Seriously, all I can say is... Wow. I am truly amazed by the response on just the first chapter. Every review totally made my day; my sincerest thanks to everyone who took the time to tell me what you thought. It's really encouraging to hear that people want to see where I'm going with this.

Karel: You're absolutely right, upon reflection I can see where that would be confusing. I was trying to get Ben and Lucas alone in a vehicle for it to be attacked though, and I couldn't think of another way to do it. My assumption was that it would be stored on the seaQuest.

I also want to thank Diena in particular, for her offer to beta read and the awesome job she did at it. I feel much better, having someone to watch for my stupid mistakes. ;)

Anyone want to take a guess at the crossover? I have a cookie for the person who gets it right...

* * * * * * *

Saturday, April 26, 9:30 A.M.

San Francisco

Lucas stood there staring for a long moment, until he realized that eventually someone was going to recognize him if he kept standing there looking at his own picture in the paper. He wanted to buy a copy, but somehow that didn't strike him as a good idea, as it was certain to get the attention of someone. Of course, it didn't matter anyway. He couldn't touch anything.

It probably didn't matter that he couldn't read it though, as it was far too early to have anything about what had happened. The article would probably be a bare-bones recounting of his accomplishments, and the basic circumstances and place of his death, all of which he was already quite familiar with. Beside all that, he wasn't sure that he wanted to know all the gory details when they were published. Things like 'His father was unavailable for comment, and didn't leave the World Power Hydro-Electric Plant to attend the funeral', and 'The accident had no survivors' drifted through his head. Things that may or may not have been true, but that he didn't really want to hear about if they were. It was much better to just believe that his father would find it in his heart to care for once, and that Ben was just fine.

He started walking, not sure where he was going, but not sure that it mattered either. He had nowhere to go, and it wasn't like anyone could mug him if he got into a bad part of town. But then, with the direction his luck was going, he would find that the one person who could somehow touch him would be his prospective mugger…

It was a good thing Lucas already knew that ghosts existed, or the scientist in him couldn't have handled the notion that he had become one. He didn't particularly like the idea that he was dead, but he also didn't see a lot of other explanations for what was going on. People didn't just turn incorporeal for no apparent reason. At least, he had never heard of such a thing.

Going back over the events of his morning, he tried to catalogue it all scientifically. That was a bit of a difficult prospect, considering the somewhat distracting voice in the back of his head yelling 'Who cares? You're dead, stupid!' He continued to wander, trying to calm his frantic mind enough to think straight, and found himself in a local park.

Looking around for a secluded place to sit, he slowly began the process of making sense of his predicament. It certainly explained the funny looks he had been getting all morning, the fact that people thought he was supposed to be dead. He also wondered if his incorporeality showed somehow, like being translucent. That would certainly fit in with his limited experience with ghosts, though it seemed to him that more people would have noticed his strange appearance if that were the case. It was a big city though, and in California. Maybe the residents were just used to odd goings-on.

He hoped that the way people had been staring at him had been because he looked strange, and not because they recognized him. The last thing he wanted was a newspaper article saying that the ghost of Lucas Wolenczak was wandering the streets of San Francisco.

Finding a nice out-of-the-way place to sit, Lucas was so consumed by his train of thought that he briefly forgot all about the practicalities of his situation. It quickly came flooding back when he tried to sit down on a park bench, though. For a fraction of a second, he could have sworn that he felt the bench beneath him. That feeling passed the second he realized what he was doing, and that it wasn't going to work.

"Well that was smart, Wolenczak." He muttered aloud to himself as he landed hard on the ground. He could almost hear Ben's always-amused voice in his head saying, 'And they call you a genius?'

Standing up and brushing himself off in an unconscious gesture, born of habit rather than necessity, he looked around for a better place to sit. It took him all of twenty seconds to realize that there wasn't going to be a better place to sit. He was stuck with the ground. At least it would make hiding easier, he thought, trying to cheer himself up. Picturing himself hiding from the captain's wrath by slipping through the nearest wall was amusing for all of fifteen seconds, before he remembered that he had no way of contacting the captain, let alone returning to the ship. Heck, the ship not being on the ground, he would probably fall right through it.

The first thing that he decided about his situation was that it would be for the best to be seen as little as possible. The more people saw him, the more likely it became that someone would recognize him, and that word would get back to people he didn't particularly want to know about his situation. It would probably start with his friends, sure, but he wasn't even certain that he wanted them to know about it. If he was a ghost, then his time was probably limited, and he didn't really want them to have to live through his death twice. Besides, he thought, a live Lucas had annoyed them quite enough. A dead one would probably be much worse.

And of course, if his friends found out, it became inevitable that the government would find out. Even if it were just the UEO, they would want to experiment on him, to find out what made him tick. The thought of spending the rest of his natural… err, unnatural… life locked up, being poked and prodded by a team of scientists, was not something that he had any interest in. He didn't know exactly how they would lock up, poke, or prod him; but he knew the UEO, and when they were determined to do something, they found a way to do it. And the scary part was that as far as governments went, they were his best option.

From his experience with ghosts, he remembered that something had to be keeping his spirit there, but he couldn't imagine what he had to keep him on Earth. It wasn't that he didn't love his friends, or that there weren't many things that he would have loved to do before he died, but he assumed that most people had loved ones and things left undone. Most of them didn't become ghosts. If they did, there would have been far more ghosts in the world. It had to be something a bit more pressing than that, and he couldn't think of what it could be.

His instinct was naturally to go to the library, or to find a computer on which to study up about his condition, but that was rather obviously impossible. Putting his head down on his knees, he stared at the ground in front of him. There didn't seem to be anything he could do at all. Never before in his life had he felt so incredibly useless.

He quickly became bored to death -so to speak- of sitting in the park doing nothing, and resorted to working complex physics problems in his head. It didn't really help much, though; it just made him want to go work on his latest program. Or run a viral sweep on the seaQuest's mainframe. Even that would have been more fun than sitting in the park, feeling hopeless, scared, and more alone than he ever had before.

Just after nightfall, he decided to go to the local library that he thought he remembered seeing on his way to the park. It took him nearly an hour to find it, partially because he had been paying so little attention to where he'd been going that morning, and partially because he was doing his best to keep from being seen. He kept to the shadows as much as possible, and slipped into nearby alleyways when large groups of people walked by him. He knew that he wouldn't have any more to do at the library than he had at the park, but it would at least feel more comfortable than being outside. And maybe someone would have left a newspaper or a book open, so that he could at least read something…

He slipped quietly into the library, careful not to be noticed by the woman behind the main desk, and hid in one of the conference rooms until they closed up for the night. When he saw the last of the lights go out, he slipped back into the main room, pacing through the rows of books repeatedly. Looking at book spines, trying to remember which books he had read and which books he had meant to read, made him feel a little more normal, if only for a little while.

Looking through the seating area, he scanned the newspapers that had been left lying out. He managed to read parts of many articles, which was more frustrating than helpful really, because he hated reading half a story. Although he had decided against reading the article about himself, curiosity quickly got the best of him. He wondered how many of the facts they had gotten wrong, if they had talked to his friends, or a bit more gruesomely, if they had found his body. He wasn't really sure why he wondered any of those things, but it was all suddenly very important to him. Determinedly, he started searching for an open copy of the Chronicle.

It took him half an hour to find any copy of that paper, and the only one that he found was quite fortunately open to page eight, where they had the continuation of the cover story about him. From the small part of the article that he was able to read, his assumption about what it would contain had been correct except for one thing. That one thing alone made him grateful that he had decided to go to the library: It said that Ben was alive. It didn't give his name, as Ben was a military officer and they were still investigating the accident, but it was rather obvious whom they were talking about. "The only other person in the vehicle was recovered without serious injury" was kind of a giveaway. At least Lucas didn't have to worry about that anymore.

Giving up on the newspapers, he started pacing through the building again, feeling at the same time emotionally drained and filled with nervous energy. While considering that fact, he wondered if it were even possible to feel that way. Shrugging, he decided that there wasn't much point in examining his emotions. It wasn't terribly shocking that he wasn't in prime mental condition. He was dead, after all. Death had to be at least a little traumatic, didn't it?

After quite a bit of pacing, the stresses of the day started to catch up with him. He suddenly felt completely exhausted, and found himself a corner to sit in. Lying down on his stomach, he told himself it was just a coincidence that the corner he had chosen had a clear view of the library's computers. Then he put his chin down on his hands in front of him and glared balefully at the offending machines. No, it wasn't at all because he was torturing himself with what he wanted desperately but couldn't have. He wondered if he suddenly had two personalities, because one of them was certainly in denial.

Trying to stop thinking, he closed his eyes and hoped for the nightmare to end.

The next conscious thought that crossed his mind was that he had heard a noise. Pulling his head up, he looked around and saw light pouring into the room from windows in every direction. Still a bit groggy, it took him a moment to figure out that the sound he had heard was the librarian opening the front door.

Jumping to his feet, he cringed when she turned and looked in his direction. When she started walking his way, he panicked. Taking a few steps backward, he found himself almost completely immersed in a large bookshelf. It was convenient, certainly, to hopefully keep her from seeing him. However, it was a very disturbing feeling, occupying the same space as something else. It made him feel somehow… less real.

Mulling over the disturbing nature of being incorporeal, it took him a few moments to notice that she had not seen him at all. She had been heading over to the computers, and was in the process of turning them on for the morning. Letting out the breath that he had been holding; he waited until she turned away and walked toward the front desk before moving back out of the bookshelf.

When she went into the back office to turn the lights on for the morning, he sprinted for the door. As quickly as possible, he found himself a quiet, dark alleyway to sit down in. Breathing heavily, it took a few moments for his scattered thoughts to coalesce into a few sober realizations.

First, he had fallen asleep in the library. Did ghosts sleep?

Second, he was not only still breathing, but he was also winded from running. That couldn't be instinct, it was the desperate need of his lungs for oxygen. So if he didn't have a body, then why did he need to breathe?

That didn't seem right at all…

* * * * * * *

Sunday, April 27, 9:00 A.M.

SeaQuest DSV, Bridge

Sunday mornings were never the busiest time of the week on the bridge of the SeaQuest, but that particular Sunday morning seemed quiet even in comparison to most. It seemed quiet in comparison to almost anything, in fact. If asked, Commander Ford would have said that it was because of the absence of one trouble-making lieutenant, who was still stuck in the infirmary despite the lack of a serious injury. It would have been dodging the real issue of course, but that was the way that he had decided to deal with the issue. Ignoring it was easier than admitting the truth, even if only to himself.

People probably wouldn't have believed the executive officer to be so affected by the accident; he seemed nearly the same as he always did. Of course, no one really seemed to notice anything that morning. They were all too wrapped up in their own thoughts on the accident. Ford just hoped that there was no oncoming crisis that day; the crew couldn't have handled it with their usual efficiency. They probably couldn't have handled it at all.

For his own part, Ford thought that he was acting quite out of character. He even felt badly for Ben Krieg, a situation that he couldn't recall ever having been in previously. When he had seen the lieutenant the day before, the man had seemed so unlike himself. The usually convivial, animated man had been so serious and quiet, something that the commander thought he would have killed to see on any other occasion. In that particular situation, it had just made Ford feel a bit nauseous, and inspired him to find an excuse to leave as soon as possible. The whole crew seemed to be feeling guilty just for continuing to live, and Krieg had more reason than most to feel that way. While he wished nothing more than to be able to reassure his friends that everything would be all right, Jonathan Ford was just not a comforting man.

The lieutenant and himself were not the only crewmembers who were acting strangely, though. Everyone was at least a little off, some much more so than others.

It had been obvious to everyone the day before that Krieg was not only physically well, but also fit to return to duty. Well, as fit as the man ever was for duty. Doctor Westphalen had insisted on keeping him 'under observation' though, and from what the commander could tell, it appeared to be her way of coping. She couldn't make everything better, but at least she could take care of Krieg, and she was going to do that to death.

The doctor was taking her mothering instinct out on Captain Bridger as well, though Ford saw more sense in that. The captain seemed to need her there, reminding him to eat and sleep, just to be able to continue on. It was the first time in Commander Ford's memory that he had been shown just how fragile Bridger could be. The captain always seemed to be the strongest man that Ford knew, but the pain and loss that he had experienced over and over in his life made him particularly sensitive to the situation they were in. He supposed that old saying 'Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger' wasn't quite true after all. It probably wasn't helping the captain that Darwin hadn't been seen much since the accident either. The dolphin had been spending almost all of his time off the ship. It was as if he knew that something wasn't right, and didn't want to deal with it any more than the crew did.

Even the always-dependable, perfectly reliable Commander Hitchcock wasn't being herself. The day before, she had called in a replacement and left her bridge post early. Ford had rather unthinkingly asked her if she was feeling well, and her only response had been a short nod. She had paused a moment with her back to him, and taken a few deep breaths. When she had turned back, it had been all he could manage to look her in the eyes and try to ignore the unshed tears in them. "I- I have to go work on… " It had taken her a few seconds to speak again, but when she did, everyone on the bridge had known exactly what she was thinking of. "The Stinger" She had practically fled the room then, leaving behind a stunned bridge crew.

The only person on the SeaQuest who seemed to be acting in character was Tim O'Neill. He was sitting at his station praying, and Ford found himself wishing that he had such firm belief in a faith. Any faith, it didn't really matter. As long as it convinced him that everything happened for a reason, even this, he would have been happy. At least someone on the ship believed that things would work out for the best. The communications officer seemed to be the only one who did.

It was Chief Ortiz that Ford felt worst for, though. He was the one doing the searching, the one who had to shake his head every time a hopeful crewmember would look to him in askance. He was one who looked as though he hadn't slept at all the night before; the one who looked as though the weight of the world was firmly planted on his shoulders, and his knees were about to buckle. Ford made a mental note to suggest that Ortiz receive counseling after the whole ordeal was over. He wasn't a big believer in psychiatry, but if there were anyone on the ship who would need someone to talk to, it would probably be Ortiz.

It had been over twenty-four hours, though, and everyone knew what that meant. It wasn't really a search-and-rescue operation anymore. It was recovery. And even that wasn't likely, considering how turbulent the waters of the Bay had been the previous night. The commander felt a little ill when he thought of explaining that to the captain. He knew that Lucas' father wasn't likely to care about it, or possibly even to notice; but for Nathan Bridger it would be a nightmarish episode of history repeating itself, and he had no idea how the captain would handle it.

Commander Ford was not looking forward to the next few weeks.