Errr... seaQuest? Is that that big metal boat-thingy in the garage? No, no,
that's not mine. I'm just borrowing it. I'll put it back where I found it,
honest!
Love 'n' hugs to the panel of experts: bbclarky, sara, ano, PhoenixTears80, Mar, pari106 and KatKnits00, and special respec' to pari106 for the heads- up about the rather embarrassing disappearance of chapter 1 into the ether....
Pro Patria Mori
Chapter 8
Captain Bridger sighed and scratched his head. "I have no idea, Bill," he said helplessly.
"Well that's not going to cut the mustard with the Secretary-General, I'm afraid Nathan," the kindly face of his old friend Admiral Bill Noyce watched him from the vid screen with a worried expression. "A ship with technology that can outwit seaQuest's sensors? That's not something we can allow to roam around the oceans without so much as a by-your-leave. You have to find out how they did it, and fix it, fast. We can't risk that sub coming round for another pass."
Bridger nodded. "I understand the rationale, I just don't understand how we're going to do it," he said hopelessly. "I've had half the crew searching the internex ever since the power came back on, but so far we haven't come up with a peep about this technology. We've tried hacking into the Free Nations' systems, but they have hardly anything on-line. To be honest, I'm hard-pressed to believe that it really was them behind this attack."
The admiral shrugged. "So are we all, Nathan, but at the moment it's the only evidence we've got to go on. Nobody knew about seaQuest, not even UEO citizens; they could have hidden this boat just as well."
"You're forgetting something, Bill," Bridger said. The admiral raised an eyebrow.
"Somebody did know about seaQuest. And I'm going to find out how."
Moments after he had finished his call with Admiral Noyce, Bridger was startled by a furious knocking at the door. Before he had a chance to answer, the hatch burst open and the diminutive ship's doctor whirled in, face incandescent with rage. Oh great, thought Bridger, here we go again. He had been regretting his previous encounters with the doctor and hoping that next time they could smooth things out; however, it did not seem like the scene was set for a peaceful reconciliation.
"Look at this!" Westphalen hissed, extending an arm towards him. In the flat of her hand rested a petri dish, and in that were what looked like two halves of a hollow metal sphere, about the size of a pea, and a few drops of clear liquid.
"What is it?" Bridger asked, puzzled.
"Cyanide," Westphalen said, as if that explained everything. "I know there are some ruthless people out there, but this truly makes me sick!"
"Doctor," Bridger said, palms outward in a gesture not unlike the one he had used to try and placate his son's captor on the bridge earlier, "please, slow down. Sit down. Start from the beginning."
For a moment Westphalen looked mutinous, but then she gave in and sat down. She placed the petri dish on the table.
"I removed a spherical metal object from the boy's shoulder at the same time as removing the bullet," she started in a barely controlled voice. "I had it scanned for explosives, but nothing came up. All I was sure of was that it had not come to be there by accident: it was surgically implanted."
"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" Bridger broke in. Westphalen's face twitched.
"Circumstances... got in the way," she replied. You can say that again, Bridger thought, but said nothing. Westphalen continued. "I was examining the object a few minutes ago in Med Bay when it suddenly split in two, releasing this liquid from inside. I tested the liquid and found it to be cyanide."
Bridger sat for a moment, digesting what he'd heard. "Conclusions, Doctor," he said finally.
She drew a deep breath. "The object was designed to allow a third party to kill a soldier in the event of capture," she said in a cold voice. "It was remote-activated, most likely by a member of the boy's crew."
Bridger nodded slowly. "To prevent information falling into the wrong hands," he added. Who would do that to a child?, he found himself thinking, and quickly reminded himself of the faces and names of his dead crew.
"Whoever this man's commanders are," he said, placing a light emphasis on the word 'man' which did not go unnoticed, "they play for keeps."
Wolenczak fought his way up through layers of drifting blackness. There was pain up there, and memory, but he did not relish the idea of staying forever in the dark embrace of forgetfulness. He wanted to know, to understand; to remember, not to forget. But when the black gave way to red and pain throbbed in every blood vessel, he wondered if he had made the right choice.
He didn't open his eyes. Not yet. He didn't want them to know he was awake before he had full control over himself. He pressed down the fingers of darkness that still threatened, and tried to remember what happened. Somehow, they must have broken the bridge lock, because he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. He became aware that restraints were attached to his wrists and ankles. That was it, then. Captured. You failed again, Wolenczak, he reprimanded himself. You won't get a third shot.
"Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. Commander. 498-27V."
Bridger sighed. "That's not going to get you very far," he said. The prisoner – Wolenczak – regarded him with intense blue eyes. His face was cold, devoid of emotion. Awake, he looked a lot older than sixteen.
Bridger leaned forward over the table. Westphalen had refused to allow them to interrogate the prisoner while he was still recuperating, and so he had been waiting, wasting precious days, until finally he could wait no more. In that time, the prisoner had not been allowed to talk to any member of crew, nor had he shown any signs of wanting to do so. He was showing little more sign of it now.
"What confederation are you from?" Bridger asked. This provoked exactly zero reaction. The boy's face was like a wall. Now I'm thinking of him as 'the boy' as well, Bridger thought grouchily. Next thing you know I'll be tucking him in at night. Fat chance. Over the last few days he had had to inform all the families of the dead crew of their loss.
"How did you get the technology to elude seaQuest's sensors?" Bridger asked. Still nothing. He wondered if the kid was even awake. Beside him, Ford leaned forward.
"What is the name of your commanding officer?" he asked. The prisoner turned to look at him, and opened his mouth.
"Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. Commander. 498-27V," he said.
Ford stormed out of the interrogation room. "He's lying, sir," he said bluntly.
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"
Ford shook his head. "No-one that young could be a commander. No way. He's not even old enough to be an ensign! Hell, he's not even old enough to enlist!"
Bridger stared at him for a moment. Ford felt beads of sweat begin to form behind his ears. "You're not here to compete, Commander," the captain said finally, and Ford felt himself flush in humiliation, and hoped against hope that his dark skin would hide the tell-tale signs.
"I'm not competing sir, it's just..." Just what, he asked himself. What is it really about this kid that pisses you off? Ford wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but it came anyway. He beat you. He made you look incompetent in front of the captain. Let's face it, you were incompetent. You should have stopped those commandoes before they got to the bridge. So far, you've done nothing on this boat to merit the captain's favour. And now you can't even rely on your precociousness any more. He had always hoped that he would be assessed by his deeds, not just his early attainment of high rank. But now he felt like a safety net had been ripped out from under him. Careful what you wish for.
Bridger broke into his reverie, and his voice was kinder now. "Commander, if this Wolenczak really is from the Alliance of Free Nations, it's possible he's a commander. They're notorious for their early recruitment system. If I were you, I'd recall that being a commander in a rag-tag army under a tyrannical regime is not the same as being a commander in the UEO. And I'd get some rest," he added. "We've all been under a lot of stress lately."
Bridger watched Ford's rigid back retreating down the corridor, and sighed. You're a good officer Jonathan, he thought to himself. You've just got to believe in yourself.
"What have we got?" Bridger asked, placing his palms flat on the Ward Room table and leaning forward. O'Neill looked nervous; Hitchcock pushed a thick file forward on the table.
"This is the only information we have that connects the name 'Wolenczak' to the Free Nations," she said, unsmiling. Bridger opened the cover.
"Lawrence Wolenczak?" he asked, surprised. "But he was one of ours."
"That's right, sir," O'Neill said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "He was one of our leading scientists, specialising in submarine technology. Until he was murdered."
Bridger looked shocked. "Murdered?" he asked, incredulously. "I thought he retired?"
"So did we," Hitchcock nodded. "It seems the UEO wanted us to think that, maybe so as not to scare their other scientists. But we found the real story, after a lot of digging."
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "Which is?"
O'Neill took a deep breath. "Wolenczak disappeared in 2005, shortly after the UEO was formed," he said. "His family disappeared too. Six months later, his body and his wife's were found. They had been..." O'Neill swallowed, "tortured. It was assumed that a rival confederation had tried to get Dr. Wolenczak to work for them. When he refused, they killed him."
Bridger stood up straight and folded his arms. "If Wolenczak is dead, what does this have to do with our prisoner? Do you think he's trying to steal his identity?"
"No sir, not exactly," Hitchcock exchanged glances with O'Neill. "The Wolenczaks had a year-old son when they were kidnapped. He was never found. It was assumed that the kidnappers had killed him too, but now..."
Bridger sucked in his breath. "You think this kid might be Wolenczak's son?"
O'Neill nodded, licking his lips. "The dates fit, sir. And if he is..."
Hitchcock finished his sentence. "If that man in the brig is Lawrence Wolenczak's son, that means he's UEO."
Love 'n' hugs to the panel of experts: bbclarky, sara, ano, PhoenixTears80, Mar, pari106 and KatKnits00, and special respec' to pari106 for the heads- up about the rather embarrassing disappearance of chapter 1 into the ether....
Pro Patria Mori
Chapter 8
Captain Bridger sighed and scratched his head. "I have no idea, Bill," he said helplessly.
"Well that's not going to cut the mustard with the Secretary-General, I'm afraid Nathan," the kindly face of his old friend Admiral Bill Noyce watched him from the vid screen with a worried expression. "A ship with technology that can outwit seaQuest's sensors? That's not something we can allow to roam around the oceans without so much as a by-your-leave. You have to find out how they did it, and fix it, fast. We can't risk that sub coming round for another pass."
Bridger nodded. "I understand the rationale, I just don't understand how we're going to do it," he said hopelessly. "I've had half the crew searching the internex ever since the power came back on, but so far we haven't come up with a peep about this technology. We've tried hacking into the Free Nations' systems, but they have hardly anything on-line. To be honest, I'm hard-pressed to believe that it really was them behind this attack."
The admiral shrugged. "So are we all, Nathan, but at the moment it's the only evidence we've got to go on. Nobody knew about seaQuest, not even UEO citizens; they could have hidden this boat just as well."
"You're forgetting something, Bill," Bridger said. The admiral raised an eyebrow.
"Somebody did know about seaQuest. And I'm going to find out how."
Moments after he had finished his call with Admiral Noyce, Bridger was startled by a furious knocking at the door. Before he had a chance to answer, the hatch burst open and the diminutive ship's doctor whirled in, face incandescent with rage. Oh great, thought Bridger, here we go again. He had been regretting his previous encounters with the doctor and hoping that next time they could smooth things out; however, it did not seem like the scene was set for a peaceful reconciliation.
"Look at this!" Westphalen hissed, extending an arm towards him. In the flat of her hand rested a petri dish, and in that were what looked like two halves of a hollow metal sphere, about the size of a pea, and a few drops of clear liquid.
"What is it?" Bridger asked, puzzled.
"Cyanide," Westphalen said, as if that explained everything. "I know there are some ruthless people out there, but this truly makes me sick!"
"Doctor," Bridger said, palms outward in a gesture not unlike the one he had used to try and placate his son's captor on the bridge earlier, "please, slow down. Sit down. Start from the beginning."
For a moment Westphalen looked mutinous, but then she gave in and sat down. She placed the petri dish on the table.
"I removed a spherical metal object from the boy's shoulder at the same time as removing the bullet," she started in a barely controlled voice. "I had it scanned for explosives, but nothing came up. All I was sure of was that it had not come to be there by accident: it was surgically implanted."
"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" Bridger broke in. Westphalen's face twitched.
"Circumstances... got in the way," she replied. You can say that again, Bridger thought, but said nothing. Westphalen continued. "I was examining the object a few minutes ago in Med Bay when it suddenly split in two, releasing this liquid from inside. I tested the liquid and found it to be cyanide."
Bridger sat for a moment, digesting what he'd heard. "Conclusions, Doctor," he said finally.
She drew a deep breath. "The object was designed to allow a third party to kill a soldier in the event of capture," she said in a cold voice. "It was remote-activated, most likely by a member of the boy's crew."
Bridger nodded slowly. "To prevent information falling into the wrong hands," he added. Who would do that to a child?, he found himself thinking, and quickly reminded himself of the faces and names of his dead crew.
"Whoever this man's commanders are," he said, placing a light emphasis on the word 'man' which did not go unnoticed, "they play for keeps."
Wolenczak fought his way up through layers of drifting blackness. There was pain up there, and memory, but he did not relish the idea of staying forever in the dark embrace of forgetfulness. He wanted to know, to understand; to remember, not to forget. But when the black gave way to red and pain throbbed in every blood vessel, he wondered if he had made the right choice.
He didn't open his eyes. Not yet. He didn't want them to know he was awake before he had full control over himself. He pressed down the fingers of darkness that still threatened, and tried to remember what happened. Somehow, they must have broken the bridge lock, because he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. He became aware that restraints were attached to his wrists and ankles. That was it, then. Captured. You failed again, Wolenczak, he reprimanded himself. You won't get a third shot.
"Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. Commander. 498-27V."
Bridger sighed. "That's not going to get you very far," he said. The prisoner – Wolenczak – regarded him with intense blue eyes. His face was cold, devoid of emotion. Awake, he looked a lot older than sixteen.
Bridger leaned forward over the table. Westphalen had refused to allow them to interrogate the prisoner while he was still recuperating, and so he had been waiting, wasting precious days, until finally he could wait no more. In that time, the prisoner had not been allowed to talk to any member of crew, nor had he shown any signs of wanting to do so. He was showing little more sign of it now.
"What confederation are you from?" Bridger asked. This provoked exactly zero reaction. The boy's face was like a wall. Now I'm thinking of him as 'the boy' as well, Bridger thought grouchily. Next thing you know I'll be tucking him in at night. Fat chance. Over the last few days he had had to inform all the families of the dead crew of their loss.
"How did you get the technology to elude seaQuest's sensors?" Bridger asked. Still nothing. He wondered if the kid was even awake. Beside him, Ford leaned forward.
"What is the name of your commanding officer?" he asked. The prisoner turned to look at him, and opened his mouth.
"Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. Commander. 498-27V," he said.
Ford stormed out of the interrogation room. "He's lying, sir," he said bluntly.
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"
Ford shook his head. "No-one that young could be a commander. No way. He's not even old enough to be an ensign! Hell, he's not even old enough to enlist!"
Bridger stared at him for a moment. Ford felt beads of sweat begin to form behind his ears. "You're not here to compete, Commander," the captain said finally, and Ford felt himself flush in humiliation, and hoped against hope that his dark skin would hide the tell-tale signs.
"I'm not competing sir, it's just..." Just what, he asked himself. What is it really about this kid that pisses you off? Ford wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but it came anyway. He beat you. He made you look incompetent in front of the captain. Let's face it, you were incompetent. You should have stopped those commandoes before they got to the bridge. So far, you've done nothing on this boat to merit the captain's favour. And now you can't even rely on your precociousness any more. He had always hoped that he would be assessed by his deeds, not just his early attainment of high rank. But now he felt like a safety net had been ripped out from under him. Careful what you wish for.
Bridger broke into his reverie, and his voice was kinder now. "Commander, if this Wolenczak really is from the Alliance of Free Nations, it's possible he's a commander. They're notorious for their early recruitment system. If I were you, I'd recall that being a commander in a rag-tag army under a tyrannical regime is not the same as being a commander in the UEO. And I'd get some rest," he added. "We've all been under a lot of stress lately."
Bridger watched Ford's rigid back retreating down the corridor, and sighed. You're a good officer Jonathan, he thought to himself. You've just got to believe in yourself.
"What have we got?" Bridger asked, placing his palms flat on the Ward Room table and leaning forward. O'Neill looked nervous; Hitchcock pushed a thick file forward on the table.
"This is the only information we have that connects the name 'Wolenczak' to the Free Nations," she said, unsmiling. Bridger opened the cover.
"Lawrence Wolenczak?" he asked, surprised. "But he was one of ours."
"That's right, sir," O'Neill said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "He was one of our leading scientists, specialising in submarine technology. Until he was murdered."
Bridger looked shocked. "Murdered?" he asked, incredulously. "I thought he retired?"
"So did we," Hitchcock nodded. "It seems the UEO wanted us to think that, maybe so as not to scare their other scientists. But we found the real story, after a lot of digging."
Bridger raised his eyebrows. "Which is?"
O'Neill took a deep breath. "Wolenczak disappeared in 2005, shortly after the UEO was formed," he said. "His family disappeared too. Six months later, his body and his wife's were found. They had been..." O'Neill swallowed, "tortured. It was assumed that a rival confederation had tried to get Dr. Wolenczak to work for them. When he refused, they killed him."
Bridger stood up straight and folded his arms. "If Wolenczak is dead, what does this have to do with our prisoner? Do you think he's trying to steal his identity?"
"No sir, not exactly," Hitchcock exchanged glances with O'Neill. "The Wolenczaks had a year-old son when they were kidnapped. He was never found. It was assumed that the kidnappers had killed him too, but now..."
Bridger sucked in his breath. "You think this kid might be Wolenczak's son?"
O'Neill nodded, licking his lips. "The dates fit, sir. And if he is..."
Hitchcock finished his sentence. "If that man in the brig is Lawrence Wolenczak's son, that means he's UEO."