SeaQuest n'est pas à moi.
Jelly beans by the bucketload for those lovely reviewers: LizU, Crimson Amber, ano, Zoe, KatKnits00, Diena, sara, Kiddo, hepatica, Teresa1, pari106 and TeacherTam, and to Mar for reviewing chapter 9.
Kiddo: yeah, my German is somewhat... rickety ; ). Glad you appreciated it though.
Ghosts
Chapter 11
Time seemed to stand still as a hundred thoughts rushed through Lucas' head at once. He could hear his mother singing softly in his ear, and in his mind's eye he saw Robert smiling at him. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of sleep, cool and gentle. It wasn't like there was anything left for him here anyway. And here, now, he was being offered a way out of the sticky mess his life had become.
But from deep down inside him a different feeling welled up, a burning, desperate desire to live, to keep on fighting, no matter how much of a struggle it was. He had resigned himself to death once before; but then it had seemed like the best option, for the greater good. Here, in this metal box, at the hands of a man he had once called his friend, it just seemed tawdry. He wasn't ready yet. And yet, his mother's voice still sang.
He watched as Braithwaite raised his gun, almost in slow motion. This is it, Wolenczak, he thought. Do or die. Literally. Time to choose.
And he chose: to do.
Even as Braithwaite squeezed the trigger, he started to move. He leaped sideways. The report of the rifle was loud in the sealed compartment, bouncing and reverberating off the metal walls, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. Even as he felt the impact in his shoulder, the air filled with an ear splitting shriek. Lucas may have cried out; he couldn't tell, he couldn't hear anything over the dreadful wailing noise. He hit the floor heavily and curled into a foetal position, jamming his hands over his ears, but he couldn't keep it out. He felt as if his head was going to explode, and felt something wet seeping out of his ears.
Then, mercifully, he lost consciousness.
"Minister Bourne, Commander Jason is on line 2 for you."
Bourne frowned, and cut off Beethoven with the touch of a button. "Put him on," he said, with a wave of his hand, although the secretary couldn't see him. A moment later, Jason's face appeared on his vid-screen. He didn't smile at the nervous-looking man.
"Commander. I trust you have a good reason for calling?"
The man nodded his head. "Yes, sir. We've had an... incident."
Bourne sat up. "What sort of incident?"
"Intruders. Two of them."
"What?!" Bourne stared at him. "No-one even knows that base exists!" The commander shrugged helplessly, and Bourne sighed in exasperation. "What confederation are they from?"
"We don't know, sir. We used the sonic stun system on them. They haven't woken up yet."
Bourne frowned. "Well when they do, find out who sent them, and why. Use any means necessary."
Jason nodded. "I understand, sir. Then what?"
Bourne smiled. "Well, we can always use new test subjects," he said. "Keep me informed."
"Yes sir."
When Jason's image had disappeared from the screen, Bourne switched the music back on. But he was no longer able to relax. Alone in his office, with no-one to see, the minister brought his fist down hard on his desk and cursed.
Braithwaite was awake. He knew he was awake, because sleeping was never this painful. He felt like someone had driven a spike into his head, and his ears were ringing like crazy. He opened one eye a fraction, then shut it again quickly. Not a good idea. After a while, he started testing each of his limbs. They all seemed to be working. Nothing hurt except his head. But that was doing a damn good job of making up for everything else.
Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The light was painful, but he forced himself to bear it until the pain lessened. He was lying on his back, staring straight up. He was in some kind of room with a very low ceiling. Cautiously, he turned his head. He paused for a moment, waiting for the throbbing to subside, and noted that he was on a bed. One wall of the room was bars, and beyond them there was another room: empty. So. A jail of some kind.
He experimented with sitting up, and had to cling onto the bed frame, fighting down a wave of nausea. He gripped tightly, his eyes closed, concentrating on the pain of the metal frame cutting into his fingers until the room had stopped swimming. Then he opened his eyes again.
That was why the ceiling was low. He was on the top bunk. He looked down. It seemed like a long way to the floor, and there was only one way to get down. Carefully, he slipped off the bunk, but his legs gave way and he found himself in a heap on the floor. He struggled slowly to his feet, clinging onto to one of the vertical bedposts, until finally he was standing – sort of. He gripped the bedpost, eyes closed, gasping for breath and feeling the sweat standing out on his forehead. What the hell is going on? he wondered.
The pain in his head wasn't so overwhelming now, but his ears were still ringing and the nausea wasn't helping matters. He opened his eyes carefully, and noticed that the lower bunk was also occupied. Wolenczak was lying there, unconscious, his face pale. A rough bandage was wrapped around his left shoulder, and a line of dried blood dripped down from his ear. Braithwaite put his hand to his own ear and rubbed the skin. His fingers came away red. Some kind of sonic weapon, he thought.
He leaned over carefully and shook Wolenczak by the unbandaged shoulder. "Hey, Wolenczak, wake up," he said. His voice sounded thick and unsteady. The young man did not respond.
Braithwaite tried again, shaking him a little harder. "Come on, Commander, move your ass."
Suddenly, Wolenczak's blue eyes snapped open. He was on his feet in an instant, and an instant later he was lying on the floor, groaning, his eyes squeezed shut. Braithwaite looked down at him in pity. "Take it easy, kid," he said.
After a moment, the young man opened one eye and looked up at him. "Captain Braithwaite?" he asked, sounding confused.
Braithwaite sighed, and sat down next to him on the floor. Given the state of his legs, it seemed like the safest option. "Yeah, it's me. Guess we're cell mates. We'll save the tearful reunion for later, if you don't mind."
"What... happened?" Wolenczak's voice was muffled. He had closed his eyes again.
"They must have used some kind of sound-based weapon on us," Braithwaite said. "My balance is totally shot. Although I seem to be doing better than you."
Wolenczak didn't answer. Braithwaite looked at his bandaged shoulder and gave it an experimental prod. Wolenczak groaned and curled up even tighter. Braithwaite started to shake his head, then remembered why that wasn't a good idea. We're screwed, he thought.
"This had better be good, Ensign."
Ensign Hardcastle looked up and stood to attention. "Sir, the prisoners are awake, sir."
Jason looked down at the security camera. The older man was sitting on the floor in the middle of the cell. The younger was lying in a foetal position next to him. He allowed himself a grim smile. "Good. I'll get Dwight onto them."
Lucas was just starting to see in single vision again when the door to the outer part of the jail opened. He turned his head to see who it was. A woman, in her mid-thirties with dark hair, stood on the other side of the bars watching them. She has a kind face, thought Lucas dreamily.
Braithwaite struggled to his feet. The woman smiled. "Good morning," she said gently. "My name is Rebecca."
Neither man answered. Lucas tried to concentrate on thinking about something else, anything, but the ringing in his ears was very distracting.
The woman's eyes flicked from one man to the other. "I see you have been mistreated," she said, and her voice was full of kindness. "I must apologise on behalf of my president. We'll be moving you to better guest quarters just as soon as you tell us who sent you." She waited.
"Braithwaite, Andrew George. Captain. 736-45H."
"I see," the woman said coolly. Then she turned to Lucas, smiling kindly. "Do you need some help?"
With a huge effort of will, Lucas forced himself to his knees, then struggled to his feet, clinging on to the bed frame. He stood, swaying, his eyes closed. For a moment he thought he might throw up. Finally, the floor stopped rocking, and he opened his eyes and returned the woman's gaze as calmly as he could. Her face hardened slightly. Lucas swallowed, forcing his thick tongue to work. "Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. No rank." He saw Braithwaite's shoulders twitch slightly.
The woman sighed. "We can do this the hard way, if you prefer," she said sorrowfully. "But I really think it would be easier if you just told me who sent you now. We'll find out eventually. This way you can save us all a great deal of unpleasantness."
Lucas concentrated on keeping his features blank. Her threats frightened him. It seemed to him that he'd spent most of his recent life going from prison to prison and interrogation to interrogation. The last time... no, he wasn't ready to think about that yet. For now, all he could do was keep quiet, and concentrate on staying on his feet.
The woman – Rebecca – looked at them sadly and then went to the door. "We'll be needing your services after all, gentlemen," she said mournfully to whoever was standing in the corridor. Two thick-set men appeared in the room, the first unlocking the cell door. Braithwaite and Lucas stayed stock still, watching the men warily. The first grabbed Braithwaite by the elbows and pulled his arms back, pointing a gun at his back.
"Move," he snarled. The second followed suit with Lucas. Lucas felt a stab of pain as his injured arm was wrenched back and bit back a cry. He stumbled as he was pulled away from the support of the bed frame, and got a kick in the ankle for his trouble. Setting his teeth, he poured all his energy into moving his feet. Here we go again, he thought grimly.
Jelly beans by the bucketload for those lovely reviewers: LizU, Crimson Amber, ano, Zoe, KatKnits00, Diena, sara, Kiddo, hepatica, Teresa1, pari106 and TeacherTam, and to Mar for reviewing chapter 9.
Kiddo: yeah, my German is somewhat... rickety ; ). Glad you appreciated it though.
Ghosts
Chapter 11
Time seemed to stand still as a hundred thoughts rushed through Lucas' head at once. He could hear his mother singing softly in his ear, and in his mind's eye he saw Robert smiling at him. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of sleep, cool and gentle. It wasn't like there was anything left for him here anyway. And here, now, he was being offered a way out of the sticky mess his life had become.
But from deep down inside him a different feeling welled up, a burning, desperate desire to live, to keep on fighting, no matter how much of a struggle it was. He had resigned himself to death once before; but then it had seemed like the best option, for the greater good. Here, in this metal box, at the hands of a man he had once called his friend, it just seemed tawdry. He wasn't ready yet. And yet, his mother's voice still sang.
He watched as Braithwaite raised his gun, almost in slow motion. This is it, Wolenczak, he thought. Do or die. Literally. Time to choose.
And he chose: to do.
Even as Braithwaite squeezed the trigger, he started to move. He leaped sideways. The report of the rifle was loud in the sealed compartment, bouncing and reverberating off the metal walls, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. Even as he felt the impact in his shoulder, the air filled with an ear splitting shriek. Lucas may have cried out; he couldn't tell, he couldn't hear anything over the dreadful wailing noise. He hit the floor heavily and curled into a foetal position, jamming his hands over his ears, but he couldn't keep it out. He felt as if his head was going to explode, and felt something wet seeping out of his ears.
Then, mercifully, he lost consciousness.
"Minister Bourne, Commander Jason is on line 2 for you."
Bourne frowned, and cut off Beethoven with the touch of a button. "Put him on," he said, with a wave of his hand, although the secretary couldn't see him. A moment later, Jason's face appeared on his vid-screen. He didn't smile at the nervous-looking man.
"Commander. I trust you have a good reason for calling?"
The man nodded his head. "Yes, sir. We've had an... incident."
Bourne sat up. "What sort of incident?"
"Intruders. Two of them."
"What?!" Bourne stared at him. "No-one even knows that base exists!" The commander shrugged helplessly, and Bourne sighed in exasperation. "What confederation are they from?"
"We don't know, sir. We used the sonic stun system on them. They haven't woken up yet."
Bourne frowned. "Well when they do, find out who sent them, and why. Use any means necessary."
Jason nodded. "I understand, sir. Then what?"
Bourne smiled. "Well, we can always use new test subjects," he said. "Keep me informed."
"Yes sir."
When Jason's image had disappeared from the screen, Bourne switched the music back on. But he was no longer able to relax. Alone in his office, with no-one to see, the minister brought his fist down hard on his desk and cursed.
Braithwaite was awake. He knew he was awake, because sleeping was never this painful. He felt like someone had driven a spike into his head, and his ears were ringing like crazy. He opened one eye a fraction, then shut it again quickly. Not a good idea. After a while, he started testing each of his limbs. They all seemed to be working. Nothing hurt except his head. But that was doing a damn good job of making up for everything else.
Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The light was painful, but he forced himself to bear it until the pain lessened. He was lying on his back, staring straight up. He was in some kind of room with a very low ceiling. Cautiously, he turned his head. He paused for a moment, waiting for the throbbing to subside, and noted that he was on a bed. One wall of the room was bars, and beyond them there was another room: empty. So. A jail of some kind.
He experimented with sitting up, and had to cling onto the bed frame, fighting down a wave of nausea. He gripped tightly, his eyes closed, concentrating on the pain of the metal frame cutting into his fingers until the room had stopped swimming. Then he opened his eyes again.
That was why the ceiling was low. He was on the top bunk. He looked down. It seemed like a long way to the floor, and there was only one way to get down. Carefully, he slipped off the bunk, but his legs gave way and he found himself in a heap on the floor. He struggled slowly to his feet, clinging onto to one of the vertical bedposts, until finally he was standing – sort of. He gripped the bedpost, eyes closed, gasping for breath and feeling the sweat standing out on his forehead. What the hell is going on? he wondered.
The pain in his head wasn't so overwhelming now, but his ears were still ringing and the nausea wasn't helping matters. He opened his eyes carefully, and noticed that the lower bunk was also occupied. Wolenczak was lying there, unconscious, his face pale. A rough bandage was wrapped around his left shoulder, and a line of dried blood dripped down from his ear. Braithwaite put his hand to his own ear and rubbed the skin. His fingers came away red. Some kind of sonic weapon, he thought.
He leaned over carefully and shook Wolenczak by the unbandaged shoulder. "Hey, Wolenczak, wake up," he said. His voice sounded thick and unsteady. The young man did not respond.
Braithwaite tried again, shaking him a little harder. "Come on, Commander, move your ass."
Suddenly, Wolenczak's blue eyes snapped open. He was on his feet in an instant, and an instant later he was lying on the floor, groaning, his eyes squeezed shut. Braithwaite looked down at him in pity. "Take it easy, kid," he said.
After a moment, the young man opened one eye and looked up at him. "Captain Braithwaite?" he asked, sounding confused.
Braithwaite sighed, and sat down next to him on the floor. Given the state of his legs, it seemed like the safest option. "Yeah, it's me. Guess we're cell mates. We'll save the tearful reunion for later, if you don't mind."
"What... happened?" Wolenczak's voice was muffled. He had closed his eyes again.
"They must have used some kind of sound-based weapon on us," Braithwaite said. "My balance is totally shot. Although I seem to be doing better than you."
Wolenczak didn't answer. Braithwaite looked at his bandaged shoulder and gave it an experimental prod. Wolenczak groaned and curled up even tighter. Braithwaite started to shake his head, then remembered why that wasn't a good idea. We're screwed, he thought.
"This had better be good, Ensign."
Ensign Hardcastle looked up and stood to attention. "Sir, the prisoners are awake, sir."
Jason looked down at the security camera. The older man was sitting on the floor in the middle of the cell. The younger was lying in a foetal position next to him. He allowed himself a grim smile. "Good. I'll get Dwight onto them."
Lucas was just starting to see in single vision again when the door to the outer part of the jail opened. He turned his head to see who it was. A woman, in her mid-thirties with dark hair, stood on the other side of the bars watching them. She has a kind face, thought Lucas dreamily.
Braithwaite struggled to his feet. The woman smiled. "Good morning," she said gently. "My name is Rebecca."
Neither man answered. Lucas tried to concentrate on thinking about something else, anything, but the ringing in his ears was very distracting.
The woman's eyes flicked from one man to the other. "I see you have been mistreated," she said, and her voice was full of kindness. "I must apologise on behalf of my president. We'll be moving you to better guest quarters just as soon as you tell us who sent you." She waited.
"Braithwaite, Andrew George. Captain. 736-45H."
"I see," the woman said coolly. Then she turned to Lucas, smiling kindly. "Do you need some help?"
With a huge effort of will, Lucas forced himself to his knees, then struggled to his feet, clinging on to the bed frame. He stood, swaying, his eyes closed. For a moment he thought he might throw up. Finally, the floor stopped rocking, and he opened his eyes and returned the woman's gaze as calmly as he could. Her face hardened slightly. Lucas swallowed, forcing his thick tongue to work. "Wolenczak, Lucas Daniel. No rank." He saw Braithwaite's shoulders twitch slightly.
The woman sighed. "We can do this the hard way, if you prefer," she said sorrowfully. "But I really think it would be easier if you just told me who sent you now. We'll find out eventually. This way you can save us all a great deal of unpleasantness."
Lucas concentrated on keeping his features blank. Her threats frightened him. It seemed to him that he'd spent most of his recent life going from prison to prison and interrogation to interrogation. The last time... no, he wasn't ready to think about that yet. For now, all he could do was keep quiet, and concentrate on staying on his feet.
The woman – Rebecca – looked at them sadly and then went to the door. "We'll be needing your services after all, gentlemen," she said mournfully to whoever was standing in the corridor. Two thick-set men appeared in the room, the first unlocking the cell door. Braithwaite and Lucas stayed stock still, watching the men warily. The first grabbed Braithwaite by the elbows and pulled his arms back, pointing a gun at his back.
"Move," he snarled. The second followed suit with Lucas. Lucas felt a stab of pain as his injured arm was wrenched back and bit back a cry. He stumbled as he was pulled away from the support of the bed frame, and got a kick in the ankle for his trouble. Setting his teeth, he poured all his energy into moving his feet. Here we go again, he thought grimly.