(((Thanks to everyone who responded to the last chapter: ThE InSaNe OnE,
Teresa, Sara, Kiddo, and Jess. Since I"m not sure where to go with this,
my postings may not be very fast. I write carefully, but from the reviews,
I believe I write well. At least I hope I do.... '_' .... Anyway, on to
Chapter 2!))))
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ow!"
"Sam, are you alright?" Lynn asked to the sound of a vile shattering on the hard metal floor of the SeaQuest DSV's lab 4.
It hurt and stung. It hurt so bad that it made the young brunette hop up and down with pain, hollering as she grabbed her right foot and bounced around her desk. She flopped onto the swivling stool and clutched her foot, biting her lip and hissing back another yelp. Her foot throbbed as fire shot through the bones and up her leg. The other four adults in the med lab regarded her curiously. She hissed in pain. They couldn't see what would have caused the young 18 year old to suddenly burst out in fits of "ow's" and a "son of a bitch." The answer was simple; there was nothing to see.
"Samantha, language," Kristin scolded.
"Sorry, Doc," she appologized through tightly gritted teeth and watering green eyes.
"Did you stub your toe? I told you wearing those sandles was a stupid idea."
Samantha shook her head, still biting her lip. "No, I'm ok. Realy, Lynn." She was just as confused as everyone else.
Kristen picked up a petrea dish she's knocked off the desk and placed it beside a Rutlian Trench core sample analysis printout. "What happened?"
"I don't know. One minute I was walking over to the centrifuge, then next my foot felt like somone had shoved an ice pick through it."
"Let me take a look at that."
Samantha sat on a squeaky metal stool and took off her sandle to let Kristen examine her foot. The doctor gently proded around the skin, noting Samantha flinch when she touched the instep. "With your reaction, I'd expect to see a bruise, or a scratch, but I can't find a trace of any notable injury. I'd say you bumped it. You're fine."
"But I didn't hit it on anything."
"You probably pinched a nerve."
Samantha left her sandle off so the leather strap wouldnt' rub against her sore foot. She opened her mouth slighty to contradict, but it was a mystery. So she turned back to the computer and stared at the graphical representation of the sea water she was examening. Slowly as the throbbing in her foot receeded, her thoughts reoriented themselves on the solution and the bacteria content of the latest black smoker sample taken from the Mid Atlantic Ridge.
* * * *
"Ow! Ben, watch it!" Lucas cried out as the hard metalic crate he was helping Ben with crashed down on his right foot. He hopped up and down, foot in hand, and swearing under his breath.
"I thought you had it. What happened?" Ben asked, setting down his end of the heavy cargo crate with a hard thud.
Lucas took a few deep breaths too keep from crying out again, and didn't respond to the moral officer for a good thirty seconds. "Does 'I'm loosing my grip' sound like 'I've got it' to you?"
"Sorry, buddy. You ok?"
Lucas nodded. "Fine. I don't think anything's broken." Tentitivly, he set his foot back down, wincing at the sharp spike of pain from the pressure. His sneaker suddenly felt far too tight. He undid the laces and slid the shoe off. The cargo hold was basicly empty save for the two of them and an ensign taking a manifest report on the other side of the room, and all he gave them was a curious expression. "Next time let's go on three and not two."
"Right. On three. One, two, three." Both readjusted their grips and lifted the boxy metalic crate over to a stack of variously sized containers near the wall.
"What's in here anyway, bricks?" Lucas grunted.
"WSKR."
They set the crate down with hard clank on the floor. "That can't be a WSKR. There's too much weight in proportion to a WSKR mass."
"Have you ever lifted one of those things?"
Lucas shook his head. "No, but I've done the math."
"Well, you're right. It's not just a WSKR," Ben wiped his brow with his forearm. "It's a WSKR, replacement parts, package peanuts, and the maintence man."
Lucas quarked an eyebrow. "I thought maintence came in separate packages."
"They did till the UEO started cutting budgets. I tell ya, Luke, the world's gone mad."
"Don't call me Luke," Lucas automaticly responded. Even though he didnt' mind it from Ben, the reaction was still engrained in his psyche. He limped over to the next crate.
"I'll get it. Sit down."
Lucas sat on a nearby step leading to the entrance hatch without arguing as his foot still throbbed, and watched Ben Krieg struggle with another smaller crate. His military training came out clearly in the way he was able to give orders when he had to, and his muscles bulged beaneath the black UEO jump suit.
"So, how you been lately? You've been kinda quiet since you and Sam got back from Chatton."
Lucas shrugged. "It's only been a week, Ben."
"I know, but that's something that doesn't wear off easily." The older man scooted the crate on top of another waist high and exhaled deeply. He rested his elbow on it.
"I feel fine," the young genius stated.
"You're acting pretty calm for someone who lived a Stephen King novel. That's pretty intense."
"I don't want to talk about what happened."
"Why not?"
"I just don't, alright?" Lucas' voice carried more heat than he'd intended. Probably because his foot still twinged with pain. Calming his voice was easier since more time had passed from when he returned. He did so out of respect for his friend. "It's just good to be myself again. Listen," he slid his shoe back on, "I gotta go meet someone for lunch."
"Sam?"
Lucas nodded lightly as he stood. There was no sense in hiding the truth. "Yea. I'll come back and give you a hand with the rest of these later."
"Don't worry about it," Ben shrugged it off, bending over to lift another crate. "Engisn Rigsby will give me a hand, won't you, Ensign?"
The young ensign looked at the comment directed to him and nodded, knowing he couldn't decline a superior officer.
"Rigsby's got some real muscle on him."
Lucas made to look hurt by the insult, but the humor in Ben's voice caused a slight grin that betrayed his pretended sullen demeanor. "Yea, yea. Go stuff yourself in an airlock."
Ben chuckled as Lucas left, and called the ensign over to give him a hand with the last six crates.
Lucas walked into the half full galley to find Samantha already seated at the back corner table with a tray in front of her, brooding over something. Her foot was odly propped over the chair to her right. He waved when she looked up and moved across the room to fill a tray of his own with the delectible processed food of the SeaQuest's kitchens.
The table in the back corner had become their regular meal meeting place, and grandualy, more of the crew began to realize the pattern even after only a week. That had been his spot for the previous two weeks, but he always seemed to be alone. Save for a small handful of people who knew otherwise, Lucas had never been alone.
Now, meeting for meals-breakfast, lunch, or otherwise-- was becoming as common as Kreig conjuring plans for extra cash.
"What's with the foot?" he asked, setting the tray down and digging in.
Samantha shrugged. "What's with the limp?"
He sighed irritated that the limp hadn't disappeared yet. He was also embarassed to tell her why, so he occupied himself with the hashbrowns.
She just stared at him, unblinking. Finally after about thirty seconds, he picked up his coffee cup. "Ben dropped a crate on my foot."
Samantha blinked, staring up at him, trying to hide a chuckle and failing miserably. "So, uhm, I don't suppose you'll be able to walk around on..."
"...Shore leave, yes, but you try having a WSKR in a tin crate drop on your instep and see how you feel."
"Ouch. Like an ice pick, right?"
"Yea, pretty much."
She glanced at her foot still propped on the chair beside her, then back to him, His eyes followed hers.
"That's...creepy," they said in unison.
For a moment all that passed between them was silence.
"Yea, well at least I'm not going crazy," she said casualy, sipping her coffee.
It wasn't exactly what either wanted to realize, but Lucas thought that someone else shareing a fraction of your pain was at least a little cool in that mysterious way.
"They said side effects would crop up,but I..."
"...didn't know what to expect," she finished with him.
"Stop that.".
"You stop that."
He didn't even realize he'd eaten all his hashbrowns until she asked him how he could stand them. His come back was that she hadn't even touched hers even though she use to like them.
"I blame it on you," she pushed her plate away.
Both teenagers picked up their cups of coffee and leaned back, sipping the black liquid syncronously with hardly any notice. Over the past three weeks, Lucas had aquired a taste for coffee, although unlike Samantha, was unable to drink it black. He had to have creamer, or sugar, or something to calm the stark burnt flavor.
"So, what are your shore leave plans?" Samantha asked.
"You asume I have any."
She nodded. "An idiot would't make use of this time away from the ship. The sun is a rare comodity, Luke."
"Don't..." Lucas let a pause float by wherein should have fit the phrase 'don't call me Luke,' but with Samantha, it was a moot point. "My dad called. I'll probably be spending it at the World Power plant. Four days go by fast when you can find something to do."
"Oh," She muttered and sipped her coffee, averting her eyes.
Lucas arched an eyebrow. "'oh' What?"
"I'm going to Egypt," she admitted with a slight breath.
"Egypt?" It was more a confirming statement than a question.
"Uh-huh," she sighed irritably. "My dad's a guest speaker at an archeological 'Pow wow.' Again."
Lucas cleared his throat and looked back at his half empty plate. Samantha hated the desert. The water was her home, and taking her that far away from it would be like throwing a fish out the shore, across the beach to splatter against the road. "I thought for sure you'd be with that Jarod guy."
"Jarod is nice. If you recall, he kept our secret perfectly," she defended.
"And everything you said at the Chamelion Desire?"
She cringed slightly. "Nothing incriminating."
They sat in silence for a moment. Samantha picked at her hashbrowns.
"I'll call you," Lucas finally said.
"Me, too."
Neighther knew what it would be like to be that far apart from each other so soon after being separated, but Lucas' gut was suddenly ladden with a heavy feeling of bad anticipation. Either that or the hashbrowns.
Their conversation, however, caused a few glances from a group of three sitting nearby.
"I think they're getting over this well, don't you, commander?" L.T O'Neill asked the dark skinned ex-o. Jonathan Ford finished off a bit of salad and nodded.
"From the report the captain gave me, I wasn't sure if I should believe it at all."
"Stranger things have happened," Tim added loosly as he picked at his food.
"Yea, but has anyone ever wondered why it always happens to us?" Miguel Ortize said.
Ford shrugged.
"So Tim," Miguel began as a slide into a new topic, "any plans for shore leave?"
"It just so happens I've been invited to the International Archeological Society's annual convention this year." His voice held pride which he didn't bother hiding.
"Say that again?" Miguel quarried. Ford simply nodded once and nursed a cup of fleet coffee.
"I'm going to Egypt," Tim explained, speaking as if explaining a concept to a slow child.
"Why am I not surprised?"
"If I had to guess," Tim pointed a fork at him, "you're going to the beach to scope out the chicks."
"It doesn't quite sound right when you say it," Miguel countered, breaking into a laugh when his friend frowned. "I was kidding."
"What about you, commander?" Tim asked, ignoring Miguel.
Ford set his mug down. "My cousin's got this little beach house he and his wife are willing to give up for a weekend. I'd thought about confiscating it in the name of UEO santiy preservation."
Miguel smirked. "I hope you enjoy yourself, commander."
"I intend to, Lt."
All looked up when Samantha stood, dumped her dirty tray with a sighed 'see ya later'to Lucas and left the room. A few moments later, Lucas followed suit without a word.
"Sheesh, You'd think they were actualy trying to hide something."
Tim hid a chuckle in his coffee cup.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ow!"
"Sam, are you alright?" Lynn asked to the sound of a vile shattering on the hard metal floor of the SeaQuest DSV's lab 4.
It hurt and stung. It hurt so bad that it made the young brunette hop up and down with pain, hollering as she grabbed her right foot and bounced around her desk. She flopped onto the swivling stool and clutched her foot, biting her lip and hissing back another yelp. Her foot throbbed as fire shot through the bones and up her leg. The other four adults in the med lab regarded her curiously. She hissed in pain. They couldn't see what would have caused the young 18 year old to suddenly burst out in fits of "ow's" and a "son of a bitch." The answer was simple; there was nothing to see.
"Samantha, language," Kristin scolded.
"Sorry, Doc," she appologized through tightly gritted teeth and watering green eyes.
"Did you stub your toe? I told you wearing those sandles was a stupid idea."
Samantha shook her head, still biting her lip. "No, I'm ok. Realy, Lynn." She was just as confused as everyone else.
Kristen picked up a petrea dish she's knocked off the desk and placed it beside a Rutlian Trench core sample analysis printout. "What happened?"
"I don't know. One minute I was walking over to the centrifuge, then next my foot felt like somone had shoved an ice pick through it."
"Let me take a look at that."
Samantha sat on a squeaky metal stool and took off her sandle to let Kristen examine her foot. The doctor gently proded around the skin, noting Samantha flinch when she touched the instep. "With your reaction, I'd expect to see a bruise, or a scratch, but I can't find a trace of any notable injury. I'd say you bumped it. You're fine."
"But I didn't hit it on anything."
"You probably pinched a nerve."
Samantha left her sandle off so the leather strap wouldnt' rub against her sore foot. She opened her mouth slighty to contradict, but it was a mystery. So she turned back to the computer and stared at the graphical representation of the sea water she was examening. Slowly as the throbbing in her foot receeded, her thoughts reoriented themselves on the solution and the bacteria content of the latest black smoker sample taken from the Mid Atlantic Ridge.
* * * *
"Ow! Ben, watch it!" Lucas cried out as the hard metalic crate he was helping Ben with crashed down on his right foot. He hopped up and down, foot in hand, and swearing under his breath.
"I thought you had it. What happened?" Ben asked, setting down his end of the heavy cargo crate with a hard thud.
Lucas took a few deep breaths too keep from crying out again, and didn't respond to the moral officer for a good thirty seconds. "Does 'I'm loosing my grip' sound like 'I've got it' to you?"
"Sorry, buddy. You ok?"
Lucas nodded. "Fine. I don't think anything's broken." Tentitivly, he set his foot back down, wincing at the sharp spike of pain from the pressure. His sneaker suddenly felt far too tight. He undid the laces and slid the shoe off. The cargo hold was basicly empty save for the two of them and an ensign taking a manifest report on the other side of the room, and all he gave them was a curious expression. "Next time let's go on three and not two."
"Right. On three. One, two, three." Both readjusted their grips and lifted the boxy metalic crate over to a stack of variously sized containers near the wall.
"What's in here anyway, bricks?" Lucas grunted.
"WSKR."
They set the crate down with hard clank on the floor. "That can't be a WSKR. There's too much weight in proportion to a WSKR mass."
"Have you ever lifted one of those things?"
Lucas shook his head. "No, but I've done the math."
"Well, you're right. It's not just a WSKR," Ben wiped his brow with his forearm. "It's a WSKR, replacement parts, package peanuts, and the maintence man."
Lucas quarked an eyebrow. "I thought maintence came in separate packages."
"They did till the UEO started cutting budgets. I tell ya, Luke, the world's gone mad."
"Don't call me Luke," Lucas automaticly responded. Even though he didnt' mind it from Ben, the reaction was still engrained in his psyche. He limped over to the next crate.
"I'll get it. Sit down."
Lucas sat on a nearby step leading to the entrance hatch without arguing as his foot still throbbed, and watched Ben Krieg struggle with another smaller crate. His military training came out clearly in the way he was able to give orders when he had to, and his muscles bulged beaneath the black UEO jump suit.
"So, how you been lately? You've been kinda quiet since you and Sam got back from Chatton."
Lucas shrugged. "It's only been a week, Ben."
"I know, but that's something that doesn't wear off easily." The older man scooted the crate on top of another waist high and exhaled deeply. He rested his elbow on it.
"I feel fine," the young genius stated.
"You're acting pretty calm for someone who lived a Stephen King novel. That's pretty intense."
"I don't want to talk about what happened."
"Why not?"
"I just don't, alright?" Lucas' voice carried more heat than he'd intended. Probably because his foot still twinged with pain. Calming his voice was easier since more time had passed from when he returned. He did so out of respect for his friend. "It's just good to be myself again. Listen," he slid his shoe back on, "I gotta go meet someone for lunch."
"Sam?"
Lucas nodded lightly as he stood. There was no sense in hiding the truth. "Yea. I'll come back and give you a hand with the rest of these later."
"Don't worry about it," Ben shrugged it off, bending over to lift another crate. "Engisn Rigsby will give me a hand, won't you, Ensign?"
The young ensign looked at the comment directed to him and nodded, knowing he couldn't decline a superior officer.
"Rigsby's got some real muscle on him."
Lucas made to look hurt by the insult, but the humor in Ben's voice caused a slight grin that betrayed his pretended sullen demeanor. "Yea, yea. Go stuff yourself in an airlock."
Ben chuckled as Lucas left, and called the ensign over to give him a hand with the last six crates.
Lucas walked into the half full galley to find Samantha already seated at the back corner table with a tray in front of her, brooding over something. Her foot was odly propped over the chair to her right. He waved when she looked up and moved across the room to fill a tray of his own with the delectible processed food of the SeaQuest's kitchens.
The table in the back corner had become their regular meal meeting place, and grandualy, more of the crew began to realize the pattern even after only a week. That had been his spot for the previous two weeks, but he always seemed to be alone. Save for a small handful of people who knew otherwise, Lucas had never been alone.
Now, meeting for meals-breakfast, lunch, or otherwise-- was becoming as common as Kreig conjuring plans for extra cash.
"What's with the foot?" he asked, setting the tray down and digging in.
Samantha shrugged. "What's with the limp?"
He sighed irritated that the limp hadn't disappeared yet. He was also embarassed to tell her why, so he occupied himself with the hashbrowns.
She just stared at him, unblinking. Finally after about thirty seconds, he picked up his coffee cup. "Ben dropped a crate on my foot."
Samantha blinked, staring up at him, trying to hide a chuckle and failing miserably. "So, uhm, I don't suppose you'll be able to walk around on..."
"...Shore leave, yes, but you try having a WSKR in a tin crate drop on your instep and see how you feel."
"Ouch. Like an ice pick, right?"
"Yea, pretty much."
She glanced at her foot still propped on the chair beside her, then back to him, His eyes followed hers.
"That's...creepy," they said in unison.
For a moment all that passed between them was silence.
"Yea, well at least I'm not going crazy," she said casualy, sipping her coffee.
It wasn't exactly what either wanted to realize, but Lucas thought that someone else shareing a fraction of your pain was at least a little cool in that mysterious way.
"They said side effects would crop up,but I..."
"...didn't know what to expect," she finished with him.
"Stop that.".
"You stop that."
He didn't even realize he'd eaten all his hashbrowns until she asked him how he could stand them. His come back was that she hadn't even touched hers even though she use to like them.
"I blame it on you," she pushed her plate away.
Both teenagers picked up their cups of coffee and leaned back, sipping the black liquid syncronously with hardly any notice. Over the past three weeks, Lucas had aquired a taste for coffee, although unlike Samantha, was unable to drink it black. He had to have creamer, or sugar, or something to calm the stark burnt flavor.
"So, what are your shore leave plans?" Samantha asked.
"You asume I have any."
She nodded. "An idiot would't make use of this time away from the ship. The sun is a rare comodity, Luke."
"Don't..." Lucas let a pause float by wherein should have fit the phrase 'don't call me Luke,' but with Samantha, it was a moot point. "My dad called. I'll probably be spending it at the World Power plant. Four days go by fast when you can find something to do."
"Oh," She muttered and sipped her coffee, averting her eyes.
Lucas arched an eyebrow. "'oh' What?"
"I'm going to Egypt," she admitted with a slight breath.
"Egypt?" It was more a confirming statement than a question.
"Uh-huh," she sighed irritably. "My dad's a guest speaker at an archeological 'Pow wow.' Again."
Lucas cleared his throat and looked back at his half empty plate. Samantha hated the desert. The water was her home, and taking her that far away from it would be like throwing a fish out the shore, across the beach to splatter against the road. "I thought for sure you'd be with that Jarod guy."
"Jarod is nice. If you recall, he kept our secret perfectly," she defended.
"And everything you said at the Chamelion Desire?"
She cringed slightly. "Nothing incriminating."
They sat in silence for a moment. Samantha picked at her hashbrowns.
"I'll call you," Lucas finally said.
"Me, too."
Neighther knew what it would be like to be that far apart from each other so soon after being separated, but Lucas' gut was suddenly ladden with a heavy feeling of bad anticipation. Either that or the hashbrowns.
Their conversation, however, caused a few glances from a group of three sitting nearby.
"I think they're getting over this well, don't you, commander?" L.T O'Neill asked the dark skinned ex-o. Jonathan Ford finished off a bit of salad and nodded.
"From the report the captain gave me, I wasn't sure if I should believe it at all."
"Stranger things have happened," Tim added loosly as he picked at his food.
"Yea, but has anyone ever wondered why it always happens to us?" Miguel Ortize said.
Ford shrugged.
"So Tim," Miguel began as a slide into a new topic, "any plans for shore leave?"
"It just so happens I've been invited to the International Archeological Society's annual convention this year." His voice held pride which he didn't bother hiding.
"Say that again?" Miguel quarried. Ford simply nodded once and nursed a cup of fleet coffee.
"I'm going to Egypt," Tim explained, speaking as if explaining a concept to a slow child.
"Why am I not surprised?"
"If I had to guess," Tim pointed a fork at him, "you're going to the beach to scope out the chicks."
"It doesn't quite sound right when you say it," Miguel countered, breaking into a laugh when his friend frowned. "I was kidding."
"What about you, commander?" Tim asked, ignoring Miguel.
Ford set his mug down. "My cousin's got this little beach house he and his wife are willing to give up for a weekend. I'd thought about confiscating it in the name of UEO santiy preservation."
Miguel smirked. "I hope you enjoy yourself, commander."
"I intend to, Lt."
All looked up when Samantha stood, dumped her dirty tray with a sighed 'see ya later'to Lucas and left the room. A few moments later, Lucas followed suit without a word.
"Sheesh, You'd think they were actualy trying to hide something."
Tim hid a chuckle in his coffee cup.