seaQuest is not mine. There, I've said it. Happy now?
As ever, ice-cream sundaes to all my lovely reviewers, and an apology to Sara – sorry, sweetheart, my parents have come to visit and we've had a big festival here in Finland, so I haven't been able to check my email for, ooh, 24 hours, and I had no idea so many people had reviewed! It was a nice surprise though.
OK, hope this chapter lives up to expectations. Please let me know if not – there's still time to change the other 5....
Pro Patria Mori
Chapter 6
Robert Bridger opened his eyes. For a moment he had no idea what was going on. He seemed to be in a narrow, dark tunnel. He could hear laboured breathing – was it his own? He stopped breathing for a moment as an experiment. No, there was definitely someone else here. He moved a hand cautiously. There was no reprisal. He tried lifting his head. For a moment the tunnel swam in the half-light, but then his vision cleared. Still nothing. The breathing didn't change. Well, now or never, he thought and sat up.
He discovered immediately why his captor wasn't responding. The soldier was slumped against one wall of the tunnel, his head back, eyes closed. His face was beaded with sweat, and blood dripped from the end of one finger to a pool on the floor. Robert stared at him for a moment, taking in his kidnapper for the first time. This was just a kid! He couldn't be older than 20. He remembered the iron grip of those arms and wondered how the hell a child wound up on this kind of suicide mission. Then he noticed the tiny computer on the floor by the kid's foot. The screen was blinking, flashing one word: ERASE? Robert shot another glance at the boy: no, he was definitely out, and from the looks of it he wasn't going to be waking up any time soon. Robert reached for his PAL.
"How long?" Bridger asked, a tense expression on his face.
"Ten minutes," Ortiz said quietly, so as not to disturb Hitchcock. All attention on the bridge was now focussed on the lieutenant commander, as the crew stood helplessly at their dark consoles. Hitchcock was sweating freely, her hands stumbling over the keys. The pressure was getting to her. Hell, thought Ortiz, it's getting to us all. Was it getting harder to breathe, or was he just imagining it? The air felt stuffy. He looked away from Hitchcock and found himself staring straight into the eyes of a dead soldier. Not one of theirs, thankfully; all the same, Ortiz slipped down from his console and closed the man's eyes. Not that it made much difference: they would all be dead in an hour. He exchanged glances with O'Neill across the room, and felt sorry for the guy, as he always did. He couldn't remember what life had been like before he'd been friends with O'Neill. The quiet linguist seemed to complement Ortiz's sunny, outgoing disposition perfectly. Now they were going to die together, and Ortiz smiled grimly at his friend, knowing they were both appreciating the irony: they had survived worse scrapes in tubs that should have been hauled to the junkyard long before; now they were going to suffocate, but at least they would do it in style, aboard the brand-new UEO flagship.
Ortiz was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of a comm link chirping. O'Neill put a hand to his headset, then turned quickly to the captain. "I've got Robert, sir." He flicked a switch, and a thin voice fell like lead through the silence.
"Lieutenant Bridger to seaQuest, come in seaQuest."
Bridger was across the room in two strides, and pounced on O'Neill's console. "Robert," he almost yelled, "are you OK?"
There was a crackle of static, then Robert's voice came back, louder now. "Yeah, I've got a mother of a headache, but I'm fine. I don't know where I am."
"Are you under attack?" Bridger asked anxiously.
"No, sir. There's an enemy soldier with me – well, a kid really – but he's unconscious. He's in a pretty bad way; looks like he's been shot. And I've got a computer with," there was a brief pause, "a message file entitled 'Instructions for breaking the lock on the bridge'." Hitchcock looked up sharply.
"Seven minutes," said Ortiz, quietly.
"Can you follow the instructions, Robert?" Bridger said urgently.
"Yeah, it looks pretty straightforward." Robert replied.
"Then do it!" Bridger tried to restrain himself, but fear was twisting his gut. There was a crackle of static, then the sound of distant typing. A tense silence descended once more over the bridge. Even Hitchcock's typing had ceased now. Ortiz felt like jumping up and yelling, something, anything to break the tension.
"Five minutes," he said quietly.
"It's getting kind of funky in here," came Robert's voice, sounding slurred. "Hard to breathe."
"Robert, just hold on," Bridger said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Follow the instructions."
At the three minute warning Ortiz saw O'Neill cross himself and begin to pray. What an irony, he thought, though his mind was sluggish now and thinking was a bit like dreaming. Here he was, a bona-fide Cuban, and O'Neill was the only Catholic on the bridge. Figured. Maybe that's why he got on so well with the guy. He realised his thinking that had taken a whole minute.
"Two minutes."
"How are you doing Robert," asked Bridger in a hushed voice.
"Can't tell whether this is a two or a seven," came Robert's muttered tone. "Is it getting darker?" Bridger felt tears come to his eyes. Behind him Ortiz's quiet voice intoned once more.
"One minute."
O'Neill was vaguely staring at the black spots in front of his eyes. He became aware that the lights were back on. Then, more importantly, he became aware that he could breathe. At first he stayed where he was, leaning back on his chair, sucking in great, delicious gulps of air. He was alive. He hoped every day on seaQuest wasn't going to be like this.
Bridger shoulders sagged as the lights came back on. He felt as if all the strength had gone out of his legs, but he stayed standing, resolute. No show of weakness before the crew could be tolerated in a UEO captain. For a moment he pressed his hands together to control their shaking, and tried to banish the image of his only son being held hostage from the inside of his eyelids. Then he turned smartly on his heel and yelled, "Get me a laser cutter up here! Let's get the lieutenant out of that hole!"
"Sir," Sensor Chief Halloran's voice broke the expectant silence on the bridge of the Freedom. "The seaQuest has regained all power." His voice sounded confused, worried. Braithwaite raised his head.
"Signs of life?"
"Registering 208, sir."
Braithwaite closed his eyes for a moment. "Wolenczak?" he asked, tensely. Halloran keyed a command into his console.
"Still alive sir."
Braithwaite took a deep breath. Damn it, he thought, I've lost them both. He knew there was no way his sub could go up against seaQuest now, even with the stealth systems operational. They had lost the element of surprise. And he had lost his best officer. But he knew there was worse to come.
"Simpson, can you get me a secure line to Admiral Nikita that won't show up on seaQuest's scanners?"
His communications officer looked up, and he saw from her eyes that she, at least, understood the implications of the situation. "Aye, sir. But it'll take some time."
Braithwaite nodded. "Do it."
Dr. Kristen Westphalen was waiting tensely outside the bridge doors when they finally opened. Seemingly unphased by the close brush with death, she strode through immediately, her face set. She had already visited the launch bay, and although there had been plenty of fighting on board the boat today, so far she had no patients: all of the launch bay crew were dead. Seven men and women, she thought bitterly, and every one of them had a mother. She wondered if the men in suits that ruled the different factions in this war truly had any idea of the consequences of their actions.
A scene of carnage greeted her on the bridge. She counted at least ten bodies, some in the navy blue seaQuest uniforms, other dressed in black. The rest of the crew were struggling to their feet, looking dazed. All but the captain, who stood on the higher level, surveying the scene. Kristen watched him from the corner of her eye while she knelt to check the pulse of a fallen soldier. He wasn't especially tall, but what he lacked in stature he certainly made up for in presence. His bearing was erect, military. She felt oddly reassured by his presence, and scolded herself. Dear me, Kristen, that won't do at all. The safest place to be in this war is most likely as far away from that man as possible.
Her patient was dead. She sighed deeply and moved to the next body. She heard one of the crew, a handsome, black-eyed Hispanic man, report to the captain.
"Sir, I've managed to isolate the signal that shut off the life-support. You're not going to believe this, captain." The captain inclined his head towards the young man and raised his eyebrows. The man gestured in the direction of the starboard wall of the bridge, where a group of men were now setting up some heavy looking equipment. "It came from in there, sir."
Bridger stood stock still for a moment, absorbing the information that his sensor chief had just given him. So, he thought, he was here all along. He felt slightly nauseous. Robert had been in even worse danger than he realised. But now... Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If this guy really was the one who'd hacked into seaQuest's systems, then he would probably know the details of the enemy sub's cloaking technology. The crewmen activated the laser cutter and the air was suddenly filled with high pitched whining and grating. Bridger jerked out of his reverie and noticed for the first time the presence of the medical team on the bridge. He hadn't got around to introducing himself to the ship's doctor before the power had shut down; now he appraised her silently and she knelt beside one of the enemy soldiers. She was a handsome middle-aged woman with a face that looked as though it usually wore a kind expression. Right now, however, her jaw was set and her eyes were flashing with anger. Bridger felt himself somewhat taken aback by the intensity of emotion displayed on her features. But then, he thought, we have just all come through a near death experience.
The laser cutter was almost finished. He crossed to where the doctor was straightening up, dusting off her knees.
"Doctor Westphalen, I presume," he said lightly, smiling at her. She turned and regarded him steadily, unsmiling.
"Captain Bridger," she said evenly. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for any of these crewmen."
Bridger sighed. "Well, if you don't mind, doctor, we have one more patient for you to attend to. My son Robert." He gestured at the group of crewmen clustered around the laser cutter, who were now carefully removing a section of the bridge wall. Westphalen nodded, and made her way over to the group. Bridger followed her. A moment later, Robert's face appeared in the opening, looking pale and sweaty, but definitely alive. Bridger felt relief wash through every limb. He stepped forward to help Robert through the hole, then embraced him warmly. He stepped back and surveyed his son carefully.
"How do you feel?" he asked, trying to conceal the anxiety he felt. Robert smiled weakly and rubbed his head.
"I think I passed out for a while," he said. "It was pretty hard to breathe in there. And I've got a lump on my head the size of an egg. But I think I'll be OK."
At that point Westphalen stepped forward and carefully examined Robert's head with her fingers. She nodded, "I'd like you to come down to Med Bay with me so I can examine you properly," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "I've found self-diagnosis to have a poor success rate among professional soldiers." Robert smiled sheepishly.
"Of course, doctor," he said obediently. He turned to accompany the doctor from the bridge, then said with a frown, "What about the other guy?"
Westphalen looked confused. "Other guy?"
Robert gestured back at the opening. "The kid. I mean," he quailed under his father's stern gaze, "the enemy combatant. He's pretty beat up."
For one moment Westphalen shot an astonished glance at Captain Bridger, then darted forward and began to climb into the ventilation shaft. Bridger stepped forward to restrain her. "Doctor!" he said sharply, "that man is dangerous!"
"Nonsense," the doctor's voice echoed back from the shaft, sounding more than slightly indignant. "This man is unconscious. And in need of urgent medical attention. Get me a gurney over here now!"
Westphalen was clambering out of the opening in the tunnel and starting after the gurney carrying the injured man when she felt a restraining hand on her arm. She looked up angrily. It was the captain.
"Doctor," he said seriously, "I think I should tell you that you put your life at serious risk back there. You could have been killed, blundering in there like that before we could properly assess the situation."
Westphalen drew up herself up to her full height and glared at the captain. He flinched slightly under her furious gaze. "Captain," she said, her voice dangerous, "I think I should tell you that I took a vow to protect all life, and though military men like you might think it appropriate to send a child like that on a dangerous mission, even to let him bleed to death while you 'assess the situation', I do not, and cannot, countenance such behaviour."
Bridger raised his eyebrows, trying to appear unphased. In reality, he was unprepared for the full force of the doctor's censure. "This is war, doctor. It is not about individual life and death. We are fighting for peace and freedom for all children. You knew that when you signed up."
The doctor looked utterly disgusted. "I didn't sign up, captain, I was drafted. And I may have to obey your commands, but I don't have to listen to your glib clichés. I have a patient to attend to, so if you'll kindly allow me to do my job?" Bridger, feeling like nothing as much as a scolded child, released his grip on the woman's arm. She stormed off the bridge. Bridger looked after her in confusion. Well, he thought, that was a good start. Can this day get any better, I wonder?
As ever, ice-cream sundaes to all my lovely reviewers, and an apology to Sara – sorry, sweetheart, my parents have come to visit and we've had a big festival here in Finland, so I haven't been able to check my email for, ooh, 24 hours, and I had no idea so many people had reviewed! It was a nice surprise though.
OK, hope this chapter lives up to expectations. Please let me know if not – there's still time to change the other 5....
Pro Patria Mori
Chapter 6
Robert Bridger opened his eyes. For a moment he had no idea what was going on. He seemed to be in a narrow, dark tunnel. He could hear laboured breathing – was it his own? He stopped breathing for a moment as an experiment. No, there was definitely someone else here. He moved a hand cautiously. There was no reprisal. He tried lifting his head. For a moment the tunnel swam in the half-light, but then his vision cleared. Still nothing. The breathing didn't change. Well, now or never, he thought and sat up.
He discovered immediately why his captor wasn't responding. The soldier was slumped against one wall of the tunnel, his head back, eyes closed. His face was beaded with sweat, and blood dripped from the end of one finger to a pool on the floor. Robert stared at him for a moment, taking in his kidnapper for the first time. This was just a kid! He couldn't be older than 20. He remembered the iron grip of those arms and wondered how the hell a child wound up on this kind of suicide mission. Then he noticed the tiny computer on the floor by the kid's foot. The screen was blinking, flashing one word: ERASE? Robert shot another glance at the boy: no, he was definitely out, and from the looks of it he wasn't going to be waking up any time soon. Robert reached for his PAL.
"How long?" Bridger asked, a tense expression on his face.
"Ten minutes," Ortiz said quietly, so as not to disturb Hitchcock. All attention on the bridge was now focussed on the lieutenant commander, as the crew stood helplessly at their dark consoles. Hitchcock was sweating freely, her hands stumbling over the keys. The pressure was getting to her. Hell, thought Ortiz, it's getting to us all. Was it getting harder to breathe, or was he just imagining it? The air felt stuffy. He looked away from Hitchcock and found himself staring straight into the eyes of a dead soldier. Not one of theirs, thankfully; all the same, Ortiz slipped down from his console and closed the man's eyes. Not that it made much difference: they would all be dead in an hour. He exchanged glances with O'Neill across the room, and felt sorry for the guy, as he always did. He couldn't remember what life had been like before he'd been friends with O'Neill. The quiet linguist seemed to complement Ortiz's sunny, outgoing disposition perfectly. Now they were going to die together, and Ortiz smiled grimly at his friend, knowing they were both appreciating the irony: they had survived worse scrapes in tubs that should have been hauled to the junkyard long before; now they were going to suffocate, but at least they would do it in style, aboard the brand-new UEO flagship.
Ortiz was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of a comm link chirping. O'Neill put a hand to his headset, then turned quickly to the captain. "I've got Robert, sir." He flicked a switch, and a thin voice fell like lead through the silence.
"Lieutenant Bridger to seaQuest, come in seaQuest."
Bridger was across the room in two strides, and pounced on O'Neill's console. "Robert," he almost yelled, "are you OK?"
There was a crackle of static, then Robert's voice came back, louder now. "Yeah, I've got a mother of a headache, but I'm fine. I don't know where I am."
"Are you under attack?" Bridger asked anxiously.
"No, sir. There's an enemy soldier with me – well, a kid really – but he's unconscious. He's in a pretty bad way; looks like he's been shot. And I've got a computer with," there was a brief pause, "a message file entitled 'Instructions for breaking the lock on the bridge'." Hitchcock looked up sharply.
"Seven minutes," said Ortiz, quietly.
"Can you follow the instructions, Robert?" Bridger said urgently.
"Yeah, it looks pretty straightforward." Robert replied.
"Then do it!" Bridger tried to restrain himself, but fear was twisting his gut. There was a crackle of static, then the sound of distant typing. A tense silence descended once more over the bridge. Even Hitchcock's typing had ceased now. Ortiz felt like jumping up and yelling, something, anything to break the tension.
"Five minutes," he said quietly.
"It's getting kind of funky in here," came Robert's voice, sounding slurred. "Hard to breathe."
"Robert, just hold on," Bridger said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Follow the instructions."
At the three minute warning Ortiz saw O'Neill cross himself and begin to pray. What an irony, he thought, though his mind was sluggish now and thinking was a bit like dreaming. Here he was, a bona-fide Cuban, and O'Neill was the only Catholic on the bridge. Figured. Maybe that's why he got on so well with the guy. He realised his thinking that had taken a whole minute.
"Two minutes."
"How are you doing Robert," asked Bridger in a hushed voice.
"Can't tell whether this is a two or a seven," came Robert's muttered tone. "Is it getting darker?" Bridger felt tears come to his eyes. Behind him Ortiz's quiet voice intoned once more.
"One minute."
O'Neill was vaguely staring at the black spots in front of his eyes. He became aware that the lights were back on. Then, more importantly, he became aware that he could breathe. At first he stayed where he was, leaning back on his chair, sucking in great, delicious gulps of air. He was alive. He hoped every day on seaQuest wasn't going to be like this.
Bridger shoulders sagged as the lights came back on. He felt as if all the strength had gone out of his legs, but he stayed standing, resolute. No show of weakness before the crew could be tolerated in a UEO captain. For a moment he pressed his hands together to control their shaking, and tried to banish the image of his only son being held hostage from the inside of his eyelids. Then he turned smartly on his heel and yelled, "Get me a laser cutter up here! Let's get the lieutenant out of that hole!"
"Sir," Sensor Chief Halloran's voice broke the expectant silence on the bridge of the Freedom. "The seaQuest has regained all power." His voice sounded confused, worried. Braithwaite raised his head.
"Signs of life?"
"Registering 208, sir."
Braithwaite closed his eyes for a moment. "Wolenczak?" he asked, tensely. Halloran keyed a command into his console.
"Still alive sir."
Braithwaite took a deep breath. Damn it, he thought, I've lost them both. He knew there was no way his sub could go up against seaQuest now, even with the stealth systems operational. They had lost the element of surprise. And he had lost his best officer. But he knew there was worse to come.
"Simpson, can you get me a secure line to Admiral Nikita that won't show up on seaQuest's scanners?"
His communications officer looked up, and he saw from her eyes that she, at least, understood the implications of the situation. "Aye, sir. But it'll take some time."
Braithwaite nodded. "Do it."
Dr. Kristen Westphalen was waiting tensely outside the bridge doors when they finally opened. Seemingly unphased by the close brush with death, she strode through immediately, her face set. She had already visited the launch bay, and although there had been plenty of fighting on board the boat today, so far she had no patients: all of the launch bay crew were dead. Seven men and women, she thought bitterly, and every one of them had a mother. She wondered if the men in suits that ruled the different factions in this war truly had any idea of the consequences of their actions.
A scene of carnage greeted her on the bridge. She counted at least ten bodies, some in the navy blue seaQuest uniforms, other dressed in black. The rest of the crew were struggling to their feet, looking dazed. All but the captain, who stood on the higher level, surveying the scene. Kristen watched him from the corner of her eye while she knelt to check the pulse of a fallen soldier. He wasn't especially tall, but what he lacked in stature he certainly made up for in presence. His bearing was erect, military. She felt oddly reassured by his presence, and scolded herself. Dear me, Kristen, that won't do at all. The safest place to be in this war is most likely as far away from that man as possible.
Her patient was dead. She sighed deeply and moved to the next body. She heard one of the crew, a handsome, black-eyed Hispanic man, report to the captain.
"Sir, I've managed to isolate the signal that shut off the life-support. You're not going to believe this, captain." The captain inclined his head towards the young man and raised his eyebrows. The man gestured in the direction of the starboard wall of the bridge, where a group of men were now setting up some heavy looking equipment. "It came from in there, sir."
Bridger stood stock still for a moment, absorbing the information that his sensor chief had just given him. So, he thought, he was here all along. He felt slightly nauseous. Robert had been in even worse danger than he realised. But now... Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If this guy really was the one who'd hacked into seaQuest's systems, then he would probably know the details of the enemy sub's cloaking technology. The crewmen activated the laser cutter and the air was suddenly filled with high pitched whining and grating. Bridger jerked out of his reverie and noticed for the first time the presence of the medical team on the bridge. He hadn't got around to introducing himself to the ship's doctor before the power had shut down; now he appraised her silently and she knelt beside one of the enemy soldiers. She was a handsome middle-aged woman with a face that looked as though it usually wore a kind expression. Right now, however, her jaw was set and her eyes were flashing with anger. Bridger felt himself somewhat taken aback by the intensity of emotion displayed on her features. But then, he thought, we have just all come through a near death experience.
The laser cutter was almost finished. He crossed to where the doctor was straightening up, dusting off her knees.
"Doctor Westphalen, I presume," he said lightly, smiling at her. She turned and regarded him steadily, unsmiling.
"Captain Bridger," she said evenly. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for any of these crewmen."
Bridger sighed. "Well, if you don't mind, doctor, we have one more patient for you to attend to. My son Robert." He gestured at the group of crewmen clustered around the laser cutter, who were now carefully removing a section of the bridge wall. Westphalen nodded, and made her way over to the group. Bridger followed her. A moment later, Robert's face appeared in the opening, looking pale and sweaty, but definitely alive. Bridger felt relief wash through every limb. He stepped forward to help Robert through the hole, then embraced him warmly. He stepped back and surveyed his son carefully.
"How do you feel?" he asked, trying to conceal the anxiety he felt. Robert smiled weakly and rubbed his head.
"I think I passed out for a while," he said. "It was pretty hard to breathe in there. And I've got a lump on my head the size of an egg. But I think I'll be OK."
At that point Westphalen stepped forward and carefully examined Robert's head with her fingers. She nodded, "I'd like you to come down to Med Bay with me so I can examine you properly," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "I've found self-diagnosis to have a poor success rate among professional soldiers." Robert smiled sheepishly.
"Of course, doctor," he said obediently. He turned to accompany the doctor from the bridge, then said with a frown, "What about the other guy?"
Westphalen looked confused. "Other guy?"
Robert gestured back at the opening. "The kid. I mean," he quailed under his father's stern gaze, "the enemy combatant. He's pretty beat up."
For one moment Westphalen shot an astonished glance at Captain Bridger, then darted forward and began to climb into the ventilation shaft. Bridger stepped forward to restrain her. "Doctor!" he said sharply, "that man is dangerous!"
"Nonsense," the doctor's voice echoed back from the shaft, sounding more than slightly indignant. "This man is unconscious. And in need of urgent medical attention. Get me a gurney over here now!"
Westphalen was clambering out of the opening in the tunnel and starting after the gurney carrying the injured man when she felt a restraining hand on her arm. She looked up angrily. It was the captain.
"Doctor," he said seriously, "I think I should tell you that you put your life at serious risk back there. You could have been killed, blundering in there like that before we could properly assess the situation."
Westphalen drew up herself up to her full height and glared at the captain. He flinched slightly under her furious gaze. "Captain," she said, her voice dangerous, "I think I should tell you that I took a vow to protect all life, and though military men like you might think it appropriate to send a child like that on a dangerous mission, even to let him bleed to death while you 'assess the situation', I do not, and cannot, countenance such behaviour."
Bridger raised his eyebrows, trying to appear unphased. In reality, he was unprepared for the full force of the doctor's censure. "This is war, doctor. It is not about individual life and death. We are fighting for peace and freedom for all children. You knew that when you signed up."
The doctor looked utterly disgusted. "I didn't sign up, captain, I was drafted. And I may have to obey your commands, but I don't have to listen to your glib clichés. I have a patient to attend to, so if you'll kindly allow me to do my job?" Bridger, feeling like nothing as much as a scolded child, released his grip on the woman's arm. She stormed off the bridge. Bridger looked after her in confusion. Well, he thought, that was a good start. Can this day get any better, I wonder?