seaQuest non meus est.
Throw another shrimp on the barbie for: Crimson Amber, Teresa, pari106 (x2!) Mar, sara, hepatica, ano, TeacherTam and KatKnits00.
Teresa: lol! What a weird coincidence... I'd like to say that the next chapter has a Jane James in it, but alas it is not so...
KatKnits00: Is my inner ELF showing? giggles
As for the rest – what, me, cliffhanger? Surely not...
Ghosts
Chapter 15
Lucas opened his eyes.
He was lying on his back staring up at the sky. It was the pale blue of evening, and seemed to stretch into infinity. A half-moon hung there, shining with a faint light. A few faint wisps of cloud were turning grey.
He could feel sand under his hands and the ocean murmuring nearby. Everything seemed sharper, more defined, the colours brighter than usual. He sat up and looked around. A little way up the beach was a shack that he recognised: Bridger's island. He knew he must be dreaming. But he had a very odd feeling that it was not his dream.
There was a figure crouching beside him. Lucas could have sworn that he wasn't there a moment ago. He turned; his reflexes were slow. Somehow he was not surprised to see Robert smiling at him.
"Hello Lucas," the young man said.
"Hello Robert," Lucas replied dreamily.
"Things haven't been going too well for you lately, huh?" Robert said sympathetically.
Lucas didn't answer. He was watching the waves sliding in and out. He was struck suddenly with the realisation that the motion would never stop. In. Out. In. Out. Forever. Robert sat down next to him on the sand.
"It's good to see you," he said gently. "It's too bad you won't be able to stay."
Lucas looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" Suddenly all he wanted to do was stay there, on that beach. He couldn't remember why he didn't want to go back, but he knew he didn't.
Robert smiled sadly. "You've got to go back, Lucas. You've got to help my dad. He needs you."
Lucas shook his head. "I want to stay here, with you."
Robert's smile faded; now he just looked sad. He reached out a hand and pushed Lucas gently on the chest. The whole world started to slide forward, or perhaps Lucas was sliding backward out of it. Robert was moving away, but he wasn't moving. Lucas was moving.
"I want to stay," Lucas whispered.
Then he was falling into darkness, and the beach, the sea, Robert, they became smaller and smaller until they were no larger than a vid-screen picture, and then just a bright point in the darkness.
And then they were gone.
"Any luck?" Bridger asked.
O'Neill shook his head. "I've tried rerouting through three satellites already. Nothing's getting through. We don't have enough power."
Bridger nodded and looked at Hitchcock. She looked up from where she was lying under her console. "I'm still trying to bring in more power from the back-up systems. They might be too badly fried."
Bridger put his hand on O'Neill's shoulder. "Keep trying," he said calmly. He turned and walked to Ortiz's station. "There's no way we can break through?"
"No, sir," Ortiz said, looking up. His face was tense. "They've got us surrounded."
"Current status?"
"Alert but inactive. Captain," Ortiz looked worried, "I think they're waiting for reinforcements."
Bridger shook his head. "Why aren't they attacking now?" he muttered.
Ford had the answer. "They don't want to damage the seaQuest. They want to take her intact."
Bridger straightened up. "I'll scuttle her myself before I see that happen."
The two men shared a glance. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Ford said quietly.
Lucas was awake, really awake. He could tell because of the sharp pain in his head. Grimacing, he opened his eyes – or at least one of them. The other seemed to be stuck together. He sat up slowly, and tried to lift his hand to touch his eye. A searing pain shot through his shoulder. Great idea, Wolenczak. He reached up with his other hand and rubbed at his eye – he managed to get it open, but his hand came away red. He looked at it for a moment, then reached up to his forehead. It felt like he had a pretty nasty gash. There was blood on the console too. In fact, looking around, it seemed like he'd bled a lot. No wonder he was feeling light-headed.
He checked the instrument panel for his position, then did a double-take. "This can't be right," he muttered. According to the computer, he was only a few kilometres from the border. But when he'd lost consciousness he'd been only a few minutes from the base. He frowned, then stopped quickly as the pain behind his eyes intensified. "How is this possible?"
He checked the chronometer: he had been out for about three hours. That was certainly enough time for a sub of this spec to get that far at full tilt, but with no-one driving it? He checked the history. And stared. The sub had been going in a straight line in the direction it had been pointed when the impact hit. The angle had been slightly off – he was around forty kilometres from seaQuest's position – but that was a damn sight better that 500. He turned the ship quickly, hardly able to believe his good luck. At least there weren't any mountains in the way, he thought. Or PSW patrols.
He felt something hard digging into his leg, and felt in his pocket. The data disk. Swiping the sweat from his forehead, he pulled it out, along with Braithwaite's copy, and stared at them. They looked so innocent, flat plastic cuboids in the palm of his hand, yet each one contained information that could mean death for millions. Did you know what this technology was? he wondered, thinking of Bridger. He wanted to believe the man didn't, but there was no way he could know for sure. The ugly spectacle of three confederations fighting over the means to send their enemies to an agonising death made him feel sick. Or maybe that was the head wound. He was finding it hard to think clearly. Then his own voice came back at him. I'm fighting for all of us who are stuck in this shitty war because of someone else's ambition. Is that really true Wolenczak? Is that why you're doing it? Or are you just afraid to try and find some other way to live?
A wave of tiredness washed over him, and he remembered the beach, and Robert, and almost wept. Then he set his teeth. Time to see it through. He dropped both disks on the floor and stamped on them again and again, grinding them into fragments with the heel of his boot. Then he sat back, exhausted, and waited as the sub headed towards the last place he had seen seaQuest.
"I just can't do it!" O'Neill sat back in frustration, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. "They're still blocking all communications. There's no way we can call for help." He felt helpless and frustrated. There were five PSW ships now, and he was sure there were more on the way. And everything rested on communications. If they could only let other UEO ships in the area know they were there... And yet, there it was. There just wasn't enough power to reroute them.
Ortiz looked up. "Captain, there's a PSW shuttle approaching."
Bridger frowned. "Armed?"
Ortiz shook his head. "If they are, they're not aiming at us." Then he frowned too, listening to something. "They're sending off some kind of weird sonar signal, sir."
O'Neill flipped his headset to the sonar channel and listened. For a moment he was perplexed, then he realised. "It's Morse code," he said, flipping a switch so that the sonar beeps could be heard on the bridge. "Someone's using the sonar to send us a message."
Bridger looked up, listening. "L... U... C... A... S." He turned quickly to Hitchcock. "Open the docking bay!"
Krieg was on his way past docking bay for on an errand for Westphalen when the doors cycled open and Lucas fell out.
"Woah, watch it there buddy!" Krieg said, catching his friend before he hit the ground. "I didn't know you were back." He hauled Lucas to his feet, then stopped. The boy's face was bruised, and one side was streaked with dried blood. "Hey, man, what happened?" he asked gently.
"No time," Lucas said, leaning heavily on Krieg. "I've got to get to the bridge."
Krieg had a strange feeling of déjà vu. "The only place you're going is med- bay," he said firmly.
Lucas shook his head. "No, I've got to get to the bridge." His voice was unsteady. "I've got to help Bridger. Will you help me, Ben? Please?"
Krieg stared into his determined eyes for a moment, then sighed. "Westphalen's gonna kill me for this," he muttered.
"Captain, two more subs are approaching," Ortiz said grimly.
"How far?" Bridger asked.
"They'll be here in an hour," Ortiz replied. Bridger exchanged glances with Ford, and checked to make sure he still had the key to the boat's self- destruct mechanism around his neck. Time to pray for a miracle, he thought.
"Hey, can somebody help me here?" came a voice from the other side of the bridge. Bridger turned in surprise. Lieutenant Krieg was standing there, supporting a very much the worse for wear-looking Lucas.
"Lucas!" Bridger said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Why aren't you calling for reinforcements?" Lucas asked.
Bridger shook his head. "They're blocking our communications. There's not enough power to get them out."
Lucas seemed to be visibly regaining control. He stood up straighter. "Let me try," he said firmly. Bridger looked back to see O'Neill and Ford exchanging a glance.
"Sure, why not?" O'Neill said, shrugging. He stood up.
Lucas crossed the room without support – although a little unsteadily – and sat down in O'Neill's chair. He started typing immediately, muttering to himself.
Hitchcock crossed the room to stand by Krieg. "What's going on?" she asked.
Krieg shrugged. "Beats me," he said. "Kid says jump, I say how high. I just can't resist that cheeky sense of humour."
Hitchcock snorted. "This is a serious situation, Krieg," she said.
Krieg turned to her and raised and eyebrow. "When have you ever known me not to be serious, Commander?"
At the console, Lucas was working feverishly. The fingers on his left hand were sluggish, presumably because of the shoulder wound. Lucas forced them to work anyway. Impatiently, he brushed the sweat out of his eyes and fought down a wave of dizziness. Concentrate, Wolenczak, he thought fiercely. This is no time to wimp out. Let's try taking power from the WSKRs' grid.
Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Bridger's voice saying something, but he didn't stop to listen. Right now, he could only concentrate on one thing at a time.
Bridger had crossed to stand behind O'Neill. "How's it going?" he asked, trying not to sound as tense as he felt. Lucas didn't answer, didn't even seem to hear. O'Neill looked at him and shrugged.
"I have no idea what he's doing," he admitted.
"Um, sir?" Ortiz looked up. "The subs are preparing to fire."
"How many?"
"Fifteen torpedoes, sir."
"How many intercepts do we have left?"
Ortiz checked his console. "Ten."
Bridger sighed. "We'll have to use our torpedoes to intercept theirs. Mr. Ortiz, assuming they continue firing, how long can we hold them off for?"
Ortiz shook his head. "A couple hours maybe, but once their reinforcements arrive we'll be screwed. Firing intercepts and torpedoes one through five," he added, almost as an afterthought.
There was a moment of tense anticipation. Then two things happened at once. Ortiz said: "All targets destroyed." And Lucas sat back in his chair and said: "Got it!"
O'Neill was typing in an instant. "Communications working sir," he said. "Hailing all UEO subs in the area." Lucas struggled out of the chair and let O'Neill take over. "Sending distress call..." He paused, listening. "Five subs responding, sir," he said, looking up, his face suffused with relief.
Bridger's shoulders sagged. "Ortiz?"
"The PSW subs are standing down sir," Ortiz said with a wide grin. "They must have heard us."
Bridger smiled, and turned to Lucas. "Well done, Mr. Wolenczak. I think you just saved all our lives."
Lucas nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said calmly, and passed out.
Throw another shrimp on the barbie for: Crimson Amber, Teresa, pari106 (x2!) Mar, sara, hepatica, ano, TeacherTam and KatKnits00.
Teresa: lol! What a weird coincidence... I'd like to say that the next chapter has a Jane James in it, but alas it is not so...
KatKnits00: Is my inner ELF showing? giggles
As for the rest – what, me, cliffhanger? Surely not...
Ghosts
Chapter 15
Lucas opened his eyes.
He was lying on his back staring up at the sky. It was the pale blue of evening, and seemed to stretch into infinity. A half-moon hung there, shining with a faint light. A few faint wisps of cloud were turning grey.
He could feel sand under his hands and the ocean murmuring nearby. Everything seemed sharper, more defined, the colours brighter than usual. He sat up and looked around. A little way up the beach was a shack that he recognised: Bridger's island. He knew he must be dreaming. But he had a very odd feeling that it was not his dream.
There was a figure crouching beside him. Lucas could have sworn that he wasn't there a moment ago. He turned; his reflexes were slow. Somehow he was not surprised to see Robert smiling at him.
"Hello Lucas," the young man said.
"Hello Robert," Lucas replied dreamily.
"Things haven't been going too well for you lately, huh?" Robert said sympathetically.
Lucas didn't answer. He was watching the waves sliding in and out. He was struck suddenly with the realisation that the motion would never stop. In. Out. In. Out. Forever. Robert sat down next to him on the sand.
"It's good to see you," he said gently. "It's too bad you won't be able to stay."
Lucas looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?" Suddenly all he wanted to do was stay there, on that beach. He couldn't remember why he didn't want to go back, but he knew he didn't.
Robert smiled sadly. "You've got to go back, Lucas. You've got to help my dad. He needs you."
Lucas shook his head. "I want to stay here, with you."
Robert's smile faded; now he just looked sad. He reached out a hand and pushed Lucas gently on the chest. The whole world started to slide forward, or perhaps Lucas was sliding backward out of it. Robert was moving away, but he wasn't moving. Lucas was moving.
"I want to stay," Lucas whispered.
Then he was falling into darkness, and the beach, the sea, Robert, they became smaller and smaller until they were no larger than a vid-screen picture, and then just a bright point in the darkness.
And then they were gone.
"Any luck?" Bridger asked.
O'Neill shook his head. "I've tried rerouting through three satellites already. Nothing's getting through. We don't have enough power."
Bridger nodded and looked at Hitchcock. She looked up from where she was lying under her console. "I'm still trying to bring in more power from the back-up systems. They might be too badly fried."
Bridger put his hand on O'Neill's shoulder. "Keep trying," he said calmly. He turned and walked to Ortiz's station. "There's no way we can break through?"
"No, sir," Ortiz said, looking up. His face was tense. "They've got us surrounded."
"Current status?"
"Alert but inactive. Captain," Ortiz looked worried, "I think they're waiting for reinforcements."
Bridger shook his head. "Why aren't they attacking now?" he muttered.
Ford had the answer. "They don't want to damage the seaQuest. They want to take her intact."
Bridger straightened up. "I'll scuttle her myself before I see that happen."
The two men shared a glance. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Ford said quietly.
Lucas was awake, really awake. He could tell because of the sharp pain in his head. Grimacing, he opened his eyes – or at least one of them. The other seemed to be stuck together. He sat up slowly, and tried to lift his hand to touch his eye. A searing pain shot through his shoulder. Great idea, Wolenczak. He reached up with his other hand and rubbed at his eye – he managed to get it open, but his hand came away red. He looked at it for a moment, then reached up to his forehead. It felt like he had a pretty nasty gash. There was blood on the console too. In fact, looking around, it seemed like he'd bled a lot. No wonder he was feeling light-headed.
He checked the instrument panel for his position, then did a double-take. "This can't be right," he muttered. According to the computer, he was only a few kilometres from the border. But when he'd lost consciousness he'd been only a few minutes from the base. He frowned, then stopped quickly as the pain behind his eyes intensified. "How is this possible?"
He checked the chronometer: he had been out for about three hours. That was certainly enough time for a sub of this spec to get that far at full tilt, but with no-one driving it? He checked the history. And stared. The sub had been going in a straight line in the direction it had been pointed when the impact hit. The angle had been slightly off – he was around forty kilometres from seaQuest's position – but that was a damn sight better that 500. He turned the ship quickly, hardly able to believe his good luck. At least there weren't any mountains in the way, he thought. Or PSW patrols.
He felt something hard digging into his leg, and felt in his pocket. The data disk. Swiping the sweat from his forehead, he pulled it out, along with Braithwaite's copy, and stared at them. They looked so innocent, flat plastic cuboids in the palm of his hand, yet each one contained information that could mean death for millions. Did you know what this technology was? he wondered, thinking of Bridger. He wanted to believe the man didn't, but there was no way he could know for sure. The ugly spectacle of three confederations fighting over the means to send their enemies to an agonising death made him feel sick. Or maybe that was the head wound. He was finding it hard to think clearly. Then his own voice came back at him. I'm fighting for all of us who are stuck in this shitty war because of someone else's ambition. Is that really true Wolenczak? Is that why you're doing it? Or are you just afraid to try and find some other way to live?
A wave of tiredness washed over him, and he remembered the beach, and Robert, and almost wept. Then he set his teeth. Time to see it through. He dropped both disks on the floor and stamped on them again and again, grinding them into fragments with the heel of his boot. Then he sat back, exhausted, and waited as the sub headed towards the last place he had seen seaQuest.
"I just can't do it!" O'Neill sat back in frustration, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. "They're still blocking all communications. There's no way we can call for help." He felt helpless and frustrated. There were five PSW ships now, and he was sure there were more on the way. And everything rested on communications. If they could only let other UEO ships in the area know they were there... And yet, there it was. There just wasn't enough power to reroute them.
Ortiz looked up. "Captain, there's a PSW shuttle approaching."
Bridger frowned. "Armed?"
Ortiz shook his head. "If they are, they're not aiming at us." Then he frowned too, listening to something. "They're sending off some kind of weird sonar signal, sir."
O'Neill flipped his headset to the sonar channel and listened. For a moment he was perplexed, then he realised. "It's Morse code," he said, flipping a switch so that the sonar beeps could be heard on the bridge. "Someone's using the sonar to send us a message."
Bridger looked up, listening. "L... U... C... A... S." He turned quickly to Hitchcock. "Open the docking bay!"
Krieg was on his way past docking bay for on an errand for Westphalen when the doors cycled open and Lucas fell out.
"Woah, watch it there buddy!" Krieg said, catching his friend before he hit the ground. "I didn't know you were back." He hauled Lucas to his feet, then stopped. The boy's face was bruised, and one side was streaked with dried blood. "Hey, man, what happened?" he asked gently.
"No time," Lucas said, leaning heavily on Krieg. "I've got to get to the bridge."
Krieg had a strange feeling of déjà vu. "The only place you're going is med- bay," he said firmly.
Lucas shook his head. "No, I've got to get to the bridge." His voice was unsteady. "I've got to help Bridger. Will you help me, Ben? Please?"
Krieg stared into his determined eyes for a moment, then sighed. "Westphalen's gonna kill me for this," he muttered.
"Captain, two more subs are approaching," Ortiz said grimly.
"How far?" Bridger asked.
"They'll be here in an hour," Ortiz replied. Bridger exchanged glances with Ford, and checked to make sure he still had the key to the boat's self- destruct mechanism around his neck. Time to pray for a miracle, he thought.
"Hey, can somebody help me here?" came a voice from the other side of the bridge. Bridger turned in surprise. Lieutenant Krieg was standing there, supporting a very much the worse for wear-looking Lucas.
"Lucas!" Bridger said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Why aren't you calling for reinforcements?" Lucas asked.
Bridger shook his head. "They're blocking our communications. There's not enough power to get them out."
Lucas seemed to be visibly regaining control. He stood up straighter. "Let me try," he said firmly. Bridger looked back to see O'Neill and Ford exchanging a glance.
"Sure, why not?" O'Neill said, shrugging. He stood up.
Lucas crossed the room without support – although a little unsteadily – and sat down in O'Neill's chair. He started typing immediately, muttering to himself.
Hitchcock crossed the room to stand by Krieg. "What's going on?" she asked.
Krieg shrugged. "Beats me," he said. "Kid says jump, I say how high. I just can't resist that cheeky sense of humour."
Hitchcock snorted. "This is a serious situation, Krieg," she said.
Krieg turned to her and raised and eyebrow. "When have you ever known me not to be serious, Commander?"
At the console, Lucas was working feverishly. The fingers on his left hand were sluggish, presumably because of the shoulder wound. Lucas forced them to work anyway. Impatiently, he brushed the sweat out of his eyes and fought down a wave of dizziness. Concentrate, Wolenczak, he thought fiercely. This is no time to wimp out. Let's try taking power from the WSKRs' grid.
Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Bridger's voice saying something, but he didn't stop to listen. Right now, he could only concentrate on one thing at a time.
Bridger had crossed to stand behind O'Neill. "How's it going?" he asked, trying not to sound as tense as he felt. Lucas didn't answer, didn't even seem to hear. O'Neill looked at him and shrugged.
"I have no idea what he's doing," he admitted.
"Um, sir?" Ortiz looked up. "The subs are preparing to fire."
"How many?"
"Fifteen torpedoes, sir."
"How many intercepts do we have left?"
Ortiz checked his console. "Ten."
Bridger sighed. "We'll have to use our torpedoes to intercept theirs. Mr. Ortiz, assuming they continue firing, how long can we hold them off for?"
Ortiz shook his head. "A couple hours maybe, but once their reinforcements arrive we'll be screwed. Firing intercepts and torpedoes one through five," he added, almost as an afterthought.
There was a moment of tense anticipation. Then two things happened at once. Ortiz said: "All targets destroyed." And Lucas sat back in his chair and said: "Got it!"
O'Neill was typing in an instant. "Communications working sir," he said. "Hailing all UEO subs in the area." Lucas struggled out of the chair and let O'Neill take over. "Sending distress call..." He paused, listening. "Five subs responding, sir," he said, looking up, his face suffused with relief.
Bridger's shoulders sagged. "Ortiz?"
"The PSW subs are standing down sir," Ortiz said with a wide grin. "They must have heard us."
Bridger smiled, and turned to Lucas. "Well done, Mr. Wolenczak. I think you just saved all our lives."
Lucas nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said calmly, and passed out.