Chapter Eighteen
Lex moaned, cradled in Dorian's arms as he ran for the beach. Sean, their leader, waved him to hurry, his green eyes keeping a cautious watch on the building in the distance. Reuban, the fourth member of the team, watched anxiously from the egg shaped escape pod.
"Hurry, we don't have much time!" Sean called in a hushed voice.
"How bad is she?" Reuban asked as Dorian gently lowered her into his waiting arms. Blood from the large gash in her forehead covered her face and had soaked the front of Dorian's black silk shirt, plastering it to his chest like a second skin.
"I shielded her as much as I could," Dorian replied with a grimace, turning around to show Reuban his back. The shirt hung in tatters, pieces of shattered glass and metal shards peppering his pale flesh.
"Get us out of here," Sean ordered briskly as he closed the hatch. Without batting an eye, he spun Dorian around and began plucking out the fragments, tossing them to the floor.
Reuban nodded, quickly rammed the thruster controls to full power, and prayed they had enough fuel to get to international waters.
Lucas frowned as he entered the bridge and found Bridger standing there. He rarely came to the bridge anymore, preferring to focus on his research and trust the safety and operation of his ship to Captain Hudson.
And yet, there he stood, left of Hudson, his face a mask of anxiety. Lucas quickly sat at his station, focusing his attention on his screen, when Hudson turned around and cocked an eyebrow at him. His relationship with the new captain was touchy at the best of times, and Lucas didn't want to give him any ammunition.
"Report, Mr. O'Neill?" Hudson asked brusquely.
Time shook his head. "I'm still getting the beacon, but I can't make radio contact."
"Keep trying," Hudson replied. "Mr. Ortiz?"
"WSKRS are picking up a round object," Manuel said, his eyes flicking form one screen to the next.
"Distance?"
"One thousand metres and closing, sir."
"What's the distance to the Macronesian border?" Bridger asked, turning to look at Manuel who grimaced.
"Seven hundred metres."
"Captain!" Tim called urgently, "I just picked up a transmission."
"And?" Again Hudson's brow rose.
"Macronesian attack vessels have just entered the water."
"Mr. Ortiz!"
Manuel flipped switches and pounded on his keyboard furiously. When he looked up, his expression was grim. "The escape vessel must have run out of fuel, because they're slowing rapidly. At this rate, they won't make the border on time."
Lucas looked up from his monitor. "Captain, we've reached the Macronesian border. Another three hundred feet and we'll be in violation of their waters."
"All stop!" Hudson barked.
The bridge was silent as the SeaQuest slowed. It was Bridger who was the first to speak. "Mr. Ortiz, where is the pod now?"
"Two hundred and sixteen metres inside the Macronesian border."
"And how long are the grapnels?"
Brody smiled, suddenly understanding Bridger's train of thought. But then his grin faded. "Two hundred metres."
Hudson scowled. "If we stay on our side, we'll be short and the pod is screwed. But if we make up the distance, we'll be over the border, and we'll all be screwed."
"Not necessarily," Lucas replied.
"Mr. Wolenczek, if you have any suggestions, please share them with us."
Lucas looked up from his console. "Captain, we're sixteen metres short, if we use the grapnels, facing our target. However, the grapnel doors are situated fifty feet from the bow."
Hudson, as well as a few others on the bridge frowned. Lucas sighed before explaining with mounting excitement. "If we draw up alongside the border and rig the grapnels to shoot out to the side, instead of the front, we'll gain an extra fifty feet of line, which would bring the pod within our range."
"Henderson?" Hudson asked the chief engineer.
"It's just a matter of removing a pin, sir," she replied, removing her harness and climbing out of her seat.
Hudson grinned. "Mr. Picolo, bring us along the border to within a hair."
"Aye, aye, Captain!" Tony chuckled, steering the ship carefully.
Bridger leaned in a little closer to Hudson, speaking softly. "You realize we're dancing on a fine line, here. These kooks look for any excuse to start a war."
Hudson turned to Bridger, his eyes cold with hatred. "These 'kooks' have messed with myself and my crew one too many times, and my hands have been tied with red tape by the UEO. No-one's stopping me now, and I'll suffer the consequences of my actions, simply for the intense pleasure of pissing off the Macronesian government."
Both men shared a conspiratorial smile before they turned their attention tot he task at hand.
Lex moaned, cradled in Dorian's arms as he ran for the beach. Sean, their leader, waved him to hurry, his green eyes keeping a cautious watch on the building in the distance. Reuban, the fourth member of the team, watched anxiously from the egg shaped escape pod.
"Hurry, we don't have much time!" Sean called in a hushed voice.
"How bad is she?" Reuban asked as Dorian gently lowered her into his waiting arms. Blood from the large gash in her forehead covered her face and had soaked the front of Dorian's black silk shirt, plastering it to his chest like a second skin.
"I shielded her as much as I could," Dorian replied with a grimace, turning around to show Reuban his back. The shirt hung in tatters, pieces of shattered glass and metal shards peppering his pale flesh.
"Get us out of here," Sean ordered briskly as he closed the hatch. Without batting an eye, he spun Dorian around and began plucking out the fragments, tossing them to the floor.
Reuban nodded, quickly rammed the thruster controls to full power, and prayed they had enough fuel to get to international waters.
Lucas frowned as he entered the bridge and found Bridger standing there. He rarely came to the bridge anymore, preferring to focus on his research and trust the safety and operation of his ship to Captain Hudson.
And yet, there he stood, left of Hudson, his face a mask of anxiety. Lucas quickly sat at his station, focusing his attention on his screen, when Hudson turned around and cocked an eyebrow at him. His relationship with the new captain was touchy at the best of times, and Lucas didn't want to give him any ammunition.
"Report, Mr. O'Neill?" Hudson asked brusquely.
Time shook his head. "I'm still getting the beacon, but I can't make radio contact."
"Keep trying," Hudson replied. "Mr. Ortiz?"
"WSKRS are picking up a round object," Manuel said, his eyes flicking form one screen to the next.
"Distance?"
"One thousand metres and closing, sir."
"What's the distance to the Macronesian border?" Bridger asked, turning to look at Manuel who grimaced.
"Seven hundred metres."
"Captain!" Tim called urgently, "I just picked up a transmission."
"And?" Again Hudson's brow rose.
"Macronesian attack vessels have just entered the water."
"Mr. Ortiz!"
Manuel flipped switches and pounded on his keyboard furiously. When he looked up, his expression was grim. "The escape vessel must have run out of fuel, because they're slowing rapidly. At this rate, they won't make the border on time."
Lucas looked up from his monitor. "Captain, we've reached the Macronesian border. Another three hundred feet and we'll be in violation of their waters."
"All stop!" Hudson barked.
The bridge was silent as the SeaQuest slowed. It was Bridger who was the first to speak. "Mr. Ortiz, where is the pod now?"
"Two hundred and sixteen metres inside the Macronesian border."
"And how long are the grapnels?"
Brody smiled, suddenly understanding Bridger's train of thought. But then his grin faded. "Two hundred metres."
Hudson scowled. "If we stay on our side, we'll be short and the pod is screwed. But if we make up the distance, we'll be over the border, and we'll all be screwed."
"Not necessarily," Lucas replied.
"Mr. Wolenczek, if you have any suggestions, please share them with us."
Lucas looked up from his console. "Captain, we're sixteen metres short, if we use the grapnels, facing our target. However, the grapnel doors are situated fifty feet from the bow."
Hudson, as well as a few others on the bridge frowned. Lucas sighed before explaining with mounting excitement. "If we draw up alongside the border and rig the grapnels to shoot out to the side, instead of the front, we'll gain an extra fifty feet of line, which would bring the pod within our range."
"Henderson?" Hudson asked the chief engineer.
"It's just a matter of removing a pin, sir," she replied, removing her harness and climbing out of her seat.
Hudson grinned. "Mr. Picolo, bring us along the border to within a hair."
"Aye, aye, Captain!" Tony chuckled, steering the ship carefully.
Bridger leaned in a little closer to Hudson, speaking softly. "You realize we're dancing on a fine line, here. These kooks look for any excuse to start a war."
Hudson turned to Bridger, his eyes cold with hatred. "These 'kooks' have messed with myself and my crew one too many times, and my hands have been tied with red tape by the UEO. No-one's stopping me now, and I'll suffer the consequences of my actions, simply for the intense pleasure of pissing off the Macronesian government."
Both men shared a conspiratorial smile before they turned their attention tot he task at hand.