Does dim seaQuest gan i.
A bed of roses for these wonderful people: Mar, Teresa, TeacherTam, KatKnits00, kas, pari106, ano, sara and hepatica.
Mar: lol! Yeah, I can just see Ford in an apron...
KatKnits00: : )
Hepatica: no peeking this time!
Ghosts
Chapter 9
Lucas felt his stomach lurch. Stupid, stupid, he thought, as he raised his hands slowly in the air and turned. You told the captain you were the best man for the job. Guess you must be losing your touch.
A middle-aged man in a white lab coat was standing behind him, aiming a rifle towards his head. He looked scared, although he did a creditable job of hiding it. Lucas thought fast. Well, it works with O'Neill, he thought, and quickly pulled on what Robert had referred to as his "military mask". The technician looked even more scared.
"Who are you?" he asked, and though his voice was calm, Lucas detected a slight tremor in the gun barrel. He said nothing, staring at the man coolly and without malice. The man stared back, looking more and more unsure of himself. Then suddenly he started to turn, to call for help. That was what Lucas had been waiting for: he pounced, sweeping the man's legs out from under him with a practised move and landing on his chest, his hand over the technician's mouth.
"Make a sound, and I'll kill you," he whispered. The technician nodded, terrified.
Lucas took the gun from the man's unresisting hands and flipped it over. He inspected it quickly, then turned back to his hostage. "Sorry about this," he muttered, and brought the gun down hard on the man's forehead. The technician's eyes rolled back in his head. Lucas sighed, and looked around for some rope.
Bridger sighed. "Is this really necessary?"
Krieg nodded with a grin. "Come on, Captain. It's fun!"
Bridger rolled his eyes. "Maybe for you."
Krieg laughed, swerving. "Hey, watch out for that rock!"
Bridger flinched as part of his sub went flying. "Too slow, old man," Krieg said, laughing. "You're going to be at the bottom of the ocean if you don't watch out."
"That's it!" Bridger reached up and flicked a switch. The simulation ended. Krieg sat up, blinking in the lights of his quarters. Bridger raised his eyebrows. "Too slow, old man?"
Krieg looked embarrassed. "Sorry, sir. I was caught up in the moment."
The older man shook his head. "What's this all about, Krieg? You know, it's not normal to invite your captain to play computer games with you."
Krieg swivelled so he was sitting upright, and sighed. "I just thought it would be fun, that's all."
"You thought I needed some fun," Bridger said. Krieg said nothing. "Look, I appreciate how seriously you take your job, but morale raising is for the rest of the crew, not the captain." He stood up to go, but Krieg looked up.
"I beg to differ, sir," he said, quietly. "I've read my job description, and I'm responsible for the morale of every member of this crew. You most of all. If you didn't think you could go through with this, you shouldn't have come back on board this crate."
Bridger sat down heavily on the bed, and put his head in his hands. Krieg stared at him, wondering what to do. He wished Westphalen were there.
"Why did you come back?" he asked, gently.
"It was something Lucas said," Bridger voice came from behind his hands. "And now he's gone too. Is this what I do now?" he looked up suddenly, his face a mask of despair. "Is it my job to send young men to their deaths?"
Krieg shook his head. "Lucas is going to be fine. He can take care of himself." Wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.
The captain shook his head. "That's what I thought... last time."
Krieg sighed and closed his eyes. Words were not enough. They were never enough. How could he persuade this man that his son's death had not been his fault? How could he persuade him, when, late at night, somewhere deep in the recesses of his soul, a little voice whispered that it was? Think of something, Krieg, he thought, angrily. This is what you do, for God's sake! But morale was one thing; heart-to-heart talks was another. And all he could come up with was:
"It wasn't your fault."
Bridger looked at him sadly. "He was your best friend. Can you honestly say you don't blame me for what happened?"
Krieg chewed the inside of his lip, and wondered if the captain was psychic. "Blame is not an issue," he said, finally. "I've blamed everyone and no-one. I've blamed myself, I've blamed you, I've even blamed Lucas. But none of it will bring him back."
Bridger looked unconvinced, and bowed his head. "Why am I telling you all this?" he asked quietly.
The younger man looked at his hands. "Because I'm listening."
For a long moment, the two men sat in silence, each remembering – and trying to forget. Then Bridger drew in a deep breath. "OK then, Lieutenant," he said decisively. "Switch this thing back on. And this time, I'm going to win."
Lucas sat up from screwing the panel shut, and shook his head wearily. He felt angry with himself for getting caught, and making so much extra work for himself. Eventually, someone was going to notice the tech was missing. He only hoped the guy wasn't the life and soul of the party; he only needed a couple more hours, and then he could get out of here.
"Sleep tight, man," he said quietly, and patted the panel. He hoped the guy wasn't too upset when he woke up.
The final point on his itinerary – the central pillar – was two shafts over. That meant at least half an hour of crawling up and down the labyrinth of ducts and shafts to find ones he could fit through. Better get going then, he thought, and shouldered his backpack. At least it was getting lighter: only one explosive left now. Suddenly he stopped. A strange feeling had struck him. He wasn't sure what it was, but he suddenly felt very insecure. Unslinging the pack again, he pulled out the screwdriver once more and quickly opened another panel on the side of the shaft. There was just enough room. Good. He quickly pulled out his palm top – checking first to see that he still wasn't registering on the sensors, and disabling them for the remainder of his route – and the data disk, and stuffed them both into the cavity. Then he replaced the wall panel hastily, and moved quickly away.
The shaft that backed onto the central pillar was wider and taller than usual; Lucas surmised they used it for maintenance to the structural support. Well, that's kind of what I'm going to use it for, too, he thought. He put down his rifle and the now empty backpack, and walked a little way up the shaft, and then back down again, examining the wall carefully and enjoying the feeling of being able to stand upright. Without the palm top, he had to rely on memory to tell him where the best spot to place the explosive would be. But he soon found a likely candidate: at one point an irregularity in the shaft wall formed a small, dark corner. Perfect. He knelt, placing the device against the wall, and activated the magnetic charge. Then he quickly typed in the pass-code and set the explosive to go off on command from his palm top. Let's hope no-one else finds it first, he thought to himself. He was just typing in the last number when a red flashing light filled the shaft.
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" a loud, mechanical voice yelled, seemingly right by his ear. Lucas was on his feet in seconds, staring around himself in horror. On either side, metal doors were closing, extending downwards from the ceiling and upwards from the floor, sealing off the compartment he was in. Guess they aren't such slouches in the security department after all, he thought, calculating quickly. His pulse rifle was to the right, on the other side of a fast-closing door, but his way back to the disk and – ultimately – the sub was on the left. Making a decision, Lucas threw himself leftwards through the rapidly narrowing gap, rolling as he hit the floor. Hearing the door slam shut behind him, he straightened up, only to find himself face to astonished face with Andrew Braithwaite.
A bed of roses for these wonderful people: Mar, Teresa, TeacherTam, KatKnits00, kas, pari106, ano, sara and hepatica.
Mar: lol! Yeah, I can just see Ford in an apron...
KatKnits00: : )
Hepatica: no peeking this time!
Ghosts
Chapter 9
Lucas felt his stomach lurch. Stupid, stupid, he thought, as he raised his hands slowly in the air and turned. You told the captain you were the best man for the job. Guess you must be losing your touch.
A middle-aged man in a white lab coat was standing behind him, aiming a rifle towards his head. He looked scared, although he did a creditable job of hiding it. Lucas thought fast. Well, it works with O'Neill, he thought, and quickly pulled on what Robert had referred to as his "military mask". The technician looked even more scared.
"Who are you?" he asked, and though his voice was calm, Lucas detected a slight tremor in the gun barrel. He said nothing, staring at the man coolly and without malice. The man stared back, looking more and more unsure of himself. Then suddenly he started to turn, to call for help. That was what Lucas had been waiting for: he pounced, sweeping the man's legs out from under him with a practised move and landing on his chest, his hand over the technician's mouth.
"Make a sound, and I'll kill you," he whispered. The technician nodded, terrified.
Lucas took the gun from the man's unresisting hands and flipped it over. He inspected it quickly, then turned back to his hostage. "Sorry about this," he muttered, and brought the gun down hard on the man's forehead. The technician's eyes rolled back in his head. Lucas sighed, and looked around for some rope.
Bridger sighed. "Is this really necessary?"
Krieg nodded with a grin. "Come on, Captain. It's fun!"
Bridger rolled his eyes. "Maybe for you."
Krieg laughed, swerving. "Hey, watch out for that rock!"
Bridger flinched as part of his sub went flying. "Too slow, old man," Krieg said, laughing. "You're going to be at the bottom of the ocean if you don't watch out."
"That's it!" Bridger reached up and flicked a switch. The simulation ended. Krieg sat up, blinking in the lights of his quarters. Bridger raised his eyebrows. "Too slow, old man?"
Krieg looked embarrassed. "Sorry, sir. I was caught up in the moment."
The older man shook his head. "What's this all about, Krieg? You know, it's not normal to invite your captain to play computer games with you."
Krieg swivelled so he was sitting upright, and sighed. "I just thought it would be fun, that's all."
"You thought I needed some fun," Bridger said. Krieg said nothing. "Look, I appreciate how seriously you take your job, but morale raising is for the rest of the crew, not the captain." He stood up to go, but Krieg looked up.
"I beg to differ, sir," he said, quietly. "I've read my job description, and I'm responsible for the morale of every member of this crew. You most of all. If you didn't think you could go through with this, you shouldn't have come back on board this crate."
Bridger sat down heavily on the bed, and put his head in his hands. Krieg stared at him, wondering what to do. He wished Westphalen were there.
"Why did you come back?" he asked, gently.
"It was something Lucas said," Bridger voice came from behind his hands. "And now he's gone too. Is this what I do now?" he looked up suddenly, his face a mask of despair. "Is it my job to send young men to their deaths?"
Krieg shook his head. "Lucas is going to be fine. He can take care of himself." Wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.
The captain shook his head. "That's what I thought... last time."
Krieg sighed and closed his eyes. Words were not enough. They were never enough. How could he persuade this man that his son's death had not been his fault? How could he persuade him, when, late at night, somewhere deep in the recesses of his soul, a little voice whispered that it was? Think of something, Krieg, he thought, angrily. This is what you do, for God's sake! But morale was one thing; heart-to-heart talks was another. And all he could come up with was:
"It wasn't your fault."
Bridger looked at him sadly. "He was your best friend. Can you honestly say you don't blame me for what happened?"
Krieg chewed the inside of his lip, and wondered if the captain was psychic. "Blame is not an issue," he said, finally. "I've blamed everyone and no-one. I've blamed myself, I've blamed you, I've even blamed Lucas. But none of it will bring him back."
Bridger looked unconvinced, and bowed his head. "Why am I telling you all this?" he asked quietly.
The younger man looked at his hands. "Because I'm listening."
For a long moment, the two men sat in silence, each remembering – and trying to forget. Then Bridger drew in a deep breath. "OK then, Lieutenant," he said decisively. "Switch this thing back on. And this time, I'm going to win."
Lucas sat up from screwing the panel shut, and shook his head wearily. He felt angry with himself for getting caught, and making so much extra work for himself. Eventually, someone was going to notice the tech was missing. He only hoped the guy wasn't the life and soul of the party; he only needed a couple more hours, and then he could get out of here.
"Sleep tight, man," he said quietly, and patted the panel. He hoped the guy wasn't too upset when he woke up.
The final point on his itinerary – the central pillar – was two shafts over. That meant at least half an hour of crawling up and down the labyrinth of ducts and shafts to find ones he could fit through. Better get going then, he thought, and shouldered his backpack. At least it was getting lighter: only one explosive left now. Suddenly he stopped. A strange feeling had struck him. He wasn't sure what it was, but he suddenly felt very insecure. Unslinging the pack again, he pulled out the screwdriver once more and quickly opened another panel on the side of the shaft. There was just enough room. Good. He quickly pulled out his palm top – checking first to see that he still wasn't registering on the sensors, and disabling them for the remainder of his route – and the data disk, and stuffed them both into the cavity. Then he replaced the wall panel hastily, and moved quickly away.
The shaft that backed onto the central pillar was wider and taller than usual; Lucas surmised they used it for maintenance to the structural support. Well, that's kind of what I'm going to use it for, too, he thought. He put down his rifle and the now empty backpack, and walked a little way up the shaft, and then back down again, examining the wall carefully and enjoying the feeling of being able to stand upright. Without the palm top, he had to rely on memory to tell him where the best spot to place the explosive would be. But he soon found a likely candidate: at one point an irregularity in the shaft wall formed a small, dark corner. Perfect. He knelt, placing the device against the wall, and activated the magnetic charge. Then he quickly typed in the pass-code and set the explosive to go off on command from his palm top. Let's hope no-one else finds it first, he thought to himself. He was just typing in the last number when a red flashing light filled the shaft.
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" a loud, mechanical voice yelled, seemingly right by his ear. Lucas was on his feet in seconds, staring around himself in horror. On either side, metal doors were closing, extending downwards from the ceiling and upwards from the floor, sealing off the compartment he was in. Guess they aren't such slouches in the security department after all, he thought, calculating quickly. His pulse rifle was to the right, on the other side of a fast-closing door, but his way back to the disk and – ultimately – the sub was on the left. Making a decision, Lucas threw himself leftwards through the rapidly narrowing gap, rolling as he hit the floor. Hearing the door slam shut behind him, he straightened up, only to find himself face to astonished face with Andrew Braithwaite.