt a little light-headed in the wake of it, his vision wavering and his heart thud-thud-thudding in his chest, hard enough that it felt like it was going to hammer its way right out of his body at any moment.

The familiar sounds of a launch leaving the seaQuest carried easily around all those gathered in various states of shock and alarm in the bay and Jim had to take a moment to compose himself before he turned around again. It wouldn't help anyone to see their Security Officer so affected by what was happening. He had a reputation to uphold, not just for his own sake but for others' as well. Lower-ranking members of the crew, and those within the science teams, drew a lot of their courage and composure from the officers and Jim had to keep up appearances. He had to be strong for others, even when he didn't feel it for himself.

"I'm sorry."

Jim turned towards the voice, low and apologetic and almost wounded. Dagwood was standing there looking for all intents and purposes like a very large child, all traces of fierce determination gone. Just like that. Like someone had flipped a switch. "He said—" The GELF hesitated, making a low, melancholy humming sound. "He said I had to let him go."

He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. The psychic had manipulated Dagwood a second time, playing on his compassion and kindness. Jim's anger burned even brighter then.

"Ortiz was better," Dagwood went on, his voice taking on an almost pleading tone. "Just for a minute. He was better." After a glance down at Tony who had come up by his side Dagwood met Jim's gaze again. "He was sad. And sorry. And—"

Taking a breath and forcing himself to calm down, he took a step towards the GELF, softening his voice so that he could ask without sounding reproachful, "And what, Dagwood?"

The large man made another one of those low hums, the sort of sound they had all come to associate with concern and apprehension, a deep-seated uncertainty that it seemed he would never really overcome. Another glance at Tony, who raised his brows, quietly expectant but also encouraging. Dagwood looked back to Jim, finally concluding, "And scared."

Jim tried not to feel chilled by those words but it was a futile effort. That chill mixed poorly with all those other powerful emotions, leaving him feeling unsteady and out of sorts. With no idea what to say he gave Dagwood a nod, lifting his empty hand, the one still throbbing from the single pound on the solid pressure doors, and laid it on the bigger man's arm. They needed to tell the Captain the bad news.

It took its toll. Of course it did. She could fight and deny and refuse all she wanted but even she had her limits, and there eventually came a time when she could no longer push beyond them. Even power such as hers came at a cost and sooner or later she knew she had to pay it.

Really it was a wonder that point hadn't come sooner. Not that she would admit that to anyone. Not even Evan.

The world through the eyes of another started to dim and waver and the exhaustion pulsed through her intensely, both inside and out, physical and mental alike. It was a very literal pain that was bordering on unbearable by the time the right commands had been entered into the vessel's systems, the course set and locked, and her breathing in a body that was not her own became increasingly laboured and strained. Muscles burned and ached, fatigued and overworked, and hands trembled. Dizziness was quick to follow. Perspiration was hot on its heels.

Eventually not even she could bear it any longer and she was expelled not by the force of another but by her own exertion. In the same instant that Miguel's body slumped forward and over the helm console of the stolen launch Irina snapped back into her own body with a searing headache, the agony of it so intense that it almost made her sick. Every inch of her body was hurting and throbbing, exhausted and complaining, loudly, as though she had run a marathon without training for the damned thing first. That dizziness that had overcome her in Miguel's body had followed her and she gripped clumsily at the arms of her chair to keep herself from toppling right out of it. On top of the fury and indignation of being fought and, even just temporarily, overcome the last thing she needed was the humiliation of collapsing out of her seat like some feeble, fragile weakling.

Dimly she heard the sound of footsteps hurrying towards her even as she became aware of the dampness across her upper lip. She didn't need to touch her fingertips to it to know what it was but she did so anyway, letting out a heave of a sigh, irritated and frustrated, at the coppery wetness they came away coated in. Her goddamned nose was bleeding.

It had been a long time since that had happened.

Without words Evan pressed something into her raised hand, already bloodied as it was, and after a moment of sluggish incomprehension she realised that it was a handkerchief. Best not to drip blood all over her pants, she supposed, or down her blouse. If nothing else it would ruin the image she always strove to present to the world, that of someone tough and powerful and indomitable. She pressed the bunched material to her nose, feeling it grow warm and damp in next to no time at all.

Evan wanted to know what had happened. With her skull pounding the way it was she had trouble sensing it as effortlessly as she normally would have but she knew the man well enough by now to anticipate his reactions and emotions in most things.

"He's on his way," she told him once she felt her voice would be steady enough to hide the worst of the weariness she felt. "That stupid creature nearly ruined everything," she ground out, her anger spiking again, but then she found herself letting out a laugh. It caught Evan a little off guard as well, she noticed. "He ended up getting himself out." And that was funny to her. After all his resistance and defiance in the end he had finally understood what she had been trying to show and tell him all along: things would be simpler, safer for everyone involved, if he just cooperated. Better late than never, she supposed, and certainly much better than him failing to learn at all.

She had used Miguel's mind and all the knowledge and experience it possessed to deactivate the launch's tracker, as well as its communications, safe in the knowledge that the vessel had been set to automatically pilot itself to a secure location before she lost her grip and the body she had hijacked had given out on her. It was only temporary, of course, and though she had overreached and overworked herself it would be easier when he was closer. Much easier. Until then there was nowhere else he could go and his mind and body alike were in no condition to do much of anything to even attempt to defy her. By the time he was even close to being recovered enough to come back to himself it would be too late.

Of that much, even with her pounding headache and her nose still streaming blood, Irina was certain.

"I'm sorry, sir." Henderson sounded it too, sincerely and unmistakably so. "If I had just—"

"It's all right," the Captain told her, meeting her gaze without an ounce of anger or disappointment. "You did what you could. At least we have our eyes back now, so to speak. That's a heck of a lot more than we had an hour ago, and we're all thankful for that."

Jonathan turned his head to look at Lonnie again, noticing that she hesitated in acknowledging the Captain's words, obviously not believing them herself, but in the end she kept quiet and nodded her head. That silent acceptance, even if it wasn't truly heartfelt, was accepted by Captain Bridger who regarded the room at large with his hands on his hips, drawing in and releasing a breath that Jonathan thought was intended to be steadying. Or bracing, perhaps.

"Lucas," he ended up saying, turning the teenager's gaze his way. "Please tell me you have something."

There was a computer on the table in front of Lucas and he had been working on it only moments before. Reaching up he took the pen out of his mouth, a sure sign that he had been concentrating, and looked around the faces of those gathered. "Bits and pieces," he told them, his gaze settling finally on Bridger and remaining there. "A lot of it has been altered or redacted, or flat out erased." With a shake of his head he glanced to Doctor Smith. "If she's really as powerful as we think she is that's no surprise. She could get into the minds of the world's best hackers and—" He waved a hand at his computer. "Well." That, he obviously thought, said it all.

They understood what he meant.

"So what did you find out?" Jonathan asked, understanding why the teenager was explaining things but also keen to impress the need for expediency on all those present. They had already lost enough time as it was, and the revelation that they couldn't track one of their own launches had set them back even further. Add to that the fact that Ortiz, or the psychic controlling him, had somehow managed to keep them from launching anything else for at least a couple of hours and Jonathan was about ready to start banging his head against a wall.

"Well, from what I was able to gather," Lucas said, "Irina Dvornikov is her real name. Like I said, there's not a lot of other information out there, at least not that I was able to get my hands on, but—" He paused, mouth still open, as if he had half formed his next word, but he looked a little apprehensive as he glanced to Captain Bridger.

"Out with it, Lucas," the Captain said with a hint of resignation, as if he already knew what was coming. "I think at this point we're all well beyond desperate. How you got hold of information isn't really our main concern right now."

That was as close to a blessing as Lucas was going to get, especially since it sounded like the deed had already been done. "I reached out to some contacts." Some of them very much not legitimate, Jonathan suspected. "They did some digging of their own and got back to me with what they found." One glance around the table told Jonathan that Lucas had everyone's undivided attention. The teenager obviously noticed it too, taking in a deep, preparative breath before he ploughed on with the information he had been able to gather. "She's an extremely successful dealer on the black market, specialising in goods and information that others would usually struggle or outright fail to acquire."

"Because of her abilities," Brody chimed in.

"Presumably," Lucas confirmed. "Either she uses her telepathy to get where she needs to go, or better yet, she takes control of the mind of someone who already has access and gets what she wants that way. It's a perfect system." At the look Jonathan tossed his way Lucas amended, "At least as far as she's concerned. The less she has to get her hands dirty and keeps herself from getting caught up in the actual criminal act itself, the cleaner she can get away with something profitable."

"And then she can just go on to the next victim." Doctor Smith sighed as she spoke, sounding weary and worried and looking deeply troubled by the whole concept.

"Did anybody have any ideas about how she's able to control people at such great distances?" Jonathan asked, frowning. It was something that was gnawing at the back of his mind, the idea that someone with so much power could just reach across hundreds, if not thousands of miles and seize control of another person's mind. To say that that prospect unnerved him would have been an understatement.

"As a matter of fact," Lucas began, meeting Jonathan's eye, "they did." There was the first trace of a smile on the teenager's face as he went on, "Like I said Irina Dvornikov is a highly successful dealer in rare items, many of which are experimental or still in the developmental stages of their production. Some of the stuff she's managed to get her hands on might never even go into mass production." He took a moment to gauge the reactions of everyone present. "A little over four months ago a company called Gabrin Technologies had several of its designs and prototypes stolen, a few of which were—" Lucas paused, breathing in deeply, shaking his head a little and glancing at Captain Bridger and then Doctor Smith specifically. "Let's just say they probably wouldn't have gotten the all clear from an ethnical standpoint."

"Meanin' what?" Piccolo asked, frowning deeply. To his side Dagwood looked equally puzzled but the GELF wasn't about to ask questions during a meeting like this. He was probably overwhelmed merely by being included as it was.

Lucas looked at his roommate, saying nothing for a moment. When he did, he spoke rather bluntly, "I mean they were unethical." When Piccolo said and did nothing in response the teenager pressed on, "If they weren't outright inhumane then they were too close for comfort, at least for most investors. Those designs that were stolen had been halted for good reason, and were probably never going to see the light of day." He looked back to Captain Bridger. "The man in charge of the company, Leo Gabrin, is still under investigation by the UEO and God knows how many other law enforcement agencies, not to mention independent groups and corporations, for a whole laundry list of violations and breaches of Confederation mandate. Not just one Confederation either." Lucas' expression said it all: the number of laws this Gabrin man had either stretched too far or outright broken were obviously alarming. "Captain, some of the stuff this guy was working on—" With a rush of an exhale Lucas simply shook his head, obviously believing that he had said enough.

Captain Bridger looked thoughtful. Or maybe it was concern. Jonathan suspected it might have been both. "So you think something this Leo Gabrin developed is what's enabling the psychic to use her powers at such great distances?"

"I'm sure of it." And Lucas sounded it. After tapping a few keys on his computer he hijacked the main vid-link screen in the ward room. On it Jonathan could see what looked like the schematics for something like a computer chip. Shoving his chair back from the table Lucas rose and went over to the screen, gesturing to the largest image on the screen, the one that Jonathan had been focusing on. "It's a neural interface chip," he said, sweeping his gaze over the occupants of the room. "It's designed to dampen the conscious neurological impulses and drives of a subject, allowing an outside force to intervene and—well, basically? Take control."

"Wait." Brody sat forward. "Are you saying this is a mind control chip?"

"Yes and no." Lucas crossed his arms, regarding the schematic for a moment before facing them again. "What it does is subdue a person's conscious mind enough for someone else to slip inside and take over. It's basically—" He took a moment, clearly considering his words and choosing them carefully. "It's like a backdoor, like what hackers use to break through firewalls and complex encryptions. It enables someone, namely a psychic, to gain access to the mind of another that much easier than they otherwise would be able to." After a pregnant pause Lucas added, "Especially across great distances."

Doctor Smith had one hand in front of her mouth, her fingers lightly curled inward in the beginnings of a fist, the look in her eyes troubled and disbelieving. "No wonder they put a stop to it," she said. "This violates everything we stand for." Whether she meant psychics or the UEO was clearly open to interpretation. It was entirely possible she meant both. She looked from Lucas to Captain Bridger, but not before sweeping her gaze across the faces of the others. "This isn't just unethical, Nathan, this is cruel. Intentionally suppressing the consciousness of another in order to make use of it yourself—" She shook her head, obviously at a loss for words.

Captain Bridger regarded Wendy for a moment, almost long enough for Jonathan to wonder if they weren't having some sort of private exchange that the rest of them couldn't hear, before he focused on Lucas once again. "And you're sure this is what she's using?"

Uncrossing his arms and waving them out at his sides in a sort of shrug, Lucas said, "What else could it be?"

Jonathan was inclined to agree. From what their Chief Computer Analyst had told them this was too much of a coincidence not to be what they were looking for. "So she stole this technology and instead of selling it on, she decided to use it for herself."

"Makes sense," Jim said, his tone grim and coloured with irritation. "Someone like that wouldn't miss out on the opportunity to take a crack at the UEO flagship."

"But why Ortiz?" Piccolo asked, his elbows rested on the table, his hands briefly raised in a clueless sort of gesture. "I mean, no offence to Miguel or nothin', he knows what he's doin', I mean obviously." The mess he had made of their systems was evidence enough of that. "I'm just sayin'—" he gestured unmistakably at Jim, who was sitting across from him, "—Brody was there that night too. He's got much higher clearance and access or whatever you wanna call it. Wouldn't he have been a better target?"

Henderson was frowning. "Crime of opportunity," she said, albeit a little quietly, drawing the attention of everyone her way. She looked around at the rest of the crew gathered and then elaborated, "He was outside, alone, when that woman found him. He said he wanted some air and stepped outside with me and Tim when we were leaving." She swept her gaze over the others once again. "I offered to walk back with Tim, he was going to leave on his own." Henderson looked suitably discomforted by the idea that any one of them could have been targeted had they been alone at any point outside of that establishment.

Jonathan understood exactly what she was saying. "It could have been anyone." He sighed. "Ortiz was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Captain Bridger cut in, saying, "None of that really matters now. What's important is figuring out how we can use what Lucas has uncovered to find this woman and stop her from getting her hands on the information Ortiz stole for her, or worse still, using it somehow." He looked at the teenager again, prompting and quietly hopeful.

"I might have an idea," Lucas returned, taking his cue without missing a beat. "If I can hack into the Gabrin mainframe and access all the files associated with this design and its manufacture it's possible I can figure out some way to track it."

"That's good." Bridger nodded firmly.

"All that stuff's still available?" Piccolo turned in his seat to look at his friend.

Lucas nodded. "It has to be. He's still under investigation and if they dismantled his database and everything connected to it then they can't properly use it as evidence against him in his trial." That was good enough for the Seaman, apparently, who tipped his head to the side and then nodded it in acceptance.

"Get on it, Lucas," the Captain said, his tone leaving no room for argument, not that there would be any from the teenager who gave a nod of his own and made short work of scooping up his computer to head off and do as he had been told. "As for the rest of you," Bridger went on, "I want thorough diagnostics of every single system on board. Leave no stone unturned. The last thing we want to do is follow whatever trail Lucas manages to find for us and get caught with our pants down."

Jonathan thought Piccolo spared a moment to look amused by the Captain's choice of words but it was fleeting before he uttered his acknowledgement along with everyone else and then set off to get to work. He would probably end up helping someone else, or at least take the time to get a crash course in the work that needed to be do before setting to the task himself. He was proactive that way, when given the chance.

Dagwood lingered, along with Doctor Smith and Jonathan himself, and they all looked to the GELF, quietly questioning.

"What should Dagwood do, sir, Captain, sir?" There was still an audible trace of remorse in the large man's voice, and Jonathan couldn't help but feel for him. Dagwood had done what he had thought was right and now he was regretting it. It was true that it hadn't been ideal but none of them had been in that airlock when Ortiz had managed to escape custody, so they couldn't really make any judgements. Jonathan couldn't say what he would have done in Dagwood's place. Naturally he liked to think he would have prevented the Sensor Chief from leaving but there was no way of knowing for sure.

Before Bridger could say anything Doctor Smith intervened, saying, "Why don't you help me, Dagwood?" She glanced to the Captain. "Someone should tell O'Neill about all of this, bring him up to speed." The older man showed his agreement with a bob of his head. "I could use your help with a few things," she went on, speaking to Dagwood again directly at that point.

Dagwood hesitated for only a moment before saying, a little slowly, "Okay, Doctor Smith."

Jonathan gave the Doctor a small nod of his own, wordlessly thanking her for stepping in and giving the GELF something productive to do in order to make him feel useful. Right now the last thing any of them needed was to feel any more powerless, any more hopeless, than they already had during all of this. What they all needed, every single one of them, was to see this thing through to the end and finish it, one way or another, once and for all.

The vessel arrived exactly when Irina had said it would, the autopilot that had been set bringing it in neatly and steadily. Without a word or even any movement beyond the rise and fall of his chest Evan watched the launch dock securely, listening to the sounds of it settling into place. Only when the sounds of the process quieted and he was certain it was finished did he step forward and trigger the release for the airlock. It didn't take him long to get through, having to duck his head a little in order to enter the vessel, ignoring the trickles of water that ran down from around the docking seal.

He found the man precisely where he had expected to, where Irina had told him he would, slumped forward on the main controls at the front of the launch. Stepping closer he could hear the sounds of the man breathing and he stood to the side of the unmoving figure for several seconds, waiting for any sudden movements that his arrival might have triggered. But there was nothing. No reaction whatsoever.

Evan didn't take anything for granted, and he didn't take unnecessary chances.

With one foot he gave the seemingly unconscious man's hip a firm shove, the kind of hard jostle that would have made anyone, no matter how fine an actor, shift reflexively in order to catch themselves. As it was the man didn't react, his body responding to the shove as any unconscious form would: he slumped out of the chair completely, buckling to the floor unresponsively. There was no sign of any effort to catch himself or soften his landing and Evan was satisfied that there were no games being played.

He wasted no time after that, moving around the chair and reaching down to take hold of the open collar of the unconscious man's uniform, bunching the material in his hand fully and firmly enough that he could use it to heave the body up off the ground. He could have carried him but it was tight quarters enough as it was and Evan decided it was just as easy to drag the man out. He could lift him up and carry him once they were clear of the launch.

That was precisely what he did, not saying a word and not even looking back after thumping the panel that triggered the launch's doors to seal again. Without hesitation Evan made his way back to Irina, the unconscious man slung limply over his shoulder, safe in the knowledge that the seaQuest's crew would never find the docking point, the vessel secured to it, or the man it had carried here.

And if they did? It would be much too late, and he and Irina, along with everything she had worked so hard to acquire, would be long gone.