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.

4. TOUCHDOWN OF THE STORM

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.

*** A message of thanks to "00oo" for following my stories and marking me as a favorite author.

*** A message of thanks to "Mekh'Iis En'Ghae'rhon" for following this story.

DURA LEX, SED LEX

The Law may be hard, but it is The Law

FOURTH CHAPTER; TOUCHDOWN OF THE STORM

Sunday night: Clean-up in the senior aisle

(NCIS – opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 22:28pm

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; Senior officer's sector

North of the Australian coastline

Senior Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had to grit his teeth to keep from retching at the smell in the confined space of the corridor. The facemasks supplied to evaluate safely the crime scene were of the small, limited-filtering variety that industries have to allow people to wade through the smoke of a fire long enough to reach either a sprinkler valve or an exit to safety out of the blaze. This small thing was never intended to treat out odors and truly toxic emanations as what permeated the hallway. No, that particular carrion stench was the sort that their HAZMAT gear on the NCIS truck was designed to endure and filter out. Pity the truck doesn't swim or fit in the cargo hold of an MR-class shuttle. Tony could give Senior's (his Dad's) last gambling gains for a white suit and enclosed rebreather right about now.

Turning to his colleague, the scientifically minded and geekiest of all them that art in cyberspace, Timothy McGee, Tony asked in deadpan voice "Okay McGeekeroo; what was it that turned our posse of three wild dogs into the equivalent of an un-heated MRE without the envelope around it?"

Timothy McGee graced his partner of almost a decade with a withering glance which was belied by his gamely response "Really Tony? Uncooked MRE? It looks more like the stuff from a can of Campbell soup when you open it and still have to add water. It's already gooey and squishy, not dehydrated at all. Are you sure the jetlag hasn't affected you more than you let on? I mean, you did just turn 45 and the human body doesn't react as it does when the middle age is passed. Reflexes, perceptions, endurance and adaptation all take a dive… Maybe we should have Ducky give you a little check-up under the hood just to be certain you can still function. Not everybody is built with tank parts like Gibbs. There's no shame in wanting a little downtime to catch up some Zzz's if you need it." He completed with a shit-eating grin at the expense of his friend.

The senior field agent was about to try to answer the rather spectacular burn-back he had just endured when the joyful, impish laughter of their female colleague was heard behind them. She was kneeling besides Jimmy Palmer as they spread out specially made plastic body bags; thickened triple layers and sprayed with silicone inside to stay impermeable for up to a week of non-refrigerated transport. Ziva giggled girlishly at something Palmer said in relation to married life and his wife then she spotted Ducky jogging up behind them with the ship's own chief of medicine. The mature woman looked formidable and angry at the same time, barreling down the corridor at them like a train forcing the older man to rush to follow her in time.

From the other side, behind McGee and DiNozzo, came the captain and Gibbs, their Boss, marching in locked step and both wearing expressions deemed 'the war face' by everyone subconsciously at the same time.

Taking a deep calming breath, the old mariner raised an imperative hand and said simply "No! You do not get to declare him mentally unfit or unstable just because he does things that you wouldn't do yourself or don't approve! END of discussion, doctor Westphalen! Act according to the rules of your office or hand the position over to somebody who will! NOW!" The captain thundered harshly and loudly enough to get every one in the hallway to cringe at the public dressing down the woman had just gotten.

Taking a minute to compose themselves, the SeaQuest crew looked at each other in the eyes and Kristen asked in a low voice "Is that how it ends? In a choice between an out-of-control child and the professional stance of a learned adult, you choose to let pass everything this little rapscallion does unchallenged and set the adult out to pasture? I wonder how the UEO and the US Navy will react to this flagrant lack of discipline, leadership and basic moral judgment, captain. Perhaps you would wish to reconsider your biased position in the light of the lawmen being present amongst us. Surely, this farce of turning the premier warship of the fleet into a kindergarten will not last any longer now that proof is at hand he cannot be trusted or even controlled!"

A tall, lean black man in his mid forties approached from behind the two doctors and asked in an acidic tone "Are you again trying to defamate and spread libelous baseless accusations against my union member doctor? I could swear we just had a conversation with the JAG people about that less than 10 minutes ago in your office before the alarms went off. Perhaps we need to give you a refresher already? At your age, memory isn't what it used to be, hein?" Turning to the ship's master, the man took out a badge and identified himself formally "GAO senior field investigator Xavier Hollbert, official representative of the 'Syndicate of US Federal Employees'. I'm here to advise Mr. Wolenczak through his recruitment phase and also with the multiple legal depravities that happened against him. Including this little one here. Oh, yeah, and a good evening to you too, captain. It's mighty nice of you to host us GAO folks aboard your boat for the duration."

Bridger coughed once, an abortive little choke of angry air that escaped from deep in his belly and came out like a small cannon blast. He exchanged a brief staring contest with the GAO / Union rep agent and turned away to glare at his doctor, clearly not winning against the lawman.

"Doctor, my patience with you is at its end. Considering the words of the GAO agent and the short but determined conversation I had with you after the ship's council this evening, I am left with the conclusion that you are both unable emotionally to contain yourself and unwilling to make any efforts. You obviously think you know more than everyone aboard and that you are superior to all you gaze upon. Well, no you don't and no you're not! What you are is suspended without pay, rank or privileges until the return from shore leave and from then until the many investigations of the NCIS, JAG and GAO are done. Only then will I contemplate the reports about your competency and your mental ability to hold your office. Right now, you don't sound stable or reliable enough to hold it or manage the science projects that you supposedly overlook. We will see if a couple of weeks of enforced reflexion without your badge and your god-complex will change that damned bitchy attitude of yours! Get out of my face and stay away until you're called on!"

Westphalen had paled steadily until she looked faint. She was being punished! She, a grown and mature woman, a summit in her many fields, was being sent to her corner just like a mere girl-child being reproved by the headmaster in school! She was about to open her mouth to blast the man verbally and tell him exactly what he could do with his high and mighty opinion of his manhood when the silver headed man at his right opened a leather badge-holder and shouted "Team Leader Gibbs, NCIS. This is my patch, lady. If you piss a line around my patch, it's me you have to deal with. Ziva! Take the medic to her office and help her heal herself of whatever ails her. In silence! We have people trying to work here and others want to sleep!" Not that his tone of voice and barked orders would help either…

Ziva David, young, beautiful, lean and nimble, athletic and definitely predatory in her walk and manners smiled unpleasantly at Westphalen as she pushed open her thin, tight leather jacket and showed off the NCIS badge clipped to her belt along the pistol holster and several knife sheaths. "Do not worry Gibbs" she replied playfully in her mediterranean-accented english "I will arrest her if she resists. And I do hope she does resist. It would give me the opportunity to see for myself if Ducky is correct when he stipulates that 'a medic who heals himself has a fool for a patient and a charlatan for a healer' humm?" She said as she smiled evilly at the older woman while walking up to Westphalen close enough to be inside her personal space, intimidating her quite clearly.

Sunday night: Questions, Round-1

(JAG – opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 22:36pm

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; commander Hitchcock's cabin

North of the Australian coastline

Lucas sat peacefully on the sofa, munching on some still hot pecan pie with his ominous large thermal tankard of coffee standing by quite stably on the left-side armrest next to him. The cheap porcelain plate on his lap and stainless steel fork in his hand were UEO navy supply as demonstrated by the blue emblem on them. Like the plate, cutlery and mug of tea in Kathy's hands, they had been loaned out to the young woman with the cabin. Privilege of rank and function, so it was said. Not that the teen complained. He was after all supposed to have a similar setup in his own cabin and office when he got them but right now, he was in a mood to be a mite jealous and bitch about the unfairness. Probably because of the absence of anything else to do or speak of, as he didn't think himself as the bitchy type, usually.

The two friends listened in companiable silence the noises and voices from the corridor as the NCIS people, backed by ship's security, went about the dreary business of tallying the dead and removing them to the morgue for the official autopsy. Exchanging a look and mutual eye roll, both understood that the autopsy would be done to assuage the officiousness of bureaucrats rather than by any need for enlightenment as to the causes of the deaths. They knew the how, why and whom already, after all.

The scanners in the corridor had all been fully functional, as had the PAL's worn by Lucas and the three idiots. When Lucas triggered the emergency mode on his device, it called out to all other systems around it and awoke dormant safety measures that the teenager had spread around in the last four months. It sent all the PAL and similar ship-linked devices into emergency recording as well as using their voice and face recognition apps to identify Lucas and broadcast his coordinates to the bridge and security office so help could get there faster.

The people running the investigation had about a dozen different visual perspectives to view the events from as they unfolded. It would take a nitwit of significant imbecility to deny it was self defense against an attack by an armed gang that tried to ambush him. Cue the nasal, high strung voice of Kristen Westphalen in response to shouts from Bridger. Both Kathy and Lucas turned their heads towards the third person in the cabin, senior lieutenant Manilow Crocker, chief of security, as he was drinking a deep pull from his coffee. The rotund older man sat on the sofa's third seat, at Lucas's right so as to create an obstruction between the door and the boy should trouble come running in. He already saw the video of the attack and knew the records of all three retards by heart. He also knew some people would try to harm Lucas anyways as their own jobs and positions were held back or seen as less important due to his excellent work and performance. Jealousy can make humans do terribly stupid things under normal circumstances. Under duress, it was unimaginable what cruelty could be done in the name of keeping the community safe.

The three persons heard clearly the end of the argument and winced at the not-at-all subtle threats the NCIS agent uttered against the female doctor before leading her away, back to her lair – hemm, hemm – office on the sea-deck. A few minutes of low toned swears, questions, oaths and some not so good answers saw the master of the ship appear in the doorway with a stormy expression on his face. He took in the people in the cabin and how they sat. The kid and Crocker on the sofa with the middle place empty between them. Kathy was sat tailor-style on her bed, back against the bulkhead. The atmosphere seemed placid in a resigned way, not filled with dread or anger. Bridger was intrigued by this.

The old mariner walked completely inside the cabin after getting a discrete hand gesture from his second mate that she gave permission for his presence. Behind him followed Gibbs with a closed but neutral expression on his face, his body language neither tense nor passive. Then came Hollbert who insisted in being present to assist his union member with his defense, if necessary.

Nathan extended his left leg and tapped the sofa's leg with his foot. When both occupants looked at him he said "Okay, Lucas, on the bed besides Hitchcock. And for Pete's sake Kiddo, I know you're a growing boy, but stow the baked goods while we're talking through this mess! Damn! Only a teenaged boy could eat through this smell and not puke!"

Wearing a shit-eating grin of epic proportions, Lucas relocated to the bed after setting his almost empty plate on the small service counter next to the micro-wave oven and in-built induction cooker. He kept his massive stainless steel thermal mug with him though, much to the amusement of Gibbs and Crocker whilst Bridger closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay.

"How in bloody blue blazes do you hope to sleep if you go through so much caffeine?" Nathan asked, though his exasperation at the boy's antics was clearly colored by his fondness for him. The kid's minor proclivities were harmless as things went, but it couldn't be healthy for a boy his age to consume between four and six of these miniature barrels of 'crude oil' every day. He'd have to ask the NCIS doctor to run a more exacting blood-tox panel and maybe some specialty tests to verify that the teen's kidneys and liver had not developed any problems.

Lucas answered his commanding officer with a hugely self-satisfied smirk "Hey, if you got it, flaunt it! And I definitely got it! You have any idea the trouble I go through to get a decent blend instead of the dehydrated compost they feed you guys-in-blue in the mess hall? I can tell you; it ain't easy and it costs both legs. It's a really bad, nasty, expensive habit, it is… But damn, it's good!" he winked brattily at the four older men while raising his tankard in mock salute before taking a long pull of brown creamy coffee so hot there was a little bit of steam escaping around his lips as he drank.

Settling down besides Kathy with his legs folded and his back against the bulkhead, he seemed much more at ease now. In truth, Lucas was satiated as he had managed to eat an entire quarter of the pecan pie before the investigators arrived. The look of disapproval on his female friend's face as she saw him inhale the food was incredibly amusing. She looked even more peeved at his barely mannered high-speed consumption of nutty-sugary goodness than she was upset at the mess he made in the officer's hallway. Heu… Women? Who knows…?

Nathan sat on the sofa in the place vacated by Lucas and turned sideways a bit to see all the people and gestured for Crocker to move towards him to the middle cushion. Hollbert took the far right spot of the sofa while Gibbs opted to stay standing in the entryway after closing and locking the door.

Bridger crossed his arms in a huff, sending a look of parental disapproval at the smirking teen while Crocker was trying to hide his walrus-like girth behind the regular-sized coffee cup he held with both hands in front of his face. Bridger turned a gimlet eye on his old academy buddy, fulgurating him with his eyes for his lack of verbal or gestual support. The look he gave commander Hitchcock promised a long talk with her about Lucas and how she should care for him when he was with her. The young female officer seemed amused all of a sudden before she cleared her face and demonstrated nothing short of the utmost professional behavior.

Hollbert and Gibbs observed it all patiently, waiting until everybody was situated before he tapped the badge hanging from his jacket pocket and spoke, taking the lead. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Team Leader, NCIS major cases team out of Washington DC. Identify yourself and walk me through the events."

Lucas shrugged almost dismissively. The expression on his features was hard to read as it seemed he didn't know what he was feeling and couldn't exteriorize it in a coherent manner. Gibbs mentally noted the little details in his posture, his rumpled worn clothes, the dark bags under his eyes and his pale, sallow skin that showed he was clearly at the end of all endurance. The kid took a few breaths as he frowned, ordering his thoughts.

"Lucas Andrew Wolenczak, 16 years old; CME, CCA. I am being recruited by the GAO to hold authority for all Ciphered data and Classified IT aboard. Guess you don't need a rundown of the whole day. So, heu… We had a rough ship's council session. Because of that I was with captain Bridger, in his cabin, working on my portable station. At around 21:10pm I got a memo on my screen that he had a vid-call scheduled for 22:00pm with admiral Noyce on a secured holo-web channel. Since there are only five places aboard for that system including the captain's quarters, I knew it was time to pack up and leave. So I shut off my station, exchanged a few words with captain Bridger and left. I had arranged with Kathy to spend the night in her cabin since we had a few tons of paperwork and common inventory to process through, so… I asked if her couch was available and she said yes."

Gibbs interrupted the boy "I am aware that your cabin is still quarantined under NCIS yellow tapes from the invasion and you need to sleep elsewhere. Weren't you given another cabin in the meanwhile? Don't they have a lot of staterooms on this tub for the diplomats and company reps? Why are you sleeping around like that, living out of a bag and hand-outs?" The older man's tone was assertive, firm and held an underlying warning to not bullshit him with vagaries. Hollbert took out a small PDA and began typing notes about what he heard to date. There were questions to be answered ASAP.

Lucas pursed his lips, not happy the man had seen through the details the teen had wanted glossed over. "Fine; you want to pull out the tumors already, you got 'em. Since I set foot on this boat I was supposed to have a senior officer's cabin and a secured enclosed office on sea-deck to lock up some materials and projects that are not safe for public consumption. I never got either. Instead, some commander-graded bozo in drydock who was there for just ONE DAY decided that I was just a lying little delinquent and I needed some urgent redressment of my disobedient, un-American, ungodly attitude. The guy was there ONE DAY! He wasn't even assigned to duty or evaluations or investigations! No! He was just a fuckshit bastard passing by who accidentally happened to be present when I arrived and logged in for my billet and equipments. The retard has friends in the Pentagon who asked him to give me a message. It goes like this: I am nobody and nothing and I will suffer under their White Painted Cross until I learn my place in submissiveness at the feet of my betters, the adult men of the Faith."

Lucas grabbed angrily for his tankard and drank a deep draft of hot coffee to try and calm himself down enough to participate without sounding like a maniac. After drinking his fill and carefully putting the mug back in its place, Lucas continued his tale. "Even before the bloody contracts were signed between me, my father and the many branches of government, I have been aware that there was a group of fanatics working in the shadows to get their mitts on me. They are trying to convince everybody they can reach that I am indocile, undisciplined and dangerous to let free without the heavy hand of christian corporeal disciplinings on my body every day I breathe. In other words, they are preaching openly in hope of converting people into believing that I deserve daily beatings so that the credulous idiots who follow them would go out and give me those beatings."

The teenager leaned forward, eyes closed and teeth grinding in frustration. "None of my complaints have ever given any results. None from my attorney have ever been answered either. No complaints from the ship's officers were ever looked into and some of the crew were in fact threatened to stay out of the way of 'righteous Christian Devotees at work' or they would lose their career. Now that Lawrence is involved directly, I honestly wonder what the situation will become."

Lucas locked eyes with Gibbs as he passed both hands through his long hair, pulling on it angrily. "The end result you saw for yourself. I have been forced to live the last four months at the bottom of a shitpit barred by two airlocks or else borrow a couch from a friend. And that's not even the worse of the whole situation. That's just my personal existence. What they are doing to my jobs and collaboration projects on top of screwing with the ship's parts orders and crew assignments, that's a whole other kettle 'o nasties. That's why I am here tonight. I bunked in Bridger's cabin the last three days; t's enough. I like the guy but not that much. And I know that after the council we had this evening, I ain't his favorite bloke either. So I hauled my hide out on the road while it was still intact."

Gibbs looked towards each adult in turn and saw clearly the teen wasn't lying or exaggerating the situation and that explained the horde of JAG and GAO people plus civilian lawyers coming in during the next few days. This was a whole different level of corruption than what his team had dealt with in the past. Somebody used to rubbing elbows with the generals and admirals was pulling strings to get this done and then covered up so nobody traced it back to its origin. Well, he would put McGee and Abby on the cyber trail while David, DiNozzo and himself got the human trail. Vance could make himself useful by hobknobbin' with the brass and SecNav to figure out which starry shoulder pads had it in for the kid.

The silver haired man waited a few seconds more for the young worker to calm himself before he asked the next set of questions. What he saw wasn't good; it gave him a shiver down his spine. He exchanged glances with Hollbert, Crocker and Bridger to make certain they saw the same things he did. Yes, they did and weren't in any position to help any more than they already did.

Lucas sat up properly on the side of the bed as he yanked his hands from his mop of blond hair and slammed them on his knees hard, gripping his thighs with clenched white-knuckled fingers. His entire light wiry frame was tense with constricted anger and bottled up rage. The boy was practically vibrating with the pent-up rage he had forced back inside, into the core depths of himself. Just a few seconds later, the adolescent looked as normal and unremarkable as any boy his age sitting in a bus or park bench. His face was now completely neutral and his body language was projecting a slight dispassionate indolence proper to bored teenagers all over the world.

This was bad. As in 'clusterfuck going fubar-in-the-hole while we're moving crates of thermite' bad and getting worse. Gibbs had seen people like this before. They took on responsibility, accepted burdens, took the blame even when innocent because fighting for an honest outcome would never give anything good anyways. They put everything away. They bottled up their emotions deep where nobody ever saw them. Sorrow, sadness, loneliness, anguish, anger, rage… They packed the vault inside the core of their soul until it was full then put in more, and more, until it all blew up. Jethro had seen a lot of good, decent marines and sailors go down this road. Mostly to protect their wife and kids from the horrors of war; some because the jobs were classified; some because the civilians just couldn't understand… It always ended badly. PTSD – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder – could be caused or worsened by a situation like this. The kid's obtuseness when communicating would only make it all go in a spiral down to the abyss. They needed to help this guy fast, before he went nuclear on them and himself.

"All right Agent Wolenczak" Jethro said in a low even tone "Let's get through the rest of events. Tell me what you think is important and if I need anything else, we'll talk in the morning after we all de-stress from the traveling and fighting." Gibbs was trying to use the young man's title and position to establish a more mature, more equal playing field so the adolescent didn't feel that he was being spoken down to or being taken less than seriously when he spoke. The NCIS team leader hoped that his ploy worked because if this guy went postal on them, it would be ugly, as clearly demonstrated by the deaths of Shraeder, his mercenaries and these three punks.

The pale skinned boy's flint-blue eyes were peering deeply into Gibbs's own ocean-blue eyes and they had an impromptu staring contest for a few seconds. Jethro didn't know why, but it was him that looked away first. Usually when a situation like this happened, he never showed weakness, he never backed down. But against what lay asleep inside the adolescent's mind, could anybody really ever win?

Taking a deep, soothing breath, Lucas startled as Kathy put a hand on his shoulder in sign of support. Nobody in the room missed the self-protective reaction he had as he leaned away from her on instinct before blinking owlishly at her, then her hand. Snorting in self-deprecating amusement, the teen sat back in position near his female friend, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging loosely.

"Sorry 'bout that Kathy… I hadn't seen you move and I'm a bit strung up right now." Raising his head to look at Gibbs and Hollbert he continued his story from the point he was interrupted. "After leaving the captain's cabin, I went to the galley to talk with the cooks. I like the guys in the kitchens. They always have hometown stories and something warm to eat. As was mentioned, teenage boys have munchies all the time and it was a necessity for me to be friends with the food people from the get go or I would have starved fast. Anyways, I managed to have a good half hour with them and I scored a nice fresh baked pecan pie and some assorted sandwiches, a few cake pieces, you know; solid food that wasn't just chips or cheese sticks. Given Kate and I had a long night ahead of us plowing through the parts orders to figure out what the damn idiots in NCQ had again refused to send out and why, we needed real food to keep going. Her cabin has a washroom and a service counter so we can make all the coffee we need right here so I didn't bother with that except my tankard. I carry that everywhere anyways."

Lucas moved backwards until he was leaning his back against the wall, legs folded up with his arms wrapped around them. "At around 21:40pm I started my way up to Kathy's cabin with my work satchel and an armload of food stuffs. I walked in the senior officers' corridor and was up to commander Ford's door, one away from Kathy's, when the three rednecks showed up. They were all dressed in civvies, and they all made lewd gestures the moment they saw me. The called out to me with an insult and then drew knives all together all at once. They wanted to scare me, to break me, so they walked really slowly, criss-crossing back-and-forth to confuse me. I put down my load of food and satchel next to Ford's door and stood up straight in the middle of the corridor. At that point they started ululating gutturalities, a rape hymnal from the african Zulu tribes while shaking their knives in front of their crotches, simulating fucking their knives in a warning of what I could expect from them. I took a pair of safeties that I carry around like these, hidden in my shirt cuffs."

Lucas almost gave Gibbs and Hollbert a heart attack by showing them two small dark metal cylinders the size of small marker-pens. He took one from each cuff of his flannel shirt and held them up to the light so the five adults could see them. The innocuous little gizmos sent a shiver of dread down the backbone of the three men who had come in recently as they had seen the pictogram on the cylinders; it matched the one from the capsules recovered in the hallway next to the dead corpses.

Bridger asked through clenched teeth "Lucas, Kiddo, is that the same chemical as you used on the bodies outside? Why in God's name do you have so many of the things? And where are the others?"

Gibbs winced as he moved to be able to quickly open the door and evacuate the room. Kathy sat up straight, dropping her feet on the deck plates with matching dull thuds as she graced Bridger with a harsh stare that clearly meant he had passed the limit. Hollbert turned a gimlet eye against the older mariner while Crocker dropped a heavy hard hand on Nathan's arm, instantly getting his old friend's undivided attention.

"Now Nate" Crocker told his academy buddy, "You have to see that the kid has the right of it. He's been maligned, lambasted and outright attacked and injured on this boat. He has the right as any man to carry the means to defend himself. Since he gets attacked by posses of cowardly low-lives who gang up on him in hordes, well, that gives him the right to use area-effect weapons and tools. Besides, better that gas than a grenade or gun that will puncture the outer hull and sink us afore the first quarter of the tour is done." Turning towards Gibbs and Hollbert, Crocker completed "From the opinion of the security department, he has equipment he has manufactured himself as part of his many positions and contracts. He's qualified to use it better than anybody else aboard. And we all saw that he has genuine reasons to fear for his life and health, so I am declaring it lawful carrying of permitted equipments and weapons."

Lucas grumped something under his breath but sat back against the wall, spreading out his legs in front of him as he placed the diminutive bombs back into his shirt cuffs. When he raised his eyes to look at the four men, they were all wearing diverging faces of worry and anguish at what he had stowed in his wrists. Giving them a bratty grin, the boy shrugged and picked up his tankard for a pull of coffee before ending his story.

"Well there isn't much else to say. I was alone against three maniacs with knives who were chanting a rape hymnal while waving around knives and closing in on me. I used what I had available and threw the two cylinders in the middle of their triangle formation at shoulder height. The grenades went off and spread out the acid mist as wide and thick as foreseen. They screamed for about a minute before their throats and vocal chords were eroded away. Their eyes, eardrums and most of their exposed skin had already liquefied by that time. The mist is VERY effective at clearing out organic contaminants or blockages. That's what it's supposed to be, you see. An industrial cleanser with applications as an emergency sterilizer for pharmaceutical and biochemical companies. One other application is a ceramic container filled with the stuff that you throw diseased animal carcasses into to avoid them being put into the food chain, even just as animal feed or fertilizer."

The two federal agents were taking notes, Hollbert on his PDA and Gibbs on his little paper notepad. The dichotomy was amusing to see in action as one was trying to rival Lucas's speed with two thumbs while the other was penciling away like an old pro. Bridger was frowning in thought about what this could turn into at the level of the White House and UEO executive cabinet. Hitchcock was just glad her young friend was intact and safe by her side again, at least until the paperwork caught up to them in the morning.

Crocker moved his ample girth to standing position and went to the service counter to set down his used mug. Adjusting his belt and tools of the trade, he gave the teenager a meaningful gaze that had the boy buck up and make a rebellious face, much to the other four adults' surprise given how cooperative he had been. Then again, he hadn't been in the wrong so why not be helpful? What now?

"Now, now, kid; don't be givin' me any lip" Crocker playfully warned in mock sternness whilst wagging a finger at the teen's most magnificent pouty lower lip. The boy even threw in the puppy eyes just for the odd chance it might work. Manilow's full-bellied laugh was not helping things along. Lucas crossed his arms and frowned angrily, pursing his lips in determination to not move from his place on Kathy's bed until the others cleared the room and left him be.

The chief of security was well and truly amused at the little guy's antics. Little of course meant 5 foot 10 inches of teenaged reed-like growth when completely unfurled from his contorted position. Crocker was always impressed by the idiocy of people when they sneered at the boy's age and thought to dominate him only to revise themselves when they saw he wasn't some minuscule little tike. Manilow certainly had that reaction the first time he heard he'd have a kid aboard and then met the pale runt.

"No, I don't want to hear it Lucas. You are coming to med-bay for a full and thorough physical. It's protocol after every attack or accident, ashore or onboard. Now be a good little department head and come along quietly before I take out the handcuffs and pepper spray." Crocker warned between bouts of laughter. The poor kid just couldn't get a break tonight, even if they all wanted him to finally have some peace. Ha, well; no rest for the wicked they say…

Nathan suddenly had an evil smirk on his face as he teased his young worker: "Yes Lucas, you wouldn't want your new primary employer, the GAO, to find fault with your lack of adherence to protocols. After all, you are supposed to be the watcher who watches the rest of us. How can you accomplish this properly and legitimately if you aren't above board on all issues?"

Kathy was practically biting her fist to keep from exploding in laughter at the face of flabbergasted disbelief Lucas made whilst Hollbert and Gibbs, both old veterans of the road, had no such compunctions. Amidst the common hilarity of the adults, the poor beleaguered teenager unfurled his tall, lanky frame and walked to the desk to pick up his work satchel and personal electronics. Walking towards the door with as much dignity as he could muster in the situation, the youth lifted up his nose in disdain, sneering snottily at the assemblage of adults.

"Uncouth knaves, the besotted lot of ye! To debase thineselves in such garrulous displays at the behest of thine betters! Oh, the humanity of it all!" the boy exclaimed as he faked a swoon, left hand on his face, airing himself with the right. The dropped jaws from the men and harrumphing of contained humor from Kathy's side of the room were good enough to lighten up his mood for the moment. At least until med-bay and the bunch of tick-related parasites after his poor creamy-white hide got their mitts on him.

Sunday night: Healer, push a pill on thineself

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 22:45pm

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; Doctor Westphalen's office on sea-deck

North of the Australian coastline

Kristen Westphalen, woman, mother and doctor of many medical sciences, was not happy at the moment. That was the polite version of it. Truthfully, she wanted to strap to her table the top officers of the ship and inflict a fully-awake proctology exam on them but it wasn't a desire born of hostility or personal vendetta. Nooo… It's that it just became obvious to her that they thought with their arses rather than their heads and she wanted to see if they were as brainless from under as from the top. It was purely medical curiosity motivating her, nothing else at all… And it would help the civilian government better craft their orders so the soldiers understand them for a change.

Trotting into her office at flanking speed, she made for the electric kettle on the back cupboard and slammed an angry hand on the button to make it boil. She began the simple and soothing ritual of preparing a full pot of tea by the means of loose leaf tea from a tin and a dipping ball made of sterling silver filigree. Having filled the ball with tea leaf, she set it by its chain inside the pot and then prepared the small mahogany serving tray with small jars of condiments. Even when she was alone, she preferred to have a full tea service at hand for both the comforting familiarity of the items and the few occasions she welcomed an impromptu guest whilst already drinking her cup.

It was very much impolite in British society to refuse someone a seat at the table or in your parlor when it was time for tea. While the current hour was not in the least the real official brittanic tea time of 16:00pm as was the 'High Tea' or 'Royal Tea', it could none the less be accounted as a night cap sort of tea. Especially with the small amount of sherry she poured in the pot, making certain to splash the silver ball so the tea leaf could absorb the alcohol and macerate in preparation for steeping in the scalding water to come.

Becoming aware of the young woman that had silently shadowed her all the way, Kristen set another cup and saucer on the tray before fishing around her lab coat's many pockets for her keyring. Having found the elusive metallic artwork, she unlocked the cupboard and took out something she had put aside under much more stringent security than the small bottle of sherry that usually sat unguarded on top of the cabinet next to the small sink and micro-wave oven. She wasn't afraid of losing the alcohol and would not care anyways. The large deep tin container however held some homemade scones and shortbread cookies made by her mother who was still very much alive in North London and sent her a care package of the most delicious comfort food every month. Cheap quarter-liter bottles of sherry she could misplace and not care, but for this tin she would hunt down the culprit and have his hands cut off and mounted on a stake in front of her office as a warning to others!

Ziva had a small knowing smile as the older woman puttered around her large office, gathering the necessities and also the niceties for a proper British tea. While it obviously wasn't a formal set, the small porcelain service was clearly well used and loved by its owner. The blue and gold pattern of the decorations was rather baroque but not blindingly so as she had seen upon some of the garish tourist gifts in the shops of hotels and airport duty-free kiosks. This was an old, hand crafted original from the late 1700's and it had clearly traveled a lot with its owner.

The smell of sherry made her smile widen and she shrugged off her light leather jacket. The ship's temperature was decent enough to walk around with just her thin t-shirt and not feel chill. The former MOSSAD agent enjoyed the scene the matronly doctor made as she prepared everything in the strict manner of the older generations for whom tea was more than an alternative to coffee. It was a way to de-stress, a way to communicate and a moment of absolute neutrality amongst even the bitterest adversaries to remember that they were all British and all served the Queen's pleasure.

When the kettle beeped and popped its little button to show it had finished boiling, Kristen poured the water in the pot and then placed the pot on its porcelain stand on the tray. She brought the assemblage over at the small four-seat meeting table she was lucky to have in her office space. The plush high-backed chairs were much more comfortably cushioned than either of the pivoting chairs around her desk, including her own. Cheapskate UEO bureaucrats; how could you concentrate on work when your back was killing you? Inept twits!

The doctor took a small carton box of wood matches and cracked one, enjoying the lively little dance of the flame on the tip before she lit the paraffin burning tea-light hidden inside the stand. The stronger, brighter flame spread a lively show of light and shadows that soothed the eyes. Both women felt a gentle warmth that climbed from their fingertips up their arms all the way to their hearts as they placed their hands next to the flame for of few seconds to enjoy the feel and serenity of the diminutive fire.

When the aroma of sherry-laden tea wafted from the pot, it had steeped enough to be tasteful and cooled down enough from the boiling point to be drunk without scalding the mouth. The most favorable moment to pour the brew and smell its curative effluves. Kristen served her guest first as good manners demanded and then herself before gesturing at the goodies in the tin. Taking a small porcelain plate and cloth napkin, Ziva served herself a cookie and a scone, wanting a taste of each. Westphalen did the same with a small, satisfied smile. She might be loosing a few baked goods but any chance to show another person the quality and beauty of her mother's cooking was good to her eyes. If the guest truly enjoyed the food, then so much the better.

The young federal agent raised her cup in salute and honored her host. "Shalom, good doctor. Long rule the Dame Windsor, Elizabeth II, she who IS Britannia in the hearts of many, even outside of her realms." The young Israeli was gladdened to see the older woman smile proudly in return and nod her acceptance.

"May the sun never set on any land allied of Britannia, that evil never have shadows to dwell in." Kristen responded tactfully yet meaningfully at her guest. The beautiful young woman half-closed her eyes in contemplation for about four seconds before her small demure smile widened fully, showing her satisfaction at the return greeting she received.

"Well met, doctor. I hope to have many an occasion to share a cup with you in the coming days. Although, more peaceful times would be appreciated by both of us, yes?"

Kristen smile was a bit brittle but genuine as she deeply inhaled the bitter & sweet aroma that combining tea and sherry produced before tipping her cup to drink. After each woman had consumed the first cup and cookie, they settled more casually to talk politely as they ate the scones and drank through the whole pot. As it was kept warm by the paraffin stove, it kept at exactly the desirable warmth and lubricated their conversation quite nicely.

"I apologize for the unseemly display that I made during your crime scene work, agent David. I was not expecting the reaction than Nathan, I mean captain Bridger, had towards me. Normally, he lets me vent then sends me in to check on the child to see that he is indeed physically fine. Everyone aboard all know that Lucas's definition of 'fine' means that until he is comatose and unable to tell us he is fine, then he is clearly and provably all right to work and be by himself."

Ziva's snort of humor matched her amused smirk. "My colleagues at NCIS are the same. Even without the advanced training of MOSSAD they are quite resilient and taking medical leave is not well lived by any of them. My team leader is the worst offender as he is like Lucas; unless comatose, he will find a way to move and aggravate you, even if only by phone or email. In fact, the only reason he learned to use email was because a few years back he suffered a small food poisoning that affected his larynx and vocal chords for two weeks and he could not leave voice messages anymore but insisted on still coming to the office to do paperwork and lead the cases. It has become an inside joke that the only to teach Gibbs a new trick is to kill him with it first!"

Kristen couldn't help the small bout of laughter at the funny anecdote. She needed laughter right now, and good cheer as there was precious little to be had. Her face became neutral again as she peered deeply into the depths of her cup, twirling the liquid in hopes of receiving some form of revelation.

"In vino veritas, doctor; you have the wrong beverage to obtain answers to your queries. Unless you are a gypsy grand-mother about to commit a tea-reading, in which case I would like my cup read as well." Ziva spoke gently, feeling that there was a deep sorrow in this woman. She was hurting in a motherly way that she remembered from the women who had lived through and remembered the Shoah, the deportations, the camps, losing kin and never, ever learning their fates in this life. Looking carefully at Westphalen's somber, depressive visage, Ziva could see a resemblance to the looks and despair of her grandmother and great-aunts when she was a small child and they still shared life with them.

Trying to put forth a smile, Kristen spoke with heavy emotions in her voice. "I have failed him. I tried to set him free. I tried to make them see how wrong this all is, to no avail. The government wants its soldier-boy and the crew are determined to see it happening. The poor lad isn't even aware of how he's being used. He is so desperate to fit in, to be accepted and to have his presence valued by someone that he goes along with all the cruelty and depravity without realizing what he's become. He came to us as a child needing human warmth and support but will leave as another mindless monster who kills and destroys without remorse just for a pat on the head and a bit of approval from a nameless cad with stars on his shoulders."

The younger woman calmed down considerably as she heard the despair and genuine care in the doctor's voice. She saw Lucas as being forced to serve aboard as a slave laborer who then was forced into becoming a child-soldier as well. No wonder the mature woman was so besides herself: she thought of the situation as both criminal and depraved, with no one to help her out. Alas, Ziva had seen the basic briefs about Lucas Wolenczak and he was here mostly voluntarily and stood to make a tidy profit and some strong contacts if it all worked out. Not that the formidable medic sat across the table would ever accept it. He ageist views and her rampant motherliness would never tolerate that a child under 18 years old be entangled in military matters. The poor woman was in for several severe disappointing rebukes in the near future.

At least now that Ziva knew Westphalen was neither unstable, a criminal or out to hurt the UEO's prized teenaged genius, she could relax and truly enjoy the marvelous tea and kind hospitality offered to her. It was so rare to find good quality, well brewed tea outside of England or Israel these days. And lending a sympathetic shoulder for the matronly doctor to cry on was no effort. She grew up in a neighborhood filled with the grieving grand-mothers, mothers, sisters of WW II victims as well as the widows and daughters of the soldiers fallen in defense of the homeland's peace. Helping a grieving woman through her pain was as natural and ordinary as cooking and eating in Israel since it was founded and before even that. Ziva smiled sadly at the thought that the doctor's good wishes and heartfelt kindness would not be well received by either the teenager himself or the adults who came up with the arrangement. Then the lawyers would get involved, the Union of Federal Employees, the Association of Military Contractors, the UEO Military Industries' Chamber of Commerce, etc… No matter how good her intentions or pure her feelings, Kristen Westphalen would not be well seen or well received at all. Ziva could only pray and hope she did not see her career and contacts destroyed by the fallout of the confrontation.

Sunday night: What a palpitating palpation did we palp!

(NCIS – opening theme)

Sunday 9th of February, 2020; 23:22pm

SeaQuest DVS 6000, UEO flagship; med-bay examination room

North of the Australian coastline

Lucas sat listlessly on the padded, paper-wrapped examination bench, slowly swinging back and forth his dangling legs while contemplating his empty hands. The nurses had taken his coffee tankard along with his work satchel and portable electronics, even the PAL. He was still dressed but expected that to change just as soon as the medics got here. Somehow, the guys in white lab coats were all of the opinion that they had to palpate your bare skin to figure out what ailed you. As if a teenager couldn't find out his problems all by himself without stripping to his skivvies. Pffft! Bunch of closeted perverts, the doctors all were…

The door to the examination room opened and in came the procession of three people, only one of whom the boy knew well as the other two were from the NCIS contingent. Doctor Levine had been assigned the task of examining Lucas as any contact with Kristen Westphalen at this point would prove detrimental to both the investigation and the auditory health of everyone in earshot. The men from Washington were senior medical examiner Dr Donald 'Ducky' Mallard and junior medical examiner James 'Jimmy' Palmer. Both newcomers had changed from the dark blue jumpsuits they used in the crime scene analysis to the more conventional pale blue hospital scrubs and white lab coats universal to medical practionners all over the world.

Joseph Levine walked up to Lucas and patted his knee in a familiar, friendly manner in an effort to set him at ease. Whilst most people would think the boy was already calm and passive, Levine understood clearly that it was not the case at all. A nervous, fidgety speeded Lucas was a healthy, happy Lucas hard at work rebuilding reality around him into something better for all of them to live in. An immobile, sedate Lucas who gazed out into nothing and seemed passively indolent was bad news all around as that meant he was starting to ask himself if the people around him still deserved that he hold back on the many retaliatory measures he could use against them for their offenses against himself, society and Nature at large.

And Lucas was presently very, very placid.

With every alarm bell and klaxon sounding off inside his head, calling for immediate evacuation of the ship while they still could, Levine tried to carefully establish a peaceful contact with the child who walked around with grenades of warfare gas in his sleeves. The old jewish medic hoped he had built enough rapport with the young man during his few months aboard to rouse him from his contemplative state without triggering a melt down or defensive reflexes.

"Ahem, Lukaas, mein Kinder" the elder doctor started in his thick Hebrew-German-English accent "Ve need to prozeed vith ze examination. You are in concordance, ja?" he asked in low tones, hoping not to startle the teen.

Frowning at the interruption of his thought patterns about the saturation point and shelf life of his newly tested combat acid, the teenager turned a gimlet eye on the doctor and sustained the level-4 glare (level-1 was the absolute worst and was used to promise slow, painful, abominable death) until the adult cleared his throat and backed away from the exam table.

"Gud then; ve can prozeed. In order to make thingz eazier on all of uz und limit ze paperwurk tomorrow, ze doktor Palmer vill officiate whilst hiz colleague herr Mallard vill analyze and notate the filez. I vill remain and vitness the eventz az vell as zerve az your zupport in caze of problemz."

Lucas turned his glare towards Palmer and increased it to a level-3 just on the principle that this guy could presume to decide by himself to be the physician of record for the exam. Lucas HATED not being the one who chose what happened to his person and anybody who tried to barge in on his body or personal space soon found out painfully just how defensive he could get.

Jimmy Palmer gulped nervously as he locked eyes with the teenager and realized he was essentially staring at something even Gibbs wouldn't be able to stop or intimidate. The stormy flint-blue eyes were glaring at him with such a gut churning mix of hate, contempt and raw unfettered rage that Palmer felt he was about to melt through the deck plates as if he had gotten doused in the bio-reduction gas like the three dead criminals from earlier.

Now, many would thing Jimmy would back down and cower in front of the monstrously intelligent, catastrophically belligerent teenager. They would all be wrong. Jimmy had spent almost 14 years now in the employ of NCIS and been in close daily contact with Jethro Gibbs for most of it. From going out on the road to pick up bodies and contaminated evidence, performing autopsies and delivering the unpleasant results, he had been near Gibbs, the Director, the SecNav and the rest of the team often enough to understand a few things about powerful, hard headed people.

Firstly; don't doubt yourself or at least don't show those doubts publicly. You lose all credibility when you doubt your own concepts and theories.

Secondly; don't ask permission to do your job or what is right. That shows weakness, cowardice and lack of character all around your life.

Thirdly and most important point; the truly powerful people, those capable of hurting a large mass of humanity or damaging a great tract of land are usually the safest, calmest and most even-handed people you'll get to know in your life. If they weren't stable and calm they would self-destruct in the practice of their Art and the planet would already be burning.

The simple basic truth is that people like Lucas exist because Nature, society and science need them to exist so they can bring knowledge and modernity to the masses. It is unfortunate that not all knowledge is clean or nice and kind but that doesn't make it any less necessary to the process of enlightenment the planet's population needs to sustain to avoid stagnation and devolving into chaos. The key to dealing with high-powered continent slagging genocidal scientists was to simply speak to them and ask what they needed or wanted.

Simple conversation.

A truly trite and simplistic solution to a volatile situation with the potential to turn into a nuclear or biological nightmare. If the teenager got so brassed-off he decided to hijack the ship and launch missiles there wouldn't be much that could be done to stop him. Palmer however was willing to bet his marriage that the young man wasn't anywhere near the precipice of insanity and the depths of anger needed to enact that scenario.

Sure, the kid's glare was eerily reminiscent of Gibbs' own blue death stare but he was also not aggressive or displaying any signs of anxiety, discomfort or impatience. Jimmy decided that the few seconds of observation had given him what he needed to know and he could proceed, regardless of whatever feelings of uncertainty the other doctors were experiencing.

"Hello there. We haven't been formally introduced, have we?" Palmer extended his hand to Lucas in friendly openness "My name is James Palmer but you can call me Jimmy. That's my boss, doctor Mallard but everybody calls him Ducky." Lucas surprised the other adults by extending his hand to shake with the young medic as was polite to do when greeting someone new in this context.

Taking the time to lean forward a bit, Palmer looked directly into the flint-blue orbs of death and smiled a little sadly as he wondered what life experiences could have forced a child to develop such high-wattage glare at such a young age. "You glare like my other boss, agent Gibbs, when he gets bad news or we haven't finished the autopsy fast enough to his taste. How did a guy like you develop that kind of intimidating stare at your age?" Jimmy asked completely unaware of the dumbfounded looks the other two medics were sending at his back. Was he really trying to trigger the kid's temper?

Lucas pursed his lips in thought and answered slowly, politely even as the man hadn't insulted him or done anything wrong yet. "It's part hereditary on my mother's side and part necessity of life when your in the top 1 / 100,000,000 most intelligent people on the planet. Everybody around either ignored me, spat on me because of my age and size or tried to bully me into subservience because the majority of humanity is criminally depraved and works on raw force like that. Managing an intimidating glare that actually works is kind of a basic survival skill in circumstances like that." The teen spoke placidly, obviously not interested in the young doctor but maintaining a level of professional civility nonetheless because that was the thing to do in the situation.

Nodding to himself that his evaluation of the person and situation was spot on, Jimmy stood straight and explained slowly in detail exactly which tests they needed to perform as well as which were attributed to the ordeal with Shraeder's invasion versus which were for tonight's mess. He concluded by asking Lucas to undress and put on the set of pale blue scrubs reserved for the patient, without anything under in case they needed to look at bruising, lesions or other externally visible conditions.

Lucas heaved a long suffering sigh and took the proffered scrubs with one last malevolent glare all around the room before he entered the diminutive toilet cabinet attached to the exam room. The thing served as changing cubicle and the toilet & sink combo were there for sanitation as well as in case the patient became nauseous and needed to vomit.

Coming back dressed only in the thin pale garments, the boy looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the wall next to the exam table and winced in misery. The damned color made him look so pale he could pass for Casper the Friendly Ghost's still living cousin. And the emphasis on his pallor of course emphasized the dark bags under his eyes and the tiredness in his stooped posture as he shuffled from one place to another. Looking blearily at the three doctors, he could very well tell that this exam would not be fun at all. Especially since all three were guys and way too old for his tastes.