Author's Note: Intensity alert, this chapter may not be suitable for all readers.

xxxxx

Primal Rage

Day of the spacecraft launch

Lee and Chip were in the control room going over the final details before the launch. The whole thing was automated at this point; their jobs to oversee and watch for error messages and unforeseen complications. Chip had the conn. Admiral Nelson had just left to take his position in the communication centre. Lee would represent NIMR in the converted missile room launch centre. Between them the three senior officers had the primary locations covered. The three senior officers following stated procedures for this mission had their side arms for security.

Chip was well aware of Lee's continuing disquiet and had noticed a cold tension again between the Skipper and the Admiral and because of that he was determined that everything would go according to plan.

"Ah, Lee, what's up with you and the Admiral?"

That elicited a big Crane sigh. "I insulted one of our guests and left the Admiral to smooth things over. I think he understands my concern but I kind of dropped him in the middle of it. I could have handled it better and need to talk to him when we have a moment. Let's just get this launch over with and I will go see him and gladly eat crow."

Chip gave Lee's shoulder a quick pat as he headed aft. "Good luck, Lee."

Lee spoke over his shoulder with a faint smile, "You too, Chip. Hold her steady eh."

"Aye, aye, Skipper."

The two men planned do their utmost to see the launch was picture perfect for the reputation of the Admiral and NIMR.

In the launch centre Crane found Dr. Brand almost dancing with excitement at this culmination of many years of work. Brand paced and chattered impatient to see the memory transfer carried out.

Mary was set up with a workstation for her note taking.

In ten minutes the memory transfer would commence. Lift off was in fifteen minutes. Crane turned toward the hatch as Dr. Creager stepped over it and into the launch centre. The man seemed to be swelling with power and importance as the countdown to launch progressed.

Crane watched Creager with growing uneasiness and eyed him with disfavour. Crane conspicuously walked over to double-check the toggle switch cover. As he did so Creager walked over and stood beside him also looking at the switch cover. Creager murmured, "I have planned too long. I will not be stopped."

Crane inhaled sharply. Those words triggered vile memories that seemed to burst into his head all at once. The pieces finally come together to make a whole. He remembered: feeling ill every time Creager was near him, Creager silently promising defiance in Nelson's cabin, Creager knowing about Mary's tattoo. Now like a tsunami breaking over him he remembered those very words, words spoken on Mulayo with his own voice but conceived by a different mind.

With instant terrifying clarity he knew. Immediately he briskly turned away, strode to the nearest mike and double clipped it. "Chip! It's Krug …"

Krueger with uncanny speed and strength yanked the mike from Crane's hand and threw it so it snapped away, ricocheted off the bulkhead, and dangled bouncing on its cord. He followed up with a right hook to Crane's jaw then grabbed him and slammed him into the bulkhead. Dazed Crane felt himself sliding down. He blinked, tried to push himself upright as he shook his head to clear his vision. By this time Krueger had disarmed him, dashed away and grabbed Mary by the arm. He dragged her back toward Crane while twisting to hold her in front of him with an arm across her chest. The gun was in Krueger's hand and he pressed it up to Mary's temple.

Morton's calm voice came over the PA, "Lee? Lee, I didn't copy. Please repeat." Chip waited patiently looking up at the PA speaker. He double clicked to clear the line. "Captain Crane, please repeat your message." There was silence in the control room as all waited for the Skipper's reply.

When there was no response Morton turned to Kowalski and Patterson. "Pat, Ski, get down there and see if the Skipper needs a hand."

"Aye, sir." Kowalski responded for both men as they turned over their stations and headed out the aft hatch.

Krueger approached Crane who was pushing himself off the bulkhead and wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Krueger gestured for Crane to move toward the memory transfer device. Lee's eyes searched the room; there were only SEA technicians who were watching the fisticuffs in stunned disbelief while the countdown continued relentlessly. No help there. Dr. Brand was so preoccupied with the control panels the activity barely registered.

Crane met Mary's eyes. She was terrified. He backed toward the devise as the startled technicians started to straighten up from whatever they had been doing. Krueger blinked and nodded. His power freezing the techs immobile where they stood in some sort of force field. "Keep going, Captain."

With his hands up Crane backed up glancing over his shoulder at the device. The huge foot holders oddly reminiscent of Brand's indestructible robot's feet. The side posts with the leather arm restraints dangling waited for the memory donor to step into the metal boots and be strapped in.

Lee thoughts were on how to free Mary from Creager's grasp. As they slowly moved toward the device Krueger gestured for Crane to place his feet in the boots and abruptly terror flashed through Crane's being. Now he knew. Krueger didn't want a titanium body. Krueger wanted his body. That meant … Oh, god no!

Panic washed over him. Terrifying him. Adrenaline washed through him and his mouth went dry. His heart started pounding and he broke out in a sweat. God that toggle switch was wired if Krueger … Now he knew. Krueger would strip his mind out of his body and imprison his essence in that despicable android body. He knew it. "No."

"You will." Krueger jerked Mary's arm and pressed the gun harder against her temple. "Put your feet in."

Crane stepped back another step and almost stumbled on the foot holders. He twisted his head and looked down at them. He was terrified. This couldn't be happening.

"Quickly, Captain. Or she dies." It was his duty to protect his passengers. He didn't want to do his duty. Dying was one thing. Dying was an ending. This … was unimaginable. To be stripped of his body. Put into a lifeless vessel. He couldn't face this. He trembled and shook his head. Krueger used the gun butt to strike Mary's shoulder. She flinched and cried out.

"Place your feet in the device, Captain."

He swallowed a muscle jumping in his jaw. He lifted one foot balancing awkwardly on the other as he twisted his foot to force it past the curve of the foot holder.

"Strap it in."

Crane looked up, his face pale as fear sweat rolled down his temples. Once the strap was done up he was doomed. Seeing Mary's terrified eyes he bent down and tightened the strap to hold his foot in place.

He was lost. He couldn't see any way out now. This was happening too fast. There were only a couple of minutes left. It wasn't right. His mind could scarcely process what was happening. He was not going to die he was going to be transferred and immediately launched into space. This was impossible. It was possible. Krueger would take his body. It was wrong. It wasn't fair.

Kowalski and Patterson stepped through the hatch, the sound of their arrival distracting Krueger. As Krueger looked over his shoulder, Crane started to unbuckle the strap. Krueger immediately repositioned himself so the two men could see that Mary was hostage.

"Hands where I can see them. If you want her to live, move over there." Krueger gestured with his head toward the bulkhead where he could keep one eye on them.

"Captain Crane reattach that strap before anything regrettable happens to this charming young lady."

Crane glared at him his eyes furious but then he bent down and reattached the strap.

"The other one. Now."

He put his other foot in and reached to the strap. Krueger seemed to change his mind. "Ah, Mary will do that one, Captain." He shoved Mary away from him and turned to cover Ski and Patterson with the gun.

Mary stumbled as Krueger pushed her and landed on her knees in front of Crane. Krueger with a cruel smile bordering on insanity mocked her. "You've been in this position before both of you."

Both Captain Crane and Ms. Smith flushed. Angered at the memory and Krueger's taunt. There was no depth to which Krueger wouldn't sink to humiliate them. Mary buckled the strap then stood up and, shaking with rage and terror, met Crane's eyes.

"I'm sorry." Crane whispered. He hoped she lived through this. Mary gulped back a sob.

Nelson's voice came over the PA. "Captain Crane report." The Admiral held the mike in his hand and waited. No response came. Three minutes to go and Lee wasn't responding. He shipped the mike and started toward the launch centre.

"Mary, my dear, strap his arms in." The automated countdown was at two minutes now. "Quickly."

With tears running down her face she moved to do so. Terrified as he was Crane couldn't strike out at her to stop her as he wanted to. As his terror demanded. His duty was to protect her despite the personal cost. Cost! God! He feared as he had never feared before. Mary finished and took a tottering step back. Crane writhed trying to break out of the straps.

Forward in the control room Morton, not hearing any response from the launch centre to the Admiral's hail, ran aft calling out, "O'Brien, have a security detail meet me in the launch centre. You have the conn."

"Over with the others, Mary." Krueger stripped the safety cover off the toggle switch and gloated. "I get your body after all, Crane."

"No, don't. Please." Crane was begging. Fists clenched he was wrenching at the straps, twisting and tugging trying to get loose. Begging Krueger to stop this now.

The automated voice announced "Ninety seconds."

Kowalski tried to step forward to do something, anything, to help the Skipper but he found himself unable to move as if fighting an unseen force. "Uh." He tried to look at Patterson but his head wouldn't move. "Pat. Can you move?"

Patterson was already straining with all his might. "No."

Krueger bloated with triumph listened to the memory transfer device's power building up.

Nelson ran through the hatch.

Crane started to cravenly scream in dread. Jerking and pulling at the straps, screaming, begging Krueger to stop. Entreating the captive spirit of Creager to fight the indwelling phantom all the while knowing from experience that Creager couldn't. Hopelessly imploring the fates to prevent this.

Still several passageways distant Morton heard Crane's screams reverberating through the sub.

With a maniacal laugh of triumph Krueger ripped the protective guard off and placed his finger on the switch ready to rip Crane's very essence from him. Then with a theatrical flourish he flipped the switch.

Lee, straining and pulling on the straps that held him, tugging in desperation saw the Admiral behind Krueger draw his weapon, but it was too late. There was only one way out now or he was condemned to an eternity of awareness imprisoned in titanium.

"Shoot me, sir!" Lee's voice was imploring, his eyes were piercing, intense, begging. Drilling into Nelson's own eyes. "Sir, shoot!"

There was no time. Krueger didn't even acknowledge Nelson being there. There was nothing Nelson could do now; he was too late to disrupt the plan.

Nelson's hand came up the gun wobbling, the indecision tearing his heart apart. The gun wavered. Nelson's hand faltered.

"Harry, please." In extremis, Crane yelled using the Admiral's name. Something he had only done a scant handful of times, always heartfelt. Lee screamed. "Shoot me." Nelson had to understand what was happening. "Please before it's too late. Please."

Nelson's hand firmed up and Crane sobbed in relief thinking he would be freed from this horror, but then Nelson's shoulders drooped, his hand trembled. His hand and his head both dropped in defeat.

Nelson simply couldn't shot Lee. He had done it before to save a hundred and twenty three men but he couldn't do it now. It wasn't in him to kill his best friend.

Crane saw Nelson's hand drop. Saw the Admiral's face turn away in shattered grief and knew he was doomed. He had trusted his commanding officer to save him from the blackest of fates, but he was abandoned. With sudden, visceral, gut-wrenching clarity Lee knew this was exactly what he had done to Farrell.

He had been pitiless. Merciless. Ruthless.

He had done … this … to Farrell.

The stark realization took his breath away. All was lost. In defeat he dropped his head and closed his eyes. He couldn't look at his Cain.

Crane felt the shattering, excruciating, jolting thud in his chest. He never heard the sound of the shot.

The faint whitish grey crack formed suddenly. There was an overwhelming sense of urgency this time compelling him get through to the land of the living now. He responded instantaneously, forced his misty substance through the crack. It was imperative. The mist exploded outward like a white chrysanthemum firework to fill the entire compartment with fog then a central portion coalesced into something approximating his remembered body. He was beside the Captain again. The Captain was bound and mortally wounded, with no breath, no heartbeat but his brain still flickered with the light of life. There was less than a moment to act before death took him. He could tell the Captain could sense him suspended as he was between the living and the dead. He perceived the instantaneous confusion that clouded the Captain's mind. The misty form held out his hand silently asking permission to use the ring of courage. Crane's face was twisted in a wash of agony; grey with the advent of death, with no time left Crane unclenched his left hand.

His own insubstantial, remembered hand reached down, he intertwined his fingers with the Captain's and forthwith the ring of courage was on his own misty white finger.

It happened faster than thought, in less than an instant. He had the ring of courage. Instantaneously courage, power, and determination filled him with an inexorable might. The white mist of his remembered self swelled to fill all the space of the compartment. He couldn't be stopped. He could manipulate things in the world of the living better this time. Stronger. Faster. Braver.

In that same moment, clarity of understanding washed through the spectre. He perceived everything that was happening here, saw the imperative, and knew he could do many things at once.

He felt the Captain's terror, an all-encompassing horror. This time the Captain's fear was for himself. He felt it! Felt the need to die rather than be banished. In this moment the Captain wanted nothing more from life than to leave it.

No! It was not the Captain's time to die. A gentle white mist settled lightly over the Captain blanketing him in its shelter. He released the bonds, gently laid him down on the deck already skilfully tending the mortal wound in his chest. He knew this time what to do. He had to touch the Captain to do it. He could not tarry or hesitate since his touch would suck the gift of life from the Captain, steal his vitality, but he knew how to do it this time. If he could act quickly enough …

In the same instant another part of him in scorching, righteous rage turned to Krueger. Like a tidal wave of indignant judgement, a seething tornado of white cloud whirled and swirled engulfing Creager. How dare a ghost do what Krueger was doing? Life was for the living.

He met Krueger in combat. How could ghosts do battle? He didn't know but he did it. His wrath gave him more than his two remembered arms, he had enough arms and hands and power to do all he had to do. His anger at Krueger flamed like a blazing sword in his own phantom hand. His misty remembered arms were stronger than death, stronger than Krueger's stolen body. The tornado twisted and swallowed up the entity that was Creager/Krueger.

In these moments of crystal clarity, he felt immense pity for the dying spirit that was Creager. Creager had been here in the land of the living far, far too long. He felt a vengeful surge of indignation for Creager. Krueger had stolen Creager's body, that precious earthen vessel, stolen his death. Taken Creager's rightful peace from him.

He perceived Krueger's intention to steal Captain Crane's body forcing Crane's spirit into a body of titanium, never to be released.

His will became iron. He had the strength to prevent all of Krueger's plans. His intention flamed like a conflagration. His rage, like a flood of righteous anger, washed through him empowering him with all the valour, all the courage, all the bravery there was. It coalesced within his dead spirit empowering him with fortitude he had never known before. He had no fear.

He thrust the Creager-Krueger body into the straps that had shackled the Captain while in that same moment freeing Creager's spirit to his proper death. Stepped back and let the evil machine finish its work, stripping the mind and memories of Krueger from the body that housed it. Ignored Krueger's screams as his essence was ripped from Creager's body and imprisoned in the robotic one. The device moved the now android Krueger into the capsule. The spacecraft launched with a thunderous roar that shook the boat. Krueger was gone.

Crane was flat on his back. Time was meaningless when there was no air in his lungs, no beat to his heart. His heart destroyed. His lungs shredded. His ribcage crushed. He was at death's door. A mere instant before his brain died.

As so often before, Farrell was nearby, near him when he was treading so very close to the long darkness. This time though he wasn't afraid of Farrell or overwhelmed by guilt. What seemed to be Farrell's ghostly hand was inside his broken chest. Manipulating his body's tissues, squeezing his heart in an approximation of a heart beat.

The other part of him ceaselessly tended to his Captain. His insubstantial misty hand was inside Crane's chest repairing the shredded arteries and ravaged tissues of his heart, squeezing his heart in his phantom fist to pump blood and feed the organs. He was simultaneously mending the torn veins and capillaries, repairing the bronchioles of the lungs, healing the alveoli, and setting the shattered bones of his sternum and ribs.

It took just a moment, just a fraction of a second. The fierce maelstrom that was Farrell had freed Creager's body to his proper death, forced Krueger's spirit to fill the despicable titanium vessel, and saved Crane's life.

He held the bullet in the misty hand he pulled from Crane's chest. He couldn't touch the Captain much more. He couldn't completely knit the bones or close the wound, since more would suck the Captain's life away despite his best intentions or Crane would die of lingering spectre sickness. He placed the bullet in Crane's right hand. He had to leave things of this world in this world. His phantom-like remembered body stepped back and away to keep the Captain man alive.

The spectre knew that Kowalski or Patterson had to be here too. One of them was always near when he came into the land of the living beside the Captain. The Captain, Ski, and Pat; the men he was with when he died. He sought them. They were both there watching the boiling mist and their Captain's body.

He twisted to his right toward Kowalski who was frozen in shock and disbelief. Nodded his acknowledgment. Turned further right to Patterson and nodded his farewell. He continued full circle back to the Captain. The apparition of a body swayed and lost substance preparing to go back to the nothing as he completed the turn back to the Captain.

He couldn't go. He had the Captain's ring, the onyx ring of courage. He twisted the ring from his fading finger and his phantom hand began to swirl away, dissolving into thin fibres of mist. As his ghostly form started to dissipate into misty eddies in the current of revitalized air, he carefully slipped the ring over the end of the Captain's left thumb and folded that thumb into the palm. He gently closed the cold limp fingers over the thumb and ring. He didn't need the ring now.

He knew he would not be coming back here again. He had more than enough courage. He realized now that his Captain had shown him it lived side by side with terror. His Captain showed him in this final act that it was not wrong to fear. He gave HIS SKIPPER his parting salute.

His form swirled losing all vestiges of human shape. The white mist sucked back from the furthest reaches of the compartment, condensed and coalesced twisting faster and faster. Speeding into an upside-down funnel cloud, broad at the deck tapering to a pinpoint at the overhead. The mist was spinning, twirling, and undulating furiously. The funnel cloud's roar filled the compartment. In a crescendo, the thundering maelstrom grew in size and force. Then the tapered end curved down, descended toward Captain Crane. The pinpoint tip touched his left hand and the white misty tornado was sucked into the fist Farrell had formed by closing the Skipper's fingers over his thumb, over the ring, over the onyx stone it held. The deafening vortex of mist vanished.

Silence reigned.

Farrell was gone.

Kowalski's gaze was riveted on the Skipper's crumpled body. Had eyes only for him. He blinked in shock and disbelief. But he did believe. Believed Farrell had been there, a stormy tempest of rage, courage, compassion, and might, where only empty air and silence remained.

Believed Krueger had possessed Creager's body. Creager's dead body sagged in the straps of the vile machine near where the Skipper lay.

The Skipper's body, white as a ghost, still as death seemed completely lifeless but then it quivered as the Captain tried to draw a breath, a breath of life. His diaphragm spasmed and his shoulders quaked with the effort to suck air into lungs emptied by the force of the bullet slamming into his chest. His lungs had no residual air left to keep the passageways open, to assuage a returning breath. There was no sound since the Skipper's closed throat didn't let any air move through. Immobilised by shock Ski watched Crane struggle unsuccessfully to draw air into his lungs as the silence drew out.

Then Kowalski unglued his feet from the deck and started toward the Skipper wanting to help, comfort, console. To ease him past the terror of not being able to breathe but he paused. Someone had just shot the Skipper. Not the Admiral, he had seen the Admiral lower his gun before the shot reverberated through the missile room.

Ski turned and saw Mr. Morton standing frozen immobile, his gun still up and braced in both hands. Ski changed directions to first disarm the XO, to make the scene safe, but then he saw that Patterson, much closer to the Exec, was already doing that. Ski continued on to the Skipper sliding to his knees by the Skipper's left shoulder.

Patterson stepped over to Mr. Morton and in silence and a calm matter-of-fact manner placed his hands over Mr. Morton's. Morton released the gun into Patterson's hands and without ever taking his eyes off the Skipper held his two fists up together in front of him waiting for the inevitable handcuffs. Patterson seeing the Exec's riveted gaze also turned to look. Silence reigned.

The Master at Arms and his detail had barely cleared the missile room hatch when Morton shot Crane, stunning them all into suspended animation. There was no question as to his guilt. The MAA soundlessly approached and without a word clicked the handcuffs on Morton's proffered wrists and took the gun from a distracted Patterson. At that Patterson sprang forward and slid to his knees at the Skipper's right side. Other than the MAA, everyone was frozen in a profound hush, focussed on the trembling body of their silent Skipper.

Chip stood motionless in stunned shock. He had just shot his best friend. The man who trusted him in everything, with everything, trusted him but didn't turn to him for help in extremis. Crane had turned to Nelson. To Nelson, and Nelson had failed him. Nelson had raised his gun but couldn't pull the trigger. Hadn't had the guts to. Nelson had condemned Lee to eternal banishment in a robotic body fired into outer space. No death to release him. No friends to comfort or console. Just eternal unrelenting aloneness. Forever.

Nelson had failed Lee. Morton's fierce anger rose up unbidden, directed at the Admiral for failing his friend.

His anger also landed on Lee. Lee hadn't looked to him, his other best friend. Had instead felt the abandonment, the terror. Never thought of him. The one he trusted. Perhaps that trust had been imaginary all along. Lee hadn't thought of him.

Chip stood like one in a trance as Patterson turned toward him.

Pat was equally shocked and traumatized by what had just transpired but knew his duty. Secure the scene. Make it safe.

Morton released his hold on the gun as Patterson closed his hands around it. Patterson looked into his eyes but there was nothing for Pat to see there. He felt more than empty, completely scooped out and hollow. His feelings didn't make sense but feelings didn't. He felt abandoned by Lee. Ignored and overlooked.

He held his hands up together waiting for the handcuffs. Oh, god. He'd killed his best friend. There was nothing left for him now but to pay the price. The snick of the cuffs closing on his wrists in that background of silence loudly proclaimed his guilt.

The Master at Arms picked up the mike. "Corpsmen to the launch area on the double. Medical emergency in the launch area." His voice sounded strident in the otherwise overwhelming stillness. The mike clicked off returning the compartment to it unnatural silence. All that happened in just a few seconds and still no one uttered a sound.

That was the moment when they all finally heard the struggling Skipper get a breath past the blood and saliva in his throat. Heard the gurgling sound of air bubbling through fluids as he sucked a breath of life-giving air into lungs collapsed by the force of Morton's bullet. His gasping harsh in the otherwise silent compartment.

Patterson hearing that sound felt a wash of relief and breathed in lock step with the Captain as if by breathing together he could help his struggling Skipper.

Then Kowalski's oh-so-gentle voice was heard softly reassuring and directing, "Just breathe, Skipper. That's it. Don't struggle. Just breathe. It'll be easier in a moment. Easy, sir. Just take another breath."

As Kowalski's gentle litany continued Nelson stirred as if woken from a dreadful night terror, took in Patterson kneeling at the Skipper's side, Kowalski gently cradling the Skipper's head in his hands, Crane's bloody shirt, heaving chest, struggling breaths and straining limbs. As if in a tortured daze he turned away, walked away from his best friend, his chosen brother, stepped over the knee knocker and was gone.

He couldn't do it.

Couldn't do what Lee asked. What a terrified Lee begged him to do. He had aimed the gun and in crushing despair lowered it. Failed. He failed his best friend, his brother. He was Cain.

It didn't matter that he still felt guilty for shooting Lee when Krueger would have killed them all. He had been forgiven. His actions then understood and accepted.

He just hadn't had it in him to shoot Lee again. To inflict that on his friend's body, again. See the pain. Feel that crushing guilt. Again. Had failed when the consequence wasn't simply death but eternal exile from human life without hope of respite.

He couldn't pull the trigger.

How could he ever live with himself? His guilt was complete. Everyone saw what he had done.

Failed to do.

Abandoned Lee to a lifeless but indestructible titanium body consigned to the cold void of deep space.

Devastated he looked at the kneeling men so carefully tending their Skipper. He silently turned away and in forlorn, solitary, aloneness walked away. In silence he staggered blindly in shame and self-recrimination as he left behind the man he had called a brother. His eyes brimmed; the passageways around him blurred by the flood of his tears.

The next thing that anyone heard save the Skipper's struggling gasps and Ski's murmured reassurances was the hurried footfalls of Doc and his corpsmen arriving.