“I’m not even going to consider sending him there,” retorted Captain Bridger. “That place is for violent psychotics, for people who can’t be helped by any means.” I don’t think I could bring him there and then just leave . . . .
Westphalen sighed. “Nathan, that isn’t the truth and you know it. Yes, there are facilities that house the severe mentally ill. But Arkham Five also has very good, very successful treatment centers for mild psychological and addiction-related illnesses.”
“Lucas is not a drug addict!”
“Nathan, listen to me,”she said calmly, looking to where Captain Bridger was sitting, seeing the pain hidden inside him. “I found evidence that Lucas has used drugs both recently and in the past. If he isn’t addicted, then he is at least using drugs, and he needs to be treated. Arkham Five is the best place to send him.”
He glanced at her, wanting to respond with an angry remark, but saw the compassion and the anguish in Kristen’s eyes, knowing that she said what she did because she has to think in terms of the patient’s best interests. It’s just your frustration coming out, but don’t take it out on her. It’s not her fault. “No,” Bridger said calmly, “we’re going to give him more time.” He looked at Kristen again. “Arkham Five is a last resort.” And I hope we find the answer before there’s no other choice.
With a last look in the direction of the sea-deck, Captain Bridger left the MedBay to attend to the pirate search. Doctor Westphalen silently watched him leave, and then began to run the tests again, hoping for clues.
Okay. Okay. They’re gone. It’s clear. Time to go. Time to get the hell outta here. Time to get some answers, goddammit. Lucas surveyed his prison with care, trying to determine his method of escape. Fire alarm? Maybe. But not worthy of my skills. This place can’t hold me. Feeling the rage begin to burn in his veins again, Lucas felt insulted that they thought a little place like this could hold him. No fuckin’ way will I stay here. But I could use the fire alarm for something more creative. He withdrew the thin knife from its sheath, held it between his teeth, and began to create a scaffold. Table on floor under the fire alarm, cot slanted diagonal with one end on the table. Climb up the ramp, holding the chair, put chair lengthwise on edge of bed. While kneeling on the delicately balanced chair, Lucas spotted Krieg grinning at his efforts from his own chamber. He won’t be laughing long. Grimy two-bit thief, a fuckin’ swindler, a wretched little nobody who thinks he’s the best . . . I’ll fix him . . . fix his ass good . . . but later, when he doesn’t expect it. Maybe him and his whore. A two-for-the-price-of-one.
Cheered by the prospect, Lucas carefully pried open the frame around the fire alarm, using his knife to hold it open as he peered inside. No tamper alarms? Sloppy. Very sloppy. Popping the frame loose, he began to dig in the tangle of wiring until he found the ones he wanted: the wire controlling the door, and the wire leading from the fire alarm. Lucas scraped away a section of coating on the hot wires, and wound them around each other.
Trigger one and the other will respond. Now, to trigger the fuckin’ one. After disabling the alarm sound, the teen, his crazed mind anticipating success, shoved the knife tip into a second circuit of the alarm, fooling it into believing there was a fire. With a spit of sparks from the exposed wires, the door hisses open, and Lucas shrieked with esctasy as the light current ran its course through his body. It worked!! I’m free!! Free!! His face glowing with the thrill of electric shock, he ran out of the cell, ignoring the burns on his fingers or the stagger in his step.
As the maniacally grinning teenager flew by, Krieg rapped on the wall of his chamber, trying to catch his attention. “Kid! Open the door, kid!” Lucas stood there, grinning and shaking his head. “Kid, come on, I can get you what you need,” Krieg’s voice was smooth and oily. “Come on, what do’y say? What do you want? Girls? Booze? Some bright white? I can get it for you. What do you want?”
Sucker. Lucas merely laughed at him and flashed the one-finger salute.
“I’ll get you!!” screamed Krieg. “Little psycho bastard!!!” Yelling curses and pounding on the walls of his cell, Krieg began to make plans for his revenge.
Moving as quietly as possible, Lucas snuck toward the door leading to the corridor. Seeing what Lucas had planned, Krieg yelled warnings to the outside guard on duty. Goddamned idiot. His yelping noise covers any I might make. Just a little closer, motherfucker. Backing against the wall, just next to the door, he palmed the the door release and touched the control to hold it open. Here, boy. Got something for you. As soon as the guard entered to see what was the matter, Lucas sprang into action. Surprise, sucker!! He punched the guard in the face, knocking him to the floor, and knifed the guard in the leg. The hapless guard fell screaming to the deck, but Lucas, in a frenzy of rage, used his fists to pound the man unconscious. After retrieving his weapon, Lucas fled the scene, flying past a crewman, who dodged out of the way.
The crewman, having witnessed Lucas’ escape and seeing that he was armed and dangerous, hurried to the fallen guard’s aid, punching the internal com to the Bridge. “Captain, we’ve got a problem . . . .”
Standing on a stepladder, feeling Krieg’s eyes on his back, Captain Bridger examined the empty panel and dangling wires where the fire alarm had been in Lucas’ cell. Sighing, he climbed down and joined his companions on the other side of the room.
“Well, it’s Lucas’ handiwork, alright.” He sat down, and held the others’ eyes in his gaze. “You’re sure Ensign Lane will recover?” At Kristen’s reassuring nod, he continued. “I wish I knew why Lucas was doing this.”
A scoffing sound from Krieg’s cell answered the comment.
With some difficulty Commander Ford ignored it, and expressed his own concerns. “What bothers me is we still don’t know what caused this.”
“This is what we know for sure,“ said Kristen, in a business-like tone. “His DNA matches the one we have on file for Lucas, and the new sample doesn’t show any signs of slippage or duplication.”
“Not a clone.”
“No,” she agreed. “There are no correlations between Lieutenant Krieg’s samples and Lucas’ samples. But I did find a very important difference during Lucas’ examination. His brainwave pattern has changed . . . very significantly changed.”
Ford looked askance at her for a moment. “You’re not saying that someone’s controlling his mind, are you?”
Doctor Westphalen looked surprised. “It’s not likely, but not impossible. But, no, I think it’s far more likely that he’s being controlled by drugs or a combination of drugs and thought reform techniques that produced this behavior. Then, when the time was right, the behavior was triggered in some fashion.”
“How long would that take?”
“Depends on the severity of their methods.” She tapped the side of the bulkhead significantly. “I would not be surprised if Lieutenant Krieg is showing similar changes.”
“So the theory of external influence gains some credence.” Captain Bridger looked thoughtful. “Test that theory, Kristen. Also, let’s round Lucas up, but use caution in doing it.” He wanted to make sure this message got across. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt -- us or him.”
Now hidden in a small closet, Lucas crouched quietly, waiting for the time to move. I want to get the hell away from here, I want to get way the hell away from here, but I need answers, goddammit. This science lab is where I woke up, there, right there. How the hell did I get here? Christ, is Bridger doing some kind of experiment? With me? No. He wouldn’t do that, no fuckin’ way. I want answers, goddammit. I’d better find Bridger. Bridger will know what’s goin’ on. Squeezing out of the tiny space, Lucas swiftly ran over to the door, peeked out into the corridor, and went in search of the captain.
Chief Crocker heard footsteps approaching quickly -- footsteps like those a nervous teenager might make -- and ducked behind a corner to watch. Readying himself for force, hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, he noticed Lucas quickly moving toward his position. As soon as Lucas rounded the corner, now that he was behind the boy, Crocker called out to get his attention. “Hey, Lucas, hold up, son.”
Instantly, Lucas froze at the sound of the man’s voice and turned around slowly, his blue eyes never leaving the security man’s bulky figure. As Crocker slowly walked forward, Lucas slowly backed up until finally the wall prevented him from moving any further away. He’s got nowhere else to go, Crocker thought.
Crocker, relief showing on his face that Lucas was found, gently reached out a hand to take the knife. “Lucas, I’ve been looking for you.”
Wrenching himself away from the outstretched hand with a scream, Lucas feinted to one side before throwing himself at the Chief, slamming his small knife into his adversary’s side.
“Ahhhhhh,” Crocker shouted, shocked that Lucas would stab anyone, and fell to the deck, dragging the teen down to the floor with him. Torn between fear and anger, Lucas struck out blindly with his fists, breaking the Chief’s rapidly weakening grip, and fled the scene to find a new hiding place.
Chief Crocker withdrew his PAL, holding it tightly in his bloodied hand. One hand on his wound, he clicked the send button with a finger. “MedBay . . . this is the Chief . . . I need some help here . . . Lucas is on E-deck, aft side, heading toward the stairwell . . . .”
“Chief Crocker is in recovery and resting, but the wound was serious. I dare say it could have been worse, but he will recover.”
Both men were relieved to hear Doctor Westphalen’s words, but Captain Bridger’s relief subsided quickly as he realized that Lucas was still out there. “Any leads on where Lucas went?”
“None yet,” said Ford with a sigh.
“Damn.”
“He has to be found,” Doctor Westphalen stated firmly. “He’s going to be acting more and more erratically as more and more of the drug leaves his bloodstream.”
“I know that, Kristen. Before this all started, I didn’t believe he would ever act like he has been lately. I cannot believe that Lucas would do something like this.” Captain Bridger gestured toward where Crocker was peacefully sleeping. “There has to be another answer.”
Ford glanced sharply at his captain. “Chief Crocker told you what he saw, and he wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all. But there has to be another answer to why he’s acting this way.” Captain Bridger sighed, struggling to make sense of it all.
Doctor Westphalen cleared her throat. “Based on the evidence of drug use, Nathan, anything’s possible. His mind will become cloudy and he will become far more unpredictable.” Knowing that her information was not encouraging, she had to try to steer Captain Bridger toward the only route she knew. “He needs professional help, Nathan.”
Bridger shook his head. “ I agree that there’s something wrong with Lucas, but I still think there may be a possibility of an outside influence.”
“I’ll keep looking, but I can’t do much without having him here. He has to be found, and quickly.” Kristen didn’t feel she could emphasize that point enough.
Yes, thought Nathan Bridger, and quickly.
In a corner of the bilge, Lucas sat quietly, confused and shivering, looking around at his temporary surroundings. I hate this. It’s wet, drippy, dirty, and greasy. I really really fucking hate this. I didn’t find Bridger, I don’t have any answers. He curled up, pulling his body in, wrapping his arms around his knees, holding his knife in between his hands. Damn! Damn! Damn! What the hell is going on here? What the hell do I do now?
Lucas had been sleeping lightly -- a blissful semi-conscious state, no dreams, just drifting on the ebbing waves of the drug -- when suddenly awakened by a rough shaking. Huh? he thought sleepily. What’s going on?
Feeling someone’s hands on his stomach, he awoke with a jerk, yanking away, afraid of something . . . inexplicable. The resulting slap in the face knocked him backwards onto the bed. Crying out in shock and pain and anger, Lucas struggled to get up, to get away, but the stocky assailant smacked him again. “Shut up, you!!! Lay still, and do what you’re told!!”
“No!!” Lucas lashed out, felt his fist, his fingernails, rake across his attacker’s -- face? -- but his arms were nearly torn from their sockets when his wrists were grabbed and his arms twisted behind his back. Another punch, then another. And again. And again. Stunned by this unexpected attack, unable to defend himself, the boy cried out -- God, somebody, help me -- and every note of pain resulted in yet another blow. Weeping in confusion and pain, covering his face with his arms, trying to protect his aching body from this person -- this crazy man, this crazy man . . . . -- Lucas peeked out at his attacker, and gasped in disbelief. But . . . why? . . . no . . . not . . . Seeing the motion, the glance, the assailant grabbed the boy by the hair, and shook him like a dog shaking a chew toy, his voice low and threatening.
“Didn’t I tell you that struggling would only make it hurt?” The vicious tone of voice bounced off Lucas’ eardrums. Another punch, this time to the younger man’s kidneys. Doubling over, gasping in pain, his eyes watering, Lucas was dragged back up to face the other man. “Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you fought me?” A punch to the side. Coughing, Lucas began to struggle weakly and was rewarded by a flurry of punches to the stomach and ribcage. Seeing a blow to the head coming out of a corner of his eye, Lucas tried to ward it off, raising his right arm. The older man snarled in rage, and poured his effort into the blow. Lucas shrieked in agony, feeling the bone snap with a cracking protest. The blow, immediately followed by another, crashed into his skull, knocking him down onto the floor, leaving him dazed and helpless in a crumpled heap.
Barely aware, Lucas’ mind drifted, trying to make sense of what was happening. Picking -- ahh! -- me off the floor -- oh no oh God hurts!! -- back on the -- ah!! -- bed . . . what’s going on? Everything’s slowing down . . . Wait! No!! Can’t breathe . . . Don’t!!! Pain, terrible pain, pain, no no I don’t want to think about . . . Don’t!!! So slow, why can’t I move . . . . No, please!!! Weight, pressing down on him, pain, cold . . . . While Lucas’ eyes glazed, staring at nothing, Lucas’ mind wandered, walling itself inside a shell, away from the pain filling each part of his body.
I have never been this tired before in my life, thought Ben Krieg sleepily, as he approached Lucas’ quarters. We better get home fast before working so hard becomes a habit. Turning the corner, someone familiar caught his eye ... in an unfamiliar place. What the hell is Chief Crocker doing there for? A chill shooting down his spine, Ben ducked back behind a corner to watch from what he hoped was a safe distance. Judging by the look on his face . . . not to mention the scratches . . . . Scratches? The Chief adjusted his jumpsuit and stomped away somewhere. Now worried, Ben ran to see if Lucas was there. I hope he’s okay. Captain Bridger’ll have my hide for a shag rug if . . . .
The whining thought died in his mind as he opened the door. Oh my God. Dear, dear God. Standing there, his hand to his mouth, the image before him burned into his memory. Lucas sprawled on the floor, bleeding and battered. Blood spattered here and there on the floor, and blood drenching Lucas’ clothes, seeping into the floor beneath his still body. Vomit stained the bloody blankets, torn from the bed, thrown with distaste onto the floor.
Alive? . . . Dead? Nearly frantic with worry and struggling not to be ill himself, Ben ran the few steps to the unmoving teen, crouched next to him, and touched him gently on the shoulder.
“Don’t!!” Lucas screamed in terror at the slight pressure, and cringed away sobbing, beginning to plead hysterically.
Appalled, Ben gently squeezed the boy’s hand reassuringly. “Easy, Lucas, it’s me, Ben.” Another gentle squeeze. “It’s Ben, remember, Ben . . . . You’re going to be okay now.” Giving Lucas a quick going-over, a terrible suspicion formed in his mind. He’s a quivering wreck, been beaten bloody, and his pants are undone. It doesn’t take a friggin’ rocket scientist to figure out what’s happened . . . I’m going to kill him . . . .
“B-B-Ben ...” The soft shaking voice brought Ben out of his trance. Lucas could barely speak, his teeth chattering, blood streaming from both eyes and into both eyes from cuts on his face, his nose bloodied, his lip cut and swollen. “E-e-everyt-thing hurts, Ben,” Lucas sobbed quietly. “It h-hurts.”
“I know,” Ben said quietly, his heart bleeding in his chest. “I have to put you on the bed now. It’ll only hurt a little, I promise.”
As he picked the teen up, Lucas shrieked in wrenching agony. “No, Ben! No! I t-th-think my arm is broken, I think everything’s broken . . . .”
Now that he’s on the bed, I have to get some of these injuries fixed up. Trying to take the boy’s mind off what he was doing, Ben carefully asked him what had happened. Slowly, the disjointed story came out, in bits and pieces, in tears and gasps. He’s told me enough, what little he could bring himself to say, but I can see what happened well enough. More than I wanted to know. The Chief did this. Chief Crocker beat Lucas into submission and then . . . raped him. Maybe more than once. God help us both, especially Lucas, but I don’t know how to deal with this . . . .
“Why?” moaned Lucas, tears pouring from his eyes. “W-why did t-t-this happen to - to me?”
Ben couldn’t think of anything to say. “Okay, kiddo, I’ll be right back. I’m going to get MedBay, and they’ll fix you up. Don’t move around, and don’t go to sleep.”
“O-ok-kay.”
The sleepy voice did not make Ben feel any better. At least, I hope they can fix you up.. I know the physical part will be easy, but the rest . . . could take a long time. A long time . . . . Why . . . . Hurrying off towards MedBay, Ben wiped away the tears from his eyes.
Reaching MedBay, Ben ran inside. Seeing a fellow sleeping, dressed in wrinkled and dirty blue scrubs, propped up at a desk, he rushed over and banged on the desk in front of the man’s covered face.
“Whazzamatter?” The dark-haired man muzzily sat up and rubbed his eyes. Ben glanced the man up and down, thinking he was familiar, and then realized who he saw in front of him. Kristen, I’d give five bushels of lobsters to have you here right now. Ten bushels. I’ll even chill the lobsters for you. The chipped nametag hanging haphazardly off his shirt confirmed Ben’s suspicions.
“What can I do for you, Mister Krieg?” Doctor Joshua Levin wanted to know, pushing his battered and taped-up hornrims further up on his nose.
“I need some stuff for Lucas . . . he’s been hurt --”
“Crocker been at him again?”
Ben was stunned, staring at the other man. What the hell?
Levin sighed and wiped spilled amber liquid off the desk with his sleeve. “Crocker’s only saving his own skin, after all, letting up ‘cause if the kid dies, so does Crocker. That was the deal between them, ya’ know?”
“What deal?” asked Ben, unable to believe what he’s hearing.
“The deal between Bridger and Crocker. The kid stays alive to do his oh-so-very- important job, but whenever Crocker wants to party, Bridger looks the other way.” Levin winked lasviciously at the other man. “Get me?”
Yeah, I get you. All too well. Twenty bushels. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“I have too much work to do.”
Ben gestured around at the empty room. “Yeah, it looks it. Come on, let’s have some help here.” I cannot believe this. Thirty bushels, Kristen. He rubbed his temples in exasperation. I really need some aspirin.
Levin leaned back in his chair, clearly with no intent to assist Ben’s efforts.
Bastard. Ben leaned toward the seated man, so close he could smell the reek of stale alcohol on his breath and clothes. “You’d better help me,” he hissed menacingly. “Or you’ll regret it.” And you call yourself a doctor.
The unwilling doctor reluctantly gave in with a sigh. “Okay, okay, the supplies you want are in the second cupboard from the left in the box with his name on them. Don’t let him move around that much. Try to keep him quiet.”
As Levin spoke, Ben grabbed at the box, and found gauze, antiseptic, medical tape, and morphine. Some of this gauze looks really bad . . . dirty . . . well, I’ll use the best of the pieces . . . and lots of antiseptic . . . .
“Now get out of here,” shouted Levin. “I have work to do!!”
As he left with the precious supplies, Ben glanced behind him to see Levin merely sitting at his desk with his feet up drinking from a whiskey bottle.
Seething with rage, Ben entered the small quarters, heard the soft moans, and immediately began trying to calm himself. Pull yourself together, Ben Krieg, you’ve got to get Lucas out of this hellhole. Gently placing the box on the bed next to the barely conscious teenager, Ben bent down to soothe the boy. “Hey, Lucas, I’m back,” he said softly. “You hanging in there?”
The faint moan that answered him didn’t exactly make him feel any better, but at least he knew Lucas was alive. Retrieving antiseptic, tape, and gauze from the box, Ben gently removed Lucas’ shirt, and began to clean and tape the boy’s injuries.
“Ben!!” Lucas cried out, his voice breaking. “D - don’t,” he sobbed. “Please don’t.” The pleading desperation in his voice broke Ben’s heart, but there was nothing to be done; the injuries needed to be cleaned, at least a little. Ben tried to calm the boy, but could only watch helplessly as the injured teen coughed and gagged. With alarm, he noted the blood frothing from his friend’s mouth.
When Lucas quieted to weak protests several minutes later, Ben had thought of a new method of attack. Keep him talking, keep his mind off how much it hurts. For the most part, it worked -- Ben asking a question, sometimes several times before Lucas sleepily replied, sometimes interspersed with cries of pain and mumbled complaints. Finally, nearly a half hour later, Ben had done all he could. He looks like a mummy, he thought in despair. And some of the places he’s bleeding from, I can’t wrap with tape and gauze. I can’t set his arm, I don’t have that kind of training. Ben had settled for slinging and taping the obviously broken arm to his body. Hopefully it’ll keep it still. I have to move him . . . get him some help. Probably bleeding internally, why he’s so weak. Ben’s fingers touched the syringe of morphine, and he hesitated. No, no drugs. I am not going to take him to that quack, sleeping off the booze in MedBay. So I guess we have to make the jump home right now. Leaving the morphine where it lay, he turned back to his young charge.
“W-want to go to MedB-bay,” Lucas sleepily mumbled.
“Lucas,” Ben retorted, “I am the MedBay.” He retrieved the data chip from Lucas’ pocket -- the protective cover’s cracked but the data inside’s probably safe, at least I hope it’s safe -- and put it in the pocket of his jumpsuit. Ben helped Lucas up, an arm around the young man’s shoulders, half-carrying him. They left the blood-spattered room slowly, each step wrenching Lucas’ delicate features into a mask of pain, sweat dripping off his brow.
That was the longest trip . . . damned people here . . . leers, snickers, laughs . . . little comments . . . “cutting in on a piece of the Chief’s action” . . . I hope Lucas didn’t hear any of it. Ben winced. Ooooo . . . bad idea.
Now carrying Lucas, who had drifted in and out of consciousness the whole way, Ben finally made it to their destination. A storeroom. And hopefully . . . He peeked carefully, holding the door open a crack, as awkward as it was with his burden, and saw that it was empty. Yes. They stepped inside, and with a groan, Ben set Lucas down carefully on the floor. On his side, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do, in case he throws up? Fifty bushels of chilled lobsters, Kristen.
Ben got to work setting up the experiment as well as he could remember it. The equipment was the easy bit . . . it’s the details that get ya. Anything could have been the crucial bit. He scooped some of the sticky orange goo from its container with a spatula, wiped it on the petri dish, snapped it into position on the microscope, and eyed it critically. “I think this Nerex’s the same amount of Neristex we had before.” His voice was uncertain.
“Thinks,” mutters Lucas, his eyes closed.
“How much Nerex -- Nerex, not Neristex -- did we have before?”
“T-two grams . . . use t-two-and-a-half . . .”
“Water?”
“H-half a cup . . . .” The remainder of his reply deteriorated into a mumble. Ben’s head snapped up in alarm.
“Lucas!! Stay with me!!”
“Hmmmm?”
“Lucas!!” Ben’s sharp tone caused the boy to raise his head, his eyes flickering open, trying to stay awake. “How much water, Lucas? Where was it?” Ben kept shifting the tone and pitch and volume of his voice, hoping it would keep the teen’s interest, hoping it would keep the teen awake, hoping it would keep the teen alive.
“H-half a cup, t-th-three centimeters n-northeast of the m-micros-scope.”
“Where’s the current? Lucas, the electric current?”
“Three centimeters n-northwest of the m-microscope. . . standard current . . . B-Ben, it might not work . . . q-quantum weirdness is a f-fact . . . .”
Ben looked down at the finished set-up, that he hoped would send them both home. “It’s a triangle,” he said with some surprise. The current, the microscope with the goo, and the water shape a triangle . . . whatever difference that makes. Maybe there’s something to this ‘all science is connected’ garbage after all . . . .
“Uhhmmmm, yes, triiiiiiangle,” the boy commented in a hazy voice.
I guess that means I did it right. Ben carried Lucas the few feet until they sat next to the chemical experiment, and held the boy tightly next to him. Now or nothing, I guess. There’s no place like home . . . Ben took a deep breath, and tossed the water through the electric circuit.
This time, the flash of blue light was welcomed with hope.
Oh . . . man . . .anyone get the license number of that transport . . . Ben Krieg propped himself upwards with a groan and looked around groggily. Memory caught up a few moments later -- the other boat, Lucas . . . Lucas!!! -- and he was instantly on his feet. Lucas lay sprawled nearby on the floor, unconscious, his skin cool to the touch, blood already beginning to seep through the bandages.
Ben glanced around quickly, as he began to check the soiled wrappings. Okay, some boxes, some crates, closets and cupboards, all with about ten inches of dust and grit on them . . . a science storeroom, I would say . . . but what version of seaQuest is it? Make a note, Ben, when this is all over -- if all this is ever over -- come back here and check this scientific stuff out for their trading worth . . . . Ben sighed in frustration, as he realized that he didn’t dare just bring Lucas to MedBay straightaway. Of course, it can’t be that simple. I should have known. What if this is some third . . . what did Lucas call it . . . parallel world that’s worse than the last one? Ben shuddered as his imagination kicked in, immediately delivering scenes out of his worst nightmares. Stop it. You’ll just have to scout around first.
Looking down at the seriously injured teen, Ben knew that he had one more thing he had to do first. Before I go for a reconnaissance mission, a look-see, a little walk in the park, he chuckled at his own absurdity, I’ll hide Lucas somewhere . . . just in case this is not our home sweet sweet home. After choosing a relatively large cupboard that was fairly close to them, and bringing Lucas back to consciousness, Ben helped Lucas to sit up.
“Okay, Lucas . . . Lucas? Come on, time to go.”
Pulling Lucas to his feet by degrees, moving as slowly and as gently as he could, the boy’s sharp cries of pain echoed in Ben’s ears. God, is there anywhere on his body that doesn’t hurt?
“G-go?” The soft voice barely reached Ben’s ears and he had to strain to hear it.
“You’re going to hide until I get back.” Ben tried not to sound as scared as he felt; Lucas could barely walk he was in so much pain, he was so weak. Closing his eyes, feeling his young friend leaning heavily on him for support, Ben continued to explain. “I’m going to go make sure it’s safe for us, and if it is, I’ll bring back MedBay, and they’ll fix you right up.”
“M-medBay . . . .”
“Yes, Lucas.”
Ben helped Lucas enter the cupboard, wincing each time the boy cried out as a wound brushed the hard surface. It was not long before Lucas could not adjust himself by himself inside the cramped space, and Ben had to shift the willing-to-help-but-mostly-uncooperative body by sheer strength of will. After padding the bad spots with packing material and rags, and covering much of the exposed area with empty boxes and a tarp, it was a better part of an hour later before Ben felt that Lucas was as safe as he could be in this situation.
Okay. He’s got room to breathe, and he’s covered. Okay. “Lucas,” he called. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” Surely it won’t take too long. “You stay awake, okay?”
The mumbled reply was not encouraging.
So far, so good, Ben thought, surveying the corridor ahead of him. Peeking around corners before walking around corners, peeking around doors before opening them . . . anyone watching me would think I was paranoid . . . and they’d be right. Say nothing, do nothing . . . out of the ordinary . . . whatever ‘out-of-the-ordinary’ is here, wherever ‘here’ is. He frowned suddenly, thinking that maybe there was something wrong. I haven’t seen anyone so far, and it’s already been twenty minutes . . . maybe this is a ghost ship . . . an empty seaQuest . . . .
Ben shuddered nervously and swallowed hard, taking a firm grip on his imagination. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Mentally gagging the little voice inside his head who was trying to make his day worse than it was already, Ben peeked around yet another corner, only to have his heart leap in exhilaration before he yanked himself back behind it. Hold everything, Ben, he told himself firmly, you don’t know if that Bridger and Ford are really your Bridger and Ford . . . they could be someone else’s Bridger and Ford . . .they look normal ‘cause Bridger’s clean-shaven and Ford’s got hair and both of them are dressed like they should be but watch and see, you’re getting paranoid, Ben, really paranoid, but they really are out to get you . . . . Pressed tight against the wall of the corridor, bits and pieces of their conversation came back to him.
“I got your message. What’s she found?”
“A registration number on the pirate ship, traced it through the manufacturer --”
Ben was certain they could hear his heart beating, slamming against the walls of the corridor, pounding right out of his chest.
“-- and we’re approaching the owner’s current position.”
Pound-pound.
Pound-pound.
Pound-pound.
“Nathan, Commander Ford.” Doctor Westphalen. Thank God. Then maybe --
“Kristen.”
The affectionate tone of Captain Bridger’s voice was the final piece of proof Ben needed, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Taking a deep breath, Ben continued around the corner and strode briskly up to Doctor Westphalen. First things first. “Doctor, I -- ooooff!!”
Pinned firmly against the wall by two senior officers, Ben smiled weakly at them and didn’t struggle. After all, if this is our seaQuest -- and I think it is -- then maybe they’ve had the alternates. “Hello to you, too.” I have to make sure, absolutely sure, before I lead them to Lucas.
“I’ll call down to seadeck,” said Doctor Westphalen, concerned. She moved toward a nearby com, keeping an eye on the trio at all times.
“Commander Ford, what was it neither of us could do lost in the Bermuda Triangle?” Tension showing on his face, Ben looked earnestly at his commander, who glanced at Captain Bridger. “Don’t you remember,” pressed Ben insistently, “Doctor Westphalen had to do it for us?”
“Knot-tying,” recalled Ford, with a wry smile. “And she mentions it every chance she gets.”
“Yes, yes,” laughed Ben, gleefully. “That’s right, that’s right, she does.” Suddenly aware that he was grinning like an idiot, he forced himself to calm down. “Captain, do you remember what I said to you when we first met?”
“Lieutenant, what’s the point --” Ford began.
“Just answer the question,” interrupted Ben Krieg. “Please,” he insisted, “please, Captain, answer me. It’s important. What did I say to you?”
Bridger looked thoughtfully at his Lieutenant. “You told me that you knew my son at the academy, and then mentioned your former relationship with Lieutenant Commander Hitchcock.”
Ben sighed in relief. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
A perplexed look on her face, Doctor Westphalen returned to the little group. “There is a Lieutenant Ben Krieg still in his containment chamber --”
“Doctor, I can’t explain right now, but I need you to come with me . . . .” Ben insisted, interrupting her. “In fact, I need all of us to go there right away.”
“Lieutenant, what is going on here?”
“Captain, there isn’t time . . . .”
“Lieutenant.”
“Captain . . . .” How can I explain it when I’m not even sure what’s going on? Frustrated, Ben wheels around to face them. “Captain, can we go there as I talk? Please?” Ben hoped his anxiety and exasperation showed in his voice. “It’s important.”
Receiving a nod, Ben began dragging the three of them toward the storeroom where Lucas was hidden. “I’m not totally sure myself, but it all started when the experiment Lucas was working on blew up --”
“What?”
Ben would not be deterred, but continued to speak and walked even faster. He could feel the need to get Lucas to safety spreading like wildfire in his heart. “-- And the alternate universes, parallel worlds, separate timelines . . .”
It wasn’t long before the group, led by Ben Krieg, reached the storeroom where Lucas was hidden. Immediately giving up his struggle to explain precisely what had happened, Ben switched the subject and, taking Doctor Westphalen by the hand, pulled her hurriedly inside the room. “Kristen, Lucas is hurt, hurt bad . . . he needs help right now.” Still holding her hand, he quick-stepped her -- with Captain Bridger and Commander Ford following close behind them -- straight to the large side cupboard. “Lucas, I’m back!!”
Silence.
Oh no. This is not good.
“Lucas?” He called out again, anxious. Oh please God tell me he’s not dead he can’t be dead please God don’t let him be dead -- Frantic now with worry, the four people ripped off the carefully arranged crates and coverings, exposing the still teenager buried underneath. Doctor Westphalen put her fingers to the boy’s throat, and instant silence fell over the room. Please God don’t let him be --
“He’s alive, but very weak and in shock. Nathan, Commander, help me.”
All at once, the room swam around, Ben was so relieved. Thank you God thank you, Lucas looks terrible, even worse than before but he’s hanging on. Lucas did indeed look worse -- his clothes bloody and torn, his arm in a sling and bound to his body, his face and torso pale and sweaty and partially covered in blood-stained bandages, blood still flowing from his injuries -- but he was alive.
“Dear God,” whispered Ford, as he helped angle Lucas’ still body out of the cupboard. “What happened?”
If you only knew, Commander. “He was attacked, I did what I could . . . Doctor Westphalen really needs to take a look.” Ben couldn’t think of anything else to say, at least, nothing else that anyone else other than Kristen needed to know right now.
Rushing to MedBay, the group stopped for no one, with Ford and Ben providing traffic control, clearing the way for Bridger, Kristen closely at his side. Lucas lay cradled in Captain Bridger’s arms like a small child, unconscious and unresponsive, his head lolling, his eyes closed. Kristen relayed instructions to MedBay with her PAL the whole way, keeping the waiting team informed of her patient’s condition, but otherwise the trip passed in silence. Everyone was focused on the silence that disturbed them most.
Just as the corner nearest MedBay was turned, the alarms rang throughout the boat. “All hands, battle stations. Repeat, all hands, battle stations. Captain Bridger and Commander Ford to the Bridge.” O’Neill’s voice sounded the same way it always had. For once, Ben was happy to hear the call.
“I don’t even want to know what the trouble is.” Doctor Westphalen’s voice was edgy with tension and worry. Commander Ford immediately called up the MAG-LEV, and waited at the doors for his captain to join him.
“Ours are not to wonder why,” commented Captain Bridger, passing Lucas bodily over into Ben’s arms. “Lieutenant, help Kristen.” Already hurrying toward the MAG-LEV entrance, he turned and pointed at Ben, who was hugging the teen tightly to him in a cradled embrace. “That’s an order. Kristen, please keep me informed.”
Doesn’t that couplet finish ‘ours is just to do and die’? Bad choice of words, Captain. As the captain and the commander left them, the pace to the MedBay continued. When finally there, the pair, assisted by the waiting medteam, placed Lucas gently on a gurney. While Lucas was rushed into an examination room to be assessed and to have preliminary tests performed, Ben touched Kristen gently on the arm to get her attention.
“Kristen,” he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, “there’s something else you should know . . . .”
It was not until Captain Bridger entered the specially-designed elevator that he noticed the blood staining his jumpsuit. But there’s nothing I can do about it now, nothing I can do . . . . He forced himself not to worry about Lucas, no matter how hard it was, as he hurried through the clamshell doors to the Bridge. Kristen will take care of Lucas -- you have to protect the boat and take care of all of them. Concentrate on the problem you can do something about.
Lieutenant Commander Hitchcock met them and reported their situation.. “The owner of the Triumph’s employed by Condor Shipping, the captain of a freighter submarine.” She fell into step with the two men. “We’re approaching the owner’s position now. We’ve been hailing them . . . .”
“Their response?”
“No response, Captain,” interjected O’Neill. “On any frequency.”
“Put our friends on the main screen.”
The screen lit up with the image of a battered old freighter sub, slowly but surely moving away at its top speed of ten knots. I’m surprised that thing runs at all.
“Torpedoes in the water, Captain, from the freighter.”
Well, well, well. “Launch countermeasures.”
“Launching.”
His eye caught by something, Ortiz adjusted a control, then another, and peered at his console. “Captain, her aft hull doors are opening, something’s coming out --”
“Put Mister Ortiz up.” The view on the screen changed to the rear of the large frieghter, where something did indeed appear to be coming out . . . .something small and streamlined. Suddenly, the craft streaked out and wheeled hard to port, its weapons already firing on the seaQuest.
“Triumph-class submarine --”
“And it matches the pirate profile --”
That’s why they couldn’t be caught, they ran back to their home base inside the freighter. “That’s how they did it, people,” Bridger said. Now instead of one pirate, there’s two of them. Wonderful. “Fire on the freighter’s engine, we want to delay it, and launch countermeasures.” While it’s reassuring . . . I guess . . . to hear the sounds of these protective weapons firing, I wish . . . it wasn’t necessary. Why didn’t they just answer our hail? Are they so stupid that they would rather die than surrender?
“Freighter sub’s hit and drifting, fighter fire destroyed.”
“Good shooting. O’Neill, keep hailing them. Let’s keep an eye on the freighter -- she’s wounded but she’s still got teeth.”
We’ve been circling each other, around and around, for a few minutes, and nothing’s changed. One fires, the other counterfires. There’s got to be another way . . . . Captain Bridger looked at the main viewer again. “I wonder . . . .”
Commander Ford glanced at him. “Captain, each time the Triumph fires, she turns to port side. She’s using the direction of the fast-moving current to accelerate and get away from us.”
“I agree, Commander,” says Captain Bridger, thoughtfully. He paused for a moment, and looked around at each of the Bridge crew in turn. “So here’s what we’ll do . . . .”
Meanwhile, in MedBay, nurses were preparing Lucas for surgery. Doctor Westphalen, distinctly haunted by Ben’s news, washed her hands and arms in the sink, trying to prepare herself mentally for what needed to be done. X-ray pictures have already been taken, I know where the damage is, where he’s bleeding from, what needs to be done. Looking to her left, she spotted Doctor Korwinn meticulously washing his hands, up and down, back and forth, again and again. Doctor Westphalen looked back down, surveying her clean hands. Then why are my hands shaking?
Startled by a sharp noise, she jumped slightly in alarm and turned toward the source of the sound. Korwinn blushed apologetically, and again cleared his throat. “Doctor Westphalen -- Kristen, if I may call you that -- don’t you think the Bridge should be notified that we are beginning surgery on the patient? I mean, after all, it just won’t do to have instruments bouncing about the O.R..” As if in agreement with him, the boat rocked slightly.
Nurse Lara Jennings stuck her head through the door to the operating room. “Doctors, he’s ready. Vitals are holding steady.”
I can’t tell if we’re going into battle, if we’re already in battle, or what’s going on. But if there’s a battle situation, there may be casualties arriving soon . . . . Walking through the doors, Doctor Korwinn by her side, she only hoped that no complications made this surgery any longer or more difficult than necessary. “Lara” -- she ignored Korwinn’s swift glance of disapproval at the informality -- “have Doctor Hernandez come in for his shift early, and be certain that the MedBay is staffed, just in case there are injuries in the interim.”
Satisfied by the acknowledging nod she recieved, Westphalen turned her attention back to Doctor Korwinn, shaking her head in disagreement. Looking down at Lucas, silent and anesthetized, she knew her course of action as easily as she breathed. “No,” Kristen said, firmly. “Nathan has enough on his mind.” Glancing toward the door, Kristen glimpsed Ben’s anxious expression, peeking through the tiny window. Everything ready, she nodded to him reassuringly, and then turned, all-business, to Doctor Korwinn. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
Now the freighter sub and the fighter sub are both firing at us, thought Captain Bridger, an peculiar smile on his face. He wanted to laugh at the eccentricity of the universe, how it always seemed to work against you just when you needed it not to the most. How nice to know they work well together. “Keep us moving right with the current.” The freighter is in front of us on our starboard side and underneath; the fighter is next to it and above us . . . .
“Ensign Hawkens, lead the Triumph along.” Bridger raised his voice enough to be heard by the whole Bridge crew. “We’re playing possum here, we want to limp along as if we’re taking on water. Tilt us a bit, rudder sparingly.” We’re nowhere near that damaged but they won’t know that, so for now we just lead them into position. Captain Bridger leaned forward, looking at Ortiz’ screens.
“Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” Bridger said absently, thinking about his plan, hoping it worked. Hoping that people wouldn’t die because of it.
Ortiz snorted, clearly holding back a laugh. At Bridger’s questioning glance, he explained quietly, “I just hope we’re the spider in this version.”
“So do I, Mister Ortiz, so do I.”
Clapping the back of Ortiz’ chair in what he hoped was an encouraging manner, Bridger went back to scanning the main screen. Just standing here, waiting for the fly -- er, submarines. The freighter is struggling to position itself from below to launch its weapons, but here comes the fighter, taking the bait, down from the surface, fast -- and we’re all running parallel against the current. Okay . . . .
“On my mark,” Captain Bridger said, leaning forward, eyes locked to the screen, waiting and tense. Any second now . . . .
The fighter circled to port, flying with the current, and fired on the seaQuest.
At the same instant, the freighter fired on the seaQuest.
“Emergency speed now,” ordered Bridger. We’re smack between them . . . but not for long.
The seaQuest flew out of the way of the incoming weapons. Each of the attacking submarines was hit by its partner’s torpedoes.
“The frieghter is going down, Captain, she’s launched her emergency pods.”
“Captain, the Triumph’s badly damaged, hailing us, and surrendering.”
Relieved, Captain Bridger acknowledged both officers. “Good. We want to pick up those pods and accept the Triumph’s surrender. Commander, take a security team or two and arrest the survivors. Take the Triumph and her crew into custody, charges of piracy.”
Now that the survivors of both renegade ships have been rescued and placed in the brig and now that Noyce has been notified of the capture, I can go to MedBay and worry in peace, thought Captain Bridger as he exited the MAG-LEV and headed toward the MedBay. And try to figure out how to keep the Bridge crew out so that Lucas can recover. He remembered the looks on their faces during his brief announcement all too well. But it least it explains Lucas’ and Kreig’s behavior . . . there were two of them.
Glancing around the room, he spotted Doctor Westphalen sitting near Lucas’ bedside. She looks distressed, well, of course she is, but more so than I would expect. I hope that doesn’t mean something serious. Passing the Chief’s bedside, he thought that Crocker looked to be improving. His color’s better. One good thing, anyway.
She greeted him quietly, and the couple moved a few feet away. Watching Lucas sleep, Kristen couldn’t decide just how to break the news. “Lucas is sleeping now, but he’s in restraints for his own protection. He cannot move around. His condition is not good, but he’ll heal.” She took Nathan’s hand and squeezed it in reassurance. “His total injuries are: two fractured ribs, a broken arm, two concussions-- one having taken place on the heels of another, so he’ll be awakened briefly each hour -- and some internal bleeding. He also had a ruptured spleen which had to be removed, and numerous cuts and bruises.”
Kristen glanced down at the sleeping Lucas, gazing on the ugly pattern of purplish bruises on his face and the visible parts of his body. She took Bridger by the hand, and led him to a more secluded part of MedBay. “You’d better sit down, Nathan.”
He did so in the first chair he saw, his face freezing, hearing the certainty of bad news. Lucas looks terrible . . . god . . . bruised all the colors of the rainbow . . . arm encased in a cast . . . bandages . . . and hurt so badly he isn’t allowed to move. A spinal injury? Did I hurt him more, picking him up out of that damned cupboard?
Kristen hesitated before again taking both his hands in her own. “I found that Lucas had been sexually assaulted,” she said as gently as possible. Hearing the gasp of shock, she squeezed hard, holding him close. “There were rectal tears and internal bleeding that had to be cleaned and sutured.” She paused briefly. “I would say, from what I saw, that he was beaten unconscious prior to being raped.”
Horrified and angry, Nathan Bridger couldn’t think of anything to say. His mouth was dry from the shock of the news. Some terrible fiend squeezed the blood right out of his heart, just ripped his heart from his chest, bleeding all over the deck. Oh . . . God . . . no . . please no . . . . He felt and fought the tears stinging his eyes, resolved that the pain had to wait until he was alone in his quarters, no matter how much it hurt.
“I hope so.” Quietly, Krieg appeared from behind them, having treaded on silent feet from the other side of MedBay where he had been listening unnoticed. The couple turned to face him. “I noticed that the Chief was injured,” he continued quietly. “How did it happen?”
Kristen answered. “Lucas’ alternate stabbed him.”
Ben did not appear surprised by the news. “Is he in custody?”
“Not yet.”
Ben wasn’t terribly surprised to hear that either, but said nothing, and instead retrieved the computer data chip from his pocket. “Captain, while we -- Lucas and I -- were on the other seaQuest, we copied their personnel files off their computer. It may give you some useful information . . . .”
Bridger took the chip, glanced at it for a moment, and put it in his pocket. “I’ll do that, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
Ben nodded at him, then at Kristen, and left the MedBay, an idea tickling the back of his mind.
Ben Krieg proceeded to Lucas’ quarters, following the call of his hunch, entering the tiny room with care. The alternate Lucas is in here, somewhere, I’m sure of it. The first place he goes to ground, the only place he feels safe . . . at least some of the time . . . are in his quarters. With a snort, he rephrased that thought. At least, what he believes to be his quarters. Surveying the shadows of the room, Ben did not move, unwilling either to scare him away or to frighten him into attacking. Squinting, Ben spotted the boy crouched by the bunk under the computer table. There he is . . . gotta be careful now . . . after all, after what he did to the Chief . . . although I don’t know whether I can really blame him for that . . . considering . . . .
“I know you’re there, Lucas. I can see you hiding there.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Ben wondered if it was a mistake. Lucas leaped up to a standing position, his teeth bared like a wild animal, his arm outstretched with the knife pointed at Ben’s chest. I know he’s insane --look at those eyes -- but, God, I can’t help but feel sorry for him . . . the hell he must have gone through growing up . . . no wonder he lost his marbles . . . got to be very careful, very careful, don’t want to set him off. Carefully watching the boy, trying not to be drawn in by those glittering blue eyes, Ben spoke gently, hoping that he could get the boy to trust him, even a little.
“Hey, it’s okay, Lucas,” Ben said soothingly. “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you.” With each soft word, he took a tiny little step toward the boy, whose wild eyes did not leave Krieg for a second. “This isn’t the seaQuest you know. You and the other Ben Krieg -- the one back in the containment chamber -- were brought here through a wormhole. There are alternate worlds with separate timelines. I’m the Ben Krieg from this world.” Ben was so close now he could practically reach out and touch the boy. “You’re the Lucas from another world.”
“Bullshit,” scoffed Lucas. “You’re just spinning a tale, asshole.” The boy giggled suddenly, but the knife did not waver. “I ain’t fallin’ for it, so you can just go sell your story to Reader’s Digest.”
Ben glanced slightly to one side of the teenager, and his hopes rose again. Clearly wondering what was going on, Darwin approached their position, peering into the room from inside the aquatube. Looking from one to the other, Ben would swear that the dolphin was concerned, but wondered what Darwin would do next. Leaving with a swirl of water, the dolphin headed away from the couple, flashing winks and significant looks in Ben’s direction. Okay, just what the hell does that mean from dolphin to English? Circling around at the far end of the tube, where Ben could just barely see the tip of his tail flukes, the dolphin swam at a fast rate of speed back toward where Lucas was standing. He’s picking up speed . . . what’s he doing?
“You should look behind you.” Ben advised the teen.
“Ha!” laughed Lucas, sharply. “Like I’m gonna fall for that old gag. What kind of idiot do you --”
Darwin, coming in like a torpedo, smacked his tail against the window in Lucas’ quarters, creating a thunderous clamor. Shocked by the unexpectedness of the sound, Lucas wheeled around in surprise and Ben moved in, grabbing the boy’s arm and sucker-punching him to the floor. Ben was startled that one punch was all it took. Though probably Darwin coming in did some of it . . . since they don’t have one on the other seaQuest, it’s not surprising that he’s not used to it . . . . Now captured and shocked speechless, Lucas only stared at the dolphin, not making so much as a token struggle.
Ben, with a firm grip on Lucas, punched the vocorder control sitting near the window. “Thanks for your help, Darwin.”
Darwin’s reply came back via the synthesized speech of the vocorder. “Ben welcome.” Then, more sadly, “Lucas sick.”
Thinking of Lucas lying still and bruised and hooked up to tubes and wires and God-knows-what in MedBay, Ben looked down at his captive who looked so like the gentle teenager he knew. “Yes,” he sighed, “both of them are.”
With a swish of his tail, the dolphin was gone, swimming somewhere else. To the Captain’s quarters, maybe? For the whole story?
While on the way to seadeck, back to the containment chamber, Lucas made no trouble and was silent much of the way. I guess he’s thinking over what I’ve said and what he’d seen and comparing it to the world he knows. When the boy finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, almost defeated-sounding, and with a little bit of awe. “You were telling me the truth.”
“Yes,” Ben said quietly.
“No one’s ever done that before.”
Ben couldn’t think of a reply to that observation, so instead filled in the details. The explosion, the theories, the explanation, the trip back, everything he could think of . . . except how Lucas -- their Lucas -- had been injured. That’s not something that this Lucas really needs to know. Hell, he probably knows already.
Nodding his head sagely, Lucas grasped the situation immediately. “Quantum weirdness, it does it to ya’ every time.”
Remembering a snatch of comment Lucas had made right before the jump back, Ben stared at the alternate Lucas. “That’s exactly what Lucas -- I mean -- our Lucas said.” I guess there really is a genius in there, under all that hate . . . .
The grin that appeared on the boy’s face showed far too many teeth than Ben was used to, making him acutely uncomfortable and reminding him too much of sharks for his own liking. Lucas snickered in manic glee, apparently pleased at having made his companion uneasy. “I guess great minds think alike after all . . . .”
The prisoner again in custody, Ben hurried back to MedBay, wanting to check on Lucas. Chilled by the Ben Krieg he had seen, he could easily understand why the alternate Lucas didn’t trust him. God, that guy is cruel. Ben shivered. Kept expecting him to twirl a moustache like the old-time bad guys who tied women to the railroad tracks . . . or torturing small animals for fun. What does that other Katie see in him?
Reaching MedBay, Ben considered that he at least had one good thing to tell the captain -- the alternate Lucas promised not to escape again. He chuckled sarcastically. Which doesn’t exactly make me feel warm all over. He’ll probably keep it as long as he feels it’s convenient, but the second he gets an opening . . . whammo!! Spotting Lucas’ and Crocker’s beds, Ben then saw Bridger and Westphalen tucked away in a corner, talking quietly in hushed tones. Probably talking about Lucas, I bet -- the Captain looks like he’s been crying . . . can’t say as I blame him any -- working out some kind of counseling arrangement for him. God knows, the kid’s gonna need it.
Not wanting to interrupt, Ben waited by Lucas’ bedside. Still not awake . . . still tied up . . . I guess so he can’t hurt himself. He gazed at the pattern of bruises, now only beginning to fade slightly to yellow and purple and blue, wondering whether the boy would wake up any time soon. I don't know if I want him to or not. Either way he’ll be in pain, but maybe if it’s later rather than sooner things will have calmed down and we’ll be able to spend more time with him. What a world we live in! The couple’s conversation appeared more or less finished before Ben stepped forward. “Captain, the alternate Lucas is back in the containment chamber.” He looks terrible . . . like he hasn’t slept in days . . . but it’s only been, maybe, hours . . . .
“Very good, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
“He also promised not to escape again,” Ben replied. “But I don’t know how seriously I would take that promise.” He escapes again, and I don’t know what I’ll do. He really does look tired, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Captain Bridger nodded, apparently having come to the same conclusion. He looked up at Ben, clearly meaning to comment, and when he did, his voice was soft and filled with all the emotion he was trying not to show. “Thank you, Ben, for taking care of Lucas.”
Ben nodded his head solemnly, hoping that he wasn’t blushing. “I was happy I could help him when he needed me” -- Should I? Dare I? -- “Nathan.” Their eyes met with perfect understanding.
A halumphing sound from Crocker’s bed announced that the Chief was regaining consciousness. His eyes flickered for a few moments before opening completely. “Hey, Cap.” He sounded a bit groggy at first, but the disorientation passed quickly. Immediately observing his surroundings, his attention was caught by Lucas in the bed across the way. “You find what’s wrong with him, Doc?” Crocker then immediately answered his own question. “You must have, or he wouldn’t be out here with the rest of the world.”
Nathan Bridger mentally sighed, weighing what and how much to say to his old friend, who more than anyone had a right to know. Sharing a sympathetic look with Kristen, Nathan went to sit on the bed next to him. “Chief, we were visited by a couple of dopplegangers from an alternate dimension -- a dimension filled with duplicates of us, but they and their situation are very different. That,” pointing at Ben, “is our Lieutenant Krieg, and that,” pointing at Lucas, “is our Lucas Wolenczak. The Ben Krieg locked away on seadeck and the Lucas Wolenczak who attacked you are from the alternate dimension. Our wandering crewmembers went there for a little while, but found their way home.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, still trying to figure out what to say.
“I guess I follow, Cap.” Crocker’s voice indicated, though, that he was a bit dubious about the whole thing. “But there’s something you’re not telling me, and I won’t have it.”
Here’s the really hard bit . . . I don’t know how he’ll take this. Hell, how would any good man take this sort of news? He’s bound to feel guilty even though he had no part in it. Bridger softened his voice, trying to break the news as painless as possible. “While in the other world, Lucas was,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “attacked by your alternate.” Taking in Crocker’s stunned gaze, Nathan Bridger continued speaking, slowly, pausing to fight down the shake in his voice. “And then raped . . . maybe more than once . . .” Unable to fight the pain anymore, knowing that no one in the room would really care that much, Nathan allowed a single tear to course down his cheek. “. . . We think this is why the alternate attacked you . . . he thought that what you were after . . . .” Unwilling to continue, seeing the horror on his friend’s face, Bridger left the sentence hanging, and felt no longer the single tear but several on his cheeks.
Horrified by what he’d just been told, the words left unspoken left their impact on Crocker. Bowing his head, raising his hands to his face, feeling his eyes all but filling up with tears, he closed them tightly. After a few moments, overwhelmed, he managed to speak in a faltering voice, his words cracking with emotion. “Oh, Lord . . . .”
Concerned, Kristen sat on his other side, and touched his arm reassuringly. “He will recover, Chief. Don’t doubt that -- Lucas is stronger than he looks.”
As Bridger and Kristen withdrew to prepare the experiment one last time, Crocker noticed Ben standing nearby. “Lieutenant Krieg, I need you to take a little trip to my quarters.” Calling Kreig closer to him, Crocker whispered in his ear for a few minutes. Ben nodded and, with a lingering anxious look at Lucas, left the MedBay.
Now that the experiment was ready, all Captain Bridger and Doctor Westphalen could do was wait. “The alternates should be here any time now,” said Bridger. “Then we can get this show on the road.” Whatever ‘show’ I mean, take your pick . . . .
“They probably don’t want to go back,” remarked Kristen, thoughtfully. “Certainly the alternate Lucas probably won’t.”
“I can’t say as I blame him.”
A few minutes passed in silence before it became clear that the group was approaching. Screams of frustration could be heard all the way down the corridor prior to the alternates, escorted by several security guards, entering the laboratory. The armed guards, clearly nervous, kept a watchful eye on their prisoners. Kreig watched everyone, everything, and clearly searching for an escape route to present itself. Lucas, also watchful but shaking with anxiety, was clearly upset by the thought of returning. “I don’t want to go back, I don’t want to go back,” he shouted, shaking off the restraining hands holding him prisoner.
“It’ll be okay,” commented Captain Bridger, hoping to calm the boy. However, he knew, deep in his soul, deep in his heart, that ‘okay’ was not a state of mind with which this boy was familiar. He’s probably going back to hell -- I don’t want to send him back but what choice do I have? He can’t stay here, he doesn’t belong here . . . but how can I send him back to that place . . . that terrible place . . . a fanatic captain, a lunatic crew . . . and a chief of security thrown out of the military for raping a child . . . but I don’t have any choice . . . .
“No, it won’t, dammit, it won’t be okay.”
“No, it won’t, I can’t promise that it will.” Based on what I’ve read of those personnel files, I can’t even promise you’ll reach your eighteenth birthday . . . .
“Wait, wait a minute!” Chief Crocker staggers into the lab, leaning heavily on Ben, carrying a small rectangular object under his arm. He held out the carton with his free hand, gasping with the effort.
“What do you think you’re doing?” shouted Kristen, incensed. “You go back to bed this instant --”
“Just a minute, Doc. Let me do this and then I’ll go quietly.” Releasing his hold on Ben, Chief Crocker slowly walked -- it was easy to see what it cost him, the amount of pain he was in, Bridger thought -- within a few feet of Lucas, and extended a small cigar box out to him. Wide-eyed and pulling away, Lucas advanced too close to Krieg, who smacked him in the middle of the back, hard between his shoulder blades. Snarling in reply, Lucas slammed his elbow into Krieg’s side on his way down to the deck. Security immediately moved in and separated the pair, breaking up the fight, and dragging both alternates away from each other. Again, Crocker moved in, giving the box to Lucas. After opening it, he looked up at the Chief questioningly, revealing a small revolver, together with five bullets.
Looking the boy right in the eyes, hoping that the force of his emotions came through, the Chief delivered a final piece of advice. “Blow the sonovabitch away.”
Lucas nodded quietly, shooting a thoughtful look at Krieg, and looked quietly in Bridger’s direction, his eyes level. All Bridger could do in reply was sigh, and started the experiment running. He’s going to go home and start shooting, and Krieg will probably be the first casualty in Lucas’ war, in the rampage he’ll no doubt enact on his tormentors, he thought. In the war he might even enact on himself . . . but he’s got a way out, I suppose. A revenge of sorts. But who’s to say that he’s any more or less evil then they are?
The seaQuest personnel fell back to what they hoped were safe positions, and the accident was triggered. A flash of blue light engulfed the room, and when the light had faded, the alternates were gone, vanished into the sea of oblivion.
Having dismissed the security force, the small group headed back to MedBay. They walked in silence, each thinking about the two individuals they had met and the twisted world to which they had returned. Although, considered Bridger, perhaps to them, this world was the twisted one -- but from the records Lieutenant Krieg and Lucas brought back . . . I’m not qualified to judge them or their world. Kristen, sensing the darkness of his mood, furtively took his hand in her own to silently offer her support.
Ford was waiting for them outside MedBay, holding a seaPOC in one hand. “Captain, I have the details on the renegades.” He looked uncommonly pleased with himself.
“Commander, you look like the cat that’s just sneaked inside an aviary.” Bridger hoped it was good news. I don’t know if I can stand another piece of bad news today. I hope this puts the pieces together rather than shaking them apart.
Ford’s smile was brilliant. “The leader of the pirates -- and, according to his crew, the person who came up with the idea --” Ford glanced amusingly at his captain for a brief moment, knowing full well that honor and thieves were mutually exclusive. “-- Was Captain James Larsen, captain of the --”
“-- The Darius, a freighter,” finished Ben, a peculiarly triumphant look on his face. It’s gotta be him, it’s gotta be him, he thought.
“Yes,” says Ford, startled by the unexpected interruption.
“He’s a dark-haired guy with a monobrow.”
By now, everyone had stopped and was looking at Ben Krieg. “Yes,” admitted Ford, curiously. “Just how did you know that, Lieutenant? You weren’t even here.”
Judging the confused and somewhat annoyed looks he was receiving, Ben sighed with resignation, not really wanting to divulge the information. “It’s a long story, Commander.”
Ford looked his junior officer up and down until Krieg began to squirm under his gaze. “Still . . . I’d like to hear it, now that things are back to normal,” he replied.
Setting foot into MedBay, after assisting Chief Crocker back to his bed, Captain Bridger stopped next to the teenager’s bed. Feeling the eyes of the others on him, he sat heavily in a nearby chair, looking at the sleeping Lucas -- bruised, battered, traumatized, but still alive, thank God -- he felt he had to say what he was thinking. “Commander, it will be a long time before things are normal again.” I just feel so helpless, he thought, wanting to make the pain go away, to make it all better. “A long time,” he repeated, more quietly to himself.
Kristen went to sit next to him immediately, hugging Nathan gently, seeing the pain in the lines of his brow. “They will be . . . in time, with help from us. Don’t you ever forget that.” She kissed his cheek chastely, and he knew she meant the gesture as support rather than an expression of romance.
Captain Bridger pulled her closer to him, and kissed her cheek. Together they looked down at Lucas, who was giving every sign of waking up soon. He knew the others would support him through the painful recuperation to come, and Bridger took comfort in that. Watching Lucas’ blue eyes flutter open and fill with tears, watching him begin to tremble with remembered fear, Nathan Bridger felt another truth come to mind. “True friendship -- and true friends -- are something people can’t forget.”
Don't forget to send feedback and prompt the Muses? For example, should I bother to plan a sequel? And if so, what kinds of things would you like to see?
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