The seaQuest isn't mine. It's quite good, really, I'm not sure where I'd
put it.
Many thanks to my kind reviewers Mar, pari106, Fishface12 and the ever- enthusiastic Sara. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it!
Please tell me if you don't like stuff about this, I won't consider it to be a flame, honest!
Everyone who doesn't want to see Lucas being on the other side from Bridger, look away...now!
Pro Patria Mori
Chapter 4
Crewman Zhao was tired. Her shift was over in – she estimated from her chronometer – approximately thirty-two minutes and twenty-five seconds. She sighed. It had been a long day. She'd thought seaQuest would be one of the safest places in the fleet to be, given its advanced defence systems and all, but already today, the first day wet, the power was out and there were rumours that they'd been fired on by an invisible submarine. She felt uneasy; they were like a sitting duck. She knew seaQuest's hull was built to withstand heavy damage, but without weapons systems and helm control there was only so long she would survive a sustained attack. Zhao laid the heavy crate she was carrying carefully on top of the stack in the corner and eased her aching shoulders. What the hell was lieutenant Krieg ordering in, anyway, bricks?
The first thing Zhao knew of the attack was when the stack of crates in front of her was hit by a pulse from a rifle. She turned, startled, and saw to her horror six black-clad men standing in front of the open shuttle bay doors, firing in all directions. Then she felt a sudden impact in her chest, and then there was nothing.
With a couple of taps on his tiny portable computer Wolenczak sealed the launch bay doors. He looked quickly around. "Over there," he directed his security team. "Through that hatch. Turn right once you get inside." He did a quick sensor sweep of the bay. No life signs apart from his own men. Good. He followed the time to the hatch way and was about to step inside when a cackling noise came from behind him, loud in the silence. He whirled, pointing his pulse rifle. But there was no-one there. Then he saw a sleek grey head above the level of the water, and a bright black eye fixed him with a very intelligent looking expression. Wolenczak stood for a moment, transfixed. Then he turned and clambered through the hatch, slamming the door shut behind him.
A chattering sound broke the tense silence on the bridge. Bridger reacted immediately, striding over to the pool on the port side. "Darwin," he said solicitously, "what is it?"
The dolphin cackled and whistled urgently. Not for the first time, Bridger cursed the short-comings of hand-signals. Sure, the system was more advanced than any that had yet been developed, but the communication only went one way. Darwin nodded his head up and down, slapping it against the surface of the water. Bridger looked up. "Something's wrong," he said.
Great, Robert Bridger thought, looking up from his fruitless computer search. We're dead in the water, under attack from an unknown enemy, the systems are locked and now the dolphin says there's something wrong. He tried to contain his bitterness, but it was hard. He had never understood what his father saw in that animal, but he knew it was enough to prevent him from coming home to his family on more than one occasion. He knew his mom had understood, had supported his work with dolphin communications, but for the life of him he couldn't see how a semi-intelligent mammal who couldn't talk back was going to be any use on the world's most powerful piece of military equipment.
"Captain!" Ortiz said urgently from his station, "I'm getting reports of intruder alerts from around the ship on the internal sensors!"
Bridger looked up, his face grim. "How many?"
"Four, no, five," Ortiz said. "All in different areas."
Bridger turned quickly. "O'Neill, get me launch bay," he said sharply. O'Neill punched a few buttons on his console and spoke into his headset.
"Bridge to Launch Bay, come in Launch Bay." He waited a moment, then turned to the captain. "Nothing but static, sir."
Bridger straightened. "Crocker, get a team down to Launch Bay on the double! Ford, assemble men to check out the rest of the alerts." The two men nodded and, silently directing members of the bridge crew to join their respective parties, raced off the bridge. Bridger turned back to Ortiz. "Mr. Ortiz, how the hell did anyone get on this boat without our knowing about it?"
Ortiz shook his head in frustration. "The internal sensors are working sir. I don't understand it."
"Well, you'd better understand it soon," Bridger said, his jaw set. "Seal off the bridge!"
Wolenczak smirked as he listened to the muffled voices coming through the wall. "They're playing right into our hands," he muttered. He was crouched in a narrow ventilation duct, checking his pulse rifle charge by the eerie glow of the computer screen. "OK," he said in a low voice, looking up at his expectant team. "According to the scanners there are eleven people left on the bridge. That's two of them for each one of us," he added helpfully: the security team were all good men, but they weren't known for their intelligence. "Once we get in, go for the captain: don't kill him, just take him hostage. Once we have him, we'll be able to control the others without risk to ourselves." He turned the palm-top so that it faced the team. "This is him. His name is Nathan Bridger." The team nodded. Wolenczak hoped they were listening. Two-to-one odds were pretty standard for Free Nations assault teams, but there was more riding on this than usual. This time they had to win. "Try to avoid shooting the consoles," he continued. "We don't have time or resources to be repairing this boat in mid-ocean. Besides, I want to hand her to the captain on a platter, without defects." More nods. Blank faces. Wolenczak gritted his teeth. "OK," he whispered, "let's go."
Ortiz stared at his screen in consternation. This day just keeps getting better, he thought. Still, it looked like he was lucky: whoever had done this had been distracted for long enough for him to sneak in and work out what was going on. "Sir," he looked up, "someone's feeding ghosts into the internal sensors. Those intruder alerts are false alarms."
"What?!" Bridger tone was disbelieving. Immediately he flipped on his PAL. "Bridger to Ford, get back here!" He turned to Hitchcock and opened his mouth.
Then two things happened at once.
A ventilation shaft hatch swung open with a clunk, and a crewman fell to the deck with a cry of pain. A pulse rifle blast exploded against the wall behind Hitchcock's head. She flung herself to the ground behind the console and reached for her sidearm. The projectile weapons were not as advanced as pulse rifles, but even so, if you shot someone with one, they would be dead. She leaned carefully around the desk and saw a man wearing black exiting the hatchway. Another followed. There were at least two already in the room, from the rifle fire, but the bridge was quickly turning into a shoot-out. The crew and the intruders were squared off, hiding behind consoles on opposite sides of the room. Hitchcock saw that at least one of her side had a pulse rifle. Good.
Suddenly a voice came from behind her. "Commander, can you unseal the bridge?" She turned. It was Captain Bridger, bleeding from a gash in his head.
"Are you alright, captain?" she asked, worried. Bridger nodded quickly.
"I need you to unseal the bridge," he said in a low voice. "Ford and the others are on their way back up here now. We need reinforcements." As he spoke, there was a cry from the other side of the room and a crewman fell, sprawling on his back. Hitchcock closed her eyes. She didn't even know his name.
"Aye sir," she said, and sprang to a half-crouch. Bridger motioned for covering fire. Crewmen appeared from behind every console and began to fire. Hitchcock typed furiously. And the bridge door began to open.
Wolenczak swore as he heard the bridge seal disengage. He had counted the cries: they had already lost four. He had lost none. What his men lacked in brains, they made up for in sharp shooting. But now that bitch on the other side of the room had taken advantage of a momentary lapse in his guard and managed to unseal the bridge door. He dropped his rifle and pulled his computer out of his back pocket in one smooth move. According to scanners there were ten men on the other side of that door. He didn't doubt that these were the combat team sent to check out the alerts, and he knew there was a hell of a lot more to fear from them than from the bridge officers. His fingers flew over the keys. "Get the captain!" he yelled to his men, "get the goddamned captain!"
He was vaguely aware that a man had fallen beside him, but he was concentrating too hard to take much notice. He was almost there... There! The bridge was resealing. But he saw to his horror that the green dots representing life-forms were already inside the bridge. He cursed violently, shoved the computer back in his pocket and grabbed his rifle. Suddenly he realised that he was alone, that the firing had all but stopped. Where the hell was his team? He heard footsteps and shouting. They were coming in a pincer movement to take him out. Wolenczak slung the rifle round his neck, and was ready to move when a soldier barrelled into him head first around the side of the console. Without even stopping to think, he grabbed the guy's head between his palms and twisted, hard. Three was a crunch, and the man dropped, lifeless, to the floor. Wolenczak didn't stop to breathe. He flung himself into a forward roll across the floor to the next console, landing heavily on another soldier, and was on his feet in an instant, one arm pinning the man's arms to his side, the other pressing the barrel of the rifle against his chin.
Robert was taken by surprise: he had thought all the attackers were gone, and was unprepared for the sudden weight landing on him from behind. Before he knew it, he found himself standing, a vice-like grip locked around his arms, a rifle muzzle burning the skin under his jaw. He saw his dad's face across the room, frozen in terror. Great, he thought, trying desperately to work through the fear in his gut, my first real combat experience and I get taken hostage. He felt hot breath against his ear, and heard a toneless voice behind him.
"Drop your weapons, or he dies."
Many thanks to my kind reviewers Mar, pari106, Fishface12 and the ever- enthusiastic Sara. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it!
Please tell me if you don't like stuff about this, I won't consider it to be a flame, honest!
Everyone who doesn't want to see Lucas being on the other side from Bridger, look away...now!
Pro Patria Mori
Chapter 4
Crewman Zhao was tired. Her shift was over in – she estimated from her chronometer – approximately thirty-two minutes and twenty-five seconds. She sighed. It had been a long day. She'd thought seaQuest would be one of the safest places in the fleet to be, given its advanced defence systems and all, but already today, the first day wet, the power was out and there were rumours that they'd been fired on by an invisible submarine. She felt uneasy; they were like a sitting duck. She knew seaQuest's hull was built to withstand heavy damage, but without weapons systems and helm control there was only so long she would survive a sustained attack. Zhao laid the heavy crate she was carrying carefully on top of the stack in the corner and eased her aching shoulders. What the hell was lieutenant Krieg ordering in, anyway, bricks?
The first thing Zhao knew of the attack was when the stack of crates in front of her was hit by a pulse from a rifle. She turned, startled, and saw to her horror six black-clad men standing in front of the open shuttle bay doors, firing in all directions. Then she felt a sudden impact in her chest, and then there was nothing.
With a couple of taps on his tiny portable computer Wolenczak sealed the launch bay doors. He looked quickly around. "Over there," he directed his security team. "Through that hatch. Turn right once you get inside." He did a quick sensor sweep of the bay. No life signs apart from his own men. Good. He followed the time to the hatch way and was about to step inside when a cackling noise came from behind him, loud in the silence. He whirled, pointing his pulse rifle. But there was no-one there. Then he saw a sleek grey head above the level of the water, and a bright black eye fixed him with a very intelligent looking expression. Wolenczak stood for a moment, transfixed. Then he turned and clambered through the hatch, slamming the door shut behind him.
A chattering sound broke the tense silence on the bridge. Bridger reacted immediately, striding over to the pool on the port side. "Darwin," he said solicitously, "what is it?"
The dolphin cackled and whistled urgently. Not for the first time, Bridger cursed the short-comings of hand-signals. Sure, the system was more advanced than any that had yet been developed, but the communication only went one way. Darwin nodded his head up and down, slapping it against the surface of the water. Bridger looked up. "Something's wrong," he said.
Great, Robert Bridger thought, looking up from his fruitless computer search. We're dead in the water, under attack from an unknown enemy, the systems are locked and now the dolphin says there's something wrong. He tried to contain his bitterness, but it was hard. He had never understood what his father saw in that animal, but he knew it was enough to prevent him from coming home to his family on more than one occasion. He knew his mom had understood, had supported his work with dolphin communications, but for the life of him he couldn't see how a semi-intelligent mammal who couldn't talk back was going to be any use on the world's most powerful piece of military equipment.
"Captain!" Ortiz said urgently from his station, "I'm getting reports of intruder alerts from around the ship on the internal sensors!"
Bridger looked up, his face grim. "How many?"
"Four, no, five," Ortiz said. "All in different areas."
Bridger turned quickly. "O'Neill, get me launch bay," he said sharply. O'Neill punched a few buttons on his console and spoke into his headset.
"Bridge to Launch Bay, come in Launch Bay." He waited a moment, then turned to the captain. "Nothing but static, sir."
Bridger straightened. "Crocker, get a team down to Launch Bay on the double! Ford, assemble men to check out the rest of the alerts." The two men nodded and, silently directing members of the bridge crew to join their respective parties, raced off the bridge. Bridger turned back to Ortiz. "Mr. Ortiz, how the hell did anyone get on this boat without our knowing about it?"
Ortiz shook his head in frustration. "The internal sensors are working sir. I don't understand it."
"Well, you'd better understand it soon," Bridger said, his jaw set. "Seal off the bridge!"
Wolenczak smirked as he listened to the muffled voices coming through the wall. "They're playing right into our hands," he muttered. He was crouched in a narrow ventilation duct, checking his pulse rifle charge by the eerie glow of the computer screen. "OK," he said in a low voice, looking up at his expectant team. "According to the scanners there are eleven people left on the bridge. That's two of them for each one of us," he added helpfully: the security team were all good men, but they weren't known for their intelligence. "Once we get in, go for the captain: don't kill him, just take him hostage. Once we have him, we'll be able to control the others without risk to ourselves." He turned the palm-top so that it faced the team. "This is him. His name is Nathan Bridger." The team nodded. Wolenczak hoped they were listening. Two-to-one odds were pretty standard for Free Nations assault teams, but there was more riding on this than usual. This time they had to win. "Try to avoid shooting the consoles," he continued. "We don't have time or resources to be repairing this boat in mid-ocean. Besides, I want to hand her to the captain on a platter, without defects." More nods. Blank faces. Wolenczak gritted his teeth. "OK," he whispered, "let's go."
Ortiz stared at his screen in consternation. This day just keeps getting better, he thought. Still, it looked like he was lucky: whoever had done this had been distracted for long enough for him to sneak in and work out what was going on. "Sir," he looked up, "someone's feeding ghosts into the internal sensors. Those intruder alerts are false alarms."
"What?!" Bridger tone was disbelieving. Immediately he flipped on his PAL. "Bridger to Ford, get back here!" He turned to Hitchcock and opened his mouth.
Then two things happened at once.
A ventilation shaft hatch swung open with a clunk, and a crewman fell to the deck with a cry of pain. A pulse rifle blast exploded against the wall behind Hitchcock's head. She flung herself to the ground behind the console and reached for her sidearm. The projectile weapons were not as advanced as pulse rifles, but even so, if you shot someone with one, they would be dead. She leaned carefully around the desk and saw a man wearing black exiting the hatchway. Another followed. There were at least two already in the room, from the rifle fire, but the bridge was quickly turning into a shoot-out. The crew and the intruders were squared off, hiding behind consoles on opposite sides of the room. Hitchcock saw that at least one of her side had a pulse rifle. Good.
Suddenly a voice came from behind her. "Commander, can you unseal the bridge?" She turned. It was Captain Bridger, bleeding from a gash in his head.
"Are you alright, captain?" she asked, worried. Bridger nodded quickly.
"I need you to unseal the bridge," he said in a low voice. "Ford and the others are on their way back up here now. We need reinforcements." As he spoke, there was a cry from the other side of the room and a crewman fell, sprawling on his back. Hitchcock closed her eyes. She didn't even know his name.
"Aye sir," she said, and sprang to a half-crouch. Bridger motioned for covering fire. Crewmen appeared from behind every console and began to fire. Hitchcock typed furiously. And the bridge door began to open.
Wolenczak swore as he heard the bridge seal disengage. He had counted the cries: they had already lost four. He had lost none. What his men lacked in brains, they made up for in sharp shooting. But now that bitch on the other side of the room had taken advantage of a momentary lapse in his guard and managed to unseal the bridge door. He dropped his rifle and pulled his computer out of his back pocket in one smooth move. According to scanners there were ten men on the other side of that door. He didn't doubt that these were the combat team sent to check out the alerts, and he knew there was a hell of a lot more to fear from them than from the bridge officers. His fingers flew over the keys. "Get the captain!" he yelled to his men, "get the goddamned captain!"
He was vaguely aware that a man had fallen beside him, but he was concentrating too hard to take much notice. He was almost there... There! The bridge was resealing. But he saw to his horror that the green dots representing life-forms were already inside the bridge. He cursed violently, shoved the computer back in his pocket and grabbed his rifle. Suddenly he realised that he was alone, that the firing had all but stopped. Where the hell was his team? He heard footsteps and shouting. They were coming in a pincer movement to take him out. Wolenczak slung the rifle round his neck, and was ready to move when a soldier barrelled into him head first around the side of the console. Without even stopping to think, he grabbed the guy's head between his palms and twisted, hard. Three was a crunch, and the man dropped, lifeless, to the floor. Wolenczak didn't stop to breathe. He flung himself into a forward roll across the floor to the next console, landing heavily on another soldier, and was on his feet in an instant, one arm pinning the man's arms to his side, the other pressing the barrel of the rifle against his chin.
Robert was taken by surprise: he had thought all the attackers were gone, and was unprepared for the sudden weight landing on him from behind. Before he knew it, he found himself standing, a vice-like grip locked around his arms, a rifle muzzle burning the skin under his jaw. He saw his dad's face across the room, frozen in terror. Great, he thought, trying desperately to work through the fear in his gut, my first real combat experience and I get taken hostage. He felt hot breath against his ear, and heard a toneless voice behind him.
"Drop your weapons, or he dies."