Before he'd even closed the door to his room, Lucas realized he'd behaved badly in the kitchen. Bridger's only information about Lucas' father came from what Lucas himself had mentioned – the forgotten birthdays, the missing phone calls, the neglect. The captain had no way of knowing that Dr. Wolenczak was actually a decent father, a changed man since his brush with death. Bridger certainly had no idea just how much Rick the Dick was not like Lucas' father. Dr. Wolenczak at his most neglectful was Father of the Year compared to Rick the Dick.
Lucas sighed and dropped into the chair in front of his laptop, picking up a pen and chewing on one end. Only his pride, and the disconcerting realization that he had lost control of his emotions for the second time in one day, kept him from returning and apologizing to the captain right away. He'd deal with that in the morning. Instead, Lucas tried to distract himself from his still uncomfortably bubbling emotions by tinkering on the computer. He'd just sent a new message to his father the night before, so he wasn't expecting a reply for another day or so. Lucas sighed deeply again, and dropped his chin in one hand as he tried aimlessly to entertain himself. But after 30 minutes, he grew bored with his games and could find nothing of interest on the news sites and message boards he frequently perused on the Internet.
Driven to such extremes of boredom, Lucas opened up Frodo. He hadn't bothered with the file in a couple weeks, stopping about 100 pages into the document when he could find nothing useful or even mildly interesting in there. But with nothing better to distract himself and his usual bedtime still an hour or so away, he decided to read a bit more.
He tackled the report from a different angle this time, turning to the index to see if any topics might actually spark his interest. Indeed, a handful of subjects did seem worth a read, he realized, and silently berated himself for not checking the index sooner. After reading through the C's and making a mental reminder to look back at the "Community Fusion Projects" section, Lucas decided to flip back to the W's. His father's name wasn't there, but Lucas was stunned to find an entry – a rather long entry with several pages listed – for the World Power Project. He quickly jumped to the first page mentioned, about three quarters of the way into the report. The title nearly shook him out of his chair: "World Power Project Failure Report."
Lucas read the 52-page section in less than an hour. His father's name was all over it. The report, completed the previous October, gave a detailed, well-researched analysis of exactly how and why the World Power Project was doomed to failure. And it was absolutely correct. The author who'd compiled the data had known of the lava stream running under the research center and had predicted when, where and how it would burst, and what the consequences would be. The author, Dr. Ramon Canales, pulled no punches in blaming Lucas' father, along with five other scientists from his team, for pushing forward too fast and too carelessly with the project. Canales recommended that the UEO abort the project outright and immediately.
Obviously no one had listened, and now Lucas wondered why.
In fact, he was frothing with questions now. Had his father known of this report? He must have, if he was the one who sent it to Lucas. But if he was aware of it, then why had he ignored it? Why hadn't the report been released outside the UEO? Why hadn't Canales warned everyone as the completion day approached? How could the UEO have allowed so much destruction?
The questions that buzzed through Lucas' mind competed only with the sudden nausea that struck him as he realized his father was at least partially responsible for so much disaster, even deaths. Eight people had died in the World Power Project explosion. Lucas now wondered if that was why his father was in hiding. Perhaps he was afraid of the truth coming out and taking all the blame. The thought of his father as such a coward turned Lucas' stomach, and he swallowed hard.
Then a new thought struck him, and he wondered if his father was such a coward after all. Lucas was still confident that it had likely been his father who had sent him the document. Why would he send Lucas the report if he was ashamed of what was in it and didn't want anyone to know about it? He must have wanted Lucas to read it. But then why not tell him about it in the messages?
Lucas' mind reeled at the confusing questions roiling about. None of it made any sense. He buried his head in his hands, tugging with frustration at his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. "Damn," Lucas muttered. Before he could swear again – and louder, this time – there was a knock at his door.
"Lucas? Are you awake?"
It was Bridger. "Damn," Lucas mumbled again.
"Is it all right if I come in?"
Lucas glanced at his monitor, his eyes immediately latching onto his father's name. He was in no mood to talk now. He stood up and walked to the door, cracking it open just a few inches.
"Can it wait until tomorrow?" he asked.
Bridger waited a moment to answer, glancing over Lucas' face with concern, then nodded.
"Sure. I just wanted to see if you were okay."
"Yeah, I'm okay."
"I'm sorry about tonight, Lucas."
"Me too. Can we talk about it tomorrow?" Lucas asked, staring at the floor.
"Yeah," Bridger said. "It's late. You going to bed soon?"
Lucas glanced back at the clock on his desk, surprised to see that it was already past midnight.
"In a few minutes," he said, feeling guilty about lying.
"Okay, kiddo. I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight," Lucas said, and closed the door.
He did not head straight for his computer, instead sitting heavily on his bed and once again burying his face in his hands. He would have to ask his father about the report, but what should he say? A few months ago, even a few weeks ago, Lucas would have been almost excited at the prospect of pointing out such a fundamental flaw in his father's research. It would have been satisfying. But not now, not when Dr. Wolenczak had become the father Lucas had been craving all through his childhood. The very thought of what he needed to say to his father twisted Lucas' gut and started a pounding in his head. He finally groaned in frustration and fell back on his bed, sighing as he stared up at the ceiling.
After several minutes of pointless staring, Lucas lifted up on his elbows and glanced again at his clock. It was 12:36. He needed to write the message. He dragged himself off the bed and settled again in front of the laptop.
Dad,
I finally read Frodo. We need to talk. Please tell me what is going on.
Love,
Lucas
Short and not-so-sweet. Lucas debated over the "love," and finally decided that yes, he still loved his father even if he may have been responsible for the deaths of eight people and a near worldwide environmental disaster. Besides, for now he would give his father the benefit of the doubt. He sent the message.
His head still buzzing and a headache blossoming behind his left eye, Lucas was tired but knew it would be some time before he could fall asleep. He reread the report on his father's project, paying special attention to the data that Canales had compiled and trying to find faults in the research. No mistakes jumped out at Lucas, but he was no expert in geothermal physics. After finishing the report, Lucas searched for information about Canales. Perhaps the man was a rogue scientist or a crackpot that no one in his field took seriously. In fact, Lucas found the opposite was true. Canales had published dozens of papers, most of them in very well respected and widely read journals. One of them Lucas remembered reading himself a few years ago. Lucas was scanning lazily over the results of his search when one entry caught his attention. It was a news article dated earlier this year. An obituary.
Dr. Ramon Canales, an international authority in particle physics who was best known for his extensive research into environmental policies and their effects on the world's oceans, died Sunday at his home in Glendale, Calif. He was 43.
The death notice went on to list Canales' many achievements, including his Nobel Prize nomination and his work with dozens of governments all over the country, including the UEO, in creating legislation to protect the oceans from environmental devastation. Lucas was mildly surprised that he'd never heard of Canales before, but then Lucas had always been more focused on his science than political agendas or policies. Now he wished he'd known about Canales earlier.
The obituary didn't mention how Canales had died, so Lucas searched further, a new worry settling into the pit of his stomach. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for. Canales had killed himself. He'd been found in his home dangling from a noose made with an electric cord.
Before the doubt that was creeping up Lucas' spine could take root in his mind, he turned off the computer. Lucas didn't want to think about why Canales had committed suicide. He certainly didn't want to think about the timing of Canales' death, so soon after the report about the World Power Project. Instead he turned off his light and climbed into bed fully clothed. It was hours before he fell asleep.
xxxXXXxxx
Lucas arrived in the kitchen a full 25 minutes earlier than usual the next morning, his hair wet and tousled from a shower and his eyes feeling red and puffy from too little sleep. Bridger gawked at Lucas as he tumbled into his chair at the table, treating him to an appraising stare before getting up to fetch him a cup of coffee without saying a word. Lucas nodded his thanks then shut his eyes as he quickly downed the cup of coffee. He heard Bridger pour him a refill.
"I can put a pillow on the table if you like," Bridger teased as Lucas' head drooped toward his chest. Lucas peered up at the captain through half-lidded eyes and yawned widely before responding.
"I didn't get much sleep last night," he mumbled. Bridger's face dropped in apology.
"Lucas, I'm sorry about what I said yesterday," the captain said, sitting back down at the table and staring into his own coffee. "I had no right to say anything about your father."
Lucas shut his eyes in a grimace. He should have figured the captain would blame himself for Lucas' lack of sleep, but Lucas couldn't say anything about the real cause of his insomnia. Instead he just shrugged.
"It's okay," he said. "I'm sorry for acting like a brat. I know you didn't mean anything. I hope I didn't ruin the rest of your evening with the doctor."
"No, no, you didn't ruin anything," Bridger said quickly. "Kristin's just worried about you. We both are."
"I know. But I'm fine, really."
"Lucas-"
"Captain, I promise, I'm doing all right," Lucas said, and for the most part that was the truth, he realized. Before his discovery last night, he'd been feeling pretty good, actually. Bridger sighed.
"Okay," he said, "but you know you can come to me if anything's wrong."
"I know."
They sat in silence for a moment longer, each sipping coffee and looking deep in thought. After a few minutes, Bridger cleared his throat.
"So, um, about Rick the Dick…" he started, glancing cautiously at Lucas.
"Right…" Lucas drawled. He mentally kicked himself for allowing that potentially explosive topic to come up last night. He had no intention of telling the captain the truth about Rick the Dick.
"Look, I won't force you to visit your mom," Bridger said. "But if there's something I should know, about your stepfather or whatever, you'll tell me, right?"
"Sure," Lucas said, staring into his cup as he swirled the last bit of his coffee around in the mug.
"Lucas, is there something I should know? About your stepfather?"
"No," Lucas said, still refusing to look at the captain.
"Why the nickname?"
Lucas shrugged.
"If he did anything to you…"
Lucas froze in his seat. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having after less than three hours of sleep and with only one and a half cups of coffee in him.
"It's okay, Captain," he said finally. "It's nothing I can't handle."
"Lucas-"
"Really, it's not a problem," Lucas said, and to himself he finished the statement. 'Not anymore.' It was the truth. Rick the Dick had once been a nightmare for Lucas, but those days were long behind him.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah."
"But you'd tell me if it was a problem." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah, of course."
Bridger sighed again, clearly not believing a word Lucas said but willing to let the topic drop, for now. They let a few more minutes of silence pass.
"So, Rick the Dick…"
"Really, Captain, it's fine-"
"I expected more creativity from you, Lucas."
"Huh?" Lucas finally looked up from his coffee to see a strange grin on the captain's face.
"Rick the Dick. It's not exactly original."
Lucas returned the grin.
"Well, I tried Rick the Consummate Miscreant, but it just didn't have the right ring to it, you know? Besides, I was only 10."
"Age is never an excuse, Lucas," Bridger said with a chuckle. "You should know that by now."
xxxXXXxxx
For the first time since joining the computer systems team, Lucas found himself completely unable to concentrate at work. The minutes groaned past, and nothing he tried – not complex math equations, capacity design sessions or any of the other tasks that usually left him working with a grin – could make the time pass any faster. After lunch he even tried playing with the new flight simulator he'd "borrowed" from the British Air Force, but after 15 minutes he'd already checked his watch 13 times.
It didn't help that he was exhausted, which left him feeling irritable and jumpy from the caffeine he needed to slug just so he wouldn't keel over asleep at his desk. But what it really all came down to was his father. Even in death, Lucas thought with an unpleasant smile, his father could really ruin a day. By 4:30, Lucas was bugging the captain to go home. It was a risky maneuver, seeing as Bridger was very likely to grow suspicious at Lucas' rare enthusiasm to leave work. Lucas' excuse was that he was eager to test a new program he'd developed using "pattern language and multimodal output for redundant coding" on his laptop at home. He was counting on the captain not understanding a word of what he'd said. His gamble worked, and they were home before 6.
There was a message waiting for Lucas on his laptop. His hands were shaking when he opened it, a throwback to the anxiety he'd felt when opening the first messages from his father.
Lucas,
It's important that I see you as soon as possible. I'm sorry I got you caught up in this mess. I never should have sent that file to you. I will explain everything.
Meet me tomorrow at 2 p.m. at the Johnson McKee Municipal Airport, hangar K. Go to the north entrance, off of Kendall Avenue, and type in the code 3593 at the security gate. Come alone. Don't tell anyone.
Bring the document with you, and please, for my safety and yours, delete all other copies of the document. If anyone finds out you have it, they won't hesitate to kill you or me. Please trust me, son.
Love,
Dad
Lucas could not stop staring at the screen. The words danced and throbbed in front of him, meaningless and disjointed. Meet. Johnson. North. Code. Security.
Tomorrow.
Lucas was going to see his father. His stomach clenched in a painful, nervous knot at the thought of it. His mouth was dry from hanging open in shock, and he closed it and licked his lips. He wiped a hand over his eyes, over his mouth, and finally rubbed at the back of his neck, never turning away from the screen, almost afraid that the message would disappear.
He had no idea what his father could possibly say to convince him that he was not at fault in the World Power Project disaster, that he was not responsible for those eight deaths. But it didn't matter. Lucas was going to see him. A smile stretched across his face, and Lucas finally tore his gaze away from the screen, nearly letting out a yelp of joy as he leaned back in his chair and grinned at the ceiling.
That smile disappeared in the next moment as a thought occurred to him. It would be dangerous for them to meet, especially at an airport – even a small, municipal airport – and so close to Founders' Day, with foreign delegates and wealthy business leaders flying from all over the world in their private jets. Lawrence Wolenczak was not an anonymous man. Even in some form of disguise, he would be easily recognizable, especially in the United States and so close to UEO offices. For days, even weeks leading up to the World Power Project's grand unveiling, his father's face had been plastered everywhere, in every city in the world.
Lucas smiled glumly as he remembered how bitter he'd felt then to be surrounded by his father everywhere he'd gone. That seemed like so long ago.
They would need to be cautious when they met. Lucas would need a plan.
His father hadn't asked for a reply, but Lucas sent one anyway, confirming that he'd meet his father at the appointed time. Then he set about preparing for the meeting, copying files, tracking down a map to the airport and figuring out how he would get out of work. It took several hours – including a two-hour break to eat with the captain and make idle after-dinner conversation to avoid suspicion – before he'd made all the arrangements. Lucas finally fell into bed at 1 a.m., exhausted by a full day of anxiety, and dropped off to sleep, still fully clothed, for a night of restless dreams.