Lucas removed his sunglasses to rub at his dry eyes, sparing a long look into the brilliant blue sky before squinting and sliding the shades back on. Somewhere in the distance, he heard bells chiming from a clock tower. Already the memorial had been going on for two hours. He sighed softly and fidgeted in his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Not for the first time that day, he wished he'd put up a bigger fight when his mother had insisted he wear a suit and tie.

It was an unnaturally warm day for this time of year, even by southern Florida standards, and the spell of heat was wearing on the large crowd gathered for his father's memorial service. Around him, Lucas could see those mourners unfortunate enough to be standing shift on their feet and check their wristwatches. Men dabbed at the sweat beading on their foreheads and women used the programs handed out before the service as fans to stir the heavy air. At his left, Lucas' mom plucked uncomfortably at her blouse; his stepfather loosened his tie, and Lucas was repulsed to see the sweat dripping down the man's thick neck. Lucas flinched and turned away.

A soft touch on his shoulder drew Lucas' attention to his right. He looked up and saw Bridger studying him. The captain raised his eyebrows in question – was he all right? – and Lucas nodded slowly in return, turning his attention back to the service. A white-haired old man, apparently his father's doctoral advisor from MIT, had been droning on for more than 20 minutes now.

The day so far was progressing painfully slowly, especially compared to the whirlwind of activity that had swallowed up the previous two days.

Once his shuttle had safely reached shore, Lucas and the rest of the crew had been ushered immediately to UEO barracks, where they'd waited impatiently for word of the seaQuest and the rest of her crew. It had seemed like hours, but it must have been no more than 45 minutes before Bridger himself had arrived at the barracks to great cheers and hugs, which quickly had turned into cries of dismay when they had learned for certain that their boat was gone.

Lucas hadn't had time to rejoice or grieve with the rest of the crew. He'd been lead to a sickbay, where he had then spent the next 12 hours mostly sleeping before joining a dozen or so other crewmembers on a UEO-chartered flight to Florida for the memorial service. After more sleep, more doctors and a brief reunion with his mother, that was where he was stuck now: pretending to mourn a father who wasn't really dead.

He sighed deeply and shifted once again in his chair, grimacing when he felt the sweat pooling behind his knees and making his trousers cling to his legs. Why did it have to be so hot?

For the past two hours – really, for the past two days – Lucas had been running circles in his own mind, a million questions racing around his head and almost no answers. He didn't know where his father was or why he was in danger. In two days, he hadn't even been able to check for more messages from his father, much less download his files and find out what the mysterious "Frodo" contained. He smiled when he thought of the name. True enough, good memories of his father were few and far between. In fact, Lucas had immediately rejected an offer to speak at his father's own memorial, and not because he knew the man wasn't really dead, but because he knew he would have nothing to say. He'd barely even known the man, and of the little he did know, not much of it was very pleasant.

The memorial dragged on, politicians and world-renowned scientists alike wrenching tidbits of their memories with Dr. Wolenczak to share with the increasingly restless crowd. As with any dignified memorial service, the memories were mostly trite and occasionally amusing, in a bland sort of way. But even as Lucas frowned and grimaced through the service, he found himself swept up in memories of his own, good and bad. Lazy afternoons reading "Young Physicist" magazines together, or staying up well past his bedtime to discuss the supernovas and distant galaxies that his father promised were in the dark sky. And then the countless disappointments: cancelled outings, forgotten birthdays, abandoned promises.

Behind his sunglasses, Lucas closed his eyes against the tears that were starting to form. 'He's not dead,' Lucas reminded himself. 'Think about his note. Think about where he is now. Think about Frodo.'

Lucas allowed a soft, bittersweet smile to cross his face at that thought.

When he had been just 4 years old, really far too young for even a child with his IQ to take an interest in true literature, his father had started reading "The Hobbit" to him, and later "The Lord of the Rings." For nearly three months it had been a nightly treat for father and son. Before long, his father had been fondly calling Lucas his Frodo. His smart little hobbit.

Before they could finish the books, his father had won his first major funding for what would later become the World Power Project. The money had come from a private corporation that demanded nonstop work from its top scientists. Lucas had been left to read by himself. It had been a near-impossible task, the deep philosophy and archaic writing style confusing to such a young mind, but Lucas had forced himself to finish. He was Frodo, after all. He was the hero. He had to know where his future lay.

A soft nudge at Lucas' side drew him out of his memories, and he blinked at his surroundings. The memorial was over. The crowd was humming and milling about in the bright afternoon sunlight.

"You okay?" Bridger asked, his voice soft with concern.

Lucas blinked again and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

Bridger reached around and gave Lucas a brief hug from the side, squeezing his shoulder before standing up and putting on his own sunglasses. Lucas rose and turned slowly around, gazing over the massive crowd. The memorial service had been held in the grassy glade of a UEO amphitheater, and there must have been at least 500 people in attendance. Lucas recognized almost none of them, save for the handful of people who were now standing nearby.

"Looks like Dad's a pretty popular guy," he muttered.

"What was that?" Bridger asked.

"Nothing."

They stood silent for a moment, then Bridger saw Noyce waving to him from the front of the amphitheater. He lifted his hand in return and gave Lucas an appraising glance.

"Hey, will you be okay for a moment? Looks like Noyce wants a word."

"Yeah, no problem," Lucas said. Bridger patted his arm then strode purposely across the grass, expertly weaving his way among the throngs of people. Lucas watched him walk away and then glanced at his mother, who darted a quick look in his direction and offered a sympathetic smile. She had been pulled into conversation with Aunt Linda, his father's only surviving relative other than Lucas.

Lucas gave his mother a small smile in return then turned slowly east, where he could just barely see the ocean sparkling in the distance. He squinted and imagined he could see tiny sailboats skimming the water.

"Excuse me."

Lucas jumped slightly at the feminine voice and looked back over his shoulder.

"I don't know if you remember me-" she started.

"Jordan Mathers. You were my father's assistant."

Of course he remembered her. He'd spent more time talking to this woman than his own father over the past two years, during countless unsuccessful attempts to speak to the man. She looked different now. Her frizzy blond hair, usually falling down to her shoulders, was now pulled back neatly from her face. She was wearing a crisp black suit and had apparently left behind the tacky gold jewelry he usually saw on her. But she still wore the same sad smile that gave away the immense pity she felt for her boss's son. Lucas cringed slightly to see it.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," she said, and reached out to squeeze his hand.

"Thank you," he said, and casually shifted his hand into his trouser pocket. They stood in awkward silence for a moment.

"Lucas," she began, her words faltering as if she was uncertain of what to say, "maybe it's not my place to say anything, but I think I knew your father as well as anyone, and, well, he loved you very much. Despite, you know, despite what you may think, or the way he acted."

Lucas didn't respond for a moment, caught off guard by the frank comments. He shifted his gaze to the grass and his scuffed dress shoes. "I know," he said finally.

"He tried to reach you, before, well…" she trailed off.

"He did reach me," Lucas said, looking up.

For a split second she looked alarmed, and then her face cleared and she breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad to hear that. I wasn't sure. It was very important to him, in the end."

"It was important to me too," Lucas said softly. Mathers reached out with a tentative hand as if to stroke his arm, then seemed to think better of it and folded her arms over her chest.

"Lucas, this may seem a little strange, but did Lawrence-"

"Lucas, are you ready to go?" asked his mom, who had suddenly appeared at his side. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?"

"No, not at all. I need to be going anyway," Mathers said, reaching out to shake Lucas' hand and offering another sad smile. "It was good to see you, Lucas. I really am sorry."

"Thank you."

"Who was that?" his mom asked when Mathers had slipped away.

"Just a friend of Dad's."

"I didn't think he had any friends," his mom muttered, rifling through her purse now.

"Mom…"

"I'm sorry, Lucas. That was in poor taste," she said, pulling a tube of lipstick out of her purse and swearing mildly when she opened it and saw it was melted. "Are you ready to go? We were going to grab some lunch before heading back to the hotel."

Lucas sent a withering look toward his stepfather, who had already lost his jacket and tie. It had been four or five years since Lucas had last seen him. He was a burly man with thick arms and a heavy beard, and he was sweating profusely. Lucas was glad to see his stepdad looking immensely uncomfortable in the heat; the man had no right being at the memorial anyway.

"Did you have to bring him?" Lucas said quietly, instead of answering his mother's question. "He doesn't even want to be here."

His mom opened her mouth to respond – most likely with some sort of useless defense of her husband – but before she could say anything the captain joined the group.

"Hello," Bridger said, offering a small grin to Lucas before turning to his mom. "You must be Lucas' mother."

"Cynthia Carver. You're Captain Bridger?"

"Call me Nathan," Bridger said, and offered his hand.

"This is my husband, Rick," she said, and Lucas' stepfather leaned forward, grunting as he shook Bridger's hand. Lucas scowled at him.

"It's nice to meet you both, although I wish it could be under better circumstances," Bridger said.

"Of course," his mother agreed. "Lawrence and I didn't always get along, but, well, it's a shame, to see him go now."

"Yes, it is," Bridger said. "But you know, your son has held up well, under the circumstances. You have a lot to be proud of. He's really a fine young man."

"Thank you. We're very proud of him," Cynthia said, rubbing Lucas' shoulder and smiling when he blushed. "But we've missed him this past year. It's hard having him away all the time."

Lucas laughed shortly at that, and his mom gave him a stern look. Certainly his mother couldn't still believe that Rick actually wanted him around.

"I can imagine it's difficult for you," Bridger said, and opened his mouth to say more when Aunt Linda burst into the group.

"Oh Lucas, poor dear, how are you?" she gushed, and swept him into her plump arms, squeezing his face on her soft shoulders. When she'd nearly hugged the life out of him, she grasped his arms and held him back, treating him to an appraising stare. "It's just so awful, isn't it? I'm so, so sorry."

"Thanks, Aunt Linda," Lucas said, and grunted when she pulled him back in for another hug.

"You know, it's all up to you now," she said, patting the back of his head none-too-gently with broad sweeps of her sweaty palms. "You're the last one, the last Wolenczak. You've got to carry on the name and do it justice. Make your father proud, Lucas."

"Please, Linda, he's already made Lawrence prouder than any father could be," his mother said, rifling through her purse again. This time she came up with a cigarette and a lighter shaped like the state of New York.

"Of course, of course," Aunt Linda said, flapping her hands in a dismissal. "He knows what I mean, don't you, hon?"

"Yeah," Lucas said, nearly panting as he finally forced his way out of his aunt's hug.

"Well, I suppose he'll be moving back to Buffalo, then," Aunt Linda said, turning her gaze to Lucas' mom.

"Yes." His mom reached over and squeezed Lucas' shoulder, then frowned as her lighter failed for the third time. "I can hardly wait to get him home."

Rick snorted at her side. His mother gave Rick a nervous glance, but everyone else ignored him.

"Thank God you're finally getting him off that boat. That was no place for a child," Aunt Linda said.

"I'm not-"

"When are you leaving?" Aunt Linda continued over Lucas' protest.

"Tonight, actually. Rick has to get back to work, and we want to get Lucas settled as quickly as possible."

"Good, good," Aunt Linda nodded approvingly, her gaze shifting as something across the lawn caught her attention. "Oh, there's Ned, Lawrence's old roommate. I really should say hi. Don't any of you leave without saying goodbye."

Without so much as a backward glance, Aunt Linda was marching across the lawn. As soon as she was out of earshot, Lucas and his mother burst into giggles.

"She hasn't changed a bit," his mother gasped between laughs.

"Thank God she didn't kiss me," Lucas added.

"Not yet! Don't forget, there's still goodbye," his mom said, and Lucas groaned.

Rick seemed oblivious to their sudden outbreak in laughter, but Bridger stared at them in utter confusion.

"She's Dad's half-sister. A complete nutball," Lucas explained. "It's weird, I never thought she liked Dad all that much."

"She liked me better than him," his mother agreed.

"Mom, are we really leaving tonight?" Lucas asked, remembering what his mother had just said.

She stole another glance at her husband, then looked ruefully at Lucas. "There's really no reason for us to stay."

"But I was hoping to hang around for a few days, say goodbye."

"Actually," Bridger interrupted, clearing his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about that." He waited until Lucas and his mother were facing him before continuing. "I really had wanted to talk to Lucas about it first, but since I have you both here…Well, I've got a proposition for you."

Lucas rose his eyebrows, his curiosity piqued.

"A proposition?" his mom asked.

"You see, there's the simple matter of building a new submarine," Bridger said. "With the seaQuest gone, the UEO has basically given us permission to build a new boat from scratch. The design phase is starting almost immediately. In fact, there are already dozens of engineers coming up with the initial schematics. This boat will easily be the most advanced vessel in the history of mankind."

"That's fascinating, Captain Bridger, but what does that have to do with my son?"

"Well, Lucas has been invited to join the design team."

"Really?" Lucas said, his voice pitched with awe and delight.

"Captain, please. I know my son is smart, but surely you must have professionals better suited for such an important project."

"Actually, not really," Bridger said. "Lucas' computer networking skills are basically unmatched. He would be a vital asset to the program. Secretary General Noyce himself has requested that Lucas join us."

His mother sighed at this, and looked warily at Lucas before speaking.

"But he's only 17," she said. "His father may have encouraged him to push himself nonstop, but it's time for my son to have a break. It's time for him to be with his family and relax, act his age for awhile."

"Mom, please," Lucas said. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. This is what I've always dreamed about, helping build something from the ground up. I want to do this."

"I don't think so, Lucas," his mom said. You're too young. Where would you live? How would you take care of yourself?"

"He'd live with me," Bridger answered.

Mother and son both gaped at him.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," his mother said.

"You don't have to. I'm offering."

"I don't know," she hedged, gazing uncertainly at her husband. "I was looking forward to having Lucas at home again, just the three of us."

"Mom," Lucas began, and darted a serious look at his stepfather, who was standing with his back to the group and ignoring their conversation. Even without an offer to live with Bridger, Lucas had no intention of moving back in with his mother as long as Rick was still around.

"We'd be fine," she said softly, taking Lucas' hand. "I promise."

Lucas frowned doubtfully. He'd heard such promises from her before. "Maybe," he said, glancing again at his stepfather, "but I want to stay here. I want to help build this submarine. It's important to me."

His mother finally sighed, and she leaned forward to touch his face.

"Okay," she said in resignation. "But I want you to come visit, and soon. I've missed you."

"I know, Mom. I've missed you too," Lucas said, and he pulled her into a hug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispered, kissing his cheek before pulling away, her hands still grasping his shoulders. She turned on Bridger. "You had better take good care of my son."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Carver."

"No more of this flu," she said.

"I know."

"Or head injuries."

"Nope."

"Or hostage situations."

"No way."

"Or terrorist takeovers."

"I'll keep him safe."

"Or-"

"Mom!"

She laughed finally.

"You just keep him safe for me," she said. "I love him."

"I love you too, Mom."

xxxXXXxxx

"You actually live on an island."

Lucas stared at the captain in disbelief as Bridger drove a UEO sedan toward the ferry that would carry them to his house. It was nearing sunset, and the eastern sky was almost the same dusky gray as the ocean in front of them. In the distance, Lucas could see yellow light shining from a handful of homes on a tiny island that seemed barely as wide as the seaQuest was long.

"You thought I was lying?" Bridger asked with a chuckle, stopping the car before the ferry gate.

"Well, no, not really," Lucas said. "I just figured you meant an island in the metaphorical sense. This is literally an island."

Bridger laughed again as Lucas continued to gape at the island that was about to become his home. When the gate came up on the ferry, Bridger eased the car forward and stopped once they were fully onboard. This would be the last ferry of the evening, and theirs was the only car on it. Once he'd turned off the engine, Bridger got out of the car and Lucas followed him, breathing deeply of the tangy breeze coming off the ocean.

"Well look at that! Nathan Bridger!" a voice boomed from behind them. "Wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."

"Skipper!" Bridger called back, a grin lighting up his face as he turned to greet the man. "You know I came back just to see you."

Lucas leaned on his side of the car and smiled lightly as Bridger and the man he called Skipper shared a vigorous handshake, grasping each other's forearms and laughing at the unexpected reunion. Skipper was a large man, with a belly that poured over his jeans and broad shoulders. Not much of his face was visible beneath a deep brown beard and shaggy hair that fell nearly to his shoulders and well into his eyes. Those eyes were warm beneath Skipper's crinkled brow as he turned an appraising glance toward Lucas.

"Picked up a stowaway on that fancy boat of yours, eh, Nathan?"

"Well, you know, we kept tossing him overboard but he kept swimming right back," Bridger said with a laugh even as Lucas treated him to a teasing glare. "Skipper, this is Lucas. Lucas, you're looking at the most talented seaman this side of the Atlantic. He taught me everything I know."

At this last comment, Skipper tipped his head back with great bellows of laughter, his hands grasping at his ample belly. His laughter was infectious, and soon Bridger and Lucas had joined him, albeit not quite as boisterously.

"You're a good man, Nathan," Skipper said, clasping the captain on a shoulder. "But I bet you're itching to get home. Let's get this boat going." He disappeared into the cabin of the ferry.

Lucas and Bridger walked around to the front of the car as the ferry's engine roared to life, and the captain pulled Lucas to his side with an arm around his shoulder, guiding him to the front of the boat so they could watch their approach to the island. For several minutes they stood in silence, Lucas leaning his elbows on the railing as he watched a few more lights wink to life on the island. Before long, they were gliding quietly across the ocean, the ferry cutting a rough line in the choppy water.

"So we have to take the ferry to work everyday?" Lucas asked, still staring ahead.

"Yep," Bridger said. "It only takes 10 minutes, but then it's another half hour to the labs where we'll be working."

"And we have to use that?" Lucas said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder to point at the UEO-issue sedan. It was an exceedingly boring car, Lucas had decided. He doubted it could even top 200 miles per hour.

"Well I'm not taking you to work on the back of my motorcycle everyday, if that's what you mean."

"You have a motorcycle?" Lucas stared in astonishment at the captain.

"I thought you knew that."

"Well, Ortiz said you did but I never believed him."

"What, you don't think I look like someone who'd ride a motorcycle?"

"Um, not exactly," Lucas hedged.

"You keep talking like that and I'll never let you ride it," Bridger teased.

"You'd let me ride it?"

"We'll see."

Lucas smiled at that, imagining himself speeding along on a motorcycle, maybe with a girl attached to his waist. He would definitely find a way to get on that ride sometime soon. After a moment he turned his attention back to the island, which was not much more than a dark, shadowy shape in the water as the afternoon light faded into evening.

"How many people live out there?" he asked.

Bridger thought for a moment. "There are five homes, I think," he said.

"Actually, it's nine now," Skipper said from behind them. "You haven't been back here in a long time."

"I guess not," Bridger said thoughtfully. "Nine. I haven't been gone that long, have I? I had no idea it'd become so crowded."

"Yeah, it's a regular suburb," Lucas muttered.

"Only four of them are occupied year-round," Skipper continued. "The rest are mostly winter folks."

"Are the Desmonds still breeding emus?" Bridger asked with a smile.

"You bet," Skipper said. "Best darn emu-burgers in the state, if you ask me."

Lucas tuned the men out as they continued to snicker over the island gossip, Skipper obviously more than happy to share news from the past several years. Lucas turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the first stars were starting to shine dully in the darkening sky. It was a clear night, and the moon was already low in the sky. Lucas yawned and lowered his chin into the palms of his hands.

It was still early, but it had been a long and exhausting day for Lucas. He'd been up since 6 a.m., when the doctor at the UEO hospital where Lucas had been recovering from the flu had woken him and told him he was being released. From there, he'd spent most of the morning with his mother and stepfather – never a good thing – until the memorial service. After that, he'd been forced to sit through a long, stressful lunch with his mom and stepfather, again, before going with them to the airport to say goodbye. His mother had cried then, much to Lucas' dismay, and he'd fought a long moment of guilt, wondering to himself if he was abandoning her, if he was being selfish for not returning home with her and preferring to stay with the captain. It was a ridiculous notion, he forced himself to acknowledge. It wasn't like his mother had been particularly supportive of his needs when he was growing up. She was still married to Rick, despite the way he'd treated Lucas years ago. Lucas knew he didn't owe his mom anything, and all things considered, he probably had every right to never want to speak to her again. But still, she was his mother, and he loved her. He never did like to see her cry.

With a bump and a splash of water, the ferry reached the island dock and Lucas was jolted out of his unhappy thoughts. He stood up and allowed a small smile when he saw the captain staring at him with some concern.

"We're here?" Lucas asked.

"We're here," Bridger confirmed, throwing another arm around Lucas' shoulders. "Let's get in the car."

It was a short drive to Bridger's house, which was less than a mile from the docks. The house was dark when they arrived, but even in the fading light Lucas could tell that this was not the tiny island cabin he'd been expecting. True, the home was by no means large, but it was beautifully constructed, with huge bay windows and redwood siding. As Bridger pulled the car into the driveway at the side of the house, Lucas saw that the back of the home opened directly onto a beach, with a short pier hopping out into the water. Lucas whistled appreciatively at the sight.

"Not bad," he said, and then eyed Bridger with teasing suspicion. "Just how much does a UEO captain make anyway?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to ask that?" Bridger said with a laugh. "Anyway, I'm not just any old UEO captain, you know."

Lucas laughed as he got out of the car, and they both grabbed their luggage from the back seat and headed inside. Outside, the air was already starting to cool with an evening breeze coming off the water, but inside Bridger's house it was still stiflingly hot and stuffy, both from the day's hot weather and years of being uninhabited. As Bridger gave Lucas a tour of the home, he opened every window until finally a cool, salty breeze was carried through the rooms. To Lucas' mild dismay, the only computer in the house was in a study that was adjacent to Bridger's bedroom. He'd need to get his own laptop soon if he wanted any privacy, and he'd been hoping to check for a message from his father later tonight.

At the far end of the house was the guest room that would now belong to Lucas. It was small and nearly bare of decoration, the walls painted a creamy white and a double bed shoved into the corner, but it had a giant window that looked out on the ocean. Next to the bed there was a desk next that doubled as a night table, complete with a lamp and an alarm clock that was blinking the wrong time. Lucas dumped his bags on the floor and immediately sat on the bed, running a hand through his hair and yawning.

"It's been a long day," Bridger commented as he reached into a closet and found sheets and blankets for the bed.

"Yeah," Lucas mumbled around another yawn.

"Are you hungry at all? We'll have to go shopping tomorrow, but I'm sure there's some food in the freezer."

"No, thanks," Lucas said. "All I really want to do is sleep."

Bridger glanced at his watch and laughed. "This from the kid that I've had to threaten with sedatives when he refused to stop working and get some sleep? It's not even 9 o'clock. That's got to be some kind of record."

"Well, actually, I was hoping you'd let me get on your computer for just a few minutes," Lucas said, smirking.

"I knew it," Bridger said with a smile. "All right, why don't you go ahead and I'll make up your bed."

"You don't have to do that. I'll put the sheets on when I'm done."

"That's what you say now, but tomorrow I'll find you asleep in your clothes on top of a bare mattress," Bridger said, and pulled Lucas off the bed. "Go on. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks," Lucas said, and went off to the study.

He found that he had painful knots in his stomach almost as soon as he turned on the computer. There was no reason for him to be so nervous about possibly hearing from his father, but his body apparently didn't care about reason. Lucas practically bounced up and down in the chair at Bridger's computer as he waited for it to warm up. When the computer was ready, Lucas' fingers flew over the keyboard and in less than a minute he was checking for messages. He almost felt sick at what he saw. There was nothing.

The disappointment was immense, but Lucas tried to tell himself that it didn't mean anything. His father had never been any good at keeping in touch when he wasn't playing dead; why should he be any better about it now? Lucas found himself ashamed that he'd even been hopeful for something more. It had been so easy for his father to reclaim him, he realized. But when it came down to it, he was doomed to always be disappointed when it came to his father. Lucas sighed and made to turn off the computer, when he suddenly remembered the file, Frodo. He briefly considered trying to download it now, but realized that he probably wouldn't have time to get it all, much less look at it, before Bridger walked in. He'd have to wait until later, perhaps until he had his own computer.

Bridger was just tossing a pillow onto Lucas' bed when he returned to his room. Lucas stood in the doorway for a moment and watched Bridger pull back the blankets and fluff the pillow.

"You going to tuck me in too?" he asked, and Bridger jumped, startled.

"After I read you a bedtime story, sure," he said, smiling. Lucas laughed and walked into the room, kicking his shoes off as he went.

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to get a laptop soon, maybe even tomorrow," he said, reaching into his duffel bag for something to wear to bed.

"What, my computer isn't good enough for you?"

"Well…"

"No, don't say it," Bridger said. "Don't worry, we'll get you something appropriate tomorrow. The UEO will probably cover it, in fact, since I imagine you'll be using it for work."

"Excellent," Lucas said, already trying to calculate just how much the UEO would pay.

"And while we're out, it wouldn't hurt to get you some new clothes," Bridger went on. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's a lot warmer here than on a submarine."

"Good point," Lucas said, although he was not thrilled at the idea of going clothes shopping with the captain. He had to admit that jeans and turtlenecks weren't going to work here.

"Good, then it's decided. Tomorrow we go shopping," Bridger said. "And now I'll let you get to bed. Go ahead and sleep in tomorrow. When we start work next week, you'll have to be up at 7 to make the ferry."

"Seven?" Lucas said in astonishment, his eyes widening in disbelief. "I never even got up that early on the seaQuest."

"Yeah, I noticed," Bridger said. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"I seriously doubt that."

Bridger smiled at that and looked fondly at Lucas for a moment as he began to unbutton his suit shirt and get ready for bed. "I'm glad you're here, Lucas."

Lucas smiled back shyly. "Me too, sir. Thank you, for everything."

"You're welcome," Bridger said. "Goodnight."

"'Night."

Lucas was asleep five minutes later.