Dura Lex, Sed Lex

by Pascal in Quebec

The Law may be hard, but it is still and forever The Law. Some people live by this adage. Some people do their best to destroy this reality and the world it supports. Lucas lived and breathed the Law as it was his only source of comfort and stability in life. Pity those fools that tried to make him abandon the Law or bypass it for their own gains. He would have no mercy on them.

2. THE STORM IS COMING

SeaQuest

This story takes place in season 1, just after the SeaQuest was violently boarded and taken over by Colonel Shraeder and his mercenaries. I will be modifying several elements of that episode to fit with the fic, notably that there were more mercs in the transport, they were more violent and Lucas had been significantly more reactive and aggressive when helping to safeguard the ship and crew. The modifications to the canon of the episode will be minor and showed as flashbacks or during discussion between crew members.

Read the beginning of Chapter 1 for the full disclaimer and notes.

DURA LEX, SED LEX

The Law may be hard, but it is The Law

SECOND CHAPTER; THE STORM IS COMING

Botched Sunday morning in progress

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 08:00am

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; captain's cabin

North of the Australian coastline

Nathan walked into his cabin, locking the door behind him, emotionally spent already from the short yet dreadfully rude morning to date. He and Crocker had escorted Jonathan Ford to his quarters to get notarized copies of the videos, emails and written orders from general McFarlane about Lucas and what exactly the general wanted to see done. They had listened to the very last video of the batch as it was the most immediately relevant; Bridger could easily say the man had some serious pedophile tendencies on top of his unbridled religious fanaticism. He had to send this up to Bill Noyce ASAP and see what protections they could get for and around Lucas. Although, he guessed that the teenager now having the General Accounting Office as his main backer would make McFarlane retreat. The man's department had way to much cash flow and inventory 'unaccounted' for and far too many dark nooks containing illegal secrets to be comfortable taking on the one part of the Washington alphabet soup that made it their daily bread to find and expose people's unlawful misuse of public positions and taxpayer funds.

The captain snorted in spiteful contempt as he remembered the naked fear and panic in the general's voice and demeanor throughout the film as he railed against the civilian police agency interfering in a military jurisdiction, even going roughshod over NCIS and the JAG, something one did at their perils as many could attest. The US Navy's law keepers had a very quiet, laidback attitude in public, but on the case, they rocked your world and made it clear nobody pissed on their patch but them and theirs.

McFarlane was practically on the verge of sedition and treason with some of the things he said to Ford, going openly against the Department of Justice (DoJ), the State Department (DoS) and the official position taken by the Oval Office, in other words; His Honor, The President, THE Commander-In-Chief of all US military assets and personnel. General McFarlane must be pretty desperate to want to take his own Boss-of-all-Bosses on the dance floor for this skit. It smacked of illegitimacy, illegality, immorality and a terminal case of a pervert pining after the child he was never able to truly victimize to his heart's content. Well, Nathan was going to pull an old favorite and ask his good buddy, the much vaunted Billy "pig farmer" Noyce about where exactly McFarlane had stashed his dirty laundry and then he was going to hang it out in public, just to get the man's reaction on the record.

William Allard Boyd Noyce had been in the US Navy Intelligence for over 90% of his time in uniform and gotten his nickname "pig farmer" for his weird predilection of having enemies of America and her allies disappear in the dead of night to be found again a few months later being chomped on gleefully by pigs in a muck pen. Now, since pigs were omnivorous and scavengers, with a natural lack of any morals or taste for choosing what they eat, they had historically been a well known way to eliminate evidence of murder all over Europe and the American colonies. In some Old World countries it had even been a method of execution to bury somebody to his hips in the pen and then let in a half dozen hungry hogs and sows to eat the guy alive in bits and pieces as they excavated the tasty treat from its hole. Even in these modern days, when a human disappeared in or near pig ranching installations, most cops gave up hope right away of ever finding any physical evidence at all.

Bill Noyce had been relentless in his pursuit of terrorists but specifically of deserters, saboteurs and traitors who sold out US Navy secrets to make a quick buck. Whenever these people managed to leave US soil, their ends were always rather messy and not appetizing. Noyce would get the full packet about McFarlane and his instincts to clean house would activate like a bad case of OCD triggering at full blast. He would not stop until the man's partially chewed innards were pulled from the slavering maw of a hog somewhere in Texas or Alabama.

Just maybe the man's unfortunate little accident could happen in Canada. McFarlane owned since his early thirties a very remote and isolated hunting camp in the far north of Alberta, almost on the Northwest Territories' provincial border in fact. Just looking at the emplacement on the geographic map made you realize that there was something bad about that plot of land. No inbound roads at all; not even a farmer's dirt driveway or a hunter's path. No navigable waterways, no lakes or rivers, no ponds on the property, no manner at all to come by canoe. The whole square was surrounded by hills and crags with only the very short and narrow private runway for a small 8-seats or smaller airplane. When somebody buys 400 acres (20 x 20) of tick and deerfly infested forest then only builds a two-story 12-bedroom ranch house, a garage for 12 Econoline-sized vehicles and a massive barn for tons of corded stove wood and lockers to keep food safe, then your guts starts churning. Especially when the whole setup takes less than 1,000 by 1,000 feet with a 20 foot tall corrugated steel wall fencing it in. And it sits right smack in the middle of the perfectly square plot. No, there was something that stunk to high heavens about general McFarlane's career, life and little hole in the dirt up north.

Looking around his cabin interrogatively, Nathan saw that Lucas was actually not present. The blankets were piled haphazardly on the couch where he had dropped them before the Vault incident. Then he spotted the boy's jeans, flannel shirt, sneakers and satchel pushed under the couch, hidden from view until he moved to stand besides the coffee table between the couches. Blinking in thought, he turned towards the bathroom door and saw it was closed and locked from inside as the colored indicator on the knob showed. Nathan mentally patted himself on the back for thinking of building the door handles with a system like hotels had where the locks had a small red metal tab that became visible on both sides when you set them. So the kid was probably in there showering, trying to cool down and set himself straight from all the stress, anxieties and, yes, humiliations of this morning.

Sitting on the near end of the very couch that the teen used as a bed last night, Nathan took out the data disks and printouts, fidgeting with them, thinking of McFarlane and his relation to Lucas, of how many large holes there were in the child's past that were still under the fog-of-war so to speak. And getting Lucas to reveal any information at all about himself was a full-time backbreaking labor of long hours and few rewards. To say the boy was a private person was like saying swiss banks were careful with client data. The kid would probably rip off his own arm and beat Nathan with the wet bleeding end before giving up anything about his past and emotions. Events like had happened this morning were not going to help Bridger to build a good, civil working relationship with the young man. And after that damned joke about the Chief of Mammal Engineering posting, then accidentally naming him Chief Computer Analyst and every other damn blasted mistake they, he, had made towards him, it was a miracle that Lucas was still willing to even try to work with them, let alone try to trust anything they said. It might explain his constant weariness and his behavior being fraught with uncertainty, but not all of it. Something else for Bill to dig around and play with. Then Nathan would come behind him with a broom and wheelbarrow to sweep it up and bring home to sift through and finally get his answers.

The older officer's meandering train of thought was stopped by the bathroom door opening almost silently and the boy stopping cold in the frame, surprised by the fact he was not alone anymore. Nathan observed quickly that he was already partially dressed in his usual loosely fit knee-length solid-beige boxers and an oversized light aqua-blue t-shirt that honestly did not look good with such a pale skin complexion. It made him look like a sickly Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost wearing an ultra-large blue recycling bin bag, the poor kid. His longish hair was still wet, falling straight around his head all stringy like the bead curtain from the 1970's that his wife had kept in the basement to partition her little hobby & crafts bench from the rest of the room. If Bridger hadn't read the medical fitness reports from right after Shraeder, he'd think the kid was sick and getting worse because he certainly didn't look any better than before his shower. In fact the only improvement was the distinct change in smell from 'worn-out adolescent' to 'evergreen forest with a teen boy scout in it' since the kid had rather obviously used the body wash available in the bathroom. After all, his own toiletries and necessities had been blown up by that nice grenade, along with most of his belongings. Nathan felt like going to the morgue and killing the bastard again. He'd do it right this time, too!

Since Nathan remembered well from Robert's own adolescence how prickly teen boys could be about their style and fashion sense, he abstained from sharing his uncharitable thoughts and kept his face neutral, his body language relaxed. This despite feeling a seething, spiteful contempt for McFarlane and a lot of resentful disappointment in Ford for falling so easily to the general's honey-coated poisonous words. The commander's ageist bigotry and personal dislike of Lucas were going to get addressed right and proper, they would. Just not right away as they still had mandatory NCIS medical exams and shore leave to go through. After that though, the housecleaning would start in earnest.

"I'll let you have the couch in a minute, Kiddo. I just want to make a few things clear and have confirmation that you understand them without any doubts in your mind as to their truthfulness. So come here and sit." Nathan spoke softly but firmly as he indicated the same couch but on the other end, where the pillows and blankets from last night were still placed. No need to crowd the boy by insisting he sit right next to him. He had a feeling that Lucas would much prefer to be out of arm's length for some time, and not just with Bridger.

His basic assumption was proved correct when Lucas walked around the coffee table next to the other couch before going around the far end to sit on the first couch's extremity as ordered. He was sitting so scrunched up in the angle formed by the backrest and the armrest that Nathan thought suddenly that he might have been better off asking the kid to sit on the second couch in front of him. At least then, the teen would not have been reacting with obvious fearful anxiety like this.

Exhaling a deep sigh, Bridger decided to not beat around the bush and just spit it straight out. Besides, one of the few things he knew for certain of Lucas's temperament was that he preferred direct, blunt words over flowery detours just for the sake of empty politeness or snotty etiquette. "All right, Kiddo. The events of the last few days have made me aware that there are several key issues that we as a crew have not addressed in regards to your presence aboard. This morning's less than festive wake-up call brought that home to me in spades. You do know that I was joking about commander Hitchcock's reaction to you taking that wrench, don't you? It was a joke, Lucas. In retrospect, I can see that it wasn't the right place and definitely not the good time in your life to pull your leg like that. It's now obvious that you are not feeling wanted enough by the crew, or secure enough in your many tasks and positions, for that sort of humor to pass by as it should."

Nathan paused his monologue to attentively watch the boy's reaction; he was not best pleased with what he saw. The teen's ears were fluorescent red in embarrassment, his lips pinched into a thin line with so much force that the muscles at the joint of the jawbone near the ear were straining. The child was making a painfully hard effort to keep silent whatever retort he wanted to shout out. His hands were closed into tight fists, clenched around the lower hem of his t-shirt. Bridger could swear he could hear the poor kid's molars grinding in humiliation and anger at the subjects being discussed despite the fact it wasn't the officer's idea or intent to cause so many negative emotions in his houseguest. The older man carded a weary hand in his hair before continuing his explanations.

"Now, there are two things that I want to make crystal clear here and for the rest of however long you live and work on my boat." Nathan made sure to use a decisive tone of voice and be assertive about this. On topics like this, there could be no uncertainty or it would fatally poison the relationship the kid had with the whole crew and lead to exactly the sorts of behaviors and problematics they wanted to avoid at all costs. Nathan was now in the hard position of mortgaging political and emotional capital that he didn't have in hand while hoping that his relationship with the young man would heal enough and progress well enough that he could repay the trust Lucas would extend during their talk. It would take weeks of effort on both their parts but Nathan had an honest, solid desire to make good by his youngest worker. He would no tolerate that the best, most competent, most honest and amiable person on board be shortchanged like this again, especially not by errors in leadership or management from himself.

"First thing: I don't care who or what may have told you otherwise; there are no institutional corporal punishments or off-the-books beatings of any sorts on any ship or base in the US Military, the NATO Alliance or the UEO Alliance. It's been banned for almost a hundred years now and it's been put textually into both military law and civilian law. Even the venerable International Maritime Law has been revised to severely curtail the powers of a captain to employ 'reasonable force' to keep his ship afloat and his crew and passengers in functioning order. So if ever somebody, whoever they may be, tells you otherwise or threatens you with a beating, you come to me and I will set them straight. I will charge them with making threats of bodily harm and put them in the brig until JAG or NCIS, or even the local country's Coast Guard, comes and gets them out of our lives. Is this clear?"

Lucas was chewing at his lower lip again; head bowed down so low his chin was almost touching his chest. His eyes were open but looking straight down to his bare feet. Even his toes were curled in an unconscious expression of worry and doubt. His hands were now resting on his thighs, fingers clenched into the flesh of each knee, the knuckles white with the effort of keeping himself from openly fidgeting in fretfulness while his superior lectured him. Nathan was not at all pleased by all the fear and anguish he saw through the teen's ticks and tells. His old CIA training from 4 decades ago was raising red flags that this boy needed a thoughtful protector and gentle advocate, not a brutal ham-fisted prison guard, to help guide him right. Well, he had come to the right boat and crew for that!

Nathan continued with his expose since he realized that expecting more than the most basal responses from Lucas in the circumstance was a waste of time. The young man was just not emotionally stable enough or self-assured enough right now to analyze the discourse and give a coherent reply, far less argue his side of things. Not that there was any arguing to do as Nathan was simply laying down two very fundamental concepts of Law and Morality that should have been explained and guaranteed to Lucas from day 1 aboard. He just hoped he could convince the kid it hadn't been his fault and that the chain-of-command would clear it all up efficiently if he gave them the chance to do their jobs right.

"Second thing: you are on this boat because you willingly accepted the assignment. I saw the agreement between the UEO and your father; it also carries your signature along with that of your own attorney and the California DCFS rep. Therefore; I don't know who has been peddling those rumors about you being a discipline problem, an immature delinquent or a mentally unstable flight risk, but I will find out and get to know why they are saying all that. I can guarantee you that my reaction to their storytelling will not be pleasant for them. The contract with your family is essentially 'in abeyance' as we speak because of a lot of things that I just became aware of, like the fact you were not given the right cabin. Also, we were supposed to assign you an enclosed, private office specifically on sea-deck to house your dolphin-linked experiments and the UEO's classified materials separately from your living space. There are other large segments of the blasted paper, like your salary, performance bonuses, function & rank benefits, pension plan and several 'optional privileges' which are spelled out quite clearly, that I haven't finished reading as it's rather long and dry but I am getting there. In the meanwhile, the addition of the GAO in the mix, their giving you a federal law-enforcement badge with a full formal recruitment packet means that the original contract might even be void or in severe mutual breach. Either ways, it looks like it's due to be redone wholesale."

At that pronouncement of doom, Lucas winced visibly and seemed to shrink into his side of the couch, as if readying for the blows to come. Nathan could feel his blood pressure steadily rise at the sight of this but externally kept a presentation of cool, professional attitude. The boy needed a stable, mature adult now, not the angry tumultuous soldier who wanted to march to Washington and beat some humanity into McFarlane. In a week or two, then maybe, the kid would be healthy and sound enough to have that particular conversation. And indeed, they would have a serious exchange about a great many things when they got back from shore leave, rested and refreshed with a new outlook on life.

Seeing no alternative as the reality would not change anyways, the captain continued to explain the present circumstances. "I don't know and can't figure out by myself what changes that means will happen. Other than you will be getting a proper cabin on a deck certified for human inhabitants instead of a glorified machinery locker. That place had never been designed or meant to permanently house anybody, damn it! It's got ammonia and natural gas pipes with breaker boxes and lines of liquefied fusion core coolant circulating through it because it was meant as a maintenance closet and control hub for the shut-off valves and power grid sector controls. Whoever put your bunk in there wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, I can tell you that! Anyways, except that very obvious change, everything else needs to wait until after the NCIS forensic physicals and shore leave. At that point the JAG will have managed to bring lawyers aboard and they will help us go through the blasted contract and see what is still applicable. So, as much as I like you Little Man, I have to be cruel and warn you of incoming briefcase-totters. We'll just have to muddle along as best we can when it happens. Is there anything that you want to say about either points that I have spoken of?"

The teen was fidgeting a mite less as he tasked his prodigious intellect to fully analyze and decorticate the lecture his commanding officer had given him. He still chewed his lower lip in worry but it seemed less stressful and more like an ordinary subconscious habit at this point.

"Hum, sir. This could be the time to tell you about a couple things of my own then. Before I hopped into the shower, I checked my emails and I got something's that I had been planning to speak with you about at lunch or so. My father as sent a letter expressing his 'dismay at the UEO's lack of leadership' when applying the contract that HE took HIS personal time and efforts to negotiate. He might also have mentioned something about 'shipboard mismanagement' and 'chain-of-command collapse' in there. He may also have sent that particular mail to about three hundred or so people, including the President, joint-chiefs-of-staff, UEO executive cabinet and a few others. He wrote in the letter that he has dispatched his own personal lawyer with his full support staff to come to SeaQuest and set things straight. And, heu… It's not the only piece of news I got from DC."

Lucas worriedly looked out the side of his eye as Nathan groaned in dismay and leaned back in to the couch's backrest, passing both hands on his face. Just what he needed; arrogant snobby lawyers from a rich snobby absentee parent more worried about his business reputation than the welfare of his child. Great! Just bloody great! Heaving another great sigh, he closed his eyes and gestured for the teen to send out the other problem.

"Well, heu, sir… You know how the GAO kinda gave me a post in their organization because of your other, ah… Little snafu, no that doesn't sound right… Heu… Executive action? With the forms the other day, right?" Seeing Nathan turn his head to glare at him, the boy swallowed past a lump in his throat and smiled a wan, weak smile that clearly meant 'spare me, I'm harmless' before continuing his reveal of another mess coming down the road at them. "Okay, then… It so happens, you see, that the GAO head honchos in DC got the complete official version of the contract my father had signed with the UEO about my position aboard SeaQuest. They wanted to see to it that their offering me a job didn't put them in a position to be sued for something like custodial interference or some such. They found problems. Lots of problems in the contract text itself to begin with. Then in the written report with pictures and films extracted from the security cameras that they ordered me to send them about my many jobs, functions, positions, ranks, physical status and living arrangements aboard ship. I got an urgent email from the Director of the General Accounting Office herself, Mrs. Jettera Sunderrappa. The GAO executive is sending a Senior Field Team as well as my brand new, never used before, Union Representative." Lucas looked quite taken aback by that concept. "It seems, sir, that as the GAO is a civilian agency like the FBI or the Secret Service, that their people are unionized and I now have a local of the 'Syndicate of US Federal Employees' to help protect or defend me, especially since I now have a Collective Convention to follow during my work for the GAO. How weird is that?" Lucas finished his explanation in complete wonderment at having any part of an institution or group on his side of things for a change.

'How weird is that?' the kid asked! Nathan's answer was another groan as he grabbed one of the pillows and put it over his face to muffle the scream of despair and anxiety he wanted to let loose. Fucking lawyers invading his precious ship! As if being invaded and violated by Shraeder and his circus sideshow of incompetent minions hadn't been enough, he now had to contend with a plague of lawyers! Damn it all to hell and back! Even the plagues in the Bible weren't as bad! The frogs and locusts could be eaten at least! And red waters in the river could be used to make colored bricks! What were they going to do with lawyers? Practice etiquette for state dinners or how to suck up to a senator? Argh!

"Lucas; go to sleep. In fact, I'm scrapping my next two or three hours to get a nap myself and then I have some poor hapless ensign to ream out in the conference room down the hallway. Get stretched out, close your eyes for some sleep; you really need it after the last three, four now, days we've had. I'll wake you up for lunch, that way you'll have the afternoon and evening to order things in preparation for the mandatory shore leave in three days.

This said, Bridger went to his desk to empty out his pockets, put his PAL unit on the charging block and took off his shoes, belt and glasses. Opening a few buttons at the top of his shirt, he waved lazily at the still sitting teen and laid himself on his bunk, fully dressed but comfortable, for a few hours of much needed mental respite.

Soon enough, the teenager yawned wide and long, then spoke out in russian a command that had the lights shut off and he also laid himself out, wrapped again in warm blankets for a long trip into the arms of Morpheus.

Sunday morning recriminations

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 12:00am (noon)

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; captain's cabin

North of the Australian coastline

Lucas grumbled and moaned as he slowly climbed up from the deep, warm pit of the first truly restful sleep he had benefited from in almost a month. He batted his eyes a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness in the chamber as all the artificial lights were still off and no illumination came in from the porthole in the outer hull. Stretching and cracking a few joints in his legs and arms, the teenager rolled onto his back and sighed in deep contentment at finally having had a real night of sleep without nightmares or worse, reliving memories best forgotten where he buried them. Yawning and coughing a bit to clear his throat, he finally decided to sit on the couch then promptly stopped all movement, wondering why he should when the warm, fuzzy blankets called to him with so much friendliness. Hummm! Sleeeep…

The blasted door to the cabin opened at that very critical moment, flooding half the room in light from the fluorescent strips in the corridor, hurting his eyes and forcing him into closing his eyelids while he groaned in dismay at the sudden intrusion into what had been a perfectly good sleep-inducing darkness.

"What the bloody hell are you thinking about, trying to blind a poor kid like that?" Lucas exclaimed rather tetchily at whoever had the gumption to rouse him from torpor in such a rude way. The captain's answering laughter had him raising his whole body to a sitting position in a panic as he realized who he had just challenged; in his own cabin / office no less!

"Well hello to you too, sleeping beauty." Nathan replied amused at the poor boy's disheveled state and sleep addled mindset. He noisily dropped a stack of folders on his desk and walked towards the boy so he could sit on the other couch, right in front of the teen but with the coffee table as a comfortable separation between them. Comfortable for Lucas, that was. Nathan had no ill will towards his youngest crewmember but he remembered the conversation from earlier and how the kid had been on the verge of a panic attack from just words and hard truths that were not even threatening to him directly. And Bridger had not forgotten those either, no sirree; his call to Bill was planned for after the evening's council meeting and no later. He had already sent his old friend an email containing all that they had on general McFarlane and a warning not to go to bed before they could hash out the situation between them. He had received a response already and that conference would not be derailed, no matter what.

"So Kiddo, ready to face the day? There's paperwork aplenty for men of stout heart to face." He told his houseguest with a playful smirk. In truth, he had an idea of just how much work Lucas had waiting for him and it would not be an easy ride until the council meeting. The kid would probably spend his dinner in here, eating with one hand while typing with the other, and that's if he didn't decide that sipping weak soup through a straw to have two hands free wasn't a more efficient idea. Haaan… The things this kid did…

"Well, heu, sir… I kinda just woke up right before the door opened up, so gimmee another five, okay, and I'll be on the road." The teenager answered in a simpler, more ordinary language than he normally spoke. Nathan always thought it was amusing to hear how he sounded when he just woke up or had finished his duty rotation and was slowing down for the night compared to how grown up he sounded while on shift. What wasn't funny was the fact that the boy actually expected to be kicked out the moment his sleep period was done and not be allowed back in until the next one was due. Bridger pursed his lips in thought at that and made an impulsive decision that he hoped would not be seen badly by the young man. Given how fiercely protective of his independence and autonomous lifestyle the kid was, it was a gamble but then again, the important things in life required risk to be rewarding.

"Okay, kid, but I have something for you in the meanwhile. Since it will take a few more days to set up your cabin, probably after the shore leave by the looks of things, I got you this. Don't lose it! I don't want to have Krieg using my quarters to stash his bootlegging like a squirrel stowing nuts in a tree!" At this, he took from his shirt pocket a key with a number and logo on the roundel and threw it gently in an underhand pitch at the youth across the table. Lucas caught the flying object instinctively as if he were born to catch baseballs and looked at it interrogatively. He didn't seem to understand what he had until his mind registered the writings on the key.

"You're giving me a key to your cabin? But why?" he asked in a stunned, plaintive tone of voice. His facial expressions and tone showed Bridger that the young man in front of him had rarely, if ever, received gifts of kindness in his life. That was something that would change soon, too.

"I am giving you this for two very specific reasons; it's a privilege, not a right, and I expect you not to abuse it or let somebody in here if you are not present with them. Besides the fact it is my home, you know just how much classified materials are in the cabinets and the CPU on my desk, not to mention the master-access you built into the Gaseous Holographic Display console."

As he got a grunt of what could be passed for assent, Nathan continued. "Firstly; you haven't had a decent place to live in since you came aboard and I haven't done anything to date about it. This is my easy and sure-fire way of changing that until you do get your new quarters. After all, if it's good enough for the captain, it should be good enough for you too." Seeing the kid wore slightly less embarrassed expression than earlier and was actually looking at him instead of his feet, Nathan felt he had won a major score in the game and hoped it lasted. Lucas was not very stable right now, and with all events and people involved, he didn't think it unreasonable for the short term. He was still going to scream at Noyce to have a psychological counselor permanently affected to the ship, if only because both Lucas and himself needed it.

Bridger rubbed his hands on his uniform legs, nervous about how the kid would react to the personal overture he was about to make. "Now, the second reason is a bit more personal; I want to make certain that you have a safety buffer. I can guess that being the only 16 year old on board will not be easy at any point for you and while your work time will be governed by Laws and Protocols for the service branches, your personal life is another story. So, I thought that you could use my cabin as a sanctuary of sorts when things get too hectic or nasty and you need to regroup yourself or just crash somewhere nobody will bother you. This also has the benefit that you have better access to me, to speak with and get some external opinions or a helping hand when you can't manage by yourself anymore. There are a lot of things that the younger, and lower ranking, crew simply won't be able to help with, but I can if only because of my rank."

Nathan wanted to take Lawrence Wolenczak and Cynthia Holt and conk their heads together repeatedly until they could understand the depth of suffering and loneliness their only child had suffered. The face of complete disbelief Lucas was making as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that someone was offering to shelter him or even help him actively without a pay check or a benefit of some sort made the old mariner want to dangle the pair of lack wits from the ship's diving rudders. It was as if the kid had been educated and trained to have a gut-deep belief that he was worthless and nobody would ever value his presence or his existence, no matter how much he worked or helped others. There was something very unhealthy and not-right going on in that family. Bully for them that Nathan was going to put his mind and resources to finding out what it was.

"Heu… I don't know what to say, sir. Nobody's ever done that for me before. I mean, even my parents wanted me to call ahead and have the servants present if I went to one of their houses without them being there. Having free, unfettered access to what was legally my own home didn't happen until I went to Stanford and bought the brownstone building where I lived."

The teen's eyes were glassy with unshed tears as he looked towards the past, six years behind. "My grand-parents on both sides were not rich but had a small amount of wealth in their names. Since both couples only had one child, they kept a close eye on what happened to their investments as they could guess it would be them that used most of it for their end-of-life care. When they saw that their children were becoming quite prosperous at a very young age, very early in their careers, they rearranged their holdings to put them into a common 'Family Foundation' type of system where the Foundation pays out maintenance checks for their health care and lodgings."

Lucas fished around under the couch to pull out his few remaining personal affairs and begun getting dressed as he completed his explanation. Nathan sat on the other couch, still as a statue, afraid that any movement or sound on his part would scare the child into silence.

"All four together, they saw that they now had a single grandchild and there wasn't going to be another one. That's when then they decided to set up some financial and legal protections for me. They emptied out and voided the existing Foundation to incorporate a new one. In it, they put me as the single mandated trustee of the foundation. As of the age of 6, they made me its sole beneficiary. Everything went to me and bypassed both parents. In truth, the moneys, buildings, portfolio of stocks and the controlling shares in local companies that I got was a bit paltry compared to Mom's law firm or Dad's consulting firm. But it was all mine. By the time I was 9 years old and all my grand-parents had died, I was in charge of my own earnings and savings. I was now a 'Man of Means and Responsibilities' as granddad Holt had said the last time I spoke with him by his hospital bed. The very day he died in his sleep while I held his hand."

Lucas pinched his lips in pain, closing his eyes and trying desperately to find a beacon or a rock to hold onto in the middle of all the torment he was drifting in. He panicked and opened his eyes, trying to place his arms defensively in front of himself as he tried to identify what touched him and why. He saw Nathan Bridger, standing next to him, with a hand on his mid-back to steady him and another on his left arm which he caught in movement to avoid being hit or pushed away. Moving his right hand upwards, Nathan placed it on the back of the boy's neck and gave him a gentle, supportive squeeze while moving his left hand from the boy's elbow to his hand so he could lace their fingers together and hold him like that, more supportively and less like a restraint or a containment grip as suggested by holding him at mid-arm.

The dam broke; emotions, feelings, fears and anxieties held at bay for a decade and a half would no longer tolerate to be kept in the dark, unseen and unfelt. The first low, chocking sounds made Nathan think the kid was experiencing a panic attack and was either hyperventilating or in the initial spasms of retching his guts out. He was only partially surprised when the first sobs burst forth, shaking the kid so bad he would have fallen on the floor if Nathan hadn't held on to him. What really angered the captain though was the silence. After the initial two or three seconds of sounds, Lucas was absolutely silent. No matter how much he shook or cried, the boy wrapped his arms around his own torso in a desperate protective self-hug and dropped in a sitting position on the couch, not really seeing anything anymore. His eyes were flooded with salty tears and he very obviously hadn't let loose of his self-control in a long time for it to hurt so much but the problem was the silence. Even in the depths of painful sobs that hurt his ribs as he heaved them out, the boy's mouth was tightly closed and not a single sound came out to indicate his distress or his pain. Even with another human in the room, Lucas Wolenczak was adrift alone in his pain and suffered in all-encompassing solitude, unwanted and uncared for.

Nathan decided it had been enough; being respectful of another's privacy and independence were all good and proper, but this was a hurt child sitting on his couch. Since he had guided Lucas to sit in the middle of the couch, he could easily sit himself on the boy's left and wrap a protective arm around his thin, wiry frame and guide him to lean against the older man's shoulder and side. The teenager was not in any way capable of comprehending his predicament and followed the simple, gentle gestures that guided him until he was laying on his side with his head on the man's lap and the rest of his bony frame spread out on the couch cushions. Bridger began humming a slow tune his wife had liked as he carded a lazy hand through the boy's long, messy hair. The sobs subsided, the gut-wrenching spasms ended and a peaceful, steady and silent breathing replaced the teen's panicked outburst.

They must have stayed that way for a half hour or so, before Lucas sat up on his place and yawned while trying to rapidly blink his eyes to get rid of the accumulated crud and leftover tears from his crisis of distress. Not that he would ever in this life or the next admit to what it had been.

Nathan placed his right hand on top of the kid's head, rubbing his scalp like a five-legged spider, and promptly huffed in laughter as he could see Lucas make a face that promised he would go to sleep if the gentle, headache-soothing massage continued any longer. Moving his hand off the kid's head, he used the index to poke the bony shoulder and rouse the boy a bit. "Time for lunch, Kiddo. Or more likely brunch as it's still very much Sunday and we're not getting out of this no matter how much we don't want to go through with it."

Obtaining only a silent but much more normal and non-panicked nod of assent, Nathan stood and offered a hand to Lucas to help him up. The kid looked at the offered hand, seeing so much more than just the simple friendly gesture. Raising his eyes towards the older man's face, Lucas locked eyes with him and then slowly, deliberately, took hold of the offered hand and squeezed it for all his weak, shallow strength could give. Nathan helped him to stand and then wrapped both arms around him, engulfing the young man in a well deserved and much needed display of affection. Acting on instincts he had never really been able to follow, Lucas buried his face in the crook of Bridger's neck and exhaled all his stress, anxiety, depression, morosity and heart-clenching pain he lived with for so long.

"It will get better, Kiddo. It will happen that there will be a Light at the end of the Storm. Every sailor knows this of Mother Sea's domain; she throws around storms and hardships, sharks and reefs, but she never, ever allows the lights from the lighthouses to be extinguished or unseen. No matter how rough the currents across your course, how stormy the passage around the reefs, at the end there is a harbor with a Light and they are waiting for you with open arms to give you shelter. Believe in this, child, and believe with all your heart as I do that you deserve this shelter and this help as much as anyone else ever has."

Gently guiding his young friend to stand straight, Nathan inspected his face and passed a gentle thumb under an eye to wipe some residue from the long bout of heavy crying he had done. Placing his hands on both his shoulders, he gave Lucas another kind, supportive squeeze and then pointed the bathroom door. "Go pass a washcloth on your face, straighten that mop on your head and we'll go to brunch together. It will do me good to have something else than dull reports to go along the chef's ever-lovable mystery meatloaf. Go on, I'll wait for you."

Lucas actually tried to make a small, simple smile that wasn't a smirk or patently false gesture of urbane politeness he normally gave Ford and Westphalen. Nathan felt his old heart soar at the sight. As the teenager went into the bathroom to wash-up and get ready for the road, Nathan began to think that maybe, just maybe, coming to this ship again might have been worth it, if only to provide help and care to this lost young soul.

Sunday brunch is a bust

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 12:47am (noon)

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; Mess hall

North of the Australian coastline

The common mess hall of the SeaQuest was about as ordinary as these installations went. Not even Nathan Bridger's genial abilities at naval architecture and innovation could create a miracle out of something as banal as waiting in line at a buffet counter. How the large hotel chains managed to make this an amazing experience was an amazing accomplishment in and of itself. However, Nathan had never been schooled in the subtle arts of hospitality and managing guests, so he based the designs on what the rest of the navy used and for the most part it worked well enough that nobody bitched beyond the usual. After all, there were only so much navy blue and drab grey steel bulkheads you could see in one day before you felt like splashing some colors around.

Most of the crewmen were sitting with the dregs of their noon-time meals, just about to go finish the second half of their daytime shift. A few were waiting in line at the buffet counter; those had a day off or had woken from a shortened night cycle and didn't want to bother going back to bed since they started their own rotation at 16:00pm.

Commander Jonathan Ford had waited until the lunch service rush was practically over to come out of his cabin and get something to eat. He might be the ship's Executive Officer and First Mate as the titles went, but right now he felt like a squiggly little pink piglet that had avoided the butcher's knife by the thickness of his hair. Passing a trembling hand over his bald head in anguish, the thought of how close he came to being killed by the oversized Mecchano toy contraption of a deranged child sent shivers down his back.

Boiling! The little bastard had actually thought that boiling alive with steam a human being was okay! And he had the guts to crow about it in public to boot! Not that Bridger was holding him back at all, either. How the hell could a kid have any moral compass or decent judgment when the adults just patted him on the head and cooed at every dumb-assery he came up with? His grand-mother would have whipped him good and hard then taken him to the church for Reverend Malone to whip his bare ass in front of the whole congregation before punting him to a christian reformatory in the depths of the swamps where nobody would have been bothered by boys yelling and crying when they got their righteously due corrections!

Ford stopped walking and tried to calm the full-body palsy that shook him as he remembered the look of angry, rabid hatred that had been on Lucas' face when he used the wrench to clank the grate and trigger a release of boiling water from the ceiling. Jonathan now had many first degree burns in the form of little blisters from having been splashed by the ebullient mist and droplets. He had rushed to his quarters at full run to strip off every last article of clothing he had worn and had in fact wept in relief when he saw that none of the burns were big enough or grave enough to have to rely on the people in the infirmary to heal himself. Westphalen was an opiniated barking hound-of-war and the rest worshipped the pasty little bugger all day. None of them would have helped him any if they had learned what happened in the Vault.

He hadn't been able to do more than recover his equilibrium, wrap a bathrobe around himself and put his wet clothes in the hamper that his door buzzer sounded. Bridger and Crocker had come already, wanting the copies of EACH and EVERY communication he had ever had with McFarlane about Lucas and his activities. He was even warned that there would be an official investigation, the JAG and NCIS would be involved, as would Naval Intelligence. If they found problems with other people who wanted to hurt or discredit Lucas by manipulating crewmen or contractors, he could expect another visit with another request for media copies.

After a half hour of agonizing delays, he finally managed to be alone again. He stripped off and verified his blisters and burn patches anew. The only good part of this was that all the damages were on the front of him and could easily be reached as long as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror to see a few awkward spots. Thankfully he had stocked up on several types of painkillers, balms, bandages and a full sized field-kit containing some scalpels, scissors, tourniquet, reusable glass syringes and other medical necessities for surviving in case of hostile conditions on or off ship.

After taking the time to towel himself dry and then apply generous amounts of aloe-vera based unguents, he had lain on his bunk, on his side, face towards the wall and then the adrenaline crash had taken him hard. He had cried himself out and dozed off for about an hour of fretful restless slumber. He woke up during a nightmare where the bastard little stain-on-the-floor had actually fully triggered the washdown defenses and stood there with a wiener stuck on a screwdriver, holding it in the jets of boiling steam, laughing like a loon and betting out loud that Ford would be done before his hot-dog was ready!

Jonathan opened his eyes, trying to remember when he had closed them and was upset to realize that he was developing ticks and nervous mannerisms that were not going to help anything if he didn't stop them right away before they became ingrained as coping mechanisms. Walking into the mess hall proper, he went to the buffet line and advanced briskly, selecting things that were on the blander side, with a lot of salad and dressing. If anybody thought he was going anywhere near the deep fried stuff they were high as kites and anyone suggesting he try the steamed white rice was gonna get decked!

The commander was almost done picking his choices when the noises in the hall went practically silent except for the scraping of utensils and chewing. Not believing his rotten luck but needing to see it, he turned around and saw his nightmare come true. Bridger and Lucas had walked in together and were heading towards the service counter. The kid wore the same clothing he had for the last four days but that surprised nobody as everyone aboard had heard about his cabin being bombed out. Bridger had changed into a fresher set of the same uniform he had worn this morning and seemed to be in a better mood than the whole ship put together. What happened to do that in the last five hours?

Ford decided to not wait around and turned back to making quicker, easier selections while also packing up some stores for the rest of the day. He now planned to stay in his cabin, buried in reports and admin until the thrice damned ship's council of tonight. They would be forced to listen to and then heap praise onto the brayings of that useless runt and look happy while doing it. The more the day went on, the more Jonathan regretted not taking the choice of honorable discharge when it was offered to him right after Stark and the return to drydock. And after the dock work was done, again the admiralty had not so subtly told him they could be generous towards him and give a very nice severance package and some truly glowing letters of reference if he bowed out gracefully. His existence was a living reminder of what Stark had come close to doing and most of the brass wanted him gone. A small minority wanted him sacked just on the principle that an officer placing hands on the captain and stopping the ship's master from acting was anathema to the oaths of service and they wanted him gone, no matter that they were just as thankful as the rest of them that he had stepped in when he did.

Ford took his tray and chose the furthest, most isolated and inhospitable table in the far back of the mess hall, in the corner between the bulkhead and outer hull. Since it was a two-seater he hoped not to attract attention or worse, self-invited guests. His planning paid off as Bridger and Runt went to sit at the opposite of him, next to the same bulkhead but in the corner of the wall that separates the mess hall from the internal corridor. Making certain to keep his head down and eat quietly, Ford began mulling actively the pros and cons of asking for either a transfer or a release from service. He knew enough about the politics of the Pentagon and the UEO executive cabinet to know that either would be granted with much public crying and wailing while they jettisoned him out of the navy by the method of attaching him to an ICBM and launching his poor black hide into space.

A half hour later, after eating through his large but simplistic meal of chef's salad with mixed cold meats, garlic bread and cheese wedges, Ford packed up the containers for his reserves and discretely walked out the mess hall while Bridger and Bastard were distracted by Kathy making a fuss about her misappropriated wrench and having to fill out recovery forms at the security office to have it returned to her loving care. The woman had actually said "returned my baby to his mama's loving bosom" to be exact! Ford shook his head in dismay, realizing that a week ago he would have thought it funny like in a sci-fi movie where the engineer is practically married to his engines, but now, after the last four days, he saw it for what it was. This ship, the SeaQuest, was rotten. There was something in it that took ordinary people and warped their values, twisted their morals and deformed their souls until they were no longer close enough to the norms of society to still be called human.

His mind was made up; he was asking for a discharge and putting the paperwork in tonight at council.

Fuck the USA, NATO and the UEO! If this was the type of atmosphere and working climate they wanted to maintain, if these were the types of people they wanted in their ships and bases, then he wanted no truck with them anymore. There were plenty of remote isolated islands to live by his lonesome and plenty of small fishing and exploration outfits that needed experienced mariners. He would trust Mother Sea to hold her child and provide for him. But not in the Navy, not ever again.

Sunday: isn't it supposed to be the one guaranteed day off?

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 18:43pm

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; captain's cabin

North of the Australian coastline

Benjamin Krieg, lieutenant junior grade, quartermaster and morale officer, had to bite the knuckles of his fist to keep from laughing out loud at the sight in front of him. Lucas in a panic was amusing to no ends.

The poor kid had been contentedly typing along at a cruising speed of some 200 words a minute on some report or another while spewing a constant stream of some eastern european language Ben didn't understand but the CPU voice controllers in the room obviously did as each word he spoke triggered reactions across the entire network. He even had that small, shy smile that he got when things were going well, in silence, meaning that nobody was yelling at him for something that was usually the fault of poorly designed equipments or badly programmed software not done or installed by him.

Then he had seen Krieg in his peripheral view, had looked at the clock on the lower corner of his screen and promptly turned several shades of sickened green to make a mackerel jealous. The council was in less than a half hour and he was barely done! Nothing was in proper form, the spell-checks weren't done and some data sheets hadn't received external validation yet! Argh! He was D-E-A-D when the captain saw that he had bummed around all afternoon instead of working like he should have!

The fact that said captain had been sat at his own desk ploughing through his own pile of the Eternal Enemy of Humanity (Paper-Work; it deserved the capitals in the expressions, believe you me) and had in fact seen Lucas, sat on the floor with the couch as a backrest, working away non-stop for the last five hours solid. The memory never made it passed the poor kid's exaggerated sense of guilt and self loathing for not performing as a department head should have. Even when the older man actually sat next to the kid, on the couch though since his back was acting up, and placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him and reassure him that his performance was in fact much better than anybody else aboard had been to date, the young man was still out of sorts and close to a panic attack. Man! Even Tim O'Neil with his ultra-orthodox catholic childhood wasn't as bad at guilt-tripping himself!

Ben decide to use levity to maneuver the kid into changing gears while the captain packed up and went to the Ward Room across the hall where the ship's council was held each week. The officer signaled with his hands that he was going to call some food in as Lucas had in fact skipped his dinner altogether in favor of guzzling a retail-brand bottle of proteinated milkshake that could serve as replacement for a meal. Nathan knew damn well the absolute tastelessness of those Gawd-awful things as he had to consume some after a short stay in the hospital on the mainland after a motorcycle accident. Unfortunately the older man thought ruefully, he hadn't been drunk at the time and so had felt the bloody milkshake go down his gullet in all its disgusting medicated glory each time they fed him. Better an intravenous line full of raw molecules in his humble but very experimented opinion.

Krieg nodded at his passing superior, chipper like a canary in the morning sunlight even at this hour of the early evening. Nathan decided to save his sanity and not ask what exactly Krieg had been doing all day to make him so happy. Some things the ship's master just had to ignore if he wanted to remain stable enough to float the boat to the right port. Krieg's shenanigans were not in any ways conducive to such stability so he made a herculean effort to curb his innate curiosity and walk out before the fatidic catastrophe happened and he had no choice but to get involved. Bridger just hoped Lucas was now preoccupied enough by his three different jobs to dodge out of whatever scheme Benjamin had cooked up. And if it happened on shore leave then he would deal with it on their return, not before.

After the door closed and they were alone, Krieg gave his teenaged friend a kind, brotherly smile and a gentle pat on the back, leaving his hand on the kid's mid-back to help comfort him when he saw the mournful expression on his face was still there.

"Haaan, come on runt, lets get this sorted out so you can move it across the hall and wow all of us old fogies with your cybernetic magic show. After the last four days we had, we could all use some comedy relief." Ben said playfully as he tried to take the laptop from the young man's lap and close it for transport.

Lucas froze in mid tug-of-war over his precious portable station and turned a weary face towards one of the few adults aboard he thought were his friends. At least he thought he was. Now he wasn't sure. "What did you just call me? The comedy relief? Do I look like I'm clowning around here? Do I look like I'm having any sorts of fun? Well for your information, quartermaster Krieg, this amusing comedy that relieves you so almost killed a man this morning because he was stupid enough to go where he didn't have clearance to be! So I spent part of the day re-scaling the anti-intruder measures and refining the detection grid to make certain it doesn't trigger on some hapless twit in search of a dark nook to puff a toke on his coffee break! I am late in my work and reports, in taking over the two departments because Oh, yeah! There wasn't anybody assigned to them even part-time until I came along and got harnessed to them like a bloody fucking mule fresh off the farm! I have spent the last three whole weeks playing catch-up and damage control because the numbnuts in NCQ and DC haven't a freaking clue how to run a ship other than you need the money they're trying to keep for their parties and mistresses! So excuse me, kind sir, if I think your mis-appreciation of my work and social situation sucks an entire factory of damned hairless balls and the flaccid shapeless sacks they came in with!"

Lucas was heaving great angry breaths, face pinched and lips pursed like a chicken's rear hole as Ben's mother would have said while cackling at the poor kid. Benjamin decided that she would be right; making that particular face really did look funny on him! "So, do you feel better now that you got that off your chest?" The adult asked gently, letting go of the computer and sitting on the coffee table so as to look the young man in the face as they spoke.

"No." Lucas answered blithely. "I still almost killed a guy by our common incompetence today and I still haven't talked with him about it. Not that I would blame him if he decked me just for existing at this point."

Ben made a funny little noise with his mouth as he was wont of doing when he thought real hard and asked the real question behind his adolescent friend's depressive mood. "Are you angry because of the late work others piled on you and blamed you for the delays? Is it because Ford was his usual mule headed asinine self and tried again to find a reason to shame you publicly? Or was it because after all the shite of the last three weeks you finally lost control of your emotions enough to actually admit out loud that you wished he had boiled in that trap and then made a clear threat to that effect?"

The teenager balked badly at his friend's question. "I refuse to answer that. In fact, I refuse to dignify the question by admitting that you asked it at all. As for losing control, why don't you try to do all of the FOUR jobs that I have for just a week and see how you like it. Last time I checked, you had trouble managing by yourself the only one job you do have so don't try to comment on my management or emotional status. If you're going to try your hand at being the mature, reliable adult that I can lean on in troubled times, then at least try to use a credible situation for it!"

Ben winced in pained surprise at just how deeply upset and nasty that reply had been. He knew that Lucas had a temper and worked hard all day to keep it in check. Contrarily to everybody who thought the kid was a nice little brother that they could joke around with and annoy in good jest, Ben had seen quite a few situations where somebody had walked away with their manhood and self-esteem torn to shreds. Lucas would never go looking for someone to harm or take his anger out on, but watch out if you were dumb enough to think he was your punching bag or whipping boy. He fought back dirty and, as Shraeder and company had found out, didn't back down from dirtying his hands to get his message across to all comers.

The older man passed a weary hand through his hair and tried to come at the situation from a different angle and hoped he was more diplomatic this time around. "Look bro, I don't think that anybody on board at this time could do the things that you do, no in quality and no even just in quantity. It wasn't my intent to say something to the effect that you were bellyaching for no reason. If anything, I was trying to et you to pull your head out of the fog bank you're lost in and see that YOU are asking way too much of yourself. You can't handle that much all alone. You can't process that much stress by your lonesome and not have some sort of emotional spillover to the activities and jobs you do. You need help and what I am trying to say is that it's okay to say so. Its okay if you didn't do everything perfectly or at all in the few days you had since nobody alive, even our best veterans, could have. Bridger was right; you are demanding from yourself too much performance at too high a standard and you'll burn out soon if you don't revise and re-scale your schedule and efforts."

Closing his eyes and leaning back against the sofa as a backrest, Lucas hummed lowly, agreeing with everything his older friend had said. But that would mean new staff and crewmen, which needed budgeting money for them and there was the crux of the trouble; the ship's budget for the year was already strained by the incidents they had suffered in the first two months of operation. There was no more monetary help to be had and they could even be looking at a shortened tour if the expenses and catastrophes kept coming at this rate. The GAO had sent him a memo to the effect that several thinking heads not only in DC and NCQ but also in Ottawa, Paris, London, Madrid, Berlin and several more capitals of the member states of the UEO were pulling the panic lever already. This would not end well.

They had been stewing in contemplative silence for a minute or so when someone knocked on the door and opened it without being told. Commander Ford stepped in just enough to see how they were set up and scowl even more deeply. Gazing hatefully at Lucas he barked out "The council starts in three minutes. But, knowing Bridger, we'll no doubt wait until you grace us with your august presences. Don't bother stressing yourselves going fast, we'll be there when you decide to come in." On that, he turned around and closed the door behind his retreating form.

Exchanging barely a passing glance, the two friends worked quickly to pull together the paper folios and computer to move across the hall at flanking speed. No need to make anyone look at this more weirdly than they would already.