His Honor, Mister Mayor Lucas

by Pascal in Quebec

The ship was his choice. It was his job because he wanted it. It was his career path because he had public service in his heart. Their hardships, ordeals and survival would make it his community and serving his people would become his soul, for greatnes is forged in fire and tempered in tears.

2. News and novelties

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read his story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own SeaQuest, Star Wars, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators or broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

SeaQuest

His Honor, Mister Mayor Lucas

Chapter 2; news and novelties

Med-bay visitations

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)

Wednesday, 19 February 2020; 14:00pm

UEO Flagship SeaQuest DVS 6000; main infirmary & Dr Levine's office

Australia, northern coast, 75km off Darwin City

Bill Noyce walked slowly from the officer's enclosed mess hall where he had luncheoned and directed his measured paces towards the infirmary. At long last, the emergency interventions on Lucas were done and the boy was being set up in Intensive Care Unit #1 (ICU-1) next to Manilow Crocker who occupied ICU-2 already. Hitchcock and Shan having suffered much less critical injuries had already undergone their own bullet extractions and been patched up so they were placed in the regular convalescence rooms 1 and 2. Bill planned on checking in on them as he passed by.

Arriving in med-bay, he was again glad to see his orders for securing the place had been followed to the letter. Four marines in body armor with pulse rifles in hand were stationed in the waiting room and ready to intervene. The nurse at the reception / monitoring station looked haggard and worn out, an appearance shared by all the medics and nurses moving around to take care of their injured comrades.

The admiral knocked his knuckles on the control desk like the front door to a house to get the woman's attention. She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound as she had been incredibly focused on her tasks of writing the vitals and prescriptions of each patient in house at the moment. She blinked owlishly for a few seconds as her brain changed tracks to process whom it was that interrupted her.

"Admiral, sir. The patients are not completely ready for visits yet. Doctors Levine and Saritsatva are changing out of their scrubs and will be ready for you in Levine's office in about ten minutes. It's that door over there on the left."

Nodding in thanks, the older man just turned around and made his way to the office without preamble. The marines could sense the officer's frustrations and anger wafting off of him so they stayed put but attentive in case they were called to act.

Beep! - Noyce's PAL signaled. Taking the offending piece of plastic from his shirt pocket, he pushed the button to open the line and saw on the LCD that it was the bridge calling. "Yes, colonel Dirnova; what happened this time?" He asked in an exasperated tone. The marine colonel was excellent at her job and never needed to held by the hand. The only time she called was when something was truly out of her jurisdiction or above her pay grade.

"My apologies for the distraction, admiral, but the prisoner has asked to see you. She finally woke up from the head trauma and has ascertained her locality. She is most adamant on speaking with you. I have informed her that your scheduling and time are not hers to dispose of but she seems incapable of grasping such basic concepts as which side of the bars she is on. End of message, sir."

"Message received, colonel. Carry on towards Darwin City and make sure that all the newbies are lodged for the night. O'Neil and Krieg will handle things tomorrow on their shift." On a more amused note, he added "Just don't let the damned Beaver lower the ship's temperature again! It's cold enough as it is and not everybody was born on a glacial plain like he was!"

Dirnova's laughter was heard in the speaker as she had to admit that the new CO's first order when coming aboard to lower the ship-wide temps by five degrees was indeed amusing, and funny fodder for the scuttlebutt to grind. "I will make certain the canadian does not turn our men and allies to popsicles on your watch, sir. You can count on me, sir." Her own playful response had Noyce chuckling too.

He had just placed the PAL back in his pocket when the two doctors came in, looking harried and tired to the point of exhaustion. They both sat on the far side of the desk, their backs to the wall, and began opening and spreading paper versions of the patient files they would discuss with him. "Go from the simplest to the biggest case. Finish with Lucas anyways, as I have specific questions about his health." the officer told them calmly. They were good men, on the side of Law and Order, not mindless tools like Ford or Westphalen. No need to get rough on them.

"Firstly admiral, would you like some tea? It is Darjeeling imported directly from India. I find it soothes the nerves after prolonged hours in the operating theater." Doctor Meetha Saritsatva offered kindly while pointing the electric kettle that sat on Levine's cabinet, at the wall opposite the desk.

Noyce eyed both doctors, pursing his lips in thought as he remembered their service records.

Meetha Saritsatva, woman, born in1956, white caucasian with slightly beige tone to her skin. British citizen of mixed ancestry; her father was Indian as were both of his parents while her mother and her own parents were from the port city of Dartmouth in England. She had studied medicine in England, France and Germany before joining the UN Humanitarian Relief troops straight out of her last university course. Civilian through and through, no military or law enforcement training. She was specialized in traumatology, urgentology, weapons injuries and explosives injuries. She had level 4 HAZMAT certifications up to code as her deployment required. She was a Hindu leftist, bleeding-heart liberal but with a head on her shoulders for dealing with crises and stable enough to be sent out to the front under fire if need be. Bill liked her and had posted her on board for several reasons that were still valid.

Joseph Levine, male, born in 1952, olive-toned skin. Israeli citizen and ancestry on both sides from the region of Nazareth. Trained as field-medic by the Israeli Defense Forces which he still served today after some forty-five years. He had been loaned by the IDF to the UN's Blue Helmets in 1998 as a field medic which then transferred that deal over to the UEO when the UN was disbanded due to corruption, criminality and nobody trusting that broken system anymore. The man was solid, stable, phlegmatic and grandfatherly with everyone aboard under the age of 40. Noyce was still quite satisfied with posting the man aboard. The fact that the man had world-class pediatric qualifications and got along swimmingly with Lucas was exactly what Bill had been banking on. He also had what would be critical in the present conditions; experience with children survivors of war and terrorism.

"While I would normally accept your gracious hospitality, doctors, I just had a copious lunch with the ship's new captain and security head. I drank enough coffee that I changed color and probably look like a cheap fast-food cappuccino right now. So, no thank you, but don't hold back on my account." He answered urbanely, careful not to step on toes he should avoid.

The two medics were far from flustered, having seen the hour on the clock and understanding that no matter the gravity of the patient's predicaments, the rest of the ship must be kept functional if med-bay was to be fully supported in turn. After serving themselves some piping hot tea and pulling out a tin of butter cookies, the medics started with the easy cases; the shock and emotional breakdowns.

Levine began the reviews: "We have around thirty cases of shock induced emotional breakdowns. All have been assigned to light duties except three that we are keeping under sedation right now because they are burned out physically and have no reserves to help their mental recovery. The cases are Lt Miguel Ortiz, Ensign Mike Carlson and Crewman 2nd Carol Durnan. The particulars of each case vary greatly but the worse is Ortiz as he was on the Bridge for the blow-out and then had to work through the mess in the launch bay after finding Ben Krieg to tell him about Lucas's condition. He is completely physically and morally depleted. We recommend light duties for two weeks and mandatory weekly counseling sessions for the next 12 weeks."

Levine took a sip of his tea and a deep breath to steel himself for the next file. "The case of Lt Krieg is a basket of crabs in a league apart. He is functioning on fumes and close to mental collapse. He blames himself for not being on the bridge to defend Lucas when the fight happened. Captain Bridger had apparently told him that since he was a 'junior' ranked lieutenant that he did not have his place at the video conference you ordered. According to Bridger, even his position as quartermaster and member of the ship's council did not give him a place in the meeting. Seeing no alternative but to file a grievance and hope you would redress the situation when you saw his absence, he obeyed. He was down in the engineering bunkers, leading an inventory of parts and tools that had been botched last week. The reasons for that are nebulous. Be that as it may, Krieg is now emotionally compromised and mentally on the lip of a precipice. I recommend immediate medical leave and 12 to 24 weeks of psychological follow-ups, with weekly sessions being the minimal term."

Saritsatva continued with the actual injuries: "There are about a dozen people that were roughed up during Bridger's mad dash to escape the SeaQuest. Mostly bad bruises and nasty bumps on the head. It seems they were content with knocking unconscious the men they came across but killed four because they resisted or tried to take up arms against the rebels. All these persons have been sent to their posts with an order to keep a weary eye on their own morale and health, to report immediately to med-bay if they start feeling symptoms, especially those of concussions, shock and burn-out."

Levine took up the pole while Meetha sipped her tea and rearranged the papers on the desk to show the appropriate charts while he spoke to Noyce. "Now admiral, our medics have treated Marcus Shan and Katherine Hitchcock as well as any ship of this size and caliber can provide. The bullets were lodged in soft tissues, had not penetrated anything too vital and the contamination from bowel contents to the rest of the body was negligible due to the fast interventions. They have both been assigned time to recover in our rooms and then two weeks of full rest followed by two weeks of light duties. They do have antibiotics for the whole month, along with pain management drugs and Gravol caplets at will to manage the side-effects from the harsher medications. They are both on the watch list for shock and moral burn-out given they were at point blank when the betrayals happened. The emotional impact of seeing Lucas attacked and damaged right in front of them, just before they themselves were victimized cannot be underestimated. They will need time for physical recovery but also emotional and psychological follow-ups similar to Lt. Krieg."

Meetha pursed her lips in distaste at the next case file. "Lt Crocker is officially listed in terminal condition. He has infarcted twice on the table during surgery, another episode once in ICU-2 and has caught an aggressive infection from the grime on the bullets Nathan Bridger used. We estimate he has between 12 and 18 hours left. He slipped into a coma about an hour ago and we do not have any hope for his waking before the end. We understand he was an old friend from the academy, some forty years ago. Please receive our sympathies, admiral. It is never easy to lose someone in such circumstances, especially when they had lost themselves already so many years ago."

Doctor Levine gave Noyce a single deep nod and expressed in low tones "May he be remembered amongst the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem; we grieve his passing with thee, admiral. He tried, in the end, to help reestablish Law and Morality aboard, to curtail Bridger's worst excesses. Alas, he was not sufficient to the task; none of us would ever have been. As such, his efforts were valiant and mayhaps the only being that kept Bridger from becoming truly violent and dangerous towards us all."

William folded his hands over his rotund belly and squared his still impressive shoulders, assuming an air of dignified detachment from the situation. "I thank you for your kind wishes, doctors, but I knew from the start that Manilow would not make it. He has nothing left in life and a lessened existence as he would have to endure would not appeal to him. Better he pass from this world at peace, never knowing how reduced he had become. His relatives, such as they are, will be informed but I do not expect any type of reactions, public or private."

Meetha placed her tea cup on the saucer with a discrete chinking sound as Joseph cleared the desk to give the entire space over to the file and charts for Lucas. The teenager's prognostic was grave but cautiously optimistic. Meetha gave the review. "This is the hardest and most complex of the cases we have from the incidents of the last few weeks." The female physician gave a low sigh. "He had his left clavicle dislocated and broken which was easily set and we put in metal pins to hold it during treatments. His ribs were aggravated by the new assault and other ribs were damaged. As a result we had to put permanent metal pins and calcium aggregate in seven different ribs to repair and solidify them. The implants will not impede his growth nor is there any necessity to remove them during his life. His diaphragm had to be intubated to provide relief from the swelling and accumulation of liquids in response to the multiple heavy traumatism. The stomach was impacted very badly, to the point of causing several lesions and deep tissue bruising that required surgery to rectify or he would have died in a few hours. He has severely bruised large and small intestines that are swollen but not dangerously so, therefore we did not intervene in that region as anti-inflammatories we give for other conditions will also reduce that particular affliction."

Doctor Levine took over for the worse part. "He was hit repeatedly in the head, directly in the face. It resulted in several deep, large cracks in the facial bones around the left side of his skull. The left cheek is broken. The nose was broken and flattened towards the right of his face thus impeding breathing for a period, but it is mostly a cosmetic issue now. There was damage to the jawbone which broke and had to be stabilized by pins and calcium aggregate. Several teeth were damaged, ranging from chipped to fully cracked and he will need extensive dentistry work to repair properly. The left eye socket's upper and outer sides are cracked badly. The ocular globe was damaged, the cornea detached by 83% and was scratched. We estimate your specialists will be able to reattach it but the actual surface abrasions could mean visual impairments of sorts, for some period of time, before treatment options become viable. As he is still not finished growing into his adult physicality, most opticians will balk at committing repairs that could deform and become defective as the child's body ages and changes. Our most conservative evaluations are that he has lost around 40% of capacities in the left eye once the cornea is re-positioned and repaired."

William Noyce stood from his chair, adjusting his crisp beige UEO uniform and spoke softly but firmly to the medics. "Make every effort you can towards Lucas. The others are important, yes, but not as much as the teenager. The specialists that are coming in will be spread around to handle the supplementary load brought on by the amount of Marines and SeaBees we have aboard to rectify the ship's situation. Except for the optician whose coming just for Lucas, the other medics will be directed to follow the triage rules and postings you affect them for the near future. I order you to concentrate your own personal time and efforts to Lucas himself, above all others including me if I have problems and need hospitalization. Is this clear?"

The two doctors exchanged a meaningful glance but nodded at the old officer. "Yes admiral. Your will is clear and shall be carried out." Levine confirmed.

Grumping lowly beneath his breath, Bill turned around and left the room to make for his stateroom. His energy was too low to keep on going anymore. He would take a few hours of sleep and then have dinner with the ship's executives in the officers' mess. He prayed that nothing would happen until then.

Improvised meetings

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening theme)

Wednesday, 19 February 2020; 18:00pm

UEO Flagship SeaQuest DVS 6000; Infirmary & corridors

Australia, northern coast, Darwin City harbor – UEO military sector

Timothy O'Neil felt like an old man three times his age. He was 33 years old, for pity's sake, and he was walking with a cane while leaning on furniture with the other hand! When he found that bastard Ford, he was going to rearrange the man's innards with a rusted, bent grapefruit spoon that has the little teeth all around it! At least he was mobile and not in danger of losing his mental faculties to the point death would be better like Lucas was suffering. It was a merciful thing that the poor kid was insensate with that many drugs flowing through his veins.

Humph! Knowing how Meetha felt about the brat, she probably gave him the good stuff too! Tim couldn't hold back the low chuckle that escaped at the thought of just how high the teen would be flying when he woke up. He knew for a fact just how reticent to take meds and anything psychoactive Lucas was. His mind and his sense of self were his only real possessions of any value that he owned fully and he loathed viscerally anything that took from him his capacity to control his own body and mind. An emotion that the lieutenant was able to empathize with wholly right about now.

Tim made his way to the infirmary's convalescence room #4 and walked in through the door, seeing as it was open already. Miguel was sitting on the side of the bed, his uniform shirt and t-shirt on the nightstand besides him, with a few wireless sensors stuck to his chest and left arm to measure vitals. An unknown medic from the G.H.W. Bush carrier group was busy writing down the stats and speaking with his friend in a low tone. Migs did not look like a happy little sailor at the moment. Well, Tim would be by his side with a helping shoulder to lean on and a friendly playful smack upside his thick head when he needed that too. What were friends for, hmm?

Walking up to the young cuban, O'Neil noticed just how stricken the other sailor was. He was a lot paler than his usual sun-kissed shade of light bronze. His short hair was messy and completely all over the place like a ruffled chicken. The poor guy's eyes looked lost and haunted; their color actually less vibrant than the normal lively forest green he knew so well.

(Two Steps From Hell – Never Back Down)

The communications chief realized just how deep the injury ran; Ford had been like a mentor to Miguel in the last two years. For all the period she was in drydock and then at sea for her trial run, Jonathan had kept a close proximity with Ortiz but not in a crushing or distrustful way. It was just that this particular boat needed much more than the regular radar and sonar other subs used and this created a necessary closeness between whomever held command of the boat and the sensor chief. This translated to every shift too, as each officer holding the conn would invariably need constant input from his sensor operator. Add to that the constant manipulations and maneuvering of the WSKRS around the boat, even as tactical decoys or package ferrying devices towards other ships had been both a hardship and an incredible learning experience for Migs. He had managed time and again to impress all the officers with his dedication, expertise and creativity in the use of his primary tools. He had done things with the small satellites that nobody at Fleet Assets ever thought of when they were designed.

That's probably the only reason Miguel wasn't dead now; because both Bridger and Ford had some sort of basic care for Ortiz they didn't feel for anybody else. Timothy had gone to the academy in Robert Bridger's class along Ford, Ortiz, Hitchcock, Krieg and Shan. They had all gone to different career paths very rapidly though. Ben had been driven and career oriented but left the service after a few years following a catastrophically failed marriage to Kathy then went into the import/export business with some moderate success. Katherine had initially been interested in Robert very strongly but it wasn't returned so she married Benjamin on the rebound. She then divorced Ben in a bad way barely a year later because she finally realized she was pretty much obsessed by her navy career for the moment, to the point of excluding anything that asked for attention or energy. Shan, Ortiz and himself were happy toiling away diligently in silence; single but not alone or isolated, still close friends despite serving on different ships for a few years. Ford was closer to Robert for a few years since they served on the same cruiser for two years before Rob was sent to the 'Lake Erie' whilst Johnathan got sent to the SeaQuest where he stayed since. That had been a weird choice since Rob actually knew the boat specs better given he had been present when Nathan Bridger had been deep in the throes of the creative process that gave her the iconic systems no other ship afloat boasted to date.

The group of academy friends got lucky when the SeaQuest rosters were filled for the construction management team during the drydock work. The ship would not require a lot of movement and the civilian scientists came aboard only in the second half of the second year of reconfiguration so she didn't ask a lot from the bridge crew while dry-parked, just surveillance. It gave all of them some much needed time to get used to the far more numerous and complex systems like the DSV protocols, WSKRS, hyper reality probe, aqua-tubes and many others. Being stuck in dock while the heavy work was done below decks was actually a good time for the old friends O'Neil, Ortiz and Shan to reconnect with Ford and Hitchcock. Krieg eventually rejoined the crew with the first batch of civilians and the old gang was complete for the first time in about seven years, since Robert died and they had all attended the funeral.

Timothy closed his eyes tightly, head bowed in reminiscence, old faces slowly passing before the eyes of his soul, like figures on a carrousel. Robert and Miguel had been tight; he was his second best friend after Benjamin, even before Jonathan, and they both called Rob when they were too drunk or depressed to go home alone. When Ben divorced Kathy, Rob helped her while Migs helped Ben and then they switched to make certain both friends understood nobody was choosing between them. Ford was on the sidelines, watching but not daring to make a move. When Kathy said she would concentrate on her career to try and advance in rank or position, he let it go and moved on, or so it seemed.

Tim could see how Ford would attack Lucas so viciously; he always hated / loathed the teenager's mental capacities and felt threatened by his incredibly stable, reliable character as a human being. The fact that he was less popular than the teen also rubbed him wrong. You needed personality and character for that, what did it say about him that a child was better liked and received more respect than he, the ship's Ex-O? On top of that, Kathy spent a goodly amount of time with him due to her being his immediate supervisor. With two departments put squarely on his shoulders but no subordinates to delegate work to, Lucas needed help from somewhere. Kathy felt she should be the one to give that help since she was his boss. Bridger saw that and made it worse for both of them any way he could.

No, Timothy didn't see any illogical situations in why Ford attacked Lucas and then himself when he tried to jump around his console to put himself between the kid and his adult attacker. Jonathan had been crushing on Kathy hard all over again since the first year in drydock so sparing her was normal. Ortiz had been out of the way and hard to reach, both normal plus the emotional attachment on top. Crocker sided against his captain and old academy buddy, a personal betrayal similar to Shan's, so Tim could see how Ford would react to that and attack them all in one group as they blocked his way to Lucas.

Still, while the hits on his head were painful, the emotional betrayal of somebody he thought he was still friends with after knowing him for fifteen years stuck in his craw and he would have payment for that backstabbing. For what? Because he pined after a woman who didn't even give him the time of day in a decade? For old dreams that never had a chance in the beginning? He turned on all his friends like a rabid dog, if they had a friendship at all. He wasn't sure anymore. And then selling out to the russians... Ford was due a date with a firing squad if O'Neil had anything to do about it.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Miguel asked gently from his place, now standing near the bed instead of sitting on it. The doctor had been silent a while but O'Neil hadn't realized any of it.

Tim startled very badly and opened his eyes locking on to the source of the sound with such an expression of fury on his features that both the young cuban and medic backed away in self-protection reflex. Tim took a calming breath, slowly exhaling it while bringing the solid steel cane back to the deck with a dull thud as the rubberized end-cap connected to the metal plating. The lieutenant looked at his right arm and cane, wondering how and when he had raised it like that, as if he was about to bludgeon somebody.

Blinking in weariness, he gave a shy, wan smile that was much more himself and said shamelessly "I haven't slept nearly enough and the pain drugs don't seem to have any effects anymore. Honestly, I have a concussion, I wasn't decapitated or brained with a pickaxe. They could let me sleep a bit more so I could recover better without feeling the pain and nausea. Or having to attend this supper of fools that Noyce is gathering. What a waste of time and efforts at this point. Half our people are down and the best one isn't even guaranteed to wake up the same as before. Fuck the brass and their need to shake their balls in our faces; it won't solve anything anymore. We're well passed the time for symbols and public image managing; we need something real to heal our community."

Ortiz glanced hard at the last man he knew as stable and reliable besides Lucas and understood how close to breaking he was. He also saw how much stronger and resilient the introverted, shy Timothy was and that he would come out from this a better man and more tenacious officer than anybody else. The inner fire that Miguel could see burning in his friend's eyes told him that many things happened during his trip down Valium Avenue and they would have a long talk about it with his good Tequila and some extra cheesy nachos Tim ate like Lucas drank coffee. They would make it through, those of them left, and they would work to make certain the sacrifices were not in vain. Miguel himself intended that those who hurt and destroyed such a kind, amiable and helpful young guy in front of his eyes not be allowed to escape justice for any length of time. Payment was called due and God would send His tax collector soon.

The doctor stood silently, witnessing something he had seen very few times before in his thirty years of service. Two servicemen friends attuning and communicating with eyes and micro-expressions what needed done to survive and then agreeing to doing the dirty jobs so the others would survive too. O'Neil tapped his cane on the floor twice, then placed both hands on the pommel in a very dignified manner, like an older gentleman, the finger with his Naval Academy ring tapping an unconscious rhythm on the wooden pistol-style handle as he spoke.

"The SeaQuest thanks you for the services you have rendered to her people, doctor. Miguel and I can see to ourselves from here on out. Good day. Migs, get dressed! The new chief of security might be your type but I bet she has better standards than you bare-chested flirting with her at an official dinner right under Noyce's nose."

On that, Tim turned on his heels and began the slow, laborious walk towards the officer's mess which today was quite appropriately named as they would be wading through an open air cesspool if ever there was one. And since he had grown up in cow-ranching country in Michigan, he knew a rain-soaked runny heap of manure and compost when he saw one. 'Ain't no life like Navy life' they said at the recruitment office. Bah! Maybe he could sue them for false representations?

Miguel scratched his head in stupor for a second and then shrugged. He had been right; Tim would bounce back faster and harder than the rest of them and pull them through behind him. It would just be a lot less pretty than he had hoped and he bet it wouldn't be painless either. Quickly pulling his t-shirt over his head, he sprinted to catch up to the surprisingly spry invalid ahead of him and then walked at his side as he pulled on the button-down shirt of his regular day uniform to complete a supposedly presentable officer. That was if you ignored the rumpled mess of his clothes, his even messier hair and the indubitable bleary set to his face that complemented the dead look in his eyes so well.

"So bro, what's for dinner?" Miguel asked gamely, trying to offset the flat mood.

"You have a choice of Canadian, Russian or American True South; pick your poison."

Ortiz was making a weird face when they turned at a corner and came face to face with a young man about their age with a blue UEO navy uniform that had rectangular patches bearing the Canadian flag on each shoulder and right under his name tag on the right breast of his shirt. Said name tag proclaimed him as 'Eugene Darby, captain, Canada coast guard' and Miguel had a feel in his gut that he was looking at the new boss. He was young, damn it! Was he even forty? Not that Ortiz was an ageist, not after working with Lucas a little bit. You lost that bigotry quickly when by his side for a while or you were really gone in the head like Ford and Westphalen. Still... The guy was young. Good looking in a rugged kind of way, too. White skin lightly tanned by months in the open air, short brown hair, clean shaven with clear grey eyes that looked at you hard and unyielding like the sea he was born to. Maybe, just maybe, they had gotten a lucky break for a change.

O'Neil inclined his head slowly and only a little to not aggravate his concussion. "Captain Darby. Welcome aboard, sir. I see you're looking for the mess the admiral is making? It's this way." Then he kept on walking, leaving the two other sailors to decide what they would do.

Miguel was caught flatfooted but recovered enough to give a wan smile and offer a formal salute while presenting himself. "Senior lieutenant Miguel Santos Ortiz, chief of sensor operations. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."

Darby gave him an amused look and spoke in the accented english from his native Newfoundland. "Good to see you back among us, lieutenant. Is your other half always this cheery after a concussion? He seemed a mite peaky there..." The man's playful poke at Tim's attitude deflated the bubble of worry in Miguel's gut. Most superior officers would have been offended at the other sailor's comportment and demanded answers or even reprimanded him formally. It seemed the new captain liked people with a certain fortitude to them and wasn't afraid of abrasive tempers when under pressure.

"Well, it's the first time I see him with a head injury, so I don't rightly know. We'll give him a few days and see if some TLC from the nurses in the infirmary might not help him along." Migs answered hoping he was reading the man's mindset right, otherwise there could be trouble.

The new CO chuckled and replied gamely as they walked towards the officer's mess. "Ain't that the truth about any poor bloke stuck in the back like you guys were? A bit of TLC or a stiff drink, either way, we all have to find a way to cope and move on. Only dead things lie immobile waiting for change to happen. We live ones have to make do and adapt; the alternatives aren't pretty or that many."

Ortiz nodded and grumped something in response, amusing the CO again.

They came to the door of the officer's mess just in time to see Timothy stop in front of a six-foot, two inch tall slavic beauty of legendary dispositions; US Marines colonel Lyra Dirnova, their new chief of security operations. Miguel couldn't help the small smile of appreciation from appearing on his lips as he contemplated just how well the beige BDU's and body armor fit her. Dang! They lucked out in the physique department; she looked like an olympic athlete for the wrestling and martial arts teams.

'Wonder what she's like as an officer and a person? Guess we'll see fast enough.' Migs thought silently.

The tall, very generously and very well proportioned woman had skin as white as porcelain, hair blond like spun gold and eyes bluer than summer seas at rest. Her appearance though did not impress Senior Lieutenant Timothy O'Neil; he read her bio and the result from the data mining softwares that Lucas had developed specifically for their needs to have classified materials organized and prioritized right on the first print-out. She was good, he gave her that or she wouldn't be walking freely around his boat with hard steel and a badge. Her grand-parents migrated to the USA to escape the rise of communism but wound up in Nazi Germany so they had to flee that place after just two years. They went to France, then England and then finished in the USA in South Carolina, in a fishing village on the East Coast.

She had served in the Marines since she was 18 years old, barely old enough to sign up without a parental approval form, and that was after five years in a military academy that she had willingly joined. She had never been a problem child, but she liked order and the services were in the blood as both sets of grand-parents, both parents and her two brothers were all under the flag in some capacity as army rangers, marines, navy or civilian police. She got up the ladder by strength of her arms, a hard head and never compromising the values and dignity of the corps unlike some who worked around Washington DC and the Pentawhores too long.

He could respect her character. He could respect her rank as a full colonel achieved at the very young age of 29 years old. He could respect her impeccable service record and bright future in the corps. He would not however back down from her and yield on anything he disagreed with. He would not let her pass in front of him because she thought she could look down on him for being among the walking injured when he should have died to protect his charges better. He would most certainly not in this life or the next allow somebody to look down on him and try to elbow their way past him with an attitude that was a mixture of Ford's arrogance and Westphalen's god-complex salted with 'Maverick of the seas' for kicks. The blond valkyrie was going to get an earful and see what the invalid could do, even without the big chair under his ass!

Keeping his tone of voice low and civil, though frigidly so, Timothy addressed the woman with a choice of expressions to make even the much vaunted Kristen Westphalen grind her teeth in worry. "Tell me colonel, is the protocol in the corps so different from the navy that you don't salute a superior officer when you meet one? Also, you do remember, don't you, that the same protocol stipulates quite clearly that officers always enter the meeting room in order of the highest to the lowest? Good. I wasn't certain if wearing that metal bucket on your head all week had done worse damage to you than I was recovering from right now. Now tell me, in simple words, please, as I have a concussion and I am a bit nauseous, who between the ship's acting Ex-O and the chief of security comes highest in the chain of command? And what are the protocols when the two meet in a corridor? I am waiting, colonel. And I can wait while you have your dinner in the brig to mull it over, if you want. It is, after all, not a very important point to debate. Especially since there is no debate to be had."

The look he was giving the 36 year old woman made Ortiz wish he could melt into the floor grates while the captain just crossed his arms and leaned against the bulkhead with a wide smirk. The marine was glaring at O'Neil as if he were cow pie back on the home ranch but he seemed about as impressed by that as aforementioned excretion would be if it were here in his place.

Dirnova produced a tight, shallow smile: "Good. You learned the lesson the first time around. It's good to know you won't let a criminal or a traitor run around your boat trying to bullshit everybody and give stupid orders. It's also good to see that you're finally willing to fight for your position in the chain and kick the asses of those who want to steal your position or piss a line around you like dogs in heat. Now, let's give it a couple of weeks and see if it was the pills talking or the man inside the uniform. Then, you and I will sit and drink and come to an understanding of who does what. Sir." she finished with a wide shit-eating grin.

Timothy didn't seem to find the humor of the situation while his new captain laughed out loud and Miguel clapped him on the back encouragingly. "Later man, I'll explain it later." Migs told him with a wide smile of his own as he pushed his friend of 15 years into the enclosed officers' mess hall followed by the other two.

A Supper of Fools

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening them)

Wednesday, 19 February 2020; 18:24pm

UEO Flagship SeaQuest DVS 6000; Officers' mess

Australia, northern coast, Darwin City harbor – UEO military sector

Tim entered the officers' mess without ardor or interest. He really needed to go back to sleep but now that the two chairs under the captain were in play, he had to at least put in an appearance, if just to keep the rabble below decks from getting ideas above their mental capacities. He fervently hoped Kathy came back to full health rapidly and took the Ex-O job as was her right by straight-line succession. That is, unless the fat tub of pig shit Noyce had something he was planning behind everybody's backs.

Who was he kidding, Tim asked himself sarcastically. Noyce was the director of US Naval Intelligence before he became the UEO Navy's Head of Fleet Assets; he always played behind the good people's backs, it was his nature. You don't have a 30 year long career in one of the intel agencies if you're a decent guy! And now they all had to live with whatever crapulence the lie peddler had brought aboard their home. Oh, joy!

"Welcome to our humble little getup, lieutenant." Noyce claimed amiably from his seat at the foot of the table. His bombastic false cheer made many want to spit bent rusted tacks at the fat fool.

Tim noted that the man had at least respected basic navy decency and let the table's head for the captain. Sighing deeply to garner some of his remaining patience, the comms chief took his temporary place in the first chair on the captain's left hand. Miguel followed and sat next to Tim's left, unwilling to separate from his friend after all the crap they lived. The sudden political uncertainties he saw in the ship's management team weren't helping him stabilize either. Darby took his place at the head of the table, Dirnova seating herself in the middle of the right side. There were several seats empty, waiting for their occupants to arrive for the 18:30pm supper. The unspoken elephant in the room was the one chair with a black sash across the backrest and a black handkerchief covering the tableware. Lucas. Even lying at death's door, he was present among them, making his gentle soul and deep thoughts a part of their lives.

The door opened again to admit Benjamin Krieg, doctor Levine and the elderly French civilian scientist doctor Lyssandre Dagoberte De La Sainte-Xulpérine who was slated as Kristen Westphalen's replacement as the head of the science department. All three people took their places silently. The door to the kitchen opened and a very young male crewman wearing a white waiter's apron over his uniform walked in, carrying a tray with pitchers of iced water and a bowl of lemon, lime and citrus slices. He set the pitchers and bowl on the table then passed out the menus for the evening meal's courses. Unlike the regular mess hall which was done buffet style all day long, the officer's mess could serve you à-la-carte when the occasion warranted.

And having the Boss-of-All-Bosses aboard counted as such, wouldn't you know... Snobby bastard...

"I do believe that's all the people we'll get tonight. You can start ordering." Noyce told the gathered members as if it were his boat and his right to order them. That skiff would not float for long...

He was made a liar just four seconds after that pronouncement when the door to the corridor opened revealing Hitchcock and Shan seated in wheelchairs with IV bags suspended on poles attached to the backrests of their conveyances. They were being pushed by a pair of orderlies who looked mighty uncomfortable at their tasks given the thunderous expressions on the Lt-commander's face and matching mulishness on Shan's own visage.

"Commander! Lieutenant! What are you doing out of my med-bay?!" Levine exploded, irate at the blatant display of militaristic idiocy in front of his eyes. Even the marines weren't usually this bad to deal with when injured and ordered bed rest from gunshot wounds.

"T's a flesh wound. Soft tissues, nothing worth bitching about! Sides, the chair does all the work. Now, Timmy, I like you a lot, but you're in my spot. Move. Now." Katherine answered jerkily as the drugs and far too short rest period had combined to create a frightfully nasty temperament. Marcus wasn't really any better but his strict asian upbringing by his parents wouldn't let him express it out loud like that in a room full of what his father would call 'his betters'.

O'Neil signaled Ortiz to move leftwards a chair and they resettled while the waiter took away the two excess chairs. The newly arrived officers were wheeled into position and properly saluted the superiors present after a minute of gazing at them challengingly. There was a deficit of trust at this table that everybody was feeling acutely. It would take time to rectify the whole mess but they would get there. The two orderlies spoke softly, signifying they would be in the regular mess hall across from the kitchen. They just needed to ask the waiter or use their emergency beepers and they would both come.

Snorting like a large fretful hog, which he looked like to be honest, admiral Noyce asked in poisonous tones "Are we all here? Can we order yet? Some of us had to travel across the globe on empty stomachs, you know!" while completely setting aside the large lunch he had five hours before.

"Well that's good for you that you have a stomach and it still works! I'm sure Lucas could sympathize with your condition if he were mobile and, you know, awake and himself..." answered Kathy in the same poisonous tone. Ben looked at her from his position on Ortiz's left with an approving stare before turning a baleful gaze upon the most senior officer at the meal, informing him that his faux-pas wouldn't be forgiven anytime soon.

Dirnova looked at Hitchcock as if she were radioactive material about to explode whilst Darby smirked widely and leaned backwards into his chair's backrest to enjoy the show. The Americans always liked giving lessons about military power and dominance to everybody, especially their allies. It would be nice to see the truth of just how fucked-up things were first hand. God knew he'd heard enough stories in his time with the coast guard to know for a fact their much vaunted maritime superiority was three quarters of hype and bluster backed by land-based ICBM's which had also been put in a rather lackluster perspective in the last decade.

The french scientist raised her scrunched nose up in the air to impress on others just how above the petty squabbles she was, but instead confirmed her character as an arrogant snobby bitch to match Westphalen. No wonder they had been close friends since first working together 30 years ago. It was also Kristen that signed her references and insisted she come aboard, despite her advanced age and questionable usefulness to half the projects she was supposed to supervise and administrate.

The captain decided to defuse the prolonged useless staring contest between his new first mate (he decided to keep her for now; she had gumption and he respected that) and the admiral by placing his order. He was mildly impressed by the woman's ability to hold Noyce's vitriolic glare with her own withering orbs while ordering without even looking at the menu. O'Neil ordered something with red meat but not greasy which given his meds and nausea was wise. Dirnova went with the steak plate as was her usual choice regardless of circumstances; marines need muscle mass and strength all the time, especially when traitors abound. Ortiz then ordered some fish, followed by Levine who took the same. The new lead scientist began a painfully long-winded discussion with the waiter about the wines they offered with each platter and finally chose something rather bland and unmemorable anyways. The woman acted as if the entire room was a stage and she was a venerable diva actress performing for them to bask in her luminary presence. What a waste of wrinkled old skin she was! Krieg ordered blindly like Kathy had done, followed by Shan who took something fish-based with some extra BBQ pork meat on the side. Noyce came last with a selection of three different meat brochettes served over rice and salad with a side of scalloped potatoes since they had some already for the main mess hall buffet.

The waiter went to place the orders and came back 10 minutes later to the beginnings of virtual trench warfare with a serving cart full of soup bowls and bread rolls. He carefully served each person while noting the tense atmosphere, clenched fists, pursed lips, half-lidded eyes and baleful glares that indicated the positions were already dug in and fortified. He just hoped he could retreat to the kitchen before the artillery started lobbing verbal shells in the neighbor's camp and made him collateral damage. There ain't no way that 3rd class crewmen were supposed to tango with brass like that! He wanted out while he could!

(Two Steps From Hell – Star Sky)

To the interested observer, it could be told that the old french woman was the Maginot Line; long, wide, impressive but ultimately futile as the enemy knew all its tricks and limitations. Not to mention she was designed already obsolete when still on the drawing board and she pointed the wrong way just like the real thing had. There were already four people determined to see her off the ship before the week's end.

Old William Noyce was the Siegfried Line; ugly, raw, brutal but the most effective defensive entrenchment at the table. His defenses were as massive as the medals and badges on his chest while his weapons ranged from the Law to Black Ops in your back yard at night. He would be the nastiest customer to deal with tonight.

Darby was like the Canadian High North; unassuming, remote, frigid, wide open unprotected land. Just like a lobster trap: if you go in, you never came out alive, just like the icy canadian tundra. Passive resistance for the most effective deflective force. Nobody really wanted to waste the efforts to penetrate and occupy empty land filled with critters and cold wind. Figuring out the man's game plan would challenge even Noyce and his ally Dirnova all evening long. That poker face, now that was sport!

Hitchcock was like a battalion of SeaBees engineers; slow, ponderous but promising an efficient and imaginative penetration of Noyce's defenses if he kept putting out challenging glares the way he did. She was presently laying verbal mines about old academy friendships gone sour and drawing uncomfortable parallels between Him and Bridger with Her and Ford. She was being capably assisted by Krieg who served as a foil to orient the discourse so she could lay her word-traps devilishly right before the admiral could answer safely. Damn the woman was fast on the offensive despite the injuries and drugs! She needed an eye kept on her from now on to see if she couldn't get placed somewhere her social and oratory talents would be better used. And Krieg was no mental lightweight no matter was Ford and Bridger had said in the past as proved by capacity to trick Noyce a few times into taking bait that Kathy would then pull on to reel him into her traps.

O'Neil was silently spooning his soup to his mouth while making discrete sign language gestures to Miguel and Marcus that made him look like an Aegis Destroyer on the prowl for enemy ships to engage. He was also putting out false signals and disinformation in his messages to his friends, the pale, pasty crud! That was another who was vastly underused aboard this tub, unless Lucas was alive and active to employ him as back-up in his web-wide schemes.

Ortiz was making a show of facetiously buttering small pieces of his bread roll one at a time before eating them while responding to Tim and Marcus with his own gestures while also verbally putting out false echoes and reports like ECM from a CIA signals interception ship. He was good at it, too. Maybe he could be sent to a few state dinners from now on if he was that capable. Paired with O'Neil and Shan they could make a human intel gathering team of formidable efficiency the old admiral thought gleefully as he mentally revised the calendar of diplomatic events in the next few months.

Shan was alternating between putting out silent codes and verbally fencing with the etiquette and aplomb his father expected of his son. He used an affected semi-aristocratic behavior to obnubilate the senses and social radar of the old french biddy three seats to his left whilst also forcing Dirnova seated left just next to him to pay attention to him rather than across the table.

Dirnova was trying to follow all the actions and meanings over the theater of operations only to realize she had been partitioned quite effectively between Levine on her immediate left and Shan on the right while Ortiz seemed to coordinate them to leave O'Neil and Krieg free to assist the new Ex-O in blasting the admiral's verbal and procedural fortifications to smithereens. What clusterfuck had they rolled their troops into? This boat was a civil war in progress with IED's in their plates and irregulars tunneling under every square inch of the deck plates!

The poor crewman waiter walked back in, fearfully pushing his cart carrying the salad and cheeses course of the meal right in the middle of Hitchcock dropping a verbal MOAB on Noyce's well emplaced fallacies that were designed to protect his well structured hidden back-plays while O'Neil supported her with some nasty underhanded innuendoes that dropped heavily in the conversation like an air raid on unsuspecting civilians at night. Ben used his many short, cutting phrases to spray across the admiral's positions like a barrage of phalanx shells coming from a fast-attack corvette.

The admiral's answering shark-like grin was not friendly but matched by the SeaQuest's original officers in kind. His urbanely spoken retort spread across the arguments of Kathy, Tim and Ben like fire from a tank-mounted flame thrower, calmly cremating their pretensions to ash around them. Only for said ash to be poisonous and sully his own lands as the lures were revealed for what they were when Levine spontaneously interjected an inane aside in their debate. Hooo! They were running silent ops in his backyard! And nobody saw them coordinate either! Noyce was pleasantly intrigued at this by-play and decided the game was fun enough to pull out a few munitions he kept back just to get their reactions. Such intel was always priceless for the long term plans he had in the background of things.

The poor crewman had barely reached the safety of the doorjamb with his cart full of empty soup bowls when Marcus Shan tactically employed a short silence in the virtual war to ask a small innocuous question of colonel Dirnova about traitors and fugitive recovery in the Marine Corps that fizzed discretely in the air like a gas bomb over a hospital full of invalids given how toxically baited the comment was. The poor 20 year old really wanted a new job that wasn't in the navy or diplomacy when he spoke to the cook right after that. Damn! These people played ugly and dirty! There was stuff in there that a guy his young age shouldn't hear!

A half hour after the salads and cheeses, the poor unlucky crewman was rolling in the main courses on his cart, wishing it were an APC. With all the verbal flak flying around the table he really needed some protection for his virginal ears and soul! After switching out the bowls for the appropriate plates and common serving platters of condiments, he made for a quick getaway back to the safety of the kitchen, afraid he would hear something that would see him get a new posting and a pay grade increase that really wouldn't be worth the troubles that came with it.

The officers were mildly amused at the poor crewman's escape while doctor De La Sainte-Xulpérine, as the only civilian in the room, and rather removed from the ship's crew and officers anyways, was completely oblivious to the meaning of the boy's actions. This confirmed for everybody else that she had to go and fast. She just wasn't cut out for a posting this high in this particular ship's roster.

Noyce was cutting into his chicken stick delicately while thinking on a replacement from the active civilians aboard. Surely he had a minion available and competent... Darby cut into his pork cutlets methodically while thinking about proposing someone from off-ship he knew was reliable. Dirnova was slashing her steak with merciless strokes, eating at speed the same way she would clear an enemy building one room at a time. She idly wondered which crony Noyce would shove at them, guessing wisely she wouldn't be asked an opinion until the last moment, if at all. Hitchcock, O'Neil, Ortiz, Krieg, Shan and Levine all signaled each other discretely. They would eat and play the pretty pony game with Noyce and then go access the master list of 'potential personnel' that Lucas had compiled in case the ship suffered massive casualties. They would trust his selections, after updating their profiles and data mining them for fresh events, just like Lucas had told them to do to avoid last minute surprises.

The beleaguered waiter brought in the desserts on his cart, two large serving trays that he placed in the middle of the table along the thermal carafes of coffee and tea. He then made the obligatory offer of digestive liquors since this was a high level meeting. Given the admiral and the new captain were present, the protocol permitted opening the alcohol cabinet to serve up to three bottles for the rest of the evening. The poor boy really hoped nobody got drunk. He really hoped he didn't need to call security to contain rampaging brass or he'd never hear the end while he lived.

All the soldiers were silently amused when the waiter almost sighed in relief that none of them took any of the hard stuff. The old scientist had asked for a green cream of mint on rocks to go with her truffled white chocolate mousse but she was the only one to partake in the liquors. Everybody else had meds to take and they all wanted to keep a clear head in the current game going on around the table.

The 3rd class crewman had almost made it back safely to the kitchen with his cart when Levine started up the trench war again by offering glibly to contact some friends amongst the jewish population of Russia to 'fix' their traitor problem if they couldn't do it themselves. His bland, contemptuous smile he turned towards Noyce was matched by the admiral's bemused smirk as they exchanged a small duel of missile barrages during the intermission of everybody else fixing their drinks and plates to eat their sugary treats to their liking.

Ortiz's completely unexpected comment of "I have a few relatives in Cuba with training from the revolutionary guard. They were never loyal to Castro or his regime's doctrine, they just went into the service to survive. A lot of people do that in those countries. With their credentials, they could enter Russia on a 'Party business trip' cover like a bullet flying through the air and find our missing goons before the CIA even puts people in. Then, getting to them... Well, establishing local contacts takes time. Unless you don't mind paying the Bratva for a contract? In that case, they have the contacts already. And I know Lucas could access some slush funds if he were awake; he told me of some protection money set aside for just such events."

William Noyce's answering wide toothy smile was not reassuring and the poor waiter was almost crying for his mother to come get him out of this mess when the kitchen door closed behind him. The sailors in the mess were again amused by his antics whilst the old frenchie was too busy drinking her liquor snobbishly with pursed lips and highly demonstrative mannerisms to realize that 'the World as it was known' was being rebuilt around her insensate ears. This simply confirmed she would not last long.

The meal finally wound down as doctor Levine decided to corral is patients back to med-bay and check up on Lucas before going to bed. He knew that Meetha would have checked in on him almost hourly in ICU #1 but he wanted to eyeball the situation himself. And he wanted to make certain his two runaways were back in their proper beds as well. It wouldn't look good for the end of his career if the final notes in his service jacket said he had lost people aboard the ship where he was supposed to keep them in convalescence because they wandered about and lost themselves. Idiot sailors! The tank crews in the Golan were never this bad!

The entire mess hall emptied out except for the captain and admiral, both nursing strong black coffees and now a small glass of high quality bourbon Kentucky whiskey. The two officers gazed at each other longly, silence stretching between them as they sipped their drinks and nibbled on some leftover dessert to dampen the effects of the alcohol. The other players might have folded for the night, but their Game was not finished yet.

Lucas resurgent

(SeaQuest – season 1 opening them)

Wednesday, 19 February 2020; 21:39pm

UEO Flagship SeaQuest DVS 6000; Med-bay

Australia, northern coast, Darwin City harbor – UEO military sector

Joseph Levine grumped lowly in hebrew as he set up Marcus Shan back into his room while Meetha Saritsatva took care of Katherine Hitchcock in hers. Both sailors were now exhausted and running on fumes they didn't even have to use up. It was apparent just how tired and disconnected from reality Shan had become since rolling back into the room by the fact he was now answering questions in Korean without realizing that nobody in med-bay spoke the language. Thankfully the sensors told them what they needed and the doctor administered another dose of pain management drugs with a bolus of antibiotics via the IV lines before letting the young man fall asleep from all the day's mess.

Walking out of CR #2, he met Meetha as she was done with her patient and walked out of CR #1 at the same time. They both nodded and exchanged a few facial expressions of commiseration about the hard-headedness of sailors to confirm the status of each patient.

Then they went into ICU #2 to check on Crocker. It wasn't good; he had slipped further into his coma and his life-signs were slowing down even faster than before. He would not reach midnight. The two doctors warned the monitoring desk about Manilow's condition and prognostic, to simply process the body into the morgue if he did pass on before morning shift. There was no need to wake them for this as it was the only conclusion possible at this point. His brainwave activity and heart rate showed clearly that he would never wake up again.

As their last task of the evening they went into ICU #1, passed the pair of Marines on guard at the door of the room. The two soldiers nodded amiably at the doctors; they saw how Noyce spoke with and respected them so they knew they were straight on the job. That and Meetha looked like the Universe's grand-mother and Joseph had an infectious humor that made even the grizzled 40 year old veterans smile in answer when he spoke with them.

Both medics approached the sleeping child set up on the extra wide, extra strong multi-segmented bed capable of taking an adult man up to 800 pounds of weight and size. Poor Lucas looked lost and adrift in the huge mattress and wide white sheets. He actually looked whiter than the sheets and that wasn't good, even for his usual porcelain white complexion that made his friends tease him about being 'Casper's cousin'. Silly americans and their cartoon references...

As the medics puttered around the bed and metal poles holding the IV bags, pumps and automated sensor controllers, an alarm began to beep softly. They both looked at the bed's headboard in complete disbelief: the boy was rousing from sleep! But how!? Rapidly, with practice borne of decades in traumatology and pediatric care, Levine began to check the wireless sensor pads attached to the teenager's thin wiry body while Meetha verified the actual readouts and control panels to make certain the machines were not disfunctional.

They got the only answer that mattered as the boy's one good eye opened and began to scan the room for humans and to recognize where he was. Seeing the two familiar faces and identifying some numeric marks on the ceiling around the lamp fixture, he calmed immediately and swallowed, trying to whet his throat and force down the lump he felt.

Meetha placed a glass of chilled water with a straw in view of him and then placed the straw in his mouth to let him drink his fill. Having been hospitalized for critical care a few times before in his young life, Lucas knew to drink slowly and swallow between sips. He used his tongue to push out the straw when he had enough. Meetha placed the water back on the wheeled serving table while Joseph approached slowly to avoid scaring the patient into a panic attack. He did something that he knew from experience works well with young patients and especially with Lucas given his mind and expertise in the biological and medical sciences. He checked each IV line, drainage tube and sensor while explaining the position and function of each as well as commenting on the normality or abnormality of each reading.

Lucas calmed down as the data from Levine's prattle filled his drug addled mind and made certain key sectors of his psyche reboot enough to process the situation. He was hurt badly but not in danger of dying. He could be counted as handicapped for the rest of his life in the left eye and possibly the stomach and diaphragm if solutions weren't found. All those could be worked with if he lived long enough with enough mobility and mental presence to help the R & D. The basic prognostic was that he would live, so he stopped worrying about his health and refocused on the immediate threat.

"Call Noyce. Now." he mumbled urgently in low voice through his damaged mouth.

It took about a quarter hour for the Admiral, captain Darby and colonel Dirnova to be present by the teen's bedside. He was now slightly inclined to be able to see the people without straining his neck as it had been hit a few times during the altercation. As it was, any movement made tremendous pain shoot through the entirety of his head and the medics were rushing through the pharmaceuticals catalog to find something that would affect the sensations without knocking him out completely.

Once the three senior officers were assembled, Lucas used his right arm to type on a generic tablet that had been set up on a small adjustable metal pole affixed to the bed's railing. He selected an app and typed a long string of characters then hit the activation button. A series of weird sounds came from the speaker on the tablet, making the sailors and medics wince in displeasure but Lucas seemed to relax.

The teen closed the app and opened another. Once it was active, he opened the ship's network access and established an automated parity system with the master copy of the app he really wanted to use and created the connection he needed in under three minutes. Once that was done, he again relaxed visibly, more at ease, and typed lazily a few phrases before hitting the glowing yellow 'enter' button on the screen.

"Hello, admiral Noyce, captain, colonel. Welcome to SeaQuest. I wish I were in better disposition to receive you aboard. No matter; the ship and crew, such as they are, stand ready to serve."

The boy had stayed silent, his mouth and head immobile to spare himself as much pain as possible from the massive damages he had suffered. His words had come from the PAL-system speakers set in the walls and ceiling, carried by a computer imitation of his voice, strong and clear as if he were healthy. The sailors moved just a bit, exchanging looks to confirm their mutual understanding of the process and what it meant about the child's state of health that he was using this method to communicate.

The boy addressed the officers again. "Admiral, you should clear the room for the next part. I have classified subjects to discuss with you. At Level-14 and above."

Noyce pursed his lips in thought then turned to the medics, eyebrows raised in interrogation.

Levine spoke out as he was the one with the most extensive pediatrics qualifications in the pair. "He is partially immobilized from the shoulders down to his hips and the left arm in totality. His head can move but we recommend that it be the least possible as you can see the external metallic splints affixed to the jawbone fragments and the skull to keep them in place for further surgeries in the coming weeks. You should all move to be in the field of vision of his right eye to not make him displace his head during the conversation."

Meetha continued for him as his attention was grabbed by something in the medical catalog. "Besides that, he his fully intubated in the throat by tracheotomy to insure regular, strong airflow to the lungs. He has been intubated by catheters inserted directly into the bladder and bowels to facilitate excretions without exerting pressure on the already swollen, injured organs. This was deemed a safer method, despite being incredibly invasive, considering we thought he would be in a coma for two to four weeks while the surgeries happened. As it is, I would not recommend moving him even to use a bedpan, let alone moving to the washroom to use the actual toilet. The risks of vertigoes, nausea, double vision and problems with his eyes and ears resulting from the injuries are far too high to allow that much mobility yet."

Noyce's stone faced countenance didn't vary a bit as the medics unveiled how bad the situation was. That the kid was awake, conscious and aware were three miracles above their expectations at this point and Bill wondered what the Butcher's price would be for the meat he cut them.

Dirnova looked at the poor slim boy, just 16 years old, lying in the wide bed. With all the tubes emanating from his body, he looked like an old car mounted on blocks to be worked on as a Sunday morning project between father and sons like you would see in old movies from the 1970's and 80's. He was so pale that if the lights were turned off she didn't think she could differentiate him from the sheets or the paint of the walls. Half his head was caved in and shattered by repeated impacts that she wouldn't want to get even while wearing her field helmet. She didn't know the full extent of the damages but this guy could give her men lessons in never giving up the job.

Darby had seen his share of accidents and fight victims. He had served in the coast guard all his adult life and seen a lot of hum,an idiocy on the waves during his 20 years afloat. From simple fishing trawlers with engine troubles gone bad to drunken passengers that turn a cruise into a blood bath, he'd seen it all. And what he saw in the bed wasn't different from the rest so it didn't turn his stomach or make him sick. With one big exception: it was HIS man in that bed, fighting for his life and limbs. Lucas was his crew; he was part of the people that composed his new command and he was his responsibility. That meant that Darby cared for his welfare even if they didn't know each other yet and he would make certain the persons who did this would suffer for it.

The two medics were intelligent enough to leave the room without being told. They both knew that if Lucas was mortgaging his recovery to speak in confidentiality with them right away, then it was important for the whole planet. The two marines at the door actually saluted Lucas before nodding at the senior officers and closing the door to block out sounds then stood in front to bar the way. There wouldn't be any accidental entry due to 'distracted' deliveries or rushing nurses.

Noyce walked to the side of the bed and sat on the visitor's chair, a small, dingy plastic affair that was made more for the ease of washing it than comfort. His two subordinates stood behind him, with Darby closer to the bed and Dirnova left of him. All three made certain to be in the field of vision of the teen's functioning eye. The flint-blue orb slowly tracked their movements while his right hand was lazily typing on the tablet which he never looked at anymore. He knew the keyboard by heart, having created the app himself. Why bother looking at it?

Lucas's synthetic voice sounded out again: "Admiral; protocols for the passing of powers towards captain Darby and the new chain-of-command have been initiated. Bridger, Ford, Westphalen and all associates have been de-systemized. Their clearances are revoked, are being tracked and I have set the system to auto-dump all digitized documents and programs they used to the forensics servers of NCIS, CGIS, FBI, NSA, CIA and Secret Service for analysis. The nuclear stockade is secure but the warheads need recoding as they are all in 'emergency parking' mode to keep either Bridger or Ford from launching them. I set that up the moment you asked for the emergency video conference. I had a gut feeling that things would go bad, especially with Ford having attacked me. A blind man could have seen it coming."

William pursed his lips in thought while Dirnova nodded at the boy to signify she approved of his precautions. Darby grunted and made a 'gimme' gesture with his hand. "Come on man, that wasn't Level-14 plus, you know it. Spit it out so we can clean the mess while you recover."

After receiving a nod from Noyce, Lucas swallowed passed his painful throat and began typing a long speech on the tablet. "Very well. If you trust them, then so be it. I have activated the 'Damocles' protocols to counteract Bridger selling any classified data or physical materials to the enemies of the UEO and NATO alliances. As we speak, the satellites are tracking him and calculating the best vectors to deploy the UEO's orbital laser weaponry to put an end to him. All you need to do is give me the order and I will end him and his mercenaries before they get a chance to speak of their secrets to anybody."

Taking the glass of water by himself, Lucas sipped some iced water through the straw to lessen the pain in his neck then put it back on the serving table. He typed another speech for the admiral. "In the event that you do not approve of the proposed course of action, I have already sent out to the entirety of all networks that I could reach and affect the facial patterns of Bridger and his cronies so we can track them real-time anywhere they walk, drive, sail or fly. Their identities are flagged as 'Black-Black-Terminate" to all servicemen and contractors presently on call to the UEO, NATO and US military service branches. All the bounty hunters that I could connect with, a little under 3,000 people, have received a certified formal offer at 5 million USD$ to bring down Bridger. Ford has 3 million USD$. The others vary between 50,000$ and 500,000$ each. All orders were emitted under CIA and Section 7 Blackheart safeguards for the duration of the retaliatory period of 3 months. After that, it goes into the usual channels and depends on what the heads of the UEO alliance members are ready to allow."

Lucas closed his good eye for a minute. It wasn't easy adjusting to a single eye as the depth perception was all wrong and having the left arm in tractions at the same time meant that his sense of balance and orientation were off as well. Weird, that, as it wasn't the arm or eye responsible for that. There must some damage or swelling in his left-side inner ear for his balance and equilibrium to be so impacted. Taking a deep breath, Lucas kept his eye closed but typed again on the tablet.

"I have been preparing these events since many weeks ago, when Bridger first sent you a message about wanting to use 'manly disciplines' and 'christian pastoral medicines' on me to make me more pliable. I could smell the stench of corruption and delirium around him. Then he went full-out nuts and asked for the permission to have specifically chosen 'men of good faith' hold me down and beat me into submissiveness to teach me to respect the Faith, the military and HIS command. At that point, when I saw that email go out, I knew he was gone in the head and started planning more actively."

Lucas hummed lowly for a few seconds as he ordered the thoughts inside his fuzzy head. "Ford had always been angry, mulish and verbally aggressive towards me but it was Bridger that empowered him to act on his rage. I can't say I'm surprised he attacked me repeatedly, his temped had always been one of bullying and violence; not just against me either. I have proof by films and written testimonials of at least five crewmen and two junior officers who were hit or abused physically by Ford in the months I was aboard. There must be more from before and you would find them if you investigate it."

The injured boy put his right hand at his neck for a second, in worry and then relaxed again. Blinking his good eye a few times to try and clear away the tears of pain and betrayal, he took a deep, angry breath and typed a new speech. "As you had ordered me when I came aboard admiral, I had set up multiple phantom servers to record all cybernetic activities going on. I then tagged for special attention several people that I could see were wavering in their faithfulness to the USA and it's allies. I auto-tracked everything of everybody; be they crew, officers, contractors or civilians like spouses and children that were calling their parent aboard. All activity through the ship's network or connex systems like cellphone towers and satellite phones were tracked aboard and even if they were off the ship. One contact meant an active tag, forever, anywhere on the mudball. Anything personal, official and supposedly classified work product and data transfers were recorded, parsed, decorticated, analyzed, data-mined and then concatenated into reports for all the intel agencies to sift through. I set the ship's systems, including PAL and comms linkups, to plant tracking spywares and retaliatory malwares into each and every piece of data, picture, music or program they were manipulating or copying. I can order these to 'ping' me back with their location or send out an order to self destruct either alone or by spawning multiple virus that will destroy the system and sub-connections they are on. I can now wage cybernetic war on whomever they are in contact with and whomever will buy their data afterwards. So if the Russians take the data but sell it to the Chinese and Iranians, those would be virulated too."

Admiral Noyce grunted once as he stood his rotund bulk from the blasted uncomfortable chair and leaned against the bed's railing. "Sleep, Lucas. You did well. Every order I gave you, every protocol and safeguard, it was all well executed. But tomorrow brings its own load of trouble. So, for now, you sleep and let the doctors heal you as best they can. Tomorrow I will introduce you to some people who will be taking some stress off your back by being integrated to the permanent crew in both of your departments. You get two divers and two techs. Exactly the persons you had pointed out in fact."

Darby nodded and added his own part: "You sleep and take care of your own recovery. We can handle the ship while you heal. Besides, from what I saw, you won't stay down for long. If you could set this conference up with all the damages you have and still screw Bridger and Ford over from an ocean and a continent away, then you won't let illness slow you down. We will take you as you are when you're ready. In the meanwhile, I will be having a real, genuine officer's cabin prepared for you instead of that jumped-up junction box you lived in up to date. We do have a few staterooms with a bathroom and a view on the tubes; choosing one won't be a problem and then you can move in when you're feeling well enough. You'll also have the office on sea-deck that Westphalen lobbied to have you denied despite the fact she had no say in the matter."

Dirnova looked deeply into the one blue orb she could see and saw the depth of mental power hidden beneath the glaze of pain and medically induced fuzziness. This teenager would not be a burden nor was he just a political crony of Noyce's like she had seen a few times before. Although, even those were usually rather useful in their own ways. No; Lucas Wolenczak wasn't the average super-brain with little muscle or backbone who hid under his desk when trouble came calling. Her security department would be able to count on him when the mess hit the fan and she felt better for that knowledge. Her only comment was to salute the boy, like the door guard marines had done.

Lucas was now on the verge of all his physical and mental limits for some time to come. He closed his eye in pain and tiredness but raised his right arm to give the marine colonel her salute back. "Semper Fideles, colonel. Keep my ship safe until I awaken. I will return." Lucas's own natural voice came roughly from his damaged throat. He spoke no more as he was now asleep, his shallow breaths and tremors in the left arm indicating just how drained he was at this point.

The three soldiers withdrew from the ICU room, now much better reassured about the felons at large and how quickly the situation could resolve itself. Time for some sleep of their own and then tomorrow, the new orders from the US President and UEO council could be made public, that way Lucas could hear them along the rest of the crew as he ate breakfast. Or swallowed the liquid swill they would straw-push into him, poor kid.